Bree, as an important thoroughfare in the Eriador region, was a relatively prosperous town with a bustling market and shops.
Under the guidance of a Hobbit attendant arranged by the innkeeper, Sylas arrived at a jewelry store.
The jewelry store owner was very enthusiastic when he saw Sylas enter. "What kind of jewelry are you looking for, honored guest? Whether it's rubies, sapphires, diamonds, or anything else, we have it all. And not only do we have jewelry crafted by Human artisans and Hobbit artisans, but even the craftsmanship of Dwarf artisans and Elf artisans!"
"Oh, there's even jewelry crafted by Elf artisans?" Sylas was indeed intrigued by the shopkeeper's words.
Seeing his interest, the owner immediately took out an Elven-crafted accessory: a silver brooch inlaid with white diamonds, exuding an elegant aura. It truly seemed to embody Elven aesthetics.
However, Sylas was a little disappointed after examining it. Though it was Elven craftsmanship, it was merely an ordinary piece with no magical properties.
After a quick glance, he looked away and asked directly, "Do you have moonstone here?"
The store owner looked slightly disheartened to see Sylas uninterested in the brooch, but his expression brightened at the new question. He quickly replied, "We do have moonstone here!"
As he spoke, he produced another box. When he opened it, it contained various pieces of jewelry made with full moonstone.
"Besides this kind of jewelry, do you have any raw full moonstone?" Sylas asked again.
The owner looked at him strangely but still nodded. "We do, but we generally don't sell raw stones…"
Sylas interrupted him, "I'll take all the raw stones you have. Price is not an issue." As he spoke, he pulled out a ring set with a large ruby and tossed it over. "Is this enough?"
Although moonstone could be used for jewelry, it wasn't nearly as valuable as rubies.
The store owner caught the ring and inspected the high-grade ruby set in gold. His eyes lit up with delight, and a broad smile spread across his face. He nodded eagerly. "Enough, more than enough! Honored guest, please wait a moment. I'll bring out all the raw stones we have in stock!"
He tucked the ring carefully into a pocket sewn into his chest lining, then quickly jogged into the back room. After a short while, he returned, panting, with a burlap sack slung over his shoulder.
He placed the sack gently in front of Sylas and opened it. "Honored guest, are you satisfied? There are thirty raw stones in total, all top-quality full moonstone!"
Sylas peered into the sack. The raw moonstones inside varied in size, some as large as a fist, others no bigger than a pigeon's egg. Since they were originally intended for jewelry crafting, their quality was excellent, glowing faintly with a shimmering, iridescent sheen.
Sylas nodded. "Not bad." To be honest, using such high-quality moonstone to make Floo Powder was a bit of a waste, but with no other supply, he had no choice but to indulge himself for now.
"By the way, where did you acquire all these raw moonstones?" he asked the shopkeeper. "Could you tell me?"
The jewelry store owner didn't try to keep it secret. "I bought them from some traveling merchants who passed through Bree. They said they'd acquired the stones in trade with Elves near the Misty Mountains. Those Elves are elusive, but they show up regularly at the Brandywine Bridge to exchange goods with passing traders."
Having gained a promising lead on another source of moonstone, Sylas left the jewelry store with the sack of raw stones and returned to The Prancing Pony to rejoin his companions.
But as soon as he stepped through the door, Sylas realized something was off.
The atmosphere inside the inn had shifted completely. Patrons whispered and stared, some outright gaping. The usually relaxed hum of the inn had turned into a low buzz of excitement.
Apparently, while Sylas had been out, his companions had turned into storytellers, particularly the Dwarves, who had grown increasingly talkative as the drink flowed.
Word had spread fast.
Everyone in Bree now knew that Sylas and his group had not only ventured into the Barrow-downs, but had defeated the dreaded Corpse Demon and purged the cursed mists. Tales of their deeds were already making the rounds through town like wildfire.
The Barrow-downs were legendary in the region, feared for generations, especially by the people of Bree who lived closest to them. The Corpse Demon, or "wight-king," had become a figure of horror passed down in hushed warnings. And now, they were being told that threat was no more.
So when Sylas walked into the inn, he found himself in the center of a celebration.
"Let us welcome back the Bane of the Corpse Demon, Master Sylas! He's the one who drove those cursed fiends back into the dirt!" the innkeeper called, raising his mug in salute with a grin from ear to ear.
"To the Corpse Demon's Bane, Sylas!" the entire room echoed, lifting their drinks high.
Even Gandalf, sitting comfortably near the hearth, raised his mug and smiled as he joined the toast.
The innkeeper, watching his guests order drinks by the round, looked positively radiant with joy.
Eventually, after being offered one too many toasts, hugs, and hearty handshakes, Sylas finally slipped away and collapsed into a seat across from Gandalf.
"You really pushed all the trouble onto me," Sylas sighed.
"We both dealt with the wights," Sylas said, lowering his voice. "You contributed more than I did. Why push all the credit onto me?"
Gandalf smiled, brushing the ash from his sleeve and chuckling softly. "Young people should enjoy a bit of glory. I'm far past the age of basking in praise, and frankly, I prefer not to be the center of such noisy admiration."
Then, his tone turned more serious. "Besides, don't belittle your own role. If you hadn't struck the Witch-king of Angmar with that curse, wounding him so gravely, we wouldn't have had a chance at victory. That wasn't luck, Sylas. That was power, and it deserves to be recognized."
As it turned out, one of the local men, perhaps driven by curiosity or simple courage, had actually gone to the edge of the Barrow-downs to investigate. By midday, news reached Bree that the rumors were true: the wights had vanished, and the dark mists had begun to recede.
The reaction in town was instant and electric. The people of Bree, who had long lived in the shadow of the Barrow-downs' curse, now treated Sylas like a hero of legend.
That evening, the Mayor of Bree himself arrived at The Prancing Pony. In a formal ceremony witnessed by the entire inn, he presented Sylas with a gold medal, finely engraved with the words: "Corpse Demon's Bane."
And just like that, the title became real, etched not only into the medal, but into the hearts and stories of the Breefolk.
Given the excitement and the late hour, the group decided to stay one more night at the inn and depart early the next morning.
Later that evening, as the fire in the hearth burned low and most of the Dwarves dozed off into ale-induced slumber, Gandalf approached Sylas and gestured toward a man standing nearby.
"Sylas," the wizard said, "allow me to introduce someone. A friend of mine from the North. He's a Ranger, he came from the Barrow-downs just this week and wanted to meet you in person."
Sylas turned and studied the newcomer.
He was tall and weathered, likely in his thirties, with sharp features and a quiet intensity. His dark hair fell just past his shoulders, and his steel-grey eyes carried the weight of many roads. He wore a black cloak, well-worn leather boots, and at his hip hung a longsword. A bow was slung over his back.
The man gave a slight nod. His voice was low and steady, the kind that seemed to carry without needing to rise.
"I have heard much of you, Tree feller, Corpse Demon's Bane, the black-robed wizard they call Sylas. I am Aldamir. It is an honor to meet you."
...
Stones PLzzz