Found:
A half-eaten dog skull.
2 tarnished spoons.
A muddy pair of breeches - I have many questions about this one!
2 small silver chalices - 1 a bit bent and battered. May need reshaping before selling.
A bronze urn.
I find myself with an increasing fondness for this place, these fields before Fornost. It's dark, damp, mist-smothered and more than a little dangerous. The dispossessed spirits of the past drift by lazily, seemingly without purpose or prejudice. I know this cannot be so for have I not heard the tales of the vengeful spectres of these fields? The men driven mad or torn to shreds by the ghastly visions, the disembodied souls and the fangs and claws of the half-rotted beasts? Yet, I have seen none of that.
That they turn not a ghostly eye, even when I disturb their barrows, what does this say about me? Have I become so attuned to such death and despair that they perceive me as one of their own? Am I, in some way, a wraith myself, my heart and soul so withered that I cling only to this world through flesh alone? 'Tis more likely, I think, that their remit is not trinkets or the warmth of living intruders, but something altogether greater. If they have no mind for their barrows, then is it the stone fortress itself that they, in their mindless bondage, seek to protect? If they turn their ire to some but not to all, then what attracts their attention to those unfortunate few? Is it something within or without? Is it something I lack or something I possess? Is it, indeed, a possession, a trinket pilfered from my last trip here, or one of my past digs elsewhere? I still have that sigil from Nan Dhelu...
When I close my eyes, I can feel the mist against my skin, tendrils gently caressing my cheeks like the touch of a lover afraid to press firmly lest the desired one before him shatter, her essence blown inexorably away on the cold breeze...
But I am neither the lover or the loved in this scenario. I am that cold breeze, so gently sweeping past all that lies in my path. But even as the most frozen of air can be transformed into the warmth of a breath, so too can I become something more than I am.
Who was that face I so dearly wanted to see in nights past? Whose shape have I felt missing from my side? Whose presence is it that beckons me so whilst offering no clear direction? And is this a hunt I want to take on?
I can't deny that I yearn for it. I can't deny that, the coal pendulum now burned away, I am left with an empty ache begging to be filled with something more soft and productive than I believed myself worthy of. I won't go so far as to suggest that the life I have lived has been a waste, but I think it will be if it continues this way.
That being said, a hunt like this would not be like the ones I am accustomed to. The digging would be far less physically taxing, the dangers far more intangible. The rewards however... they would shine all the brighter than any coin or jewel.
It is tempting.
One thing at a time, however!
One ruin at a time.
The path before me twists and turns, the terrain is far from flat. That much is true for both the reality and the metaphor. Is that not what usually entices me? Well-traveled roads rarely lead to great hoards, after all. But whether or not I ultimately decide to chase after this legendary treasure, this faceless and ethereal form, I must first be certain that I am ready to hold it within my hands, to look upon its splendor without turning away.
Though countless ruins lie behind me, and countless more before, the one ruin I must turn my attention toward.... is me.
