Seraile

My travels have bought me far and wide, up through the North of the Lone Lands I went and then East, to pass over the Trollshaws and into the Ettenmoors.

((Follow On of Events from "Finally: the woman, parchment and a messenger come together" > http://laurelinarchives.org/node/13281 <))

Seraile whipped round when he heard steps behind him, only to find a very weather beaten man, walking up to him, warily.

Seraile himself was ragged, worn, his clothes partly tattered; he had been away again, in search for what always evaded him, death, the release from the pain of the world; the slaughter of the North Downs had driven him to madness.

Dark clouds hung in the air like a vast cape over the world, “A storm is coming…” mumbled a man with dark leather armour at the front of a company of men, he drew his hood up and bowed his head down as a gust of cold wind hit them. A Wall of pouring water was visible rushing towards them. It his them like a thousand icy daggers hit them, nature had no mercy.

The night was clear, but the moon was at its lowest point, so only keen eyes could penetrate the darkness of the wood as Seraile passed through it, like a shadow, his foot landing hitting the ground, making as much noise as if on a bed of feathers, his body melting into the darkness around it, the stench he could smell was unbearable, the sulphurous sweet smell of rotting flesh, and there he saw it, a hulking figure, taller than a man, its muscles knotted beneath its dark skin, it’s hair hanging around it’s wide shoulder in greasy knots, a large cruel barbed b

Seraile was sat in his comfortable cushioned leather armchair, in front of the roaring fire in the fireplace so big it could hold ten men. His estate, the location of which he gave no one but his closest friends and most trusted men was warm the cold night, he was the only one in, till the captain in charge of the current watch on duty around the fence warned him of an arrival.

It has been three nights since I left the estate... I have finally got to the peak of Weathertop... I am camping up here, there is an excellent all round view of the land blow, the unforgiving Lone Lands... where the sun pins you down and scalds you all day...

The anger in his heart whoever they were was an inferno in his heart, he drew Gurth Sigil and rammed it into the map table... the blade piercing the town marked as "Bree" by spidery hand writing, the blade burrying itself half way into the wood.