Xandilif

Xandalif sat upon her warhorse well off the road leading into the South Gate of Bree, simply watching the people come and go silently. Merchants, adventurers, whores, soldiers, thieves, farmers, clowns, spies...an endless kaleidoscope of the best and the worst Middle Earth had to offer. She felt a little like each one of those as she struggled to find her nerve.

The approaching figure smiled. His short gray hair reflecting the torch light slightly as if it were made of steel. "There is no need to be concerned, I have come to talk...and you, first born, are not giving the orders here. I am.'

In a back corner of Bree’s Prancing Pony, a curious quartet had taken over a table and had held it for most of the night. Xandilif, the Champion of the Azure Faithful sat with her back to the wall, heavy steel boots up on the table as she drank Grog. Beside her, trying her best to not look like she was hiding beside Lif’s armored bulk was Finchley, a large collection of empty bowls around her as she was apparently trying to clear out Barliman’s stew supply.

Xandilif looked up, face splattered with blood and brain, still holding the unlucky Sorcerer by the head, and glared at the elf on horseback. "Who the feck are you?

Finchley peered around the corner and gasped aloud at the sight of an undead hand choking Cat. She looked for Lif and called out, "Lif! Is it them? The Unsealed?" A horrible sinking feeling grows in the pit of her stomach. If this is her fault...

After a picturesque ride through the Breeland countryside, Xandilif, Finchley and Eduwiges rode into Trestlebridge, locals dodging out of their way. Drawing her warhorse to a halt with a clatter, Xandilif looked around. "This place still looks like a burning latrine no one has buried yet. Ya think the 500th time the orcs had burned them out they would get the bright idea to move the town elsewhere or build a fecking wall?”