F.A 1486 Ithilien
Raen Vanyawen, a Watcher of Draugan devised a preposterous plan - slay Legolas Greenleaf the Elflord of Ithilien. Believing the Elves were trying to steal the Draugan Forest from the Woses, Raen was determined to slay Legolas to dr...
The waxing moon sailed just over the tree-tops and the velvet sky was rain-washed. There were no clouds save the countless stars that kindled bright and a few night-birds flying silently above. Grey smoke swirled from a round chimney of a stone house that stood alone in the woods. Roofed of woven dried grass that seemed frowning at the night, it had two squared windows at front, flickering yellow as the lamps burn unsteadily inside, dancing as the cool southern air blew softly through the half opened arched door between them.
The trees were hissing and swaying while the murmurs grew louder from the lone house, for inside there gathered about fifty men, and a woman, plotting something that would change the fate of Druadan and the people living in the forest-sanctuary. Inside the air was grey with sweet-smelling smoke that can only be produced by dried and thinly rolled galena. The torch-lit room was large enough, there were tables and chairs and small barrels of mead by the counter, but all were standing huddling about at the center of the hall.
'Silence!' Gireon bellowed. His black cape made him look very grim, if not old. Seventy and one if he was a year, and his once black hair had all turned white. He sat straight up on his wooden high-back chair at the dais scowling like a mad cat with a broken whisker. Everyone in the hall turned their heads, some crossed their arms as the chief hammered his fist on the armrest. The air suddenly became warmer.
'I know everyone of you wants to kill an elf,' he said in a mighty tone. 'But he is no ordinary one. This elf-lord is rumored to be war-hardened, he is friend to the King as we all know it. If by mistake the enemy would know we are behind this plot, the King and his army will certainly cut all trees in Druadan and have all our heads in a pike, or worse burn our village and force our people to slavery.'
'Then if we don't send the Elves away by killing their chief, how do we stop them from stealing our land?' says a man from the crowd. There was a sudden murmuring, all arguing and some agreeing that the only way to stop the Elves from seizing their land is to kill the Elf-lord.
'Enough!' Amir thundered. He was standing next to his father. As the chieftain's son his word was command and the murmurs faded to silence. Now all eyes were on him, men of middle age - Watchers of Druadan. Once they were wanderers and survivors from the last war, people who have fled South Ithilien during the reign of the Dark Lord. And even before Druadan was troubled by unwanted folks, raiders, treasure hunters, orc-folks and gorguns.
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The first men who have reached Druadan were Southern-folks and their children, and weary they gathered under the shelter of the trees as the Woses watch from the dark, but when Ghan-buri-ghan saw the hearts of these people, he welcomed them and gave them home just as they had welcomed the men who were now living near Eilenach. In return, the abled men kept the forest free of enemies and spiders, then the duty was passed on to their children and so Watchers of Druadan they were named. They were skilled and strong men, defenders of the forest they have called home. 'I say we kill the elf-lord! That is the only way to drive the elves away.'
