Found;
4 golden goblets. Sell as a set?
Rotted leather bracelet.
Dented old greaves. Style is too new. Last tomb robber?
Book. Musty. Arnorian. Records maybe?
6 Silver belt buckles. Similar styles and sizes. Definitely old.
Most of the barrows in this northern half of the 'Downs are small. They've been well-picked over the years it seems, having most of their valuables stripped away by those before my arrival. That was to be expected and comes as no surprise. Still, a few of the things left for my finding may fetch a pretty penny. Too many tomb robbers overlook the value in mundane objects like books. As odd as it may sound, records of long crumbled courts and the diaries of long dead denizens often prove to have more value than a sackful of simple trinkets.
The constant haze of mist in this place permeates everything. I feel permanently water-logged. The fires we stoke barely warm our damp skin, the wood we find for them hisses and spits like a basketful of angry snakes. Still, he never complains.
We came up to the ridge between the two areas, making it out of the damp for a while. The view to either side is stunning, but it also proves that the Southern Downs will be a lot more exhausting than its northern counterpart. It looks bigger, more grey and more choked with wights than ever. The mist heaves with the wandering corpses, churning below us like a cauldron of over-heated soup. Perhaps I'll uncover much more of worth down there. The sheer amount of Rotters suggests the presence of a Gaunt Lord or two. Best to avoid them, if possible.
We chose this place to rest. That was my intention anyway.
My companion shows a spirit that I had not expected of him. He seems gratified, almost enchanted, by my skill at dealing with the spiders and wights - fourteen years experience certainly helps. He also seems a little put out that his own skill with a blade may be a little less than it once was. He's been living a cushy life for many a year now; he's just a little rusty, I think. His presence is certainly no detriment to me. Sure, I'm not used to having someone watching my back in dangerous places, but he has proved his worth more than once; spotting a spider that would have crept up on us whilst I dealt with another, or bringing my attention to an item that I might otherwise have missed.
The mess left upon my clothes by the guts of the wights and the stench left upon my skin by spider ichor certainly does not put him off. There, atop that ridge, he surprised me greatly. Given the harrowing nature of these past weeks for him, I had been certain to keep a little distance between us, to tread gently around the shattered remnants of his broken heart, but he had other ideas. In the centre of the Barrow-downs, surrounded by death on all sides, we proved that we were alive. I must admit I found great satisfaction in his arms that afternoon.
A man like this, I could love. A man like this, I could return to.
The coming days will be interesting. After all, he now has what he wants from me; a few weeks adventure away from his humdrum life and a roll in the hay - or mud, as the case may be. When we're done here, he'll return to Bree and that will be the end of our dalliance, won't it?
Rules 1 to 3 urge me to be cautious. They remind me to steel my heart against foolish notions of commitment and emotion.
Never get attached.
Never look back.
Never trust.
There's still the Southern Barrows to visit, map and raid. There's time yet for plenty more fun. I should steel myself against what comes, but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't enjoy what is currently within my grasp. Forget tomorrow. Today offers warmth, pleasure and laughter.
Today is far more important.
