Chapter 1: Middle Earth in Shambles.

She had almost made it through the Gap of Rohan.

In fact, she had almost been outside the range of the Isengard patrols when a lone warg rider had spotted her and sounded the alarm on his war-horn. Another outrider had ridden up. Although she had managed to fell one warg with her spear before it could attack, the other had ridden in close and managed to strike her with his mace. Although her leather breastplate prevented the blow from crushing her ribcage, she nonetheless reeled in the saddle, scrambling for her sword. Her pack horses, wildly terrified of the beasts, were galloping back towards Rohan. They would not escape the outriders of Isengard.

The warg's hunger bought her some time: the orc whose mount had fallen to her spear screamed and struggled as the unnatural wolf tore at its flesh in a feeding frenzy. By the time that its rider had controlled it again, she was ready.

The warg rider moved forward again, and Esmonda rolled sideways in the saddle, barely managing to stay ahorse as the weapon whooshed by overhead. She pulled out her sword, hacking at the orc, who blocked her blade with his own weapon and counterattacked.

The orc ducked her first blow, and her horse skittered backwards as the warg bit for its throat. Esmonda leaned down and slashed, but her sword had little effect besides creating a great rent in the ragged, matted fur of the beast. The orc swung for her again. As she rolled to the side, her horse shied away from the warg again, and she lost her grip on the reins, tumbling to the grass. She rolled and regained her feet, wincing as pain shot through her torso from the first mace blow.

The warg rider moved in to finish her off. She leapt to the side, avoiding its jaws, and stabbed her blade through one great eye, blade grating against bone as it found its way towards the beast's brain. The warg howled in pain and threw its weight away, jerking the deeply embedded sword out of her hand. The warg danced in pain before finally, with an ear-splitting howl, falling to the ground. The orc, trapped under it, struggled to stand, but Esmonda knifed him before he could rise.

Acting with a calm she did not feel, she pulled her sword free of the warg's corpse and wiped both it and her knife on the grass. She left her spear where it was: now that she had no horse, there was no point in keeping it. It was a mounted knight's weapon, unsuited for a woman on foot. She sheathed her blades and started northward again.

I must escape... must... reach the Dunedain. For Rohan... for my people. I must do this.

A great feast was prepared in the small villages 'capital building' for the victory only hours before. Anarion and Thalmir sat by the head of the table, where the Village Elder, Valniri, sat. He was an old elf, of noble heritage. His long, graying, hair flowed down his back. Upon his face, he wore spectacles. He was old... very old, and was considered one of the Eldar. He acted young however, and seemed to be in quite the jovial mood, passing drink and food to all down the table.

The rest of the army was spread around the table, enjoying the small amount of time that they would have until the next battle. The army, who had first come from Valinor to the Grey Havens, grew even larger with the absorption of the Mithlond soldiers who joined the fray. Their numbers, though minuscule compared to the might of Mordor, were growing and gaining strength. Anarion, who kept most of his future plans to himself, had the ultimate goal of many thousands of hardy soldiers, enough to topple to fell regime of their counterpart in the Land of Darkness.

Anarion, who had been quiet for much of the feast, stood up and clanged a spoon to his wine glass. At once, everyone who had been chatting merrily, stopped their banter and looked to the de-facto military leader.

"Everyone, I am sorry to interrupt this gaiety and merrymaking, however I have a bit of an announcement that must be said. I have plotted our next offensive move..." Anarion paused.

He looked around the table at the questioning eyes from both elves and men. Clearing his throat, he continued.

"... We shall work to free Eriador. The great land of Arnor shall be freed once more, and become whole again. First however, we must clear the Three Kingdoms of old: Cardolan, Arthedain, and Rhudaur. If we gain enough support from each territory, our army will grow immensely, and will pose more of a threat to Sauron!" Anarion said.

The new plans did indeed pique Thalmir's interest, being a native of Arnor and the Dunedain. At that, he stood next to Anarion and patted him on the shoulder.

"My friend, I can easily gain the support of the Dunedain clans around Arnor. With their skill and mastery of the bow, our ranged combat will be great!" Thalmir pitched in.

"Indeed. Then it is settled. For the liberation of Eriador!" Anarion said, holding his glass of red wine high into the air, as a toast to their next victory.


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OOC: This is the end of Chapter I, so prepare for a new post for the second. Cheers everyone. =D