Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplays/@comment-26210095-20170401183633/@comment-26295802-20170406004953

Meanwhile, in Dol Amroth...

Herendil stares into the fire, long and hard. He thinks back on his life. He thinks about how he inherited the fiefdom from his grandfather Imrahil when he was only ten. He remembers ruling in the glory days, in the days of King Aragorn Elessar Telcantar, and King Eldarion. He thinks about how much better things used to be. How the treasuries of Tirith Aear used to overflow, how the harvests used to be large and plentiful. Back in the days of old, when Dol Amroth was free. Back when Traviare was his squire.

Herendil takes another long swig of whiskey. He remembers the day Traviare was killed. When the king sent him abroad on one of his useless wars, and the young squire never returned. No. No, this wasn't right. Something had to be done. For all the Traviares out there, that they wouldn't come to the same fate as his squire. The time for rolling over was gone. The time for action had arrived.

"Eredan, ready the troops."

"For what, sir??"

"I don't know yet. But I want the whole army on full alert, and patrols on the border to be doubled. Tell General Helgar to hold the garrison in Tarnost at double strength, and move General Baranor's troops to the eastern border."

"Yes, milord. Your word is law."