Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Why do I feel so uneasy?" Knight Commander Lavian of the Order of the Crossed Purple Jasmine gripped the hilt of his sword as he walked through the camp, a deep frown etched on his face.

"Sir, you're overthinking it! With such a massive army at our side, how could those eastern savages possibly defeat us?" one of the knights of the Order of the Crossed Purple Jasmine replied confidently, flicking the edge of his finely embroidered cloak behind him with a flourish.

"Those chariot-riding tribesmen today really unsettled me. You saw it too—they broke through our formation of 5,000 soldiers with only a few dozen warriors! 

And somehow, our casualties were higher than theirs!" Lavian's voice was heavy with concern. 

He had begun to sense something deeply wrong with this eastern campaign—an unsettling realization that they knew nothing about their enemy.

"Enough! Stop lazing around and come scout with me! We're going to need to move further out this time!" Lavian fixed his helmet firmly onto his head, his eyes filled with resolve.

"Come on, Knight Commander… we just fought a battle and marched for a full day. Can't we catch a break?" 

The knight conscripted by Lavian's sudden command grimaced, his lips curling into a reluctant scowl.

"Less talking, more moving!" Lavian snapped as he grabbed the knight by the back of his collar and dragged him forward.

Before heading out, Lavian glanced back at his comrades. "If the Grand Duchess wakes up, tell her I took one knight with me for reconnaissance. Stay alert and keep the defenses tight!"

At the Grayflood River, Sir Lance gazed out at the broad expanse of water before him, his heart racing with anticipation.

"The Grayflood River!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.

"Sir! Follow this river downstream, and it will eventually lead to the Anduin River!" a Zaltarion heavy cavalryman beside him spread out a weather-worn map, his finger tracing the river's winding path.

"Alright, boys, our next task is to find a way to cross it. We need to locate any boats or ferries that might be in the area," Lance declared, his eyes scanning the vast waterway. A river route would be far faster and more efficient than a march through rugged terrain.

"Understood!" The soldiers spread out in groups, scouring the landscape for signs of human settlement.

While the northern lands were sparsely populated, that didn't mean they were entirely devoid of people. Some humans, under the protection of the druids, still called this wild land home.

"Maybe we should try our luck at Karrock!" suggested Jessiava as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.

"You might be right," Lance acknowledged with a nod, turning his horse northward. "If there's no ferry at the Karrock crossing, then we can forget about finding a boat anywhere along the upper Anduin or the Grayflood."

"I just hope there's still a druid stationed there to hold the line," Lance muttered, his breath fogging in the chilly air. The population of the north had withered away, and finding human settlements was no simple task.

"I doubt it," grumbled a Lorien ranger riding alongside him. "The north is falling apart. No druid in their right mind would stay behind to wait for death."

"Even so, we have to check," Lance replied firmly. "If they've left, then we'll come up with another plan. But I hope they haven't. We need them."

With that, Lance raised his riding crop. "Pick up the pace! We're headed for the Karrock crossing!"

"It's truly a season of turmoil," Rynar muttered as he watched the bustling camp from atop his horse. His gaze was distant as he spoke to Caslow, who rode beside him.

"The Great Clash of Eras," Caslow replied with a knowing look. "Every one of us is but a pawn on the board. If we don't want to be swept away, we have no choice but to keep fighting."

"Believe in yourself, my lord, and in the soldiers who fight under your banner," Caslow added with a respectful bow of his head. "The honor of Zaltarion will march with you to the end."

"Honor, huh?" Rynar sighed, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "Honestly, I'd rather finish the spring planting in peace than keep waving swords around. 

And for the love of the gods, someone tell the cooks to stop feeding me that abomination they call 'stew.' Get it away from me."

"By the way, my lord," Caslow glanced toward the looming keep in the distance. "Don't you think it's about time you expanded the castle? It's getting cramped for a king to be living like this."

Rynar glanced at the castle grounds, noting how limited the space had become. "We'll expand it after the spring planting. 

Food stockpiles come first. No point in having a grand castle if we're starving inside it."

"Looks like the famine got to you, huh? Relax, my lord. There's no enemy in sight, and even the orcs need time to recover. 

After those two battles, they'll be licking their wounds for a while. No way they can launch another big attack." Caslow chuckled, trying to ease Rynar's worries.

But his words drew a stern response from Reynard. 

"Don't be careless, Caslow! His Majesty isn't joking. We may have cut off the orcs' southern tendrils, but they're far from defeated. 

They can still muster tens of thousands of troops for a southern offensive."

"Fine, fine," Caslow raised his hands in mock surrender. "I hear you, Reynard."

"Double the range of the patrols," Rynar ordered, his eyes narrowing with caution. "I want reports on every movement within a hundred miles of Torrent City. Prioritize the east."

Caslow furrowed his brow. "The east? Isn't that where the centaurs of the Tupet Forest are stationed?"

"Yes," Rynar nodded. "But a remnant force from the Nikks Principality has launched a crusade eastward. I'm worried they'll provoke the enemy and bring them right to our doorstep."

At that, both Reynard and Caslow froze.

"Wait, wait, wait… There's still a principality loyal to the Empire?" Reynard's face twisted with disbelief. "Which principality? Do they have any troops left? Can we contact them?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Rynar sighed. "It's the Nikks Principality."

"The Nikks? Oh, never mind then. Write them off. They'll be gone before we can even send a message." Reynard snorted dismissively.

"Yeah, forget it. If it's the Nikks, they don't have enough soldiers to be worth saving," Caslow added with a shake of his head.

Rynar sighed heavily. He knew it was pointless to argue. The Nikks had always been seen as the weakest of the principality forces, and their track record in battle left much to be desired.

"I just hope they don't stir up the eastern tribes," Reynard muttered, still skeptical. "That's all we need—those wild tribes bringing war to our doorsteps."

"Relax," Rynar said with a forced smile.

"Not every shadow of war is bound to fall on us. We've got enough on our plate as it is. 

Instead of fretting about distant crusaders, how about we focus on Sir Lance and hope he's still safe out there."

Both Reynard and Caslow fell silent, exchanging glances.

As much as they tried to brush off Rynar's concerns, none of them could shake the feeling that the shadow of war was growing longer, inching ever closer with every passing day.

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