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Prologue.

This is the story around Cynwulf Eirikson, a native of the Vanwar tribe located far north. Many generations ago the family of Eirikson fled up north after their village was raided by Uruk-Hai. There they founded the Vanwar with Olaf Eirikson as tribe leader. Before they moved the lived in the currently abandoned Entwade. Olaf was the local blacksmith of Entwade; he was one of the best of Rohan, famous for his steel and craftsmanship. This has given him a respected and trusted reputation. He had a little boy: Alcred and a beautiful wife: Sydni.

(special thanks for Zhatelier for granting me the rights to use his earlier made story)

Chapter one: Unwanted Visitors.

Olaf! a soft voice came from the front of the house ‘’Come over here, there’s another customer for you!’’ Olaf hid his tools and his ‘secret’ project and grabbed his apron from the counter, put it on and tied it shut. He wiped away the sweat he had on his forehead in order to represent himself better. Olaf stepped outside his workshop in the city of Entwade and was greeted by the scent of coal and molten steel, Entwade was one of the bigger cities in Rohan, located at the centre of the kingdom has given it an excellent opportunity as trading city. A better place to start your workshop was almost unthinkable. The customer he had was a measly 1 and a half meters long with brown hair and light-green eyes. Olaf started the conversation by welcoming the customer and asking what the customer desired. The customer replied with: ‘I came here all the way from Grimslade because of your famed steel sir, I’d really like to buy a sword mister’. ’Of course you can pall, I sell a variety of swords. Some are 2 handed, others curved and of course normal swords’. A normal steel one is fine for me answered the customer. The customer seemed nervous, a little bit on edge. Olaf couldn’t blame him, if you keep in mind the amount of Uruks crossing the border lately. It gave the whole town chills really, knowing that fearless Orcs crossed the border from the Wastelands into the peaceful Rohan. The king had already send reinforcements to all the cities and a large group of cavalry to the border region, but if the stories are true: we’re going to lose this battle really badly. The Uruk-Hai are known for their ferocity and merciless attacks. It took Olaf a measly 45 minutes before he had a shiny new sword for his customer, bound in only the finest leather you could find in these parts of the country and shining like the fresh morning sun that was above them. A full day of hard work was finally over and Olaf made his daily round against the walls, the purpose of this was to check for any damages or traps placed by Uruk scouts. The last one was uncommon but has been done before, knowing that and the approaching hordes was enough to make extra precautions. It became more than just a daily routine, it was certainly not an obsession but it was Olaf’s personal superstition. Some people have four-leaved clovers from The Shire, others have a token or artefact they kept close to themselves. Olaf was almost done with this daily routine when he heard what he had feared to hear ever since he was a little boy: war horns. Olaf looked up and tried to determine where the sound would come from: Entwade was not the most strategic built city in the kingdom and only had 2 gates: one north and one south, and it’s location wasn’t that strategic either: it was surrounded by plains and the nearest forest was up north, almost in the Wold province. The horn was used three times in a row, this means attackers were approaching the city and the citizens were forced to stay indoors with their doors and windows shut. After 3 of those nerve wrecking sounds coming from the horns at the south gate, it was awfully silent. Everyone was already inside since it was far past closing times and people would probably be enjoying their dinner now, eaten and served without knowing about the fate that was about to hit their cities. Olaf heard a sharp whistling sound coming, growing louder and louder by the second, it then stopped but the sound of clashing on wood came in its place.

=== Chapter 2: Dodging the flames. === Olaf knew what he had to do: he had to rush to his workshop and get the blade he worked on for months so he could defend himself. After retrieving the sword he would rush to his house to get his wife and kid. The attackers had coated their arrows with a flammable liquid and set it aflame before they shot the arrows, resulting in the first fires at the houses around Olaf. People began to realise what happened, and realised their very own houses weren’t save anymore. Despite being told not to, they fled from their houses onto the street an panic ensued. Crying children sobbing from confusion and fear, men gathering their most valuable belongings and preparing for an escape. The rain of fire and arrows continued with a 10 second pause between them, sparing animal nor men when they hit their goal. All eyes were focussed on the lords manor, a 3 story house at the back end of the city. It was awfully quiet there, as if no one has left that place. A few citizens ran up to the manor, planning to demand some answers explaining his inactivity in this ordeal. A few moments later they stepped out with disgusted and horrified faces. They found the lord, hanging only a few centimetres from the ground moving slowly by the wind who slipped into the tiniest cracks of the house, filling it with a nerving chill. ‘The bastard committed suicide’ one said following with: ‘hanged himself on the chandelier’. With no one in charge, even more panic ensued. Olaf stood forward and cleared his throat, continued with: ‘Brethren! We have to flee this town, it’s lost’. Around 50 men left the town in a hurry, elderly people and children left behind and the sick were forgotten. ‘We’re marching North, to the forests of Wold.’ And so a slender stream of people rushed away from their homes. Some had spent their whole lives there, working, cheering and living in ignorance. It was blissful ignorance non the less. Everyone had lost something, their houses, their hope, their parents and children and their honour.

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