Seregrian continued to eat, saying "But come, Eira, begin your tale while we dine."
In the Huntsman and the Stag, hosting Seregrian the elf alongside Nimraph, the injured Eira lowered her bread and opened her mouth to speak. Seregrian buttered the bread and dipped it into the stew, by way of tasting - the stew was flavorful and hot. Yet, she looked around the table for spices.
Meanwhile, Eira spoke, "It was the night after we talked, and I was immediately heading back. But clouds covered the sky, and a deep fog was rolling in. I fell off course of the Greenway, and found myself surrounded by tall grasses and hills." Eira slid some salt Seregrian's way as she spoke.
Seregrian appeared shocked, "Yes, the weather did turn that night. Tall grass, hills - the Downs!?"
Eira spoke, "Yes, the Barrow Downs."
Seregrian accepted the salt and absently added it to the stew, listening intently.
Eira continued, "I had wandered around for, well, I was unable to tell how long It was all the same until I climbed a steep hill and fell into a marshy pool. There, I felt a familiar chill to the ones I felt all the time in Mordor. I saw the shadowy figure walking towards me, icy eyes peering for what had crashed into its domain. I hid behind the reeds from a barrow wight."
Seregrian said, "Reeds would be no concealment from such a creature…"
The former servant of Mordor agreed, "Oh, I know. Both from my upbringing and from the reminder that night. It called to me, and I ran."
Seregrian interrupted her, "Called? Can you recall what was said?"
"It simply said I could not hide, calling me a mortal."
Seregrian spoke, "And that would be enough. You escaped, though. Where did your injuries come from?"
"Patience, Madam Seregrian, this account will come to that soon enough. I ran through the marshes, and was almost caught by a second wight. I jammed my sword into it and managed to escape both. It was a long time before I stopped to rest my lungs and legs. Then I wandered some more until I came across from Cardolan ruins."
Seregrian smiled - she must have shown some reaction to the mention of the ruins. Nimraph had been silent thus far. She poured himself a glass of wine as he listened. Seregrian found the salted stew more to her liking and ate as she listened.
"Inside the ruins, it was cold and empty. This must have been one of those very last refuges the fractured remnants of Arnor set up against the Witch King. Inside I wandered, taking a break from the marshy hills. I eventually found a sword tucked away in some vase, and replaced my old sword with it. I climbed to a high tower and saw that the Downs, Old Forest, and fields of Bree all converged at a single point. I came down and ran in that direction."
Seregrian backed up, "Wait... you found something?"
Eira paused, wondering why that was important. Yet, she answered, "... Yes, a sword. I have it right here, actually. I have it on me so Briar doesn't cut himself on it."
"An artifact?"
Eira pulled the sword from her waist and lifted it, placing it on a cleared spot on the table. Seregrian rose from her seat, leaning over the table, peering with great interest at the weapon. It is a smaller sword with a leaf shaped blade, unrusted by time, with an icy glint. Seregrian leaned closer to examine the piece. "Might I?"
Tacita Eira nodded to Seregrian.
Seregrian reaches out, grasps the weapon by the pommel, and lifts it by its end, twirling the blade to catch the light. She moved her arm to lift the whole blade, her sleeve touching the metal - at no time does her bare fingers touch the steel. "Ost Gorthad... yrnyl i Cardolan... megil a hin!?" Seregrian looked up at Eira, and Nimraph.
Seregrian exclaimed, "This was a child's blade!"
Tacita Eira's pale skin developed goosebumps as she leaned in a bit, eager to hear about the sword she had found. Nimraph furrowed a brow.
Seregrian continued, "This sword was a presentation gift - given to a young Dunadan who had just come of age. His first real sword as a man This sword was forged slowly, wrought with the skill of the Dunedain of old - who in turn learned the craft from my kin I can read the runes crafted into the blade - see, they wind across the fort of the blade, down to the point."
Tacita Eira stood, leaning as far as the table and her arm would allow to read the runes she had noted before, but never paid attention to. She had been too busy escaping the Barrow Downs then being injured. Nimraph instinctively made a face at the mention of Dunedain.
"I can read - and this is how it renders in your tongue - 'I am the torch in the hand of Finrohir - light is the shadow's bane,'" Seregrian looked up at Eira, "'I am Camcalar.' That is the sword's name."
Eira's eyes glowed with wonder at these revelations.
Seregrian said, "It was a custom among the Dunedain to present a young man with his first true srowd, upon his coming of age at his twentieth year This lad, Finrohir, was given this sword, by either his father or one who stood in his place'
Seregrian says, 'But Finrohir and all his kin passed into legend half an age ago And here, his sword has been preserved, in the last fortress of his people - and now it has passed to you."
Seregrian lowered the sword back onto the table. Eira stepped closer to the blade. She reaches for the hilt, wondering how she was worthy of ever picking up such a weapon. Her hand hovered over the hilt with wonder, sorrow, and a tinge of guilt.
"Eira," Sergrian asked, "Do you recall our words before? You were looking without knowing of your past - and now, your past has reached out to you. This sword is the work of the Dunedain, the labor of Westernesse... not the Moredain. You bore out of Tyrn Gorthad a relic of Numenor."
Eira looked up to Seregrian, her expression carrying the same confliction as her actions, hand still hovering over the hilt without touching.
Seregrian continued, "Not an actual piece of Numenorean art, true; but created and forged with the lore and wisdom that passed through the Downfall to a new day. All the way down the years, to you. Your ancient kin forged this. Who else has claim?"
Nimraph looked quite curious at the mention of Numenor. He quietly sipped his wine.
Seregrian spoke, "I deem that Finrohir, if he knew, would think his sword well bestowed."
Eira finally spoke, "Was it my people who helped aid in the destruction of Finrohir's people? I was borne from the Moredain, not the Dunedain. It is because of us that Arnor fell... Are you positive?"
Seregrian confirmed, "It was not the Moredain who toppled Arnor. It was Angmar, and its Witch-King, who destroyed the North-Kingdom."
Nimraph awkwardly looked away at the mention of Angmar.
"Yet, my ancestors were in its ranks." Eira looked down to the sword, the guilt, wonder, and sadness still the same. She reached for the sword again, brushing her fingers along its hilt. "If a Moredain respects this Dunedain sword enough, is there redemption to be found?"
Seregrian noted Nimraph's reaction, but focused on Eira, "You have already taken those first steps towards redemption, young one. You have repudiated the deeds and the malice of the Moredain. This blade has come to you, on your latest steps along that path. It is as I said: Fate walks with you."
Eira looked down to the weapon, a tear in her eye. She closed her eyes to force it back, then finally tightened her grip on the weapon's hilt. She lifts the sword from the table, holding it up with a new weight and honor. Seregrian looks on the scene, nodding in certainty, while Nimraph glanced up at Eira with a faint smile.
Seregrian declared, "Camcalar is yours, now. Whatever deeds or renown this blade earned, are now lost to the mists of time. In your hands, Camcalar shall write new chapters, forge new deeds, and win renown under your name."
Tacita Eira lowered the blade, still holding it with the dignity it needed. She looks to Seregrian and nodded dutifully, "I will write Camcalar a chapter of honor."
"I am utterly certain you shall." Seregrian raised her wine cup, "I drink to your future, young Eira!"
After toasting and drinking, Seregrian asked, "So now, the Black Stone holds the Lantern. What shall be your path next?"
