In the camp by the Morva river, early morning, October 6, 1347.
Written by Gordis and Angmar

Kvigr had the last pre-dawn watch this night. The lad always slept like a baby, so Uffi, the sentry before him, poked him in the ribs repeatedly and then aimed a few vicious kicks at his backside.

"Get up, you worthless baby!"

Uffi's voice and kicks meant an unpleasant interruption of a sweet dream about home and Hegga, the girl from the nearby farm, who had such full breasts and big innocent blue eyes...

For a while Kvigr just walked around the camp blinking and trying to get rid of the last snatches of his dream. Soon, when the first diffuse pre-dawn light illuminated the camp, his head cleared, and he took in his surroundings. Kvigr had an artistic side to his nature, so the beauty of the first light dawning on golden autumn leaves was not wasted on him. The dark, swift waters of the Morva were swirling with fallen leaves: yellow birch leaves and red aspen leaves, round as coins. Kvigr smiled: there was no better place in the whole wide world than home.

Kvigr stood on the bank of the river singing softly and watching the dance of leaves in the stream, when he was suddenly hailed from another bank. The lad swallowed, startled, and looked across the river at the approaching men, his bow at the ready.

Both looked like dangerous brigands with their long swords and daggers, scarred, weather-worn faces, unkempt beards and dirty clothing. One was carrying a large keg, while the other, older one, was grinning at Kvigr with brown, rotten teeth.

"Hail, lad, aren't there some grown-ups about?" sneered the older man.

Kvigr blushed furiously: he knew he had been a poor sentry to let these men approach unnoticed. Now only the narrow, swift stream separated them. He opened his mouth to answer, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Algeirr was now standing at his side, his bow drawn, but the tip of the vicious black arrow pointing downwards. Kvigr sighed in relief: their leader was known to sleep like a cat, ready to spring up at the slightest sound.

"Who are you and what is it you want?" asked Algeirr levelly.

The brigand, who was sucking at his thumb for some reason, muttered in reply " We bring you a keg of ale and a greeting... from Jarl Broggha."

Algeirr paused, thinking quickly. He had heard of this Broggha, even before he left for Arthedain. An outlaw and a brigand he was, but a lucky one. Then when they were already in the Arthedain army, a man from Nothwa Rhaglow told them there was trouble at home, Broggha gathering more and more men to him, raiding villages and small towns.

"What does he want?" Algeirr's voice was hoarse.

The other man put down his keg and replied, smiling nervously, "We can't shout like that across the river. Let us come to your bank. We shall drink the ale together and talk."

Algeirr frowned, but nodded. With a shrill whistle, he warned his men of the approaching danger. Soon Gunni, Meldun and Uffi joined Algeirr and Kvigr at the bank, their long swords at the ready.

Without much ado, the strangers took off their boots and pants and waded into the river. The water must have been cold, as the older one let out an obscene exclamation and gripped his cheek as if his teeth pained him. After much cursing and nearly slipping a few times, the men were on the nearest bank and were led to the camp fire.

As they crossed the frigid Morva River, Griss carried the keg of beer on his shoulder. "Heggr probably would have dropped it in midstream anyway," Griss thought. Heggr was always too occupied with his aching jaw and sore joints. Of course, Heggr's teeth hurt him. "If you could call them teeth," Griss thought. They looked more like decaying kernels of corn. The thing Griss liked about Heggr, though, was that the man didn't complain too much. Griss had also learned that he was a good man to have behind your back.

On the opposite bank, Griss and Heggr quickly dressed and introduced themselves. The five other men's introductions consisted of mumbled replies. They eyed Griss and Heggr as suspiciously as they were eyed in return.

"Then you are the leader?" Griss looked Algeirr in the eye.

"Yes, you could say that. But why do you want to know?" the man asked suspiciously.

Griss and Heggr did not like the way that the young bowman kept his arrow aimed towards them as the three men talked. Gunni, Uffi and Meldun, all alert, spent almost much as much time looking at the keg that Griss had put up against the base of the tree as they did at the two intruders. Maybe they were planning to murder Griss and Heggr, rifle their bodies, take the keg and then disappear into the forest. Griss was growing more nervous, but he was glad to see that Heggr was now grinning. The man liked to keep his mouth closed as much as possible, because the cold air hurt his decaying teeth.

"I will be honest with you... my chieftain knows everyone who comes into this area. We are thinking you might be deserters from the Arthedain army."

Out of the corner of his eye, Griss caught a slight movement from Kvigr and wondered if he were about to let an arrow fly. Gunni, Uffi and Meldun kept their hands close to their weapons, but the leader only moved his head slightly from side to slide.

"You figure it out, but go on," Algeirr stated coolly.

"Then I will get right on with it. My comrade and I are in the employ of Jarl Broggha. Surely you know of this man?"

"I have heard things," he replied noncommittally.

"I don't know what you might have heard, but I will tell you what is true. For the past few years, the Jarl has steadily increased in power until now he is one of the strongest and most wealthy men in all Rhudaur."

Meldun laughed. "As powerful as the king?"

Griss turned to him and looked him in the eye. "More powerful," he quietly replied.

The other men gazed at Griss and could see by his calm look that he probably wasn't lying. Heggr still kept grinning. Gunni, Uffi and Meldun were not too sure, though; you could never tell when the Arthedain army might be sending out disguised men to round up deserters.

"Interesting," Algeirr glanced at Kvigr, who turned the point of his arrow to the ground.

"But what has this to do with us ?" Algeirr looked to Griss.

"The Jarl could always use a few more fighting men with experience who have the good sense to know how the wind blows."

"And what might be in it for us?"

"Possibly gold, positions, and help from powerful friends."

"Hmmm... no, that does not sound too bad, does it, men?"

Nods of affirmation from the deserters put an even wider grin on Heggr's face.

"Then why don't we just openly open that keg of beer and all sit down to discuss this?"

"Sounds agreeable to me," nodded the outlaw leader.

Inwardly, Griss felt very relieved. If these men proved to be of any value to the Jarl, Broggha would be pleased with him. If they didn't - Griss might get a few broken ribs or worse for it - but the five deserters would be very, very dead. Heggr started to grin, but a breeze of cold air quickly had him slapping a hand over his aching jaw and closing his mouth.

In two hours the keg of beer was almost empty, and the bones of the yesterday's deer were picked clean of meat. Heggr and Griss, now relaxed and feeling at ease, told many stories about Jarl Broggha: his famous luck and his cruelty, his prowess in battle and his treatment of prisoners and his own men.

In the midst of a story about an obese tark boiled alive, Kvigr left the company, feeling nauseated. He saw many a cruel punishment, but nothing of the kind of what seemed to be the rule in Broggha's army. "They may be Tarks," thought Kviggr, "but they are our own people, not some orcs or wargs... They made our country what it is".

He fetched a fishing line from his pack, dug some worms and settled at the bank of the Morva, hoping for a good catch. He didn't want to join the Jarl. All he was looking forward to was to return to his village, and see his parents and Hegga. His heart skipped a beat when he thought of the girl. Perhaps, he could find some job in the village, or in Pennmorva town, and start a family...

Meanwhile, Algeirr and Griss, sitting slightly apart from the others, were discussing the terms.

"How many are you now?" asked Algeirr.

"Two or three thousand" replied Griss with a smile. "More than the King has. And his men are deserting all the time and joining us. Soon we will march on Cameth Brin and get rid of the old Tark."

Griss's eyes twinkled at the prospect. He looked at the mercenary, but Algeirr's long dark face was as wooden as usual, the lips pressed tightly together, eyes unreadable. They sat in silence for a while, Griss starting to get nervous again.

"I want to be the head of my men" said Algeirr with finality, his icy eyes firmly locked with Griss's. "And I will answer to no one, but the Jarl himself. And I want more money than I would get in the King's army. Can you promise me that?"

Griss shifted uneasily: the Jarl had been somewhat vague about the terms. He tried to conceal his uncertainty as best he could.

"Let us go see the Jarl." invited Griss. 'You will hear the terms from his own mouth. I bet, he will be mightily pleased to have your men and yourself, the seasoned warriors you are. You will get what you want."

He watched Algeirr nervously, and his heart leapt when he saw the man nod.

Soon the company crossed the river and headed North to the Morva Torch camp.
Kvigr followed, it was just the right direction for home. "I will stay but one night," he decided, "and then I shall be off. The Jarl has men enough, he doesn't need me."