Iaurmenel

The grass swayed with the breeze that passed over the once bustling village. Who's roads once saw a great many travelers and adventurers alike. Valiant knights of an ancient order, sepretarians and keepers of knowledge from generations long ago. A behind a small copse of trees, a sacred place had been laid out for those who had fallen in its service, so that their memory may never be forgotten. Twenty headstones rested before the Cynraede, the cloth tied over his eyes and his staff laid across his lap. 

He could hear and feel the wheezing as he fought to breath, each one causing him to cry out in pain but nothing ever left his lips. He could hear the clattering and fighting around him, the world had grown so much darker, he could barely even see his hand as it reached to clutch his fallen blade. Only to realize, it was but a rock. Knowing now that he had led this company of people who  gave him an inkling of trust, and he had not the strength to wield his own blade in their defense. 

     Gaildrin enters the room, surrounded by flickering shadows cast by the light of the fireplace, and bows deeply before the lady of the Order. "You summoned me, my lady?", he asks, unsure of what purpose Lady Alkawen had for arranging the meeting.