Arweinydd stood up and span on the spot with elven grace; not a sound ebbed from his underfoot as his agile feet danced around the bracken, muffling any hint of movement. The fissure reopened in the trees, and the elf darted through the tunnel leaving the shrine to itself once more. The tree concerned Arweinydd greatly. Three thousand years ago during the Zarosian invasion of Tirannwn, the dark staff was first thrust into the tree by the empty lords most trusted general, Raazik. The tree’s wound had wept with the purest of waters, as if they were the divine tears of Seren herself. As soon as the dark general had appeared, he had vanished. Within mid battle the ancient Mahjarrat had slipped into one of his many dark portals, never to be heard from again. The weeping tears of the tree froze into pure crystal, as solid and resolute as the staff which pierced it. 

Without his guidance, the Zarosian army soon fell to Elven offensive strategy and were push out and beyond the borders once more. Dismayed by the destruction inflicted upon the ancient forests by the invasion, Seren erected the Darian - a barrier of immense energy surrounding the borders of Tirannwn, permitting only the deities crystalline magic to pass in and out of the realm. With the blight of the dark army gone, the elves withdrew from the outside world maintaining an era of solitary peace and prosperity. The tree however, remained a vigil reminder of the days shadow once covered these fruitful lands.

The winds blew through the canopy, whistling through leaves, like singing voices. In elven tongue Arweinydd whispered to them, knowing they would carry his message to the farthest reaches of the elven kingdom. Dissatisfied with his discovery, the elven lord made his way through the winding paths of the forest back to the grand city of crystal, Prifddinas.

“Open the gates. The lord has returned”, the elven guards yelled, atop a majestic crystal gate parting the outer forest from the city.

“We are expecting company from Lleyta. Be sure to direct them straight to the hall.” Arweinydd replied in elven.

He passed through the gates, and made his way up and through the main street towards the keep – a large crystal citadel in the centre of the city, whose vibrant towers pierced the thin clouds reflecting the sun’s light in a myriad of bright hues.