Grief

Diary of Rothlung Blacktowers

16th & 17th of Winterfilth, The She-Elf Reckoning

16th of Winterfilth

Even now, as I write, the anger stirs again beneath my ribs.

Written as part of the unfolding plot of Northern Charter

PLEASE NOTE: An image created by AI is appended to this story which some may find suggestive of violence. It does not show 'intense violence or gore' or a bloody scene or the likes, and is therefore, in my view, entirely PG-13 and in keeping with the site rules. However, it is only right and proper to forewarn accordingly.

Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there.

It took her much longer than she had anticipated to make it to Starmere lake.  When she arrives she barely has time to make a camp before dusk settles in.  As she sits looking up at the starry night sky, she can almost hear music and laughter on the air.  The sounds that had pulled her from the cave behind her on that night long ago.

Starmere lake called to her.  Emmawynn was not sure why, but she needed to visit.  Almost as soon as she arrived in Bree she felt the tug.  She nudged the tug aside for long enough to visit old friends, but before two days had passed, she found herself riding Firesong out of town.

 Author's note:  This relates to background information rather than ingame events, and takes place partially in dreams. Narrators may be less reliable than they appear in the mirror. Not suitable for consumption by those who adhere to an extremely conservative interpretation of Tolkien's lore.

Content note: Contains oblique references to topics that some may find distressing.

A letter delivered by an errand runner in the Last Homely House.  The hand which has written this note is both quick and fair, and while the paper is unadorned, it is of good quality.

To the Lady Airesarë Celulinda Manadhlaer of the Order of the Pillar, House Bar-en-Vanimar,

My thanks and regards, firstly, for your taking the time to address this to me - I confess, given the ill terms on which we parted, I had not expected nor desired any further correspondence, and welcome this act of peace on your part.

Syllea had left the inn trembling and crying. Cat followed her, seeming very attentive to the girl's feelings. Syllea did not notice this, though. She wanted to run until the inn was no longer in her sight but got no farther than a few steps past the door; she collapsed into the grass and let out a heart-wrenching scream. Tears poured down her face, her fingers dug into the grass beneath her, and her breathing became rapid and quick as she struggled to get air into her lungs.