The Legand of Heroo Flandroval....
It was a most dangerous time to patrol the moors, Minions of the Enemy had spread like maggots in the past year, darkening the land, making the fear of attack a constant thought on the minds of the people. The great captains of the past were gone. Pulled to battles in the far reaches of the lands or fallen victim to the orc blade.
No one felt safe in these times. Women clutched their children near and huddled in back rooms of houses heavily guarded by the men folk. What few songs being sung, even by the children dealt with death and the end of all most held dear.
Having finished the evening meal, the men of the night watch girded their swords, and headed out of GV to patrol the valley near TR. They carried few provisions save some ointments and bandages, and perhaps a small amount of hard rations. This was a hard watch, and one that had known more casualties to their ranks then all the others combined.
The enemy moved easier in the darkness. Shrouded in shadow they crept upon those stationed to far ahead or behind the main phalanx, leaving little time for help to arrive had the victim been able to get out a cry. Little was left of one that was attacked. What was not hacked to bits was most times carried off in the slathering maws of wargs.
This night was different. The men of the watch could all feel some little something which gnawed at the base of their brains. Many knew, or feared that this may be their last night on patrol. For this reason during the goodbyes before they left one may have seen a husband giving an extra hug to his wife, a son’s shoulders sagging more or a father drinking in long looks of the faces of the children he may not see come to adulthood.
Night settle in around the men as they rode slowly through the valley and up the hills towards the old keep. In better days it had been the forward post of the Free Peoples in the battle for the Ettenmoors. It stood bow as sad reminder of days of glory. It those times, Captain Ryan could be seen leading his men off towards Hoarhollow-Warsong and Essence often led huge raids deep into the enemy encampments returning with tales of bravery. But long years of battle take their toll, and the great heroes of the past years fade into legend leaving those still hopeful souls scanning the horizon for salvation.
As the men rounded the side of the keep, they were ambushed by a huge contingent of orcs, wargs and spiders. Falling back towards the front of the keep they tried valiantly to fight off the onslaught. Many a man saw a friend fall before his eyes, and found n time to lend aid while fighting to stay alive. Moments turned into minutes, minutes seemed an eternity to the brave Free People as they struggled against a foe of superior numbers. All it would seem was lost when from the direction of the river crossing a horn sounded.
Even the enemy paused at the sound of that horn. Not since the elder days had a horn of that sort slit the night air. Not a horn of alarm, it was a horn of battle. A mighty call it gave, winded by one born to the horse and spear. Those of the Free folk who heard its call could not help but wonder if the Captains long lost to battle had returned in their hour of need. All eyes stayed focused towards the crossing, and through the haze could be seen many mounted men, swords drawn, and shields at the ready.
As they continued to watch, one man rode forward from the rest. Lifting his self out of the saddle, he stood, feet in the stirrups staring towards the battle near the keep. Eyes as deep the night skies, with a mane of hair tied securely at his neck, Heroo Flandroval gave a loud call, and with another blast from his mighty horn his men surged forward and into the fray.
There are many tales of the battle that night, and many songs are still sung around the campfires. Those who were there can only recall the feel of the wind as Heroo and his men paste by them, and engaged the enemy. The enemy, dismayed at the majesty and might displayed broke and ran, only to be ridden down and slaughtered.
The return to GV was victorious, and an air of jubilation not felt for many a year hung over the encampment for many years to come. Many wanted to reward him, offers of riches and lands and not a few daughters were made to him. But Heroo only smiled and said.
“No thanks, it is all in a day’s work.”
Many battles have been fought since that day, and many more victories achieved as Heroo lead the good folk of Middle Earth. And all who looked upon his handsome face and heroic form loved him. But it is said that deep within Gramsfoot the enemy seethes with hatred for him, and plot and plan for the day when his carcass can be drug back to their dens, and consumed.