amathlan

We pulled up to the Forsaken Inn in record timing. I went inside first to make sure that Altheric and the others had left; I met them halfway out the door.

When they arrived, they'd found the Company vanguard standing amdist piles of dead goblins. Well, most were standing. Altheric had apparently been wounded, along with one or two others. But there were no deaths, which she figured was a lucky thing with so many goblins. A few conversed over the events of the fight, giving Furley details of what went on.

“Hail, stranger!” I called to the man who approached Ithilwe and I.

Minas Eriol was a distraction. Yes, the Company was to retrieve the half of our caravan that had been stolen; but to me, it was a distraction. To draw my blade in aimless slaughter, to strike down any goblin stood in my path, that is what I needed. 

Loosely inspired by this song.

The story of a troll-hunting party gone awry during Amathlan's time in Evendim, as told to Ithilwe, Galtharian, and Dalbran in Iml

I awake to the gentle chirping of birdsong, somehow loud enough to overcome the roaring of the waterfall which served as a soundtrack to my sleep. My eyes open to a briefly unfamiliar location, though as they adjust I am able to recognize it as the East Porch of the Last Homely House. The sun is making its path along the morning sky. 

We have just recently finished our errantry in Waymeet, a tiny town in the Shire. The market was definitely a success, with customers from all walks of life and all races coming to look at our wares. We made many a coin, though I myself, did not participate in the selling of the wares.

Foolhardy. 

Drunk. 

Insane. 

“You are far too beautiful to love me.”