Skald 1 ... Wyrd Runes of the Dolmen ... Scroll 1

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"We all know how dangerous it is to talk like this", said the half-elf, as his eyes shimmered green in the half-light of the small copse of woods. Lit only by the crescent moon, two small hobbits looked around nervously, lest they be seen or heard; as the four figures sat beneath the ancient Dolmen. But the magic of the Dolmen should protect them; or so they had been told by their aunt. Sparrow-cloud put her arms around the hobbitlings, and hummed softly to ease their fears.

Fallah's eyes broiled like the wild sea, as he recognized the tune his old friend hummed. It brought back terribly evocative memories of the wars fought between the half-elves and the hobbits. How such beautiful people, the hope of the world, had battled each other, had almost destroyed him. As the meloncholy musings of Sparrow-cloud deepened into his soul, he silently heard the words of her song in his mind's-ear:

Even the dead, need not regret,
for a rose that is sliced from its roots,
will still emit the aromas of life
to inspire those battling in cahoots
with the bloody glory of living strife.

They had gathered thus besides the Dolmen some few nights in a row now. It seemed such a terrible risk, as the ogres had forbidden anyone to leave the village at night. But Fallah and Sparrow-cloud knew, that this was the only way to teach the hobbitlings the power of the Wyrd Runes. These arcane engravings, had been begun to be sleightly lit by the moonlight as they formed their message on the edge of the Dolmen.

Fallah watched the Dolmen. It was an ancient rock, shaped somewhat like a mushroom, almost natural-looking, but not quite. One could sit under it as a shelter, or even clamber on top of it, and use it as a vantage point. But its real power lay in the Wyrd Runes engraved around its edge. And those could only be seen by moonlight ... Next Scroll