Thunder crashed in the air outside the citadel, reverberating through the crystal walls of the citadel like a Saradominist church bell. It's pitch was high, singing in the cavern like hall beyond the threshold of human hearing. At the far end of the hall Arweinydd sat on the crystal throne, composed and rigid, whilst Rhoswen paced along the wall behind him, trailing her hand along a large tapestry draped down from its high ceiling. It depicted Seren and the elves arriving through the world gate. Arweinydd was stood the fore of the elven group passing through the gate; his right arm held high and light emanating from his hand as he reached to tough the goddess’. By Seren’s feet Direwolves and Grenwalls sprang from the earth, and forests bloomed in her wake. 

Dire wolves were rarely seen in the elven realm in this day and age. The majority of their kind had retreated into the depths of the woods beyond the contact of elves following Seren’s departure from Geilinor. The great beasts were said to stand as tall as an elf, both majestic and terrifying, and answered only to Seren’s call. They were matchless defenders of the elven realm during the Zarosian conquest; their great size and strength allowing them to fell even the largest of demons, and their agility allowing them to dart through the thick forests of Tirannwn, appearing and disappearing through the canopy’s dense shadows. Rhoswen sighed and dropped her hand to her side. She felt remorse for the loss of her goddess and the magnificent woodland creatures she tended. But the feeling did not last long. Something stirred in the air, it sent shivers up her arms and made the hair on her neck stand rigid. She turned to Arweinydd. His long ears were pricked up, tense and anguished.

“Something dark has descended on these lands. I can feel the light of Seren waning.” The elven enchantress whispered.

The doors at the far end of the hall swung open exposing the archway into the courtyard beyond. A young elf female hobbled into the room, escorted by two elven guards. 

“Lord Arweinydd, there has been an attack on the eastern border. We’ve brought a survivor.” One of the guards said hastily.

Arweinydd lunged from his throne, dropping his hand to a crystal plate covering his right leg. A crystal shard shattered and leapt into his hand, growing and extending into two long thin arms connected by a string of elastic elven rope. The object warped and bent forming a crystal bow. The crystalline cracked and shattered, in a similar fashion to the elven Lord’s armour, releasing small shards of floating crystal which hung around the grip. The arms of the bow arched forward of the elf’s hand and swung back to form the bow’s arc. Arweinydd raised the bow, directing it at the elven woman stood at far end of the hall. He pulled the string back, the arc of the bow bending slightly under the immense pull. One of the floating shards grew and elongated with the pull of string crafting itself into the rough shape of a distended arrow.

“Stand back!” The elf lord bellowed. “This is no elf which stands among us. You have been tricked and deceived by the master of disguise.”

The elven guards leapt back baring arms in preparation to strike. One wielding a less ornate crystal bow, and the other a wooden spear tipped with broad blade of crystal.

“Show yourself Lord Raazik. I can taste the foulness of the abyss; your trickery will not work on me.” Arweinydd spat out the Mahjarrats true name in disgust.

The wounded elf sniggered as purple flames engulfed her body, growing in size and intensity, concealing her from view. Her voice dropped from the high cackle of a woman to a low bellowing laugh. As quickly as they sprang, the flames were quenched. Rising up and dissipating into a cloud of smoke, revealing the giant Mahjarrat within.