"Some things that should not have been forgotten were lost."
Eru Ilúvatar. The Creator. The Father of all within Eä. It was he who began it, the shaping of the universe and its inhabitants. He bore knowledge in all things; knowledge of things that w...
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2933 TA. February 16th. North-West. Eriador. Lake Evendem﴾Nenuial﴿ The great city of Annúminas Two days prior to the attack upon the EldrithèmKingdom
Darkness washed over the Westlands, whispers of orc hosts flooding the forests of Ered Lindon. They came unbadged, were unchecked, and attacked any and all without care or provocation.
There was little interest held among the few green elves that remained within Annúminas. "Tis not our business!" Many exclaimed. Yet, there was one, one who could scarcely bring himself to such a state of apathy. Alabẙran Adwarin. He retained no hierarchy, nor the status of grandeur, and for him that sufficed. He remained a simple elf of Nenuial. An archer, scout, and once head of the elven guard.
He was tall, and his form lithe, yet his brawn could be easily defined beneath his fitted garb. His raven tresses were long and came past the measure of his shoulders. His skin was unblemished, and he was fair of face. The stain of his eyes was of green ferns, laced with moss and mithril. The channel of his jaw was sharp, and his lips full.
He had never laid eyes upon the people of legend and myth, the enkarēin , albeit heard tell of their dwelling within a small grove across the River Lhûn. He could not deny that within his heart lied an intense desire to know the truth of these people's existence. If any dwelt there, surely an ill fate would befall them, had it not heretofore with the coming of the orcs.
"Surely evil shall prevail when the benevolent do nary a thing." The words of his father continued to resonate within him, even now, as the days had long since passed from his departure from these shores. He could neither ignore his heart's intrigue nor the words of his father any longer.
"Beyond the River Lhûn I shall go," He said to himself, "For a blind eye I simply cannot turn, nay when such darkness is allowed to endure."
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2933 TA. February 18th. The night of the attack upon the EldrithèmKingdom Sariël and Solan's encampment
"Damn sé, Varda cabhrú liom!" ﴾damn it, Varda help me﴿ Solan swore beneath his breath.
The young enkarēin siblings stood exposed. The natural elements scarcely provided them with any means of cover. They were left unprotected. The surrounding foliage was thin, and all that lay beside them was the river. It could provide a potential means of escape, yet the waters ran swiftly, and it was scarcely a risk Solan was willing to take.
He pivoted, gauging his left, right, forward and rear flank. From the inky blackness, they emerged, one orc after another. At first glance, they appeared to be only few in number, albeit still they came. Crawling and clambering, barking and growling, roaring and squealing. For even the most courageous of hearts, the sight proved truly terrifying as they spilled forth like wriggling injurious insects.
