Fredericka

Fredericka chided herself for her insatiable curiosity. It often lead her to the wrong places at the wrong times. Now, visiting Thorin’s Hall's dark chambers may have been the best idea. Maybe, associating with the Dwarves was not worth the effort, at all. Maybe, she shouldn’t even care about people suffering from Orc raids in North Downs?

A neatly geared traveler from Bree pinned a short notice to the board at Thorin's Hall. The message was soliciting Longbeards for a journey with supposedly a noble cause.

There were many dwarves around, which gave Freddie confidence in finding the right candidates for their trip. Next stop for her would be the tavern - it was time to sample the local brews that Svaroh recommended! 

Fredericka walked on the streets of Trestlebridge town and toward its namesake bridge. It amazed her how the bridge did not burn down, while many of the houses in town were now smoldering coals. The orcs did considerable damage to this settlement, and it was even more worrisome that their threat was not entirely eliminated. Fredericka had a couple of days free in town as her company was healing and gathering strength and resources to pursue their journey North. She resolved to help the town’s recovery in any way she could. 

That was, certainly, a very intriguing day. As the sunset transcended into a memory and darkness came back to rule the sky, a few daring stars and the lamps of Othrikar remained the only sources of light.

Erasm remained outside, enjoying the sounds of night, relative solitude and his aromatic pipeweed. Fredericka was far superior at any negotiations and he, a scholar, wasn't the most skilled orator, by default.

Their road from Wyld Hunt’s Second Base in Bree-land was largely uneventful. The stay at Bree's hunting lodge was brief and boring. From Bree-town they headed North along the Greenway. Light drizzle started shortly after they left. On this rainy evening, the group got close to the small town of Trestlebridge - and noticed that the citizens were in distress…

This being a report of a conversation heard one day in the town of Trestlebridge between two friends sitting on the stonework of that hamlet's namesake bridge.

Freddie sat down on the parapet, her legs hanging above the abyss "Would you tell me something, Feaandir... how many times have you been to Fornost before?"

The lore-master took up his pipe weed pouch and opened it. He took his time in answering.

"Twice."