[Valeria, Witch of Angmar]

Valeria smiles at Aireruthiel. "It's true, I do have a story and I think I have carried it alone for long enough."
She takes a sip of her ale to wet her throat, then begins.
"I was born north of here in the country known as Angmar, the same land that once belonged to he called the Witch King. My mother raised me in a hidden castle deep in the mountains. I never knew my father."

"My mother and the other women there, whom I learned were also witches, trained me in magic, swordplay and archery, as well as minor healing arts. It was a happy childhood, like living in a great house full of kind elder sisters...Then, three years ago, I woke up one morning and my mother was gone."

"I asked the other women where she was, but they would not tell me. Sometimes I wonder if they even knew. All they would say was that it was time for me to take my vows. I learned then what they had not told me about themselves and the place where we lived."

"Our castle was called the Citadel of the Twelve and the women were the Witches Twelve...now eleven with the departure of my mother. I was to swear an oath and take my mother's place. I was deathly afraid, but I swore...and now I am the last of the Twelve."

"You see, the witches had felt a darkness stirring, especially in the northlands. They wanted to fight it, but knew not how. The idea came upon them to forge a blade with which to attack the darkness, and into that blade they infused their magicks and their very souls."

She pauses in her tale, fingers absently running over the hilt of her sword.
"They chose me to wield the blade, and gave their lives that I might protect the lives of others. I left the Citadel that day and have not been back since. I traveled the land, doing what I could. When I could stand the road no longer, I found my way here, hoping for some warmth and companionship."
She smiles at the other seated around the table. "And my hopes were answered. I thank you for letting me tell my story. It has been kept for time enough."
She reaches for her mug, the red gem on her finger glimmering in the light. It did not escape the notice of those around her than she never once mentioned her ring.