death

Egbert Yarrow stood watching as men filled in the grave. He had to look strong. He had to pull through this. It would be what she would have wanted - him to be as strong as she was. The tears which streaked down his face told a different story. How could he be strong when the only thing that made him strong had been taken away? Each shovelful of dirt that landed on the grave was another reminder that she was now gone from him. He felt cold - dead on the inside like the still body in the coffin below him.

(Going to revamp this story.)

Cyndere Bronwyn; a young woman of Dale, who grew up in Bree. Her story begins ten years ago, just after her ninth birthday... 

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.

"Hear my laughter, not my feet.

As they run before me

hear them bleat.

Don-a-don-derry! Ho!"

"For my laughter cares not,

for their running cries sound

as their blood does clot.

Don-a-don-derry! Ho!"

"Hear the draw string thwak!

Day turns black!

With feathered arrows in their back!

Don-a-don-derry! Ho!"

"I bear no ill thought,

With nobody around to comfort my grief and soothe the pain I feel in my heart and my body, I carry a faint hope this diary will help shoulder my discomforts. When time offers itself to me, I will write my story here, so that it too shall know the truth about me, and my experiences.

Caspier Redain opened her eyes and almost instantly wished that she hadn't. Being awake meant being away from the dreams of Fellicity when they were young and innocent or the warm, careless dark of deep, dreamless sleep. Death. That would be a dark, dreamless sleep away from the cares of the world. She craved death and avoided it. She was determined not to succomb  to it. Not yet. Redain dragged herself to her feet somehow. Every movement was an effort of both body and willpower. It hurt! Everything she did caused so much pain. How weak had she become?

It was a bright day in Imladris Eradris was inside the last homely house, saying farewell to her fellow elves.

Her day had finally come to pick up where her father left off and take leadership of a great band of couragious warriors from the kinship, The Forgotten Warriors.

Since this time Eradris has had been on many travels both alone and with her trusted allys.

She is now the leader of the Wardens of Lorien, a great warband of elves and a few trusted few as allys to work together in patrolling the borders of Lothlorien to keep to keep her kind safe from harm.