Hawke

    You can never truly return home after leaving. No matter how long your time spent there, or the moments you experienced, or the memories you made...time, heartless bastard that it is, alters all: your shape no longer fits the imprint you left behind. 

“What…what by the horde of Ancalagon goes on here!!!” shouted Gareth Steelheart, Captain of the Hounds of Anarion as he stood surveying the wreckage of the upstairs chamber of the Thirsty Seer.

Over Gareth’s shoulder, the barkeep Emery surveyed the room with dismay. “You maniacs...do you know how much this flooring COST ME!!!????'

The screams formed into a guttural voice as a fell spirit rose up out of the tokens and the shards of the blade. "FINALLLLLLYYY!!! It took you WORMS long enough!!!!

Xanderian woke slowly, from dreams of darkness and anxiety. Strange flowing blends of dread and an almost erotic anticipation that left her unsettled in a myriad of ways. As her eyes opened, she heard voices nearby at the map table, and rose up on her elbows in the silken sheets for a better view.

Some days are just a gordamned nightmare, and just when ya think you woke up and everything is ok, somebody peels their own face off and you are right back in the crazy.

I don’t normally do this kind of diary thing, this is more my sister’s conceit…but I got time to kill and a lot of this crazy to get through.

Dawn traced a thin line of gold across the horizon as Xanderian sat crosslegged in the grass on Tol Lochul, at the feet of a marble statue of Celebrimbor. The massive marble fortress of The House of Three Graces was at her back as she slowly, carefully polished and sharpened her sword, Lovelorn.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

(The events of this story take place several months before the events of A Dream of Moonlight, or A Dirge in Red - The humble chronicler of the Stranded Sisters)

It had been many years since Xanderian had last ridden these secret paths along the shoreline near Dol Amroth, but with a hint of memory and her keen eye the blazons were not impossible to find as she made her way down to the secret opening where the Caves of the Avorrim could be found. She made no attempt to hide from the elven sentries and marked them silently as she passed their invisible posts.

The exact spot along the road beside the Bay was not hard to find.

The cobblestones of the roadway were still scorched where the carriage had burned, the repairs of the low brick wall were quite easy to spot. The aura and scent of blood still lingered, the shadows of pain and death still hung about the spot like fading bunting after the parade had long past.