Chetwood

Following the events at Pontgar, the Company deemed it best to avoid the towns of Bree in case the enemy had more spies there. Instead, they circumvented the villages by passing across the Eastern Bree-fields and then through the forest known as the Chetwood, which would bring them to the Weather Hills.

In the boarders Far Chetwood, a marauding band of orcs had made camp and settled, posing a dire threat to the people of Bree. So bold they were that they roamed the lands openly, both day and night, preying on unwary travellers and farmlands dotted across the Bree-fields. They were merciless, cruel and ruthless. Rather than take prisoners, they sought to strike horror into the hearts of their enemies by mounting their heads on spikes. Action was required, although it may be too late.

"No Master Coeldazar, I do not think so!" cried out the dwarf, replacing the book on the shelf. 

"C'Mon, Shangtai, I need somebody watching my back. I've never seen a dwarf move as quietly as you did when I found you in the Chetwood."

Hildegund rode slightly in the lead, eyes on her hounds as well as the trees and ground, not letting any single sight occupy her attention for too long unless it seemed to warrant a real look. Marnewyn followed along, watching similarly, though more so at trees and ground since she was not used to trying to figure out the hounds.

Volbjorn’s honey eyes flickered an amber glow in the light of the fire as he knelt by its warmth. He breathed slow, deep inhales with measured, prolonged exhales as he focused his mind and body on the task ahead. He knew now it was by design the little sparrow lead his steps to the town of Combe, and as he sat he began to recall the events that led him into the dark of Chetwood under the black of the New Moon.