The cairns that dotted the landscape made for a foreboding air, even in the light of day, misty as it was, but these, although high and proud, even after centuries had long since been abandoned by their creators. The nearest village was miles distant and the grave robbers knew enough that even though the trinkets and treasures they found might be more riches than those villagers would ever see, they would never touch anything from those cairns, or in the case of these particular mounds, barrows. The fools thought anything taken from the earth of the tombs was cursed and that spirits would come to wreak a bloody vengeance on the trespassers. Nothing but superstition to the three men digging into one of the largest in the region, all the same they dug at a steady pace, as if racing the sun's passage. Finally after hours of toil they broke into the chamber, the sides had been lined with slabs of stone, even the floor had been paved, as if the builders had expected their dead lord to stand and pace the floors for all eternity, but the dust of centuries coated the floor and no footsteps were present, emboldened the robber climbed down into the barrow's centre chamber and lit lanterns. The light reflected off a hoard of bronze, weapons, decorative objects, all laid out round a shrouded figure on a plinth. The robbers didn't even bother looking at the walls to see that each of the stones lining it was carved with runic writings, warning plunders that their thefts would be avenged, not by spirits, but by the tomb's occupant himself, not that they would be able to read such warnings, the writing being in a language long since gone from the world.

While they plundered everything in sight not one of them could bring themselves to investigate the shrouded form, there was something repellent about it that even they couldn't overcome to see if the richest spoils were hidden within. Everything stashed in bags they left the barrow and rode away, almost unconsciously racing the sun yet again. Within the barrow a single line of runes glowed red.

Night fell, a chill, misty night, unseasonably cold, and something stirred.

A sudden gasp, drawing air into previously empty lungs and a mad struggle against a winding, black sheet which seemed to be stronger than its years would suggest it could possibly be. The shrouded figure jerked until at last its hands were able to push the sheet open to reveal a pale face to the silent, empty tomb. It pushed itself up into a sitting position, long golden hair falling about its face. A shaking hand pushed the strands away revealing a young man's face, not more than thirty, wild blue eyes casting about, slowly adjusting to the gloom. A shudder ran through him as he realised what sort of place he was in, he'd seen such barrows raised, but for a moment of confusion he couldn't understand why he was lying on the slab of one. Then, almost as if the memories had been waiting patiently to filter back in the last few conscious moments he was aware of previous passed across his mind, each memory like a lance of pain through him. A choked sob broke through his lips and his face twisted into a mask of misery as he realised that not only why he was in a barrow, but what that meant for him with regards to taking up his life, there was no such thing left for him to return to.

It took him hours to finally gather the will to stand up, pushing himself off the plinth, finding that the clothes he'd been buried in had also somehow weathered as well as his shroud. Pacing the chamber slowly, regaining the use of his limbs he found himself still in possession of his iron crown, sword and the tarnished boss of a shield, still suitable to use as a buckler. But where were the other treasures which his tribe should have left with him, his finery, his armour, even the broaches with which to fix a cloak to his shoulders. Then he noticed one of the moons through a rough hole in the roof of the chamber, that was the answer he sought, and the answer as to what woke him. As if triggered by the knowledge of what had disturbed him, the line of runs lit up again with a dull red light, he came close to the wall, reading them in his people's tongue.

"Those who defile this place shall face the wrath of Bryn the blessed, who will reclaim what is his."

A hollow moan broke through his lips again, his own tribe's druids had cursed him to this, in thinking that his name alone would prevent tomb robbers. Grasping the edges of the hole, finding it strangely easy to climb out of the tomb, as if the earth itself was aiding him in reaching the surface, he came to see the whole sky for the first time in centuries. Some of the stars had changed, only slightly, but just enough to be perceptible to one who had looked for omens in them. The moons were still the same however and told him that dawn was not far off. He decided to wait, thinking that he'd be better able to see the tracks left by his robbers in the daylight. But daylight itself brought a fresh horror.

As the dawn's light struck him it was as if he withered in seconds, the well muscled, if pale, fleshed shrivelled and melted away, leaving behind nothing but a skeleton. Looking at the bones of his hands, then down at himself a scream escaped, but rather than the panic stricken and piercing sound he expected it was reduced to something only a little above a dry rattle. The clothing which had previously seemed so neat and fresh were strips of fabric, dusty and unable to hide the bones beneath, only the shroud seemed unchanged. Quickly, fearing for his unlife Bryn dove back into the barrow, as he escaped the sun's rays a transformation occurred, rather than the near naked skeleton a semblance of skin and flesh returned, but even this showed corruption and decay. His hands were long and spidery, the finger bones clearly visible under the taut skin, his face felt shrunken and eaten away as he felt it with his hands, the eyes sunken, as if he were a dessicated corpse, not yet fallen to bones, but long dead, even though the skin still felt supple and he moved with ease. Realising that no matter how he hid from the sun he would remain in this state he decided that all he could do was to wait for night fall.

When it finally did his flesh filled out, as if the day's horror had never occurred. Bryn had, during the hours of daylight, come to accept that now he would be a creature of the night, only able to reveal his face to those he would meet while the moons shone and hiding his visage by day. To that end he took hold of the shroud, winding it around him into a cloak that covered him from head to toe, hiding every inch of him from sight. Again he clambered from the barrow, it was time to set forth, with luck he could recover his treasures, restore them to their rightful places and once again sleep. 

Without a backward glance the cloaked and hooded figure descended from the barrow and began to follow the hoof prints which led away from his erstwhile resting place.

As he left the village, Armin felt slightly reluctant. The people were a poor and superstitious lot, but they lived good lives, albeit simple ones. Armin sighed. Normally he wasn't in the business of recovering lost family heirlooms that had been carelessly lost during a gamble gone wrong, but the woman had started crying when she believed he would refuse. What other choice did he have? Needless to say, his job was done though and in all honesty he could do with some excitement. Perhaps he would travel to the Moritius Swamp, or the flying city of Tarishitar. Was it really a flying city? He doubted it.

He paused, looking up at the night sky. It was getting pretty late, but he would push on. There was something about the Highlands that made him feel at ease, almost a sense of peace. He stopped dead in his tracks. Was that something moving? A person, perhaps? So much for peace, he thought as he cursed his nerves. It was probably just a villager, or a maybe a traveling minstrel. Armin reminded himself of the bandits and grave robbers that had been sighted recently, and his hopes died away. Even though it was just one man, he felt uneasy.

Slowly, he approached the figure, letting out a greeting, though he kept his left hand resting casually on his dagger hidden within the folds of his cloak.

"Hail, friend. What causes you to travel at such a late hour?"

Bryn had been walking for hours, however unlike during his living days he felt no fatigue, no thirst, not even hunger in the way he once had done. There was something gnawing at him, but it was unlike hunger as he'd known it in life. But it was something he could set aside for later, right now his main plan was to be far enough after the robbers that he would feel safe resting under cover during the day, hoping that some kind of cover would be available to him. But at best he was flying blind through the night, while the Highlands were just a rugged as he remembered them, gone was the familiar tribal village which he'd been chieftain of. No patrols of riders, in fact nothing to suggest that anyone lived here at all besides the hoof prints of the robbers. Still perhaps he could reclaim his possessions and it would allow him to once more sleep away the centuries, while oblivion was not something he especially longed for, it would end this… wrongness of existence. No man should be conscious of his body decayed away to bones, or of having skin stretched taut, looking for all the world like a dessicated husk.

As the night wore on he became less hopefully of cover appearing, there didn't appear to even be a copse big enough to shelter in. It being full dark still he had his hood down, his face appearing almost completely human with the exception of him being rather pallid. But if he didn't find something soon he'd have to continue the journey completely covered. It was while he was musing on this that he heard a voice call out to him. Turning Bryn took in the stranger, his right hand dropping to the hilt of his sword by reflex. The words were strange, not unlike the words of a tribe that had bordered his, but some of the words didn't quite fit, but he tried the best with what he knew of the old language. "Hail freond, I seeken for a-híðend." Meaning he sought a robber, which was true to a point.

Armin listened as the stranger spoke, becoming slightly perplexed. The man didn't seem to mean any harm, as foreign as his words were to Armin's ears. The language which he spoke almost sounded normal, save it be a few words. a-híðend,for example was something he had never heard of. He was only a soldier after all.

Armin had received a basic schooling in reading and writing, though he never truly was good at it. He would have to guess the words which he didn't understand. Either this man was much more intelligent than Armin would ever be and was using words only known by nobles and scholars, or he was speaking a language which as similar as it was to Armin's, was alien and exotic.

Armin sighed, choosing his next words carefully and slightly exaggerating his body movements in order to convey his intent. "Your speak is strange to me. You are seeking help? Assistance? I have food and supplies. Sustenance? Water? Blankets?"

It was rather crude way of speaking, but hopefully the stranger would understand the message.

The perplexed expression on the man's face as Bryn told him he was looking for a robber only served to make him realise just how much language had changed since his death. He guessed the man who stood before him was no scholar, he held himself like one used to fighting, and Bryn had noticed that he'd kept one hand concealed, as if preparing a weapon. But since they both seemed to have no inclination to harm each other Bryn at least relaxed a little, letting his hand drop the hilt of his sword. Hoping that would ease the tension a little more. Then the man spoke again and a little more of the linguistic changes became clear.

"Me sprecan… My speaking is strange?" Strange had mean strong in his time, then something clicked and he made a leap of thought. "Wyrd?" Some words appeared to be identical though, help was the same. This brought a shake of the head from Bryn, making the cowl move. "No help. Just seek ahl-stede for day." He mimed a roof over his head, ahl-stede had meant a sheltering place. Finally he gestured to himself, "Bryn yr Gwyn." The name wouldn't mean anything now Bryn suspected, it had been centuries since he'd been a famed warrior, and at worst it would be assumed that he was just a namesake.

"Bryn yr Gwyn,"Armin repeated with a nod. Now they were getting somewhere. As he listened to Bryn yr Gwyn speak, he noticed that the man seemed to relax a bit and Armin himself felt the tension lessen. This man was clearly just a lost wanderer and whatever the intentions of the man, he meant him no harm at the moment. However, from the gestures of the man it seemed as if he was seeking a place to rest and recover from his journeys. The village that Armin had left from was a good ten hours away. He grimaced. He knew of another small hamlet further along the path. To take the man there would send him north which was a problem seeing as Armin wanted to head south. It was a good two hours that way, but it was the closest place he could think of. Granted, it wasn't the distance that bothered him. He silently cursed the honor code he was sworn to before turning his attention back to Bryn.

"Bryn yr Gwyn," He said again as he pointed at the man. He then motioned towards himself. "Armin." He paused slightly to let it sink in before continuing. "You seek  ahl-stede… shelter? I can take you there." Armin gestured towards himself and the path. "Follow me. You follow, I take you there. Understand? Yes?"

It seemed his new travelling companion, Armin if he understood him correctly understood at least a little of what Bryn had told him. Their gesturing and closely related words allowed them some understanding of what each other was about. By now Bryn was about as relaxed as he got, yes he was still on guard, but it was the stance of a guard who, while not lax in his duty, did not expect any trouble. The other man also appeared to understand that he was seeking shelter, a copse would do, but a roof was preferable. Part of Bryn thought being around people during the day was a bad idea, but if there was a room he could shut himself it he'd probably be okay. He mused to himself out loud, "Ahl-stede… shelter." Slowly he'd master the tongue, perhaps once he got the trail of the robbers he'd stay here a while. Learn the language so as not to stand out too much.

But he noticed that the Armin seemed somewhat unhappy with the direction of travel, perhaps it was far out of his way. Bryn thought for a moment before spotting a twig with a leaf on the ground. He picked it up and stuck it into the ground so as to look like a tree. He gestured to it saying "Ein holt?" Meaning a wood, a wood would provide enough shelter from the sun for Bryn to be happy.