[The Barrow-Wight]

Orogarn Two lay shivering in the darkness, bemoaning his current company and asking himself why he had chosen not to own a horse. Certainly, such a beast was unnecessary for speedy travel, for his own legs rivaled those of any mount he had yet seen, but even a sturdy mountain pony would have been wonderfully practical at the moment for storing blankets, food, extra clothing, and other such things. His bulky backpack contained a few useful items, but a warm and fuzzy sleeping bag would have been superbly superior to the frazzled bath towel he now had wrapped around his frozen feet. Perhaps he could talk the dragon into lighting it on fire.

The icy knight attempted to forget the dropping temperature by watching the peculiar twitchings of the frosted flake, Halfullion. The elf-smitten man had lain kicking and moaning for the better part of an hour until Orogarn Two had seriously considered setting him on fire, or at least lighting a match on his boot heel. With luck, the sleeping nitwit might ignite, and two problems would be solved at once. A new idea came to his mind, and he leaned forward to carve a mysterious message into the ground beside Halfullion, but someone had already beat him to it. Drats!

His thoughts then turned to the lovely Merisuwyniel. It was she that possessed the broken Ent, and it was she that could answer the riddle if only he could find a moment to speak with her. But competing suitors made approaching the elf-maiden nearly impossible, and Orogarn Two had been forced to glean information by eavesdropping on her conversations with the other travelers. He got mostly rambling soliloquies and meandering poems, but occasionally he heard bits of what he sought, clues to the mystery of his missing wallet.

A loud and explosive sneeze from the woefully over-hyped Lord Etceteron broke his reverie. The sotted windbag was moaning in his sleep again, no doubt dreaming of a tragic loss of bottle and brush, which might put him a half-step behind in the race for the darling maiden of the Hidden Farm. His armored feet fluttered as if he were running with the devil. “I do! I do!” he slurred without waking, either saying his vows to some dreamlike bride or admitting his undying love for himself.

Weary of his companions and finding no warmth in his towel, Orogarn Two stood and walked to the edge of the camp to stare at the moon. Away from the light of the heatless fire he became aware that the crystal around his neck was glowing with a faint light. That could only mean one of two things, the batteries were getting low or there were orcs about.

[ January 23, 2003: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]