[Thinlómien]

As the shadows settled on the pit, all the Elves resumed their nightly habits: most of them went to sleep, but four stayed awake. The three werewolves crept to hold their dark council, the Ranger took his net of hair and made his way where one of the Elves was sleeping.

He had chosen a different Elf tonight, one he feared was in danger. He sat by her head and spread the enchanted cloth over her. He leant against the wall, smiling again. It felt so good to do good, to keep up hope in this abode of despair. He fingered his hair, cropped short. He remembered his mother and how she had taught him to use his own body as a vessel of his power. She too had once made an enchanted cloth of her hair although of course there had been nothing to fear in the West.

Then he had started his long path on the lore of power and music, all the ancient arts. People had started to think him a bit weird, but he had never minded. He had strength in him and he could make his beautiful and potent music. It was enough for him, it had always been.

He had almost lost track of time musing his past when he heard the soft paws. He was not surprised or afraid this time, he knew what was to come. So he just kept his calm and his smile - he would manage to save another life. How sweet was that?

"There he is. Apparently sought a bedmate tonight..." an amused voice whispered.
"You didn't expect us tonight, did you?" a second one chuckled. "And we didn't expect to catch such a big fish, did we?"
"No answers, eh? Is our little spell-weaver perhaps afraid?" a third voice said.

A cold dread settled in the Ranger's heart. Finally he realised they had come for him, not for her. He tried to come up with anything in his lore that might help him, but he couldn't think of anything. Not in this dark place, surrounded by these dark beasts. He tried to reach for the net of hair, but a heavy clawed foot stepped on his wrist.

He sat still for an eyeblink and then a powerful paw came whizzing through the air, a wolf's paw hit his head with supernatural strength and chopped it off his shoulders.

In the morning, the Elves found Glirdan's bloody body and his mutilated head in the middle of the pit. Remains of a torn cloth of hair were scattered around him, and when they touched them, they could feel a hint of some great protective power and the presence of Glirdan. The man himself, though, was uncompromisingly dead.


~*~


The Dead
Thinlómien (mod) - murdered in cold blood on Night1
Shastanis (seer) - cast to the pit in the pit on Day1
Pitch (ordo) - driven crazy and throttled in his fur scarf on Day2
Glirdan (ranger) - decapitated by a wolf's paw on Night3

The Living
Green - veteran hunter with a striking resemblance to an opossum
Boromir - incompetent gatewarden
Eönwë - hunter
Inziladun - weaponsmith
Legate - jeweller with an affinity to the colour white
Loslote - young tag-along girl with frizzy hair
Nerwen - young and impatient hunter who makes animal statues of wood and likes the colour green
Nogrod - narcoleptic master-hunter
Ozban - young and naive hunter and admirer of Finrod Felagund
Skip - an admirer of Finduilas's
Wilwarin - hunter

Day3 has started. You know what to do and what not to do.