Caelyndd shade

The regard Caelyndd as something of a tragic national hero. His tale is well known from to. It is also told among the tribes of the southeast, by whom Caelyndd is called the Devil of the Storm, or the Reaper in the Dark. The story originated around 300.

"'Tis said that on a night when the rain lashes the skin from a traveler’s bones, and the wind whips the clouds to a frenzied maelstrom, and Yael’s eye broods high in the heavens, that is when, if one listens closely, the screams of Caelyndd’s victims can be heard as he howls for release."

During the early years of the there arose a mighty Járin warrior known as Caelyndd. He was a proud and courageous man, capable of fulfilling any of the requests given him by his king,. So feared was the sight of Caelyndd and his lancers that the invading n tribes revered him as a terrible avenging spirit, claiming that,

"when Caelyndd rode, itself shook with fear, for thousands did he slay, and thousands more he left to drown in the blood of the slain…"

From the fortress city of (?) to the gates of  (?) Caelyndd and his lancers chased the barbarian hordes, routing them in battle after battle. From atop his gray mare, Gwynedd, he commanded his forces, and the mere sight of his lean figure and the flash of steel from his great sword, Aoife, struck great fear into barbarian hearts. However, it became apparent to Caelyndd that, even after many victories, there was little he could do to stem the tide of invaders and thus, as did many of his kin, he withdrew to a safe haven in the.

One night, as Caelyndd slept, sent him a vision of doom. In the dream, Caelyndd visited a fog shrouded countryside, the forms of his men shimmering in the swirling mists, their horses snorting their fear. Slowly, he signaled for silence. Saddles creaked and harnesses clinked lifelessly. Then a gust of wind parted the fog to reveal, for an instant, a circle of great stone giants and a pile of twisted corpses, atop which stood a hideous old crone. A battle horn sounded and Caelyndd was dragged from his mount.

Awakening, he decided to move with great haste, for not three leagues from where he camped was a great stone circle known as Cerlynn (?). And so, with but a word, his lancers were again on the move. After crossing the Nuem the prophesy began to unfold. The warriors were surrounded by a fog “unlike any mist they had ever seen” and soon there were murmurings of divine influence. But they pressed on, dismounted. After leading their steeds for seven days through the unearthly mists, a gentle breeze carried forth the scent of carrion and the mists parted to reveal a mound of horribly mutilated corpses within a circle of brooding stone watchers.

Caelyndd called a warning to his forces, drew Aoife and laid about to either side. Thrice did his blade strike home and thrice did assailants fall. For five days (?) did the Battle of Mists rage and many a Járin was felled by unknown, shadowy forms. Then, as quickly as it began, the fog lifted and the battle was over. Of their attackers there was no sign, but the toll which they had inflicted upon Caelyndd’s men was terrible; two score of his lancers lay upon a field devoid of the corpses of their enemies. Atop the hill, under the watchful stones, lay the remains of a party of Sindarin archers, their smashed, twisted bodies almost unrecognizable, their faces contorted in terror.

Caelyndd commanded that a tomb be hewn from the stone at the feet of one of the watchers. And so, the Sindarin were interred with all their treasures and with the slain of Caelyndd’s lancers as an eternal honor guard. Then, great wards and traps were left to protect the fallen.

As Caelyndd and his remaining men departed the halls of the dead they were greeted by an old barbarian crone who proclaimed

"Hail Caelyndd! Guardian of the Lost Kingdom. Hail Caelyndd! Slayer of his own blood. Hail Caelyndd! Servant of a soulless master. Hear my words and know that thy time hath fled, for now my people take revenge upon thee for all that hath been done them. Thou art accurs’d, doomed to the fate of thy soulless master, bound to undying death for all eternity!"

Upon delivering her words of eternal damnation, she produced a tiny silver sphere and with a speed that belied her age, cast it towards Caelyndd. He and his steed immediately vanished in a swirling maelstrom of light and sound. Caelyndd’s lieutenants descended upon the crone, capturing her and demanding the prompt return of their leader upon pain of death if she so failed. To this the crone replied

"Doomed be he; doomed to ne’er live nor yet die. And every seven score and ten years shall he walk Kèthîra, and then shall terror be his name, for he shall be a creature of the purest evil."

At that, Caelyndd’s men slew the witch and hastened to. Now, every 150 years the spectre of Caelyndd rides the lands, a tormented soul, and death follows his every league, for he slays wantonly as he searches in vain for eternal slumber.



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