Chapter 7: Imtarumbar

{Greetings everyone,
This is your next move installment. I hope it finds you well and good in all things, and if not, at least on the path toward those states.

Though I must be sounding like a lecturer at this point, I want to begin again by discussing a couple points of protocol. First, I think everyone's doing a great job and let me thank all of you for helping me make my job easier. I think you've all been of great help on this point and I value having you in this game, both for your courtesy and your roleplaying skills.
My first point is a small, but important one. In both campaigns, there are times when not all party members are present to "hear" a discussion, yet I've noted on conversation mailers that these players are still included as part of the mailing list. It's not that I want to deny anyone participation or information, but it is more "realistic" for the players of these characters to not hear such dialogue. It is possible that information could be given them that would influence their actions. This is not so much true at present, but it could become a very important point in future adventures, some of which have a highly charged political atmosphere. Please keep this point in mind when "conversing" with other members of your party.

Next, what is said by players in character is up to those players. However, I do expect that an effort is made to keep player to player dialogue courteous and respectful. Regardless of the intent, if you have something to say to another player as a player, please keep your tone respectful and polite. If you cannot say what you have to say in such a manner, then just don't say it. As players, I want us all to be ladies and gentlemen.

Now, on to adventure}

"I'm inclined to explore the western side first," Taurvantar voiced. "That was the side where I saw the mysterious light."
Fred looked up. He and Ordain were examining the gold coin they had found earlier in the mouth of the dead man at the inn.
"That's also where I saw a dead version of myself!" the hobbit stated aloud. "That's two reasons to go east, as far as I can say. Or here even. It seems pretty quiet here."
"Quiet won't find us anything," Taurvantar pointed out.
"It'll find us alive," Fred retorted. "I say that's pretty good."
"Actually," Eoras pointed out, "I would like to explore the eastern hallway. Some of those weapons there look interesting. Friends, perhaps we will find something useful there to wield against this mysterious 'She'!"
Kal said, "Uuhh...it's now clear that this is the house of some evil beings...probably here's been some terrible happening...and Pric tells us of a mysterious She that will find us...guess some kind of undead entity! (ulp)....Maybe we should try to explore the side of the scarred door...it can be that the (possibly evil) magic that seems to permeate this house is weaker from that side...and we can find a stair to go down and rescue Ranciryan! I won't like to be him now"
"That's fine by me," Taurvantar nodded. "As long as we make some progress. I agree that we need to find Ranciryon. I can't make enough of that point. Also, if this mirrour is a gateway out, we can use it to escape from here. As much as like to lay the evil here to rest, who knows how powerful the forces are here. Also, the life of Lord Tarma's child has to take precedence. We must see that the poor babe makes it back to his kin unharmed."
"Darkness is falling," Kal pointed out. Everyone turned to look outside. There was indeed a perceptible lessening of the grey light filtering in through the storm. It appeared that they would still have many hours of daylight left, but what the night would bring them, each of them wondered?
"Well the east sounds good as far as I'm concerned," Fred voiced. Neither Kal, Tirion or Daern made any comment, but all of them looked ready, if not willing, to proceed.
Taurvantar opened the scarred and scratched door and the party proceeded out in the following order, Taurvantar, Eoras, Tirion, Daern, Kal, Ordain and lastly, Fred. (This will be the marching order henceforward, as I think you want it. Let me know if you want to change your character's position.)
The party had not gone far. In fact, as soon as they entered the eastern hallway, with its rows of armour and weapons, both Fred and Eoras started to examine what they found there. Taurvantar stood, examining the rune on the door intently and Ordain, seeing what he was up to, went over to join him. Tirion and Daern stood ready while Kal looked absently out the window at the raging storm outside.
The grand hallway was thirty feet wide, arched at its ceiling and painted white with geometric carvings in the wood. It was carpeted the full length of its floor with richly coloured woolen rugs of burgundy and red hues. The hallway ran some 55 mannish paces before the rightmost twenty feet turned into a broad stair that climbed upwards onto a landing that was as yet, unseen. To the left of these stairs, the hallway continued some eight more paces until it dead ended in a single simple door. Something, something hard to make out, rested at the base of this door. Though the right hand (southern) wall was devoid of doorways, nineteen tall windows, capped by arches of stained glass, ran the entire length, only shortening as they followed the ascending stairway. On the lefthand wall (northern) were three exits, the first some forty feet into the hallway was a double doorway, fifty feet beyond which was a single door, eighty feet beyond which could be seen the jamb of yet another single door. On the doors that could be seen, faint markings like the one on the doorway they had entered could just be made out. The hallway soon terminated in the far door soon after this point. Fourteen suits of armour lined the northern wall, while seventeen were spaced between the windows on the southern end. One, paradoxically could be seen propped at the base of the stairway, facing the door from which they had just walked through.

It was an awkward place to put a suit of armour, for it blocked part of the access to the stairway and users would have to walk around it.

Taurvantar looked intently at the rune, trying to fathom its meaning, but it eluded him, being but little trained it such lore. The only thing he could make out was that the hand that drew it seemed very unsteady. Ordain, following the Peredhil's eyes, spoke up, having comforted the child, now sleeping.
"I make the rune to be one of protection from evil. It is an old form, very old and not often used because it requires much power to inscribe it. But it will offer more protection than other, more common designs."

Taurvantar nodded, looking at the floor for tracks in the dust gathered there. But there were none save those that they party had made.

Taurvantar, having finished his business at the door, broke into song, his clear voice at once drawing all eyes and ears to him. His defiant music, shattering the still quiet of the house seemed at once glaring, but then, all hearing it, took heart, even those who did not understand the words.

Those with elven blood smiled. His song was a brave one, singing of the great Glorfindel, hero of Gondolin whose mighty arm slew the balrog and helped many of the people of that doomed city to escape. It was a heartening song, but sad in its conclusion for its hero, noble and brave, gave his own life so that others would live.

Fred toured the pieces of armour. They seemed to come from many cultures, some very exotic and were seemingly made of everything from wood, metal, to even stone, feather or what looked like heavy paper. The helmets seemed in design to be simple, or garish and colourful. Fred speculated that these pieces were never meant to be used again and were kept here more for display than anything. Most were of mannish size, though varied as if for several individuals. A few were of a height more suitable for Dunedain or Elves. Two of them were even of obvious dwarven make, well crafted and well used, judging the dents and gashes that lay upon them here or there. What their significance was, Fred could only guess at. Working alongside him, Eoras showed an similar interest in the weapons, both those paired with the armour, and those displayed on the northern wall.

Eoras continued to busy himself rummaging through the swords and weapons, both those paired the armour and those displayed on the northern wall. The one thing that came to mind was the enormous diversity of the weapons, many of which he had never seen. Awkward, ancient looking blades, or swords, maces and clubs so large that they must have taken a giant to wield them effectively lay upon the walls. The collection must have come from all over Endor, Eoras speculated. The Rohirrim found one weapon especially interesting. It was a broadsword fashioned of silvery metal with dark runes running along the length of its blade on both sides. The hilt seemed to be cruder, fashioned of wood, which could be seen through the leather string binding on the grip. Eoras took the blade down. It felt very heavy in his hand. Something in the runes seemed familiar. Some of them were like those used by his own people, others were totally unfamiliar. He guessed that the blade came from the ancient Eothraim, progenitors of his own people, but he could not be sure.

"I wonder where this blade came from." he asked aloud, to no one in particular.
"They are trophies from the wars of my father. Each is a life taken by his might."
It was Fred, who had been peering inside and out at the various pieces of armour, who had answered him.

"What did you say," Eoras accosted Fred.
Fred looked up at the Rohirrim, perplexed. "What are you talking about? I didn't say anything."
"Yes you did," Eoras insisted. "You said something about your father."
"My father?" Fred asked. "Are you alright, Eoras? My father's long dead and even so, I don't expect to find his poor shade here. With those boors in Buckland, maybe. Are you sure you're not hearing things?"
Eoras shook his head. "Perhaps, Master Hobytla, perhaps." Eoras turned back to finish examining the sword while Fred peered at him queerly.

Eoras, now focused on the ancient broadsword trying to fathom the meaning of its runes. One of the ones he could make out was the rune for strength, the other for blood, but the others still were a mystery. As his eyes ran along the blade, which had been polished to a mirrour sheen, two grey eyes stared out at him from the reflective depths. At first, he thought they were his own, but then he realized with a start that they were grey where his were a deep blue. And they were significantly larger, more feminine than his own.
"Wield this blade for me, Northman, and I will give you the keys of immortality. Show me you love me. Take a life. The little one, there at your side, he is of no use. Give him to me. I will reward you well. You shall have riches and power of life and death over thousands." Eoras looked over at Fred, then back at those eyes. The voice he heard was a woman's voice, but he could see nothing of her, save for the eyes mirroured there in the blade. They were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. He felt something, somewhere between the warmth of those thoughts when he thought of his mother, then something with the taste of desire in it. Those eyes told him they could be everything, every woman to him. He would need no one else. Somehow, he knew the promises were true. Looking over at Fred, he imagined how the slice of the sword would cut through the hobbit's neck in one stroke. Then he would charge the elves before their bows could be used. The sword would help him win. He was Cerdik of the Eothraim, Dragonslayer. He was powerful. He was invincible. He would
Suddenly, Eoras remembered who he was. Growing cold, he dropped the sword and moved back from it.

Fred, seeing Eoras drop the sword he was looking at, remarked, "What's the matter? Was it too heavy?"
Tirion also noticed Eoras drop the sword. Curious he came over to look. The blond Rohirrim seemed distant, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. And he was tense, beads of sweat glistening on his upper lip.

Fred, peering down the hallway pointed something out. "Look! I, uh. Uh, I think there's a man's body down there." He said this loudly and everyone's attention was directed at where he was pointing.
Taurvantar came up and with Daern and then the others following. As they approached the stairs at the end of the hallway and passed the black rusted armour at the base of the stairway, they could see there was indeed what looked like a shrunken parody of a man lying there behind the armour. He was obviously dead, his skin brown and dried, stretched so tightly over his frame that bones peeked out in his cheeks, fingers and even the part of his chest that showed through the dusty rags he wore. His black lips had so shrunken that they were peeled back, showing the toothsome grimace of a dead skull while the eyes were dried and colourless.
Looking about, all could see several clear empty vials lying around the corpse. Tirion was the first to act. Bending down, the tall elf looked about the dead man while the others watched. As the tall elf reached for the dead man's robes, they turned to dust at his merest touch.
"There's something in his hand," Daern pointed out.
Tirion had already seen it, and carefully reaching behind the corpse, he pulled the dead hand forward. There was a dry, cracking sound as dead flesh crumbled and fell to the floor as flakes. Inside the hand was another vial, its contents clinging to the side as clear crystals. Tirion handed this up to Ordain for further examination.
Seeing something else, Tirion reached behind and pulled out what looked like a purse or satchel, whose leather was so dried that it too began to crumble at any touch. What Tirion managed to salvage from the wreckage was a metal lyre of some strange silvery alloy, two more vials, one containing blue crystals and the other sparkly turquoise crystals, and then what looked like a book wrapped in a waxy paper or cloth, and a leather sack wrapped in the same paper. Tirion took the book for himself, handing the lyre to Kal, the vials to Taurvantar and the sack to Daern.
Daern opened his first. The sack's leather was supple and it contained twelve pieces of copper and one silver piece, all coins of Cardolan minted by a King called Ostoher. It also contained one large gold coin, which as examined, could be seen to be identical to the one found at the inn, save that it was pristine and unmarred by any bite mark.

Fred peered at the suit of armour at the base of the stairs. It was black, touched by marks of rust. Though dust caked it, Fred could see that on it were small badly drawn runes, as if a child had been trying to copy the complex designs. The style of the suit was full plate, though it was doubtful anyone could have worn it for it looked heavy. The armoured gauntlets of the suit grasped a heavy black iron sword whose point rested in the carpet. Fred wasn't tall enough to look inside the helm. All he could see was darkness. Looking over, Fred could also see a series of scribbled runes drawn on the lowest stair, both on top and on its face.

Kal could make nothing of the lyre save that it was in need of new strings, as the ones on it snapped when plucked. Taurvantar examined the vials. The were identical to the empty ones on the floor and the one found in the dead man's hand, save that they were stoppered with a cork and parafin and had coloured crystals in them.
This left it to Tirion with the book.
"Open the book," Fred urged him. Tirion, carefully, complied, slowly unwrapping the paper. The book when revealed appeared to have a leather binding stretched over wooden plates, front and back. No title or writing was evident on the surface and the book was no more than eight inches tall and perhaps five wide. Tirion opened the book and began to read what was inside. As he flipped through the pages, he read aloud any pertinent passages he found therein. It's written in Westron, he announced.
"This is the journal of Englorion the Fairfound, Bard and Runemaster." Tirion scanned several pages. "He just talks about his wife and children. His wife's name was Tinian. He had three kids, Adran, Lilian, and Jannis. He wrote the journal so his kids and their kids would know what deeds were his. Looks like he was from Tharbad. It starts with him coming home after some battle."
Tirion continued to read, and his voice, when it spoke, spoke the words of the dead man, who lay no longer anonymous, at their feet.

"The 10th day of Gwirith: The posting at the Gondorian embassy has come to fruition, though it looks like we'll actually be going to Arthedain. Don't fancy that much. If bandits by day and renegade orcs by night ain't enough, who needs to run the risk of being drafted again into another Hir's army. I've had enough of battle for one lifetime. After I collect the pay for this journey, I'm staying home and playing in good taverns for a change."

"The 12th day of Gwirith: I stopped by Dirhavel's for my usual stock of healing potions plus a few specials. When I told him where we were going, he promised to pay me for any tomes I might find in Annuminas. I told them we weren't going that far, but who knows. From what I am told, it's just a few miles more and two days would be well spent as Dirhavel can afford both silver and gold.
Of my companions, Earnwood is the leader of our group. He's old to be sure, but anyone who served Arveleg for as many years as he did is sure to be wise. And certainly Haim and Thurdig will suffice for raw power. The scar's on Thurdig's great arms are frightening enough as is. He scares me. He looks like someone who actually enjoys killing and who is not only good at it, but hasn't had his fill of it like I have. The dwarf in our group, Dworin does not seem pleased at our company and he speaks little, but I am still glad to have him along. At least one always knows where one is with dwarves."

"The 26th day of Lothron: It appears we won't be going alone. The Eketta's have provided two more. The tracker, Arventhal, a ranger who it turns out is a relative of Earnwoods, is most welcome. But I must say, whoever thought that adding maiden Moonfaire to our retinue must be insane. The Eketta's seem convinced of her ability and it's only through their insistence that she comes along. Certainly she's not hard to look at, but we are all in agreement that she will slow us down and we'll waste time having to cater to her womanly needs. Would that Lord Eketta sees it our way. As he's paying us, his word is final."

"The 15th day of Nórui: My words come back to haunt me. Moonfaire daily outpaces us all, hardened warriors and men that we are. Even Dworin gives her grudging praise, as it is she who waits for us to catch up. This maiden is worthy of a song, and if she ever lets me stop long enough to breathe, I might compose one for her.
The insects of this region are huge, with appetites to match. I lie not, for some of them are at least seven pound, though most are only a thumb's length. With the exception of Moonfaire, who they seem to ignore, we have all lost at least half our ration of blood it seems to their hunger. I forgot to mention that Haim was even stung by one of the big ones, whom the locals call Dumbeldors, which is why we rested for two days. That was how long it took him to recover from the sickness of the beast's sting. I hope that Imtarumbar is not too difficult to find."

"The 23rd of Cerveth: This forest is witching. Something about it grates on me. Perhaps its the way branches scratch at your face and eyes, while roots always seem to catch our feet. Thurdig claims he has heard voices spoken in whispers and Haim insists that we are being shadowed by a young maiden, clad in blue raiment. None of us have seen her and I fear that it is still the Dumbeldor poison in Haim's veins that plays with the man's mind. Yet, the hot stillness of this place prods one, and fatigues the mind and better senses. Arventhal and Thurdig almost came to blows today. No one is happy with the ranger's inability to find us a way to the lost town and only Earnwood sticks by him. Still, I say again that there is something witching about this place. I don't think it is Arventhal's fault either. I would give up any promise of gold to be back with Tinian and the bairns now. May Eru guide and watch over us."

"The 29th of Cerveth: Damn this heat. Not only are we hopelessly lost, but our water has run out."

"The 1st of Urui: I have seen her, the blue one. While I had watch, and the others slept, she came to me and beckoned me to follow her. She was young and dressed in fine blue raiment, like she was the daughter of some lord, though how she managed to not tear her dress on the tangles of this wood, I do not know. It was foolish, but I followed her and she led me only a short way to where a spring bubbled. When I looked to thank her, she was gone. I have not told the others of her, saying only that in seeking to pass water, I found it instead. I don't think Moonfaire believed me, but she said nothing. Perhaps she has some elven sense."

"The 5th of Urui: I have seen her once more. This time again, she came to me while the others slept. Still she does not speak and there is a hunger in her eyes that frightens me. I think she is mute. She points south, always south, though she will not say why. I was startled by an owl and when I looked back at her, she was gone again."

"The 7th of Urui: I pause now to write this as we have found Imtarumbar, or at least the ruins of it. We are resting and will explore as much as we can before nightfall. The manor house cannot be too far, though we probably won't find much in it either. How much can there be after 3000 years, even having been built with the craft of Numenor?
I am troubled by the blue maiden. She obviously has been seeking to deceive me. What should I make of it? She found us water, keeping us alive, but then tries to keep us lost, steering us away from our goal. The others will think I am heat addled, but I think she is a lost spirit. But is she a good one or evil?"

"The 10th of Urui: It has been long since my last entry. How do I begin? Haim is dead, pray Eru that he is dead. He must be dead, thoughWe were attacked, that night we slept in Imtarumbar. In the center of the town, there was a clear area. It had a large flat stone with a depression in the middle. Some of the houses there had been built of stone, and of one of the ones still standing, we found some refuge. It was on Dworin's watch that the things attacked us. They were without count and we would have been overwhelmed had not Haim covered our retreat, with Thurdig, Arventhal and Earnwood cutting a way through the fiends. The last I saw of Haim, he had been placed on that great stone. His innards had been ripped out and the ghouls were feasting. I saw in his face that he was still alive. May Eru forgive us for leaving him, but we had no choice. The things kept coming. They were naked or dressed in rags, but through the distorted mockery of their faces, I could see that they were once men, women and children. Now something of the mystery of Imtarumbar has been solved. Though what curse could do this I do not know. Pray what evil power could rip the dead from their graves and make them restless with an unnatural hunger? Nothing of my lore knowledge speaks of this. I would say this evil was of Angmar, but Imtarumbar was lost centuries before that cursed land was born. What of this? What of this? I must sleep. Somehow, I must."

"The 11th of Urui: Moonfaire has returned. She says that the evil of place will not break from the bonds of my runes. May they last forever. I am deathly tired for the inscribing has taken much from me. For my sake, the party has agreed to rest here. I will drink one of my potions for I need the strength. I dreamt last night of the blue one. Again she pointed south and her face seemed even sadder, though that doesn't seem possible."

"The 12th of Urui: Against my advice and that of Moonfaire, we will continue on. Though I have misgivings about this, we must stick together, of that I am certain."

"The 13th of Urui: We have found the manor house and it is no ruin, though the wall seems to be showing some little signs of wear. Through a gap we entered and made a cursory examination of the grounds. The unbroken windows seem to watch us. I do not want to go in but our mission lies there. Is this truly worth a tome or two? I do not think Haim would think so."

"The 15th of Urui: We were attacked yesterday by a band of orcs, which is why I made no entry. Thurdig and the others seemed to enjoy the fight. By Eru, they were tremendous. I even felt sorry for those goblins, but only for a moment. I will write a song for our warriours. Others must hear of their valor. Though wounded, we lost not one and left three score orcs dead on the withered grass. Those that tried to flee were frozen by one of Moonfaire's enchantments and quickly dispatched. I feel as though nothing can stop us."

"The 16th of Urui: We entered the house today, through the courtyard. It is a huge affair, worthy of the men of Numenor. I found some pride thinking that something of their blood runs in my veins. The rooms are of titanic proportions and everywhere the attention to detail is amazing. Nothing goes without embellishment. Everything is strangely preserved, except for the dust."

"The 18th of Urui: We found the library, but not one of the tomes were on our list. There must be some secret workplace or hidden chamber where the tomes are hid"

"The 21st of Urui: Arventhal is dead. He was exploring the tower when we heard him scream. When we came upon him, we found his body stripped of flesh, though it could have only been an instant that he was out of sight. I am more convinced that we should leave, but Earnwood wants vengeance for his kinsman and will not leave. Thurdig and Dworin back him in this, so we must stay."

"The 23rd of Urui: Moonfaire has told me a strange tale. She says that the reason she has come here is to find a lost spring which feeds a lake. This place is a primal focus of great power and lies underground. It was the reason, she told me, that the imTar's built their house upon this mound. I do not know what to make of her tale. I have heard much lore in my life, but nothing of this. But as she is elven, who knows what lost lore they keep to themselves. Moonfaire will not tell me how old she is, but something in her eyes tells me she is very old."

"The 26th of Urui: Having explored much of the house, I can say we have been witness to strange and terrible sights. Moonfaire thinks the focus of this house is in the portrait of Almarion. Poor Almarion. In her face, I see the face of my sad Blue Girl, though I must say, the portrait gives her expression a cynical look. This house is alive and filled with the unholy dread of those who lived here. I will not say what I have seen save that the imTar's deserved whatever fate claimed them. May they rot in hell. I will also say that Earnwood is not the only one now with grey hairs. I fear Tinian and the babes will not recognize me.
At my suggestion, we have tried to find Moonfaire's spring. Perhaps it will give us a clue to our own goal, so that we can leave here. She suggests that it will be a place of refuge for us from the evil of this place. Still, we have found no access underground save for the wine cellar. Some wine was still there, but spoiled and foul. Thurdig insisted on drinking some. He seemed to like it."

"The 2nd of Ivanneth: Summer is waning and still we fester here. Tomorrow, we will explore more thoroughly the chapel. I feel there is something there that will reveal the secret of this place."

"The 3rd of Ivanneth: Moonfaire has told me that she knows who is behind this evil and why, but she will not speak of it. She says that there is a ritual she must perform. I offered to help her, but she says that she must perform it alone for it will be dangerous. She will do it in the day, however, as that is when the evil of this place it at its weakest. Truly, we have never been attacked during the day, nor have we witnessed any manifestation except a feeling of being watched and that is with us constantly."

"The 5th of Ivanneth: Moonfaire is dead. Her heart was carved out of her. If I live to be one hundred, which I now truly doubt, I can never forget her screams. I know now that those who die in this place do not rest. I led us back to that unholy chapel. We found her on the alter, spread out like a sacrifice. Something had been at her, for half her face was eaten away as well. And we could not find her heart, though the knife that did it lay still stuck in her chest. I plucked it out but it burned me and I threw it away from the pain. Poor Moonfaire. What became of her heart? I do not know why that fills me with a sense of doom, but it does. The sun burned high when we came outside, but I found myself shivering. I feel we have awakened something that did not walk before and I fear the night as I never have."

"The 7th of Ivanneth: Earnwood and Dworin are dead. Arventhal, or what is left of him led the dead of this place against us but it was the Ironman we could not overcome. Even now, Earnwood's dead eyes stare at me through the glass of the window but he makes no movement to enter the house. Poor Thurdig is badly wounded and even if I flee, he would be left behind. Earnwood's corpse, even as I write this, is shuffling off back to the chapel. It's as if this place wishes to savor our terror

She sent the Ironman against us just now. That's why our dead companions left. It was a feint. Thank Eru for Thurdig's strength. While he fought the thing off, I used runes to bring it under our power. I don't know how long they'll last, but they should be potent. I had to use my own blood to draw them. It was the only thing I had."

"The 8th of Ivanneth: Reminded of something Moonfaire said, I have broached a plan to Thurdig. He is agreed and we will carry it out at once. May Eru guide us. I found another painting of the Blue girl. In fact, it looked just like her, dress and sad face included. In this one, she was called Ellenya. I'm glad she's not the one. And I'm sorry I didn't listen to her before. I found a book in the schoolroom. It told of what happened to her. Poor poor thing. May Eru bring her rest."

(written with a weak hand) "The 9th of Ivanneth: We went back to the chapel. She was waiting for us, but her minions were no match for Thurdig and the Ironman. I wish I could have lived to write him a song. He deserved it. I wrestled with her, not literally of course, but my runes brought power, even into that place. Once my runes held her, for she was weak, just having arisen, I sang a song of power, that bolstered Thurdig while I sought out that which we had come for. Finding the knife, I called off the Ironman but Thurdig refused to leave. He called to me to complete the task and crying, I sang a songshield and ran back to the house. She must have sensed what I was about for something dark and winged obscured the moon, just when stone talons from above pierced my shoulder, ending my song, Thurdig was there again, swinging his sword. He broke it there upon the stone flesh of that thing, but it fled, broken and wounded. Thurdig still refused to retreat. I think he knew he would slow me down so I left the Ironman with him and entered the house through the front, where the portraits were. I propped up a chair so I would be high enough. I used the knife that She had used on Moonfaire and probably countless others. It was a cruel thing, fashioned like a thorny rose. Those thorns bit into my fingers as I tried to use the knife. My own blood ran down my arms, weakening me further and it felt like the knife drank up the blood. I, however, made the great mistake of looking into her eyes, painted as they were. The malice there froze me stiff and though I could hear Thurdig screaming outside, I could not move.
Then, as I stood there frozen, a cold icy grip took hold of my hand. Looking around, I saw her again. My Blue Girl had come to me in my need and it was her hand that grasped mine. With all her strength, she pushed against the force that held me. It was her will not mine, that pushed the knife forward. As it stabbed the painting where the heart should have been, blood, black and thick, poured out of the portrait as if it were living. Though the painted expression did not change, there was a horrible horrible scream, like the dying cries of a thousand souls. The scream came from the painting I was flung down from the chair as a powerful wind entered the room. Looking up, I could see Ellenya sadly smiling at me. Then the wind tore her to shreds as if she were made of flesh. I was alone."

(hard to read - very shaky hand) The 11th of Ivanneth: weak, no food. Found door to spring belowbarredfeel its powerdon't know what's inside. would that soonerpoor Thurdigonly head leftbabbles obscene curses so I threw itPower of this place containedevil still herecome for me tonightset Ironmanguardpotions only foodalmost gonedrew runes on doorsnot much power leftdarling Tinianmy spiritescape this placelove you alwaysyou find a good lifeso sorry."

Tirion finished reading the last of the text. Everyone looked down at Englorion's dead body and bowed their heads in silence.
Taurvantar was the first to speak. "I think we will be safe here. Englorion here has made it so." Looking around at everyone, he asked, "What would you like to do now?"
Daern, tiring of carrying the child asked aloud, "If it's at all possible, I'd prefer if someone else could carry this child for a while. If there comes a need for me to fire my bow, the child will be a tremendous hindrance. Any volunteers?"

Ranciryon rested, unsure of what direction to take.

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