Barrow Downs

In the dark of night, Ryheric had gone with Tarsorel to hunt a beast. A creature the local farmers called rabid. Or, they spoke of it like a demon. On hushed tones, making superstitious gestures.

There had even been a rumour or two it was an Enemy of the free folk. A man, a foreigner with a curved blade who guised himself as a bard, responsible. Rumours of bloodlust not natural for the peace-loving Breefolk. Someone had planted the idea. Tarsorel knew it. Ry knew it. It stayed unmentioned between them.

The ruins of some kind of establishment of Cardolan stood before Eira. The ruins were destroyed by time, crumbling and toppled. She scuffed her shoes as she took step after step towards the ruins. The ancient stonework was etched in symbols of Numenorean heritage. The numerous walls were carved with stars, historical events, important people... Only a handful Eira could point out, from before the Fall of Numenor. Half Black Numenorean, she had been taught history through the perspective of the King's Men, not the Faithful.

Seregrian continued to eat, saying "But come, Eira, begin your tale while we dine."

How long had she wandered?

The fog never ceased, and the night was never ending. Carefully placing her walking stick before of her every step, she meandered the endless, rolling hills and barrow mounds. Only the occasional stone peer broke the scenery of fog, grass, and rolling mounds. She was hastily losing track of the time as she walked on and on.

She was going home.

Running softly, Asmalinde made her way through the Old Forest and over the escarpment that led into the bowl of Tyrn Gorthad, The Barrow Downs. The barrows were the ancient cemeteries of the Northern Kingdom of Cardolan. The surface was barren and covered with knee to chest high grasses. Timeless cenotaphs jutted from the earth like staggered teeth. Starlight pierced the low lying fog and cast intricate shadows upon the boulders and old gravestones.

The past few days had been hectic. Indeed, Anorieldis had rarely found time enough for sleep over these past few days. The busyness of the Mortar and Pestle gave her time to distract her mind from the conversation she had had with the physician, Elias Dimheim, and had furthermore nearly kept her mind from what had been becoming an obsession with grave-moss from the Barrow Downs.