[Imladris]

Marreth had been quite clever when he had realized that Jynne had been the one poisoning Jarlyn...Jarlyn himself had put up quite a fight to the poison, thinking of his beloved city, of a certain lady friend that might have waited for him...such thoughts gave him hope and gave him the will to live.

Jarlyn often said that sickness in the body is like a sinking ship in the teeth of a violent storm. No matter how hard the crew may try to bail the water from the decks, no matter how many things they hauled overboard, the ship would sink, unless it was saved by some miracle (and everybody knows that they are scarce to come by and Jarlyn was of the opinion that the world had run out of them a long while ago).

The poison that sucked and choaked the life from Jarlyn's body did its work quietly, not tearing his flesh with maliced claws, nor gnashing his flesh with burning fangs. It corroded his spirit away, like rust gnawing at metal. Marreth had tried to help Jarlyn, and he had helped him a little bit. But just a little. Jynne had done his work well.

As Jarlyn slept, a brown skinned maiden with shimmering hairy of ebony dancing in his mind, a dark phantom slipped into the room, summoned by the poison. What little blood that had lingered in Jarlyn's cheeks fled in silent fear. The warmth seeped from his skin as he received the kiss of death and went silently to the doom of men.