possession

Shallow was her breathing as the swarthy southener marched on farther through the North Downs. The air was chilly here, and she did not like it. She cursed; She hated the cold, and she hated extreme weather. But as she gazed upon the threshold, she felt a cold chill run down her spine. The thousands of white dead trees, littered lifelessly upon a barren green grass that could not feel lush, swayed erronously in the Moonlight of Ithil. She could hear screeching and wailing from bats, and there was howling from wolves somewhere: The perfect cemetary setting.

Here I, Galodin Dunedhel, write you about my adventure in Gil-Giliath after my fight with the gaunt-lord.

I felt someone touching me, I managed to open up my eyes as I saw Nimlith kneeling down at me, next to her stood a ranger, Randir. The two carried me to the camp in Gil-Giliath.

 ((OOC note: Here Galodin writes about the fight that almost cost his life, the fight with the Gaunt-lord in Dol Dínen))

Here I, Galodin Dunedhel, write my story about the recent happening, my fight with a Gaunt-lord Wight in Dol Dinen.