Ganiago’s first few days out in the wide world proved rather uneventful. The finest provisions available for purchase in Archet filled his pack, promising that many future days of exploration would pass on a full belly. Strolling merrily along with his walking stick, and with nothing besides that and a small dagger to protect himself with, Ganiago whistled as he wandered under the branches of Chetwood.
On the fourth day of travel after his hasty departure from Staddle, Ganiago found himself making his way out of the forest and into the marshy Nen Harn. Here, his path became a good deal less pleasant. The young hobbit was forced to pick his way through the semi-stagnant water of the wetland surrounding the large lake which dominated the valley it occupied. At every turn, skin-slicing grasses or knobby, twisted tree roots seemed prepared to make his progress as difficult as possible. Sloshing barefoot through the shallow water, whenever he found it necessary to do so, proved a uniquely unpleasant experience. To add to his misery, the first evening of his venture heralded a din of croaking bullfrogs, whose clamor seemed far less welcoming now that he was away from the peaceful waters of Frogmorton. Ganiago was unable to salvage any wood dry enough to get a fire going with, and hardly slept a wink with the sound of frogs ringing in his ears.
Ganiago woke at the crack of dawn the next morning, with hardly more than an hour of sleep under his belt and no chance of starting a fire to make a proper and energizing coffee. Still, he hefted his pack, muttered some encouraging words to himself, and set off once more with a weary and somewhat poorly-rendered song on his lips. The hills of Nan Wathren rose to his left as he continued on throughout the morning, promising drier land to soon be found.
A little before noon, Ganiago came upon the ruined base of an ancient tower, set upon a hill that rose a good distance above the wet ground all around it. A growth of trees blocked him from gaining an ideal view from the base of the rise, but Ganiago could see weathered carvings decorating its sides, and great cracked stones cast to the ground all about it. Clearly, it was a relic of the ancient kingdoms of Arnor, and an ideal target for a proper adventure. Energized by the prospect of seeing such a landmark up close, and potentially finding an intriguing inscription or ancient artifact among the tumble-down stones, the hobbit started up the hill with a new spring in his step.
The first artifact Ganiago found was no fascinating piece of the ruin’s history, nor indeed was it within the ruin itself. As he began his climb, Ganiago nearly stepped upon a crudely-made nail, lying in the grass and only just beginning to rust. Crouching down to examine it, Ganiago saw that it lay within the faint imprint of a boot within a slightly wetter patch of soil. Presumably the nail had been a part of a boot with a similarly poor level of craftsmanship, and the age of the print and near-lack of rust or weathering on the nail itself suggested an age far, far more recent than that of the ancient tower now looming above.
Ganiago had only a short way to continue before he found something else amiss: an arrow embedded in a tree about halfway up the hill. The arrow was poorly fletched with deep brown feathers, presumably made by an amateur hunter. But who would want to hunt in such a place as this? Gently tugging on the arrow-shaft, Ganiago was able to dislodge the head from the bark of the tree. The ease with which it came free suggested that the tree had hardly grown at all since the arrow had become lodged within it. The arro’s tip, too, was interesting, bearing small barbs and a long, broad head. Ganiago examined the mysterious arrow for a moment, looking for some clue as to its origin, but eventually cast it aside and continued upward.
As the sun reached its zenith, the young hobbit finally reached the very top of the hill. Looking all about, he had a fine view of the wetland of Nen Harn and the high hills surrounding it. At the moment, however, his attention was of course drawn to the ruined base of the structure before him. The stones lying all around on the ground seemed very large indeed when viewed up close. Many were covered in moss, half-buried in the dirt, and the decorative carvings that some had once borne were now weathered to almost be invisible. The nearest section of the circular tower had crumbled so much that Ganiago was able to clamber over a small pile of rubble and gain access to the interior, though he saw a more purpose-built doorway on the other side of the room.
And a most intriguing room it was! The tiled floor was now cracked and decayed, but a faint star pattern was still visible, made out of tiles in two different colors and beautifully carved. The sun shone brightly in the sky above, with the floor of a level above which might have concealed it now collapsed, its existence now only hinted at by the remains of a stairway curving around the walls up to about ten feet before crumbling off into nothing. Also interestingly, however, the stones of the walls of the higher portion of the tower, which must have collapsed inward long ago, seemed to have been dragged out the door and deposited outside, as evidenced by the near lack of rubble inside the tower. The only remaining obstruction to traversing the floor of the tower was a well-built fire pit of piled stones, more recently constructed than the tower it occupied. Clearly, some group (or many, over its thousand or more years of existence) had taken advantage of the sheltering walls of the ruin to use as a campsite.
Ganiago took a moment to scour the room for more clues to its history. One of the stones in the wall bore the remains of an inscription, only barely readable. It seemed to list the date and specifics of the tower’s construction, but most of the details were now worn down to illegibility. Ganiago saw little point in scouring the ruin for artifacts, as the tower had most likely been picked clean of anything valuable over its long years of ruin. Instead, he made his way through the doorway and out to inspect the other side.
Here he immediately saw something of interest, in the form of a human corpse.
The smallest squeak of fright escaped him as he turned to his left and beheld the body of a man sitting upright against the outer wall of the tower. Pale skin stretched thinly across the bone of its skull, and another black arrow protruding from the neck suggested the cause for the body’s present state. What rotted flesh remained on the person’s face now gave little clue as to their features in life.
If the person’s face was too rotted (and unpleasant to look upon) to say much about them, their clothing might give some clue. And most unique clothing it was indeed! A nondescript grey-green cloak and leather tunic formed a nondescript outer layer of clothing, along with brown cloth pants and sturdy black boots. A shattered bow lay across the corpse’s lap, and a quiver of grey-fletched arrows leaned on the wall next to it. At first glance, this collection of simple garb, stained and worn, gave the appearance of a simple woodsman killed while hunting far from home. Yet clearly this was no ordinary hunter, for what sort of hunter could afford the shining coat of mail which gleamed brightly where the sun caught it, hidden though it was beneath the tunic? And why should a mere hunter proudly bear the bright badge of a silver star upon his breast?
Continuing to look about, and trying to avoid looking upon the person’s skull again, Ganiago eventually spotted the hilt of a sword, its blade shattered and the remains cast aside. The crossguard was finely crafted and coated in a thin gold leafing, though some had chipped away to reveal the sturdier steel beneath. The pommel was also gilded, and set in its center was a small white gem. Looking back towards the body, Ganiago now also saw a green shield lying on a mound of rubble, seemingly also cast aside after a struggle.
Taking in this tragic scene in its entirety, Ganiago began to feel a certain readiness to vomit. Clearly, this person, whose skull now lay against a wall where it might startle anyone who should pass this place, had been a strong warrior in life. The beautiful sword and sturdy mail might have turned away many blades over years of use, but even now the body of their bearer lay stuck through with an arrow. And this misfortune had clearly not happened long ago, only a month at the most. This thought set yet another unpleasant feeling in the hobbit’s stomach, and he scurried over to the green shield to lift it up. Such a thing might yet prove useful against whatever dangers lay ahead of him. And indeed, despite the sight laid out before him, Ganiago still managed to pluck up the courage to continue along his quest of seeing the world. So he hefted his pack, slung the shield onto a loose strap, and set off into the afternoon, whistling a rather dreary melody.
