Cynwulf Eirikson, Lord of the snow

(special thanks for Zhatelier for granting me the rights to use his earlier made story)

### Chapter one: Unwanted Visitors.

Olaf! a soft voice came from
the front of the house ‘’Come over here, there’s another customer for you!’’
Olaf hid his tools and his ‘secret’ project and grabbed his apron from the
counter, put it on and tied it shut. He wiped away the sweat he had on his
forehead in order to represent himself better. Olaf stepped outside his
workshop in the city of Entwade and was greeted by the scent of coal and molten
steel, Entwade was one of the bigger cities in Rohan, located at the
centre of the kingdom has given it an excellent opportunity as trading city. A
better place to start your workshop was almost unthinkable. The customer he had
was a measly 1 and a half meters long with brown hair and light-green eyes.
Olaf started the conversation by welcoming the customer and asking what the
customer desired. The customer replied with: ‘I came here all the way from
Grimslade because of your famed steel sir, I’d really like to buy a sword
mister’. ’Of course you can pall, I sell a variety of swords.
Some are 2 handed, others curved and of course normal swords’. A normal steel
one is fine for me answered the customer. The customer seemed nervous, a little
bit on edge. Olaf couldn’t blame him, if you keep in mind the amount of Uruks
crossing the border lately. It gave the whole town chills really, knowing that
fearless Orcs crossed the border from the Wastelands into the peaceful Rohan.
The king had already send reinforcements to all the cities and a large group of
cavalry to the border region, but if the stories are true: we’re going to lose
this battle really badly. The Uruk-Hai are known for their ferocity and
merciless attacks. It took Olaf a measly 45 minutes before he had a shiny new
sword for his customer, bound in only the finest leather you could find in
these parts of the country and shining like the fresh morning sun that was
above them. A full day of hard work was finally over and Olaf made his daily
round against the walls, the purpose of this was to check for any damages or
traps placed by Uruk scouts. The last one was uncommon but has been done
before, knowing that and the approaching hordes was enough to make extra
precautions. It became more than just a daily routine, it was certainly not an
obsession but it was Olaf’s personal superstition. Some people have
four-leaved clovers from The Shire, others have a token or artefact they kept
close to themselves. Olaf was almost done with this daily routine when he heard
what he had feared to hear ever since he was a little boy: war horns. Olaf
looked up and tried to determine where the sound would come from: Entwade was
not the most strategic built city in the kingdom and only had 2 gates: one north
and one south, and it’s location wasn’t that strategic either: it was
surrounded by plains and the nearest forest was up north, almost in the Wold
province. The horn was used three times in a row, this means attackers were
approaching the city and the citizens were forced to stay indoors with their
doors and windows shut. After 3 of those nerve wrecking sounds coming from the
horns at the south gate, it was awfully silent. Everyone was already inside
since it was far past closing times and people would probably be enjoying their
dinner now, eaten and served without knowing about the fate that was about to
hit their cities. Olaf heard a sharp whistling sound coming, growing louder and
louder by the second, it then stopped but the sound of clashing on wood came in
its place.

=== Chapter 2:
Dodging the flames. ===
Olaf knew what he had to do: he had
to rush to his workshop and get the blade he worked on for months so he could
defend himself. After retrieving the sword he would rush to his house to get
his wife and kid. The attackers had coated their arrows with a flammable liquid
and set it aflame before they shot the arrows, resulting in the first fires at
the houses around Olaf. People began to realise what happened, and realised
their very own houses weren’t save anymore. Despite being told not to, they
fled from their houses onto the street an panic ensued. Crying children sobbing
from confusion and fear, men gathering their most valuable belongings and
preparing for an escape. The rain of fire and arrows continued with a 10 second
pause between them, sparing animal nor men when they hit their goal. All eyes
were focussed on the lords manor, a 3 story house at the back end of the city.
It was awfully quiet there, as if no one has left that place. A few citizens
ran up to the manor, planning to demand some answers explaining his inactivity
in this ordeal. A few moments later they stepped out with disgusted and
horrified faces. They found the lord, hanging only a few centimetres from the
ground moving slowly by the wind who slipped into the tiniest cracks of the
house, filling it with a nerving chill. ‘The bastard committed suicide’ one
said following with: ‘hanged himself on the chandelier’. With no one in charge,
even more panic ensued. Olaf stood forward and cleared his throat, continued
with: ‘Brethren! We have to flee this town, it’s lost’. Around 50 men left the
town in a hurry, elderly people and children left behind and the sick were
forgotten. ‘We’re marching North, to the forests of Wold.’ And so a slender
stream of people rushed away from their homes. Some had spent their whole lives
there, working, cheering and living in ignorance. It was blissful ignorance non
the less. Everyone had lost something, their houses, their hope, their parents
and children and their honour.