Island of Sorrow RPG

[Anguirel]

Malris bowed his head as Lindir quickly explained the day's terrible culmination, praying that the grace of Valar would speedily come upon Oremir-and Endamir still more.

"Let it be so. I am with you," he agreed, and ran after Lindir, pausing only, with his practical soldier's mind, to retrieve a long knife, its handle set with opals, from the debris of the armoury. Following the other's lead, he passed through the forgery and its warm hearth-which the Elves now knew to be such a false refuge-and hurried on into the room where Endamir had fled, bewildered despair in his eyes...

Such a cold wind. Well, it was the Isle of Chill. The Hill of Ice. But the forgery had been so benevolent in its temperature before...and as the wind passed the fire, apparently sucked of its power, retreated to its embers. Himring was cold. But the company now, to their great disadvantage, knew that that coldness could signal the passing of a spirit...

And the Smith's voice was heard again. "I am coming with you, to remedy what I can, though I know not how. You despise me as a traitor, yet your loathing cannot equal the hatred I feel for myself. I seek peace now, the great surrender. You may find my tomb...it is in the Keep...I ask that you lay my bones to rest then. For now, I shall serve you as far as lies in my...ability..."