Meriadoc stood in sorrow, tears blurring his vision, unnoticed and unheeded by all around him. Before him lay his weapon, its blade smoldering like a dry twig cast into flames. As he watched, the weapon twisted, shriveled, and was consumed by the fire. Thus ended the sword from the Barrow-Downs, crafted in the ancient realm of Westernesse. The craftsman who forged it long ago, in the days of the young Dunedain, would have rejoiced to know its fate—its edge alone able to vanquish the formidable foe of Angmar and its dark sorcerer king, piercing the undead flesh and breaking the spell that bound sinews to dark will.