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murder

Ceou's "Empty" Journal, "The Hunt of the Green Elf"

Submitted by Ceou on January 17th, 2013
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
Tarvorond, an elf that wears a green watchers hauberk and a raven mask to match, has been watching me. Following me. I keep sensing his presence, and running into him. Today, he has revealed to me that he is the one that tipped off Alolira as to my position in the Brigands of Bree, though, he mistook me for the leader. That, I am not. Close, but not quite. He told me that that information was leaked from within, but I know that isn't true. I have never claimed to be the head of the snake.
Kinship/Band link: 
Brigands of Bree
Chronicle link: 
Ceou's Empty Journal.

Fintel's dìary - Hawthorn

Submitted by Fintel on November 6th, 2012
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

It pleases my very heart to see the chaos in Bree, posters telling of murder amongst the House of Hawthorn. The house I have served for just a day or two, and got all the cosy little details. But that was long ago, now I think Bree has forgotten me in the slightest and that I can return to see what fun there is left in this oh so dramatic town. The people believe everything I tell them after all. This can only end up in some good laughter.

Finn.

A Glimpse of Remorse

Submitted by Drevorin on October 13th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story
Kinship/Band link: 
Drefan Faran

The Murder at Vale Manor

Submitted by Maxillion on July 16th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The day had been busy for Maxillion Vale, training at the barracks for hours before reporting for duty at The Fountain Court. His armoured uniform giving him the respect he deserved as well as keeping the young boys out of trouble so that one day they might be worthy of joining Gondor's Elite.

The hanging at Kings Crossing

Submitted by Vinti on April 23rd, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The dull light barely pinched through the brown sack, the only view she had since the night before. A firm hand guided her restrained wrists up a slope, of manmade road in stone, that much she could tell.

She heard the sound of white water, rushing beside them. She was tired and confused, the long walk here had already worn her down considerably.
The heat from the sun on the sack had her head cooking, with no fresh air to breathe, just the same,damp,poor air with just enough draft of ventilation that she needed not to pass out.

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