Thorin Lutir was awake the entire night, not for the lack of trying to fall asleep. But for whatever reason, he just could not shake off the unpleasant thoughts. A strange feeling, worrying him for a long time, was deepened by the old Vrink's story.
"I'm getting too old for this shit." he whispered, getting up from the bed.
Clear, night sky was embellished by thousands of stars, shining like bright diamonds. For a few moments, Thorin enjoyed the beautiful sight above him, until he could no longer withstand the gusts of cold, northern wind. He was fast to put his heavy armor on, wanting to go to the commander barrack. He had to check a couple of more things. To make sure everything is in order. But the rummaging over maps and reports, wasn't calming him down, as it kept his mind preoccupied for just a couple of minutes. Petulantly, he stepped out on the porch, lighting his pipe.
Flickering light of the oil lamps illuminated the smithy, as the first puff of smoke rose above the roofs. Hard hitting of the hammer, resounded loudly throughout the entire fort. It wasn't long before the flames from the kitchen furnaces lit up the rest of the yard. Pleasant smell of freshly made food tickled Thorin's senses, surprised to see more and more of his soldiers, heading towards the blacksmith. It was pleasing, seeing them taking the initiative, making an effort. Captain Lutir leaned next to the door, he felt somewhat relaxed. For the first time in many days.
Last preparations before the departure went smoothly and without the delays. As the first rays of light touched the horizon, Thorin gave a marching order. Heavy gates opened, as the eight hundred men strong army began riding out in a slow trot towards the goblin city.
YOU ARE READING
Swamp of Death
FantasyThe conflict between orcs and humans threatens to spread over Tanmar, when in this swamp, on the far north of Dorull, arrives young half-orc Grodish. Finding the killer of his mother, was his sole motivation. Prepared for any challenge, because only...
