The shade, Emelin, told me a story of the land. A River-maiden, like Goldberry, protected the land, but as the land filled with the blood of the war, the Lady changed. No longer was she the beautiful spirit of the land; now she was filled with blood. The Lady became the Red-maid. The land became poisoned. And as luck would have it, she slept. The story (and reason) for the heavy curse laid upon these lost soldiers was more heavy than I could believe.
When the great Gaunt-lord, Ivar the Blood-hand, came to raise the Red-maid, he also started enslaving the ghostly soldiers. Emelin told me about the wight-lord Brudhraw who was given command of some of these enslaved ghosts. I looked westward at the ruins of Nindur.
As we traveled westward the pink morning light of the Lonelands was hidden behind heavy dark clouds. We felled many rotten wights on our way. Beogardo's arrows sometimes felling the foul bodies before my Wind-Raker could tear through the body. I was pleased and told Beogardo of a tactic that would cause even more damage to the enemy. I knew he used it well as arrows screamed down from the sky. We reached the innermost sanctum of Nindur quickly, and the morning light was no more. Only the dread lights of the Angmar-kind lit the way.
We returned to Emelin in Ost Haer, easily stepping over the bodies of the ghost-killed wights. Emelin had heard our song from afar and was pleased. He told us more about the ages of long past. Three nations arose as ancient Arnor fell: Arthedain, Cardolan, and Rhudaur. I knew of Cardolan from the Barrow-downs near Bree, and the epic tale of the Cardolan Prince. Rhudaur I was only slightly familiar with, and knew they were more closely cursed with the Red-maid. It seemed Arthedain was doomed from the beginning, and this doom eventually became Ivar. A foe I would meet.