[center][h1]Kethel, Central Aridhol[/h1][/center]
In the southern reaches of Aridhol, only several leagues from the river border of Manetheren, a large camp lay sprawled across the landscape. Several hundred tents lay clustered near each other, but cooking fires and activity ranged far beyond that group of tents. Trollocs milled about, fighting amongst each other, sleeping, or taunting the groups of humans that would scurry by in packs, the people eyeing their larger comrades warily. Being careless amongst Trollocs could easily see one dead, and it was not uncommon for at least a couple of people to disappear in any given week. One particular party of twenty rode on horses, clearing a path through the rabble as they trotted to the center of the encampment, a small manor fashioned of wood and stone that showed signs of damage, chunks torn clean in various places.

As they passed out of the fields and woods and into the clusters of tents, the Trollocs and their Myrddraal handlers all but disappeared in terms of presence. Much as in cities, the closer one got to the center, the more sumptuous the surroundings became. As many as four people would crowd into the ragged canvas shelters in the outer ring of tents, making do with what space and supplies they could get. Close to the manor, tents were individual more often than not, kept in fairly good condition in comparison to the ones at the outside of the human sector.

Dismounting, the party of humans advanced into the manor, passing by the guards who reluctantly allowed them inside. Several minutes passed before the sound of a loud crash came from inside the building. The guards dropped their weapons and began to run at full speed away from the building, prompting others to join them in fleeing. Yells and screams filled the air as many tried to figure out what was going on while others streamed towards the edge of the encampment. For a moment, it seemed as if all sound had gone to those still near the manor. Then the blast wave hit them, carrying enough shrapnel to begin shredding their bodies. Where once there had been a manor, now only rubble and a crater remained. Much of the surrounding area had not fared much better. Only two people remained visible in the dust, one held in the air by unseen bonds, the other on the ground.

"They brought you to kill me, admit it, you bloody dog!" screamed the man on the ground, waving his single arm violently. Baggy cloth rippled through the air, the tears in his garment all the more visible as he moved. Dressed almost as a poor peasant in contrast to the fine-armor of the man in the air, it was undoubtedly he who controlled the situation. "You and all of those other flaming bastards who thought that they might usurp me. Where did they go? They came in with you, where did they go?!"

"I-I have no wish to harm you, Lord Kethel. I o-only bring information about your sister Emira. Never did I-" his sobbed replies cut off as he fell to the ground, smashing against a still-intact chunk of wood. Groaning, he pushed himself up to his knees and glanced warily at the man in rags. Kethel stood there as if in a trance, face wiped clean of emotion and body swaying from side to side. In the background, people began to emerge from the tents, grabbing anything of value from the remains of the explosion before another could claim it. Rising to his feet, the man said, "She is travelling with-"

A ball of flame replaced his head for a brief moment before disappearing. The headless body fell to the ground. Clothing that had been exposed was on fire, and the armor at the neck drooped slightly from before, the intense heat of the ball having assaulted the steel's integrity. Kethel began walking north without ever looking at the body, blank stare replaced by one of anger, a grimace sketched across his face. 

"Someone get his armor off him, he has no need of it anymore," Kethel commanded, voice loud yet raspy. Gone was the nervous, fretting figure from the blast. A pair of Darkfriends jumped up and hurried over the burning body, patting out the flames with dirt and cloth. Walking at a brisk pace, Kethel was joined on his way by a Myrddraal and several other Darkfriends, these equipped much more finely than the other humans in the camp, boasting pieces of plate armor and masterfully worked swords or axes.

"Gather the host and prepare to move southward," Kethel stated, long strides forcing the others to hurry to keep pace. "Leral, Aneth, you will accompany me to Shadar Logoth. The same with you, Myrddraal." This last sentence was emphasized by Kethel's pointed stare at the creature. It reacted naught, but it noticed the weave of air brushing up around its body. Death held no appeal for the Fade. The north end of the camp was in a relative state of calm in comparison to the manor area, but some barked orders set all into motion. Within ten minutes, Kethel had received the suit of armor from the body and stored the piece in his saddlebags. Jumping onto his horse, he whipped the steed into action, forcing his two lieutenants to take off after him. There was business to take care of in that city of shadows.