khalis

Ruadan arrived late into the township of Bree the smell of the town greeted his nostrels before he even laid eyes upon the brown wooden gate. Once he had exchanged a few words with the gate keeper he slowly rode up to the inn located in the heart of the town the bright light of its interior flooded out to the square in front of the structure.

Sáralië imi I’ Már Edhelna

Mornië tulharë

Since returning to the vale after spending some time with the sons of Elrond one of whom he had served alongside with for many centuries his spirit still seemed restless. Even practising the age old sword patterns long ago burned into his muscle memory did not settle him. The sword patterns are a few memories that have remained with him when many others were lost that fateful day.

They spoke of it as an unusual thing, this day of remembrance for Faorie.

With a loud creak of the front door, Faorie returns to her house, weary of the long day's festivities. She holds a hand woven satchel borrowed from the House of Iavasant storing all of her gifts from the party in one hand while the other drags a disposable bag of empty wine bottles.
Leaving the bag of bottles by the front door, she carries the satchel to her study where she carefully removes all of its contents.

My Lord,

It is my duty, as your most faithful, and most bounden servant, to make known to your lordship an account touching upon our time spent in the Hithaeglir, that the truth of the account may give you both knowledge and, I hope, great satisfaction.