The Dreadward Tribunal


The winter sun shone just as brightly upon Folchet as it did in all the other neighborhoods, but to Eruviel it felt like rain. Not that rain was bad; rainy days were some of her favorites, but as she stood at the gates to the old manor the Eldar felt burdened and dreary.


Sucking in a sharp breath as the call jolted her out of her thoughts, the elf turned. “Good afternoon, Ris!”

“I got your post,” said the young woman as she approached, running fingers through her short, strawberry blonde hair. “Were you able to find everything?”

Eruviel lifted the bundle of books in her arms. “Ranth wasn’t home, but I let myself in, took a few keepsakes I’d forgotten and traded copies in for my first editions.”

Risalra tugged at the collar of her coveralls.” You didn’t have ta do that. But Ranth will appreciate not having half the library go missing.”

“I only took a handful of volumes,” chuckled Eruviel quietly. “Oh, and here,” she added quickly, fishing an envelope from her tunic pocket. “The deed.”

The young woman opened the tab and thumbed through the few pages within. “You sure ’bout this?”

Eruviel nodded. “I am. It’s time I moved on.”

“How long’s it been?”

“Just over five years,” replied Eruviel, shifting her load.

Ris scoffed. “Yer an Elf. Five years ain’t that long.”

“It’s long enough,” said Eruviel, glancing to the young woman out of the corner of her eye. “I see no benefit to holding onto the place. They would have wanted me to find a good owner who would put it to good use.”

The elf and human stood there as several minutes passed, both looking thoughtfully to the three story home. “I’ll take good care of it,” said Ris, finally breaking the silence. “Now that you’re putting the Dreadward behind you, what’ll you do now?”

Eruviel remained silent for a moment longer before a smile curved up her mouth. “Nothing is changing, Ris. My life will continue forward . . . though I am meeting with a guild leader later today,” she offered with a shrug.

“Oh? That’s good ta hear!” Ris responded, smiling at the elf. “Let me know if it works out.”

“I will,” nodded Eruviel, stepping out into the road. “We still on for lessons tomorrow?”

“Sure thing! Made a new sword I wanna test out.”

“A new sword isn’t going to make you a better swordsman, Ris,” Eruviel smirked.

Risalra rolled her eyes. “I’ll take all the help I can get. You watch out. I’ll beat you one of these days.”

Walking away, Eruviel raised a hand in a parting wave. “Over my dead body!”

“If that’s what it takes!” Ris shouted back, saluting with the envelope to her forehead. “Later, then!”

Stopping, Eruviel turned and observed the old kin house one last time as the young woman disappeared into the building. She had dealt with the deaths, but not the letting go, and the ache twisted around the relief of no longer having the empty halls looming about her. “Who knows,” she whispered with a wistful smile. “Namárië, old friend.”

Dreadward : To The Journey


“This place is absolutely beautiful!”

The young elf maid’s exclamation snapped Eruviel out of her thoughts. Turning from the window she smiled, watching Bellethiell wander around the common room once — twice — still wide-eyed at the strangely fitting collection of elven, human, and dwarvish furniture. For a moment she almost apologized for the odd collection, wondering if the young elf cared that the floor was not fit with ceramic floral patterns, framed with sheer drapes, and outfitted with exclusively elven crafted woodwork.

“Thank you,” she said with a soft, proud smile as she walked further into the room. “I admit most of it was here before. I’ve just painted the walls and rearranged and added a few new items.” Arylieth’s first novel, Lothlorien arrows from the trip to Dale, Father’s bow . . . .

Bellethiell glanced over to her, her eyes gleaming from what Eruviel assumed to be overwhelming joy. “This is better than I could have ever imagined!” Her pale blue skirts swished as she spun once, stopping only to clasp her hands in front of her. “I’m so blessed that you asked me to be a part of this kinship.”

I think I might have adopted yet another sibbling, Eruviel thought with a soft chuckle as she walked up the few short steps to the feasting tables. It made her heart just a little lighter. “It is about time this place had some life in it.” Humming thoughtfully she browsed over the selection of wine bottles on a low shelf before choosing one out.

“Where did it all come from?” asked Belle in an almost reverent tone as she followed Eruviel.

“It is from everywhere. Gondor, Rohan, The Lonely Mountain, among other places.” Pouring two glasses of the rich, crimson liquid she handed one glass to Belle. “The Dreadward traveled through most of the realms in Eriador, hunting evil like blood-hounds.”

Sipping her wine, Belle’s eyes wandered around the room with a thoughtful air. “How long has the kinship existed? How . . . how did it begin?”

“Oh . . . at least twelve years. I am not sure exactly how long it existed before me. The Dreadward were all eager young men — and dwarves — when I joined their ranks. The man, Lord Myrthrost began it. He was the founder, joined by the dwarf Rhunki, Gondorian Captain Adrovorn, my brother Milloth, and a number of others. He was a good leader,” Eruviel ended quietly, the trophies and tokens bringing back one memory after another.

Bellethiell paused, lowering her glass. “Are any of them still in the kin?”

Eruviel glanced down at her cup, a shadow falling over her emerald eyes. “Adrovorn and Milloth perished in the south. As far as I know the rest perished with them.” She took a sip of her wine and chuckled softly, adding, “Though, I thought I had seen Myrthrost’s ghost the other day.”

“I-I’m sorry, Eru,” Belle sighed. “How long were you with them?”

“No need to apologize, Belle.” Eruviel then twisted her mouth to one side in thought. “I joined them about twelve years ago. We traveled and fought together for eight years before they went south to Gondor.”

“I am sure they were all well fought men,” Belle muttered softly. The shadow over her face faded, and Eruviel could not help but smirk, certain that her young friend was envisioning herself fighting with the long-departed troop.

“They were,” Eruviel nodded firmly, her smile warming. “You would have like them. Though serious with matters of battle and death, they were a merry troop. Some of the most fierceom and loyal men I ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Bellethiell paused for a few seconds before finally allowing herself a small smile, “I’ve known few men like that, but the two I knew, well . . . I hope for many more companions like them.”

Eruviel arched a brow curiously at her. “Who were they, if I may ask?”

Bellethiell’s smile warmed. “They were friends of my father’s, well fought men, who taught me much in my days as a small child. Lord Allier and Soromith the metalsmith. They were like family to me before they too perished under the blade of the orcs. I was still very young and have never met any men like them since.”

Then I have some introducing to do. “You are fortunate to have had such noble men as your teachers.”

“True men of kindness and compassion they were.” Bellethiell’s eyes grew distant, gazing out a side window as she clutched her goblet to her chest. “Soromith taught me almost everything I know.”

Eruviel touched her elbow after a moment, bringing the young elf back to the present with an understanding smile. “It is rare to find truly honorable men, but amidst the scoundrels, you may see there are more good men than our race takes into account.” Her thoughts wandered to Threz and his brood of mercenaries, the hunter from the Mark she had met up in the wilds of Nen Harn, and Cwen who had left for Gondor just days earlier with a few others. No daydreaming of far-away places, she told herself. You are on holiday from the fight. You have people to care for; people to find . . . .

Bellethiell laughed brightly, gesturing out with an up-turned palm. “It is why I moved to Bree. I had heard that through the weeds of all the questionable men, there were several with true goodness here. I have many acquaintances but I’ve yet to find a friend, at least, until I found you.” The elf maid’s smile stretched from one ear to the other. “In such times of trouble I am glad to have found a kinship such as this.”

Eruviel could not help but give a merry laugh, raising her glass. “Kinship’s are well and good, but they are a framework, not the heart nor foundation. I am glad to have found a friend.”

“To the framework and the journey,” Bellethiell toasted, her eyes squinting happily as she raised her goblet.

Eruviel’s eyes twinkled from a genuine smile as she clinked her glass against Belle’s. “To the heart, and the road.”


(All dialogue taken from in-game RP and edited for tense and exposition.)


You Can Stay . . . .


Morning broke through the wisps of clouds that floated over the hills surrounding the Bree-land homesteads. As the sun rose so did mists from the small lake below. Eruviel took no notice of the veil that shrouded the small valley till it had completely enveloped her.

What am I doing here?

Hours before she had left Anya to the mercy of the newly returned Eirikr. She had been tempted to stay and be a moral support for the young woman but, from the stern look Eirikr had given her, she knew it would be best to let them hash things out on their own. Then she had wandered. The streets of Durrow were surprisingly empty but, unlike the Glaston neighborhood, light shone from most of the windows and it was not uncommon to hear laughter drifting from them.

What am I doing here?

Rays of sunshine warmed her rain-washed hair as Eruviel sat atop the stone wall. She could not recall exactly when she had arrived at her destination, or what had brought her there in the first place. The forgotten kin-house of the Dreadward Tribunal looked back at her, its dark, stained windows matching her tired yet thoughtful gaze.

Hoping down from her perch she slowly made her way up the well worn path. The grass needed cut; the trees and bushes trimmed. The spare key, hidden in a hollowed out stone in the wall, bore only a touch of rust. The lock did not complain as it was turned, but the creak of the hinges echoed through the dark house as she pushed open the heavy door.

Dust glittered in the golden rays of sun that streamed through the window panes. Dust was everywhere, carpeting the floor and coating the sheets that draped over neglected furniture. Standing on the aged red rug in the center of the hall Eruviel felt a pang of guilt in her gut at having forgotten the place.

Where have you been?


For so long?

They are all gone. She walked across the length of the room, the resonating thud of her footsteps only adding the the feeling of emptiness.

You’re not.

I know . . . .

Dust flew up in small puffs as she strode to a window. Struggling with the latch, she swung the panes open. A morning wind rushed through the portal, forcing her to turn her head away, the house sucking in the deep breath of fresh air.

You can use me.

But the Dreadward is gone. Others deal judgement in their stead.

You’re not gone. And you are not alone . . . .

What am I doing here?

Use me.


Rhuniki’s forge . . . .

Bellethiell and Risalra . . . . Eruviel threw open a second window, then another.

Myrthrost’s library . . . .

Eruviel chuckled, pulling a sheet off a Gondorian styled chair.  Arylieth would be beside herself.

Milloth’s paintings . . . .

I could hire Anyatka to restore them . . . .

Adrovorn’s empty weapon case . . . .

Arath — Eruviel stopped, and sighed, and shook her head. I’m sure Threz and Eirikr could use the storage space.

Use me.

I could . . . .

You can stay . . . .

I suppose I can . . . . I have a few hours.

That’s all I ask.

You look terrible.

The crisp summer breeze began to sweep dust out the windows, adding light to the hall. Welcome back.

(I was wanting to try something different, so I took a Cwen approach to this blog. )

Taking the Fort


Eruviel remembers.

“Dreadward!” boomed Adrovorn, his strong voice rising above the clamor of the fight taking place at an enemy stronghold a short distance away. Twenty well equipped riders fell into formation. Even their horses seemed to respond to the Gondorian Captain, waiting patiently for his next orders. Wheeling his black war steed around he stopped beside Eruviel, the two exchanging curt nods.

Giving him a small smile, Eruviel reached over to unhook the sheath of his sword from where it had gotten caught in his mount’s tack. “The same as usual, my lord?”

“The same as usual, my lady,”Adrovorn responded, extending his arm down to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Eruviel’s pointed ear. His steel blue eyes lingered on her before flicking back to her quiver, counting.

“It is not like you to worry,” Eruviel chuckled as she fit a new string onto her bow.

“I don’t show it when I worry,” he quipped dryly. Sitting upright he patted the neck of his horse as he watched the fort beyond the treeline, waiting for the signal. “Until we reach Lindon I doubt that I shall sleep at all,” he added gruffly.

Myrthrost, one of Adrovorn’s closest friends shot her an amused look over the head of his dwarven companion, Rhuniki, who blabbered on and on about how to best kill an orc. Wrinkling her nose back at him she turned her head just in time to see a torch being waved from the top of the wooden wall. “You will have time enough to sleep after we get to Thorin’s Hall,” said Eruviel, choosing an arrow from her back and knocking it.

“No I won’t,” said Adrovorn quietly, laughing as color crept into Eruviel’s cheeks. “Myrthrost! Rhuniki! Take the gate,” he commanded as he unclasped and pulled out a black spiked flail from behind his saddle. Twenty swords rang as they were unsheathed in unison. The dwarf let out a zealous war cry, and he and the man dashed forward with Eruviel following a few paces behind, sniping archers from the wall. Shoving each other back and forth as they ran, Rhuniki brandished his axe, jesting with the more level-headed Myrthrost. Eruviel smirked as she released another volley upwards, giving the two precious seconds to get to the gate and take out the dozen orcs guarding it. Sometimes she wondered which one of them was the sidekick.

It had been eight years since the Dreadward Tribunal had been formed. Campaigning across the North Downs into Evendim the troop fought with others of like-minds, dealing judgement and driving back the enemy where few dared to go. They had become a cohesive unit with Myrthrost, Adrovorn, Rhuniki, Milloth and Eruviel at its core. It had been a refreshing change from the years of living and fighting in the shadows of Angmar. Daran had been dissatisfied at her departure, but had also understood, even more than she had at the time. Sprinting through the gate Eruviel glanced back to see the column of dust rise from where the rest of the troops sped across the dry earth. What had it been . . . three years? Adrovorn had stopped her after a bloody battle and told her upfront of how he felt and of his intentions. He had been tactful in his own way, and eloquent as always, but the man never beat around the bush. And she had made him wait.

“There they are!” shouted Rhuniki as a sizable number of Tarkrip stampeded down the lane towards them. Eruviel loosed a succession of arrows into the approaching mob as Myrthost fit a second rune between his fingers and cast barrier of protection around them.

The sound of thundering hooves drew near, and as the Tarkrip stumbled over one another to retreat, the trip jumped to the side of the road to watch Adrovorn and his men thunder past. Taking a moment to watch the riders plow through the enemies ranks, their black cloaks billowing like smoke behind them, Eruviel split off from the man and dwarf to scale the lower inner wall of the fort.

Running along the elevated walkway she dropped every enemy archer she laid eyes on. In the center of the fortified camp she could see Milloth battling the Tarkrip Commander. Adrovorn had dismounted and now fought back to back with the Eldar, leveling any foe that came within reach of his blood coated flail. They do not call him the Black Thorn for nothing, Eruviel smiled to herself as she plunged her sword through the skull of an orc clinging to the edge of the platform.

Just as the battle seemed to have be won, a foul tension wound in her gut. Across the large yard Eruviel could see Milloth reach back to find his quiver empty as the Tarkrip Ccommander’s blade cut across his breastplate. A particularly large orc flanked Adrovorn as he was beset by two others, and at the same moment a dozen Tarkrip clamored up onto the wooden walkway on either side of her. In the blink of an eye she took note of the other fighters, and made eye contact with the few that had started to run towards her, their own bows rising. Knocking an arrow to her bowstring she took aim, the white fetching brushing across her cheek. My last one. She exhaled a whispered blessing to ignite the light oil, and released.

The arrow streaked across the distance with a flash of lightening (courtesy of Myrthrost), and struck the enemy commander in the forehead with a sickening thwap. The foul creature had hardly begun to fall back when Milloth wrenched the arrow from it’s face and spun around to peg the orc leaping at Adrovorn in the heart. Drawing her sword and dagger Eruviel dodged the first two of her attackers before cutting them down. Thrusting her sword into another on her left she wrenched the weapon out to smash the pommel into the face of the orc behind her. An arrow from below took out the creature as it swung its dark blade, giving Eruviel the moment she needed to jump down from the wall, avoiding the spread of arrows that mowed down the Tarkrip defenders attacking her.

Rolling as she hit the ground, Eruviel rose to her feet, and took a moment to observe Rhuniki finish off a downed foe before relaxing her grip on the hilts of her weapons. It was finally over. Nodding to the Rangers and Gondorian fighters that had come to her aid she walked across the yard littered with corpses towards the rest of her gathered comrades. The handful of men with her half followed, half guarded her. Adrovorn, she thought, letting out a short huff. Several months back his men had taken it upon themselves to ensure her safety, but this was ridiculous. The look Adrovorn shot her told her that even he thought his men might be taking their self-proclaimed duty too close to heart.

One more stop, she told herself as she stepped between Milloth and Adrovorn, exchanging a smile of understanding with her brother. One more trip north to protect my future from the past.