Arweinydd

Tirannwn

Arweinydd led Cadernia through a series of winding paths, weaving in and out of the tall thick trunked trees in the forest far from the summer solstice ceremony and away from the nearest Elven habitations. They arrived at a clearing on the far side of Isafdar. A blanket of lush green grass carpeted the floor before abruptly ending to give way to leagues and leagues of blue ocean. At the centre of the cliff-side clearing sat an unusually tall tree, its thick trunk easily doubling that of any other of the numerous trees dotted across the Elven province. At its base lay a large square cloth woven from fine Elven silk; the borders were embossed in silver ivy and its centre decorated with a large silver direwolf, sat and staring upwards to an un-seen night sky. On the far corner of the silk blanket, closest to the ocean view, sat a large wicker bowl. Inside the bowl lay a two large green leaves and on top balanced a tall thin pyramidal glass bottle capped with a small silver metallic pyramid, screwed tightly to seal the cyan liquid within. A set of carefully placed flatbread pieces were placed around the carefully crafted bottle like fern leaves spreading from the ground.

“Nectar and Ambrosia?” Cadernia queried, shocked at the sight of such a rare delicacy. “How did you get your hands on this?”

“A king has his ways.” Arweinydd replied with a mischievous grin.

“You’re not a king yet Arweinydd. Arrogance can be an unbecoming trait for a leader.” Cadernia snapped back, before bursting into laughter with Arweinydd.

Nectar was a fine Elven wine fermented from a rare cyan fruit found only within the forests of Isafdar giving rise to its characteristic cyan hue. The taste was sweet and velvety, a taste quickly acquired and longed for by any who are lucky enough to experience its flavour. Its medicinal properties were well known beyond the borders of the Elven province, able to reverse most ailments and ward off aging in the mortal folk beyond Tiranwwn’s mountain border. Ambrosia was said to be eaten by Seren herself. The flat bread was plain and boring to the sight, it’s only distinguishing feature being the simple ivy leaf imprinted on its surface – clearly stamped into place when the bread was still soft dough. The recipe was a closely kept secret known only by the most skilled culinary artisans in the Pobyddel clan. Its heavy dough was known to satisfy ones hunger for several days even from a few bites, a trait which had made Ambrosia a the staple diet for most high-born elves.

Arweinydd and Cadernia sat on the blanket, staring out into the ocean as the sun gradually crept high into the sky warming the grass and trees surrounding. Arweinydd plucked the bottle from the wicker bowl, carefully unscrewing the silver lid to expose the delicate bottle rim beneath. He grabbed two fine glass flutes lying behind the bowl and poured a generous amount in each before passing one carefully to his admiring guest. Each took a sip of the Elven wine, savouring the flavour as it ran down their throat.

“Few will experience such a wonderful taste within their lifetime” Arweinydd remarked. “Fewer still in the mortal world.”

Cadernia smiled as she enjoyed her drink, however Arweinydd failed to return the sentiment. Mortality had always troubled him. It seems an injustice that the Elves were granted immortality, and yet the other races beyond the Elven borders would experience but a fleeting moment of the eternal world which they had all inhabited. The ancient lore stated the Elves were blessed by Seren herself, given immortality in order to fulfil their roles as custodians of the realms and protectors of the forests and its inhabitants – a role quickly forgotten by the Elven kind as they withdrew from the outside realms and failed to maintain the vast forests and wildlife beyond the edges of Tiranwwn. Arweinydd shook the dark thoughts and doubt from his mind, choosing the focus on the occasion at hand.

“Benywdod is a once in a century event, and a worthy time for celebration.” Arweinydd said, breaking the short silence between the two young elves. “How do you feel to be a lady of Tiranwwn?”

“I feel no different from yesterday, or the day before. It’s been more of a distraction than a celebration.” Cadernia complained, slightly bitter at the unnecessary attention. “The time spent today could have been better used for study or practice.”

Arweinydd chuckled. “The stories are true of the Iowerth clan, always so serious and particular. One day you will be a great mage, intensely engaged with understanding deeper mysteries of this real and will miss the trivial moments like this.”

“Perhaps.” Cadernia said, brushing off the statement. “Where is this anyway?”

“The western shore. My father spoke of this place once, he said he discovered it as a child no younger than ourselves. It was where he met my mother before he took the throne.” Arweinydd replied. “I looked in the ancient royal library through old notes my father had written in his early years as King, and found directions to this tree.”

“It seems so out of place and lonely, even surrounded by its kin.” Cadernia replied.

“It’s unique. Take a closer look at its bark. Beneath its thick and ancient crust lies fine crystal like none I have ever seen.”

Cadernia stood up and brushed her hands down its rough and wrinkled bark. Arweinydd was right. Between the plates of timber bark an intricate network of crystal darted up and down the giant trees trunk, like hundreds of bolts of lightning striking the thick tree’s base from the storm-clouds of green leaves high above. Was the entire tree made of crystal? Though Cadernia as her fingers touched the cold crystalline material within.

“It’s fascinating.” Cadernia remarked.

“It’s as old as the Elven race itself. The books claim it’s one of many which lie on this realm and the realms beyond. A vast network which connects the different plains of existence allowing Seren to travel freely between. Old myths and legends, distorted by years of Elven whispers no doubt.” Arweinydd replied.

Arweinydd picked up a slice of Ambrosia, breaking it into two halves before standing up and handing one to Cadernia. Each took a small bite, once again savouring the flavour. The breads taste was a contrast of its plain appearance. The heavy bread was a vibrant mix of sweet and savoury tastes which bubbled and melted on the tongue. It was soft to chew and easy to swallow, making it easy to overindulge without the proper restraint. Arweinydd could already feel the Ambrosia assuage his hunger after only one bite. He took another and placed the rest of the bread into the bowl before covering it with a silk cloth folded neatly nearby.

“The feast is sure to begin soon, and the guest of honour will be expected to there. Let’s make our way back to Prifddinas to dress and prepare.” Arweinydd said to Cadernia.

Cadernia nodded in compliance as Arweinydd turned and began to pack up the picnic. She ran her fingers down the trunk once more, enthralled by the mystery behind what was seemingly an ordinary tree but clearly withheld much more. She peered down to the base. Between its roots the ground was bare and dusty. The grass appeared to refuse to grow any closer to the tree, as if it would be encroaching on sacred land. No. She looked further around the tree. The grass grew up to the roots all around the tree except this spot. This small patch of dry dirt. Why? Cadernia lent down to the dirt and wiped at it with her fingers. The patch of seemingly dead ground radiated with brilliant energy. She wiped again and again, forwards and backward taking off a few centimetres of dirt exposing a hard surface below. Ancient runes glowed from beneath a thin layer of dirt, letters she had never seen before, alien and un-elven.

“Ready?” Arweinydd asked, picking up the wicker bowl by two holes on either side.

“Yes, coming now.” Cadernia replied hastily and panicked, as if interrupted during a forbidden activity.

She quickly brushed the dirt back over the exposed runes, their radiance dimmed and extinguished by another layer of soil. She then stood up and turned to Arweinydd smiling.

“You seem unusually jovial for someone who is about to sit through yet another ‘distraction from study and practice’. What’s got you so excited?” Arweinydd inquired.

“This was a pleasant surprise. Thank you very much, it’s exactly what I needed.” Cadernia replied, covering the true intent of her enthusiasm. “Let’s go. The sooner we complete this ‘celebration’ the sooner we can return to more interesting endeavours.”

Arweinydd complied and lead the way through the forest and back to the great crystal city of Prifddinas. Cadernia made sure to remember every detail of the route so she could return later to see what those runes really were, alone.

Tirannwn

A long crystal arrow whistled as it sliced through the heavy forest air before slapping into a rounded hay-bale target sitting on the edge of an elven courtyard, giving off a muffled thud of exhaustion. As it hit, its shaft began to glow with a dull smouldering cyan before igniting into vibrant green aurora as the crystal arrow shattered into tiny shards, evaporating into a cloud of silver mist. A succession of arrows closely followed the first; each strike piercing the centre of the straw target and detonating into clouds of silver, their misty trails drifting away in the light breeze. At the opposite end of the courtyard stood two elves, one clearly of age with long frosted hair which drooped down each shoulder and the other of a shorter and younger stature.

“Excellent. As accurate as ever Lord Arweinydd.” The elderly elf whispered in a laboured tone.

“You humble me Master Saethydd.” The young elf lord responded.

The elderly elf nodded gracefully and stood back, allowing Arweinydd to raise the great crystalline bow he wielded in his left hand up to take aim at the straw target once more. As he pulled on the thin silk bow string, his muscles tightened under the strain and his pose stiffened in anticipation of the shot. A small crystal fragment broke from the shaft of the bow, hovering by the elf’s grip before elongating with the string’s draw forming into the familiar shape of an arrow. Once fully taught, the arrow head sat within the groove of Arweinydd’s forefingers, it’s fletching lightly gripped by his right hand, and its nock cradling the thin string. Its shaft began to smoulder once again with a dull cyan glow as elven magic ran the length of its shaft, maintaining its shape and design.

“Good.” Saethydd remarked, pleased with Arweinydd’s carefully rehearsed stance.

Arweinydd drew a long deep breath steadying his aim and tightening his grip. He snatched his fingers from the bow string releasing the arrow from the bow. The crystal shard sliced through the air, darting towards the distant edge of the courtyard before piercing the straw target and evaporating into a shining silver mist. Each shot had struck the centre of the rounded hay bale, depressing its centre like a finger poke in fresh dough.

“I fear there is no more I can teach you Lord Arweinydd. Your aim is true and consistency seldom falters.” Saethydd remarked once more.

“An honour to be praised by the master archer himself” Arweinydd bowed in gratitude of the compliments.
Saethydd gazed up into the sky through the narrow clearing the canopy above. “The sun begins to dip. Our session is over and you must prepare for the summer solstice celebrations.”

“We shall meet at the keep Master Saethydd” Arweinydd replied.

The two elves bowed resting their two forefingers breast, a sign of respect and honour within elven society, before Arweinydd hurried off through an archway dividing the courtyard from the keep beyond.

EQUINOX

Arweinydd tried to control his anger, but it came to no avail. A wave of emotion washed over him, consuming the elf lord with pure fury. He clenched his fists tightly; the sinews tightening under the strain, his forearms bulging under the pressure. His armour dropped from a brilliant cyan hue to a deep navy, and it pulsed as if alive and struggling to breathe. As his fingers slapped his palms, the ground underneath him trembled, rocking the loose charred earth above. Fissures opened in the surrounding earth as large shards of crystal burst forth, their formation resembling an open lotus. He silently roared with anger and horror within, his emotions running uncontrolled – unprecedented within the elven race. Not only had Raazik welcomed himself within him homelands once more, but he had mocked the elven race, destroyed their most beloved sanctuary, and stolen one of their own (one of his own …). This crime could not be left unpunished.

Though pacifistic in nature, the subjects of Seren were known to resort to aggression where need was dire. Not even Seren could question the use of violence for protection and preservation. Rhoswen must be retrieved; her presence is vital to the wellbeing of Tirannwn. Arweinydd released his grip, and the crystal columns sank back to the depths of the earth. His rage melted giving way to collected thoughts once more. The crystal armour brightened and radiated, illuminating the blacked ground below. Arweinydd glanced around the clearing. The lonesome tree stood at the heart of the clearing untouched by the onslaught of the abyssal inferno. Around it the ground was bare, covered in a thin layer of soot and ash. The pool was mostly depleted, boiled away by the flames; though its basin was beginning to fill once more as clear water fell from the roots and bark above. The dense wall of trees surrounding were partially charred, however the healing process had already begun.

Arweinydd could not leave the sanctuary in such a state. It had flourished in solitude for so long, it would be a travesty to see it laid waste to and abandoned within a fraction of the time. He threw his right hand across the air in front, driving his arm in a long arc. Minute fragments of crystal, as fine as dust, broke from his armour and trailed in as thick tail of mist behind, falling and casing the blackened ground below. Where the mist had permeated into the soot and soil, a sporadic carpet of green had begun to sprout. Arweinydd whispered to it, encouraging it with gentle and nurturing chants. The flora responded and began to thicken and spread; it would take time to reach its previous glory. But, confident with the clearings gradual return to life, Arweinydd beckoned the thick wall to open once more, and darted through the tunnel within.

***

Rhoswen struggled in the chains she was bound with - frustrated at both the mahjarrat’s trickery and his blind insult of having his lackey drag her down into these abyssal catacombs, as if she were little more than one of the many slaves the Zarosians once commanded. The surrounding caves were barely illuminated, lit only by faint embers which dotted the walls. There were vines and roots woven into the stone walls, which brought slight comfort to her uneasiness. But, the comfort did not last. As she reached out with her essence she could feel the taint deep within its bark. The plants and stone walls reeked of abyssal energy, putrescent and vile. Dark magic creped out of the walls and plants, and into the air surrounding. It clashed against her own aura forming the torrent of mixing energy which sat heavy in the air with a deathly ambience and crawled across her skin in a thick miasma. It made her sick to the core.

She squirmed under the discomfort, trying to escape. The magic followed her with each movement, plunging her into deeper nausea. It stuck to her as tight and resolute as the chains tied around her arms and legs. Her struggle subsided as she came to terms with her inability to avoid the sickening air, instead sitting still and depressed. Being so distant from the familiar and warm elven lands had weakened her. She longed for its embrace once more. The lively atmosphere of the Tirannwn woods brought about a deeper energy which extended her reach, but in these caves the still shadows and darkness instead drained what arcane energy remained within her. Rhoswen tried once more to push out with her essence in an attempt to view the distant elven lands and contact Arweinydd. As she pushed through the thick and heavy atmosphere in the cave, the walls blocked her passage. Even the roots and vines appeared to shroud her escape.

“Fine. So be it, you aberrant creatures of the abyss.” She spoke furiously to herself. “You hide yourself within the familiar disguise of roots and viles, yet your core is just as recognisably black as the abyssal demons themselves!”

***

Arweinydd arrived at a seemingly unimpressive area of the forest. The trees grew tall and parallel to each other, whilst the canopy below was devoid of structures, elven craft, or even ruins. To the untrained eye, and even to the majority of the elven kind, the trees surrounding were no different to the many thousands dotting the Isafdar province. But, Arweinydd knew better. To hide something of true importance was to hide it clandestinely. The elf lord paced up to one of the many long tall trunks and waved his hands over its bark. Ancient elven runes materialised and glowed incandescently in a brilliant cyan hue as his hands waved over them, wrapping the tree trunk in a web of cryptic sigils. At the centre sat elven script which read ‘Peace and Growth’. The elf placed his large hand on the writing and whispered in a chant beyond the ears of normal hearing.

Here his hand hovered, the bark beneath cracked and spiralled around the trunk and down to the roots below, before returning up the trunk several centimetres away and joining the crack further up at an apex. The cracks formed long tendrils of bark, which wrapped around and clasped the tree like an octopus clasping a log. Within moments of forming, the fissures in the bark separated and the long tendrils of bark slithered down to the earth below like snakes into a bush, exposing the crystal core within. The inside of the trunk was lined with a thick crystalline wall which illuminated the crystal slabs forming a spiral staircase beneath. Arweinydd stepped into the tree and began to descend the stairs. As he sank into the shadows below, the long bark tendrils slithered from their resting place and back into place, forming the seamless bark trunk once more.

EQUINOX

“The forest is ancient and prudent. Brute force and aggression will not sway the trees to do your bidding. Even a mahjarrat of your calibre cannot force an elder tree against its will.” Arweinydd replied.

Raazik hissed at displeasure of the elf’s mocking statement, gripping the staff once more and pulling with great force. Again, the staff refused to move, remaining stubbornly lodged within the tree’s thick trunk.

“Very well. Perhaps witness of compassion and patience might teach you of their virtue.” The elf spoke in a gentle but stern tone. “Stand aside.”

The mahjarrat begrudgingly stood back, allowing the elf space to relinquish the staff from its grip; but not too far, as not to be able to strike the elf from behind, should his promise of the staff fall to falsehoods. Arweinydd lent down to the tree, placing his grip at the bottom of the staff and his other hand on the trunk of the tree. The clear water poured from the base of the staff, trickling down the bark and into the pool below. In ancient elven tongue he spoke gently and slowly to the tree, yearning it to surrender its hold. It groaned in response to his rhythmic words, and Arweinydd pulled on the staff. It did not budge. Again he tried, and again it held firm.

“Fascinating.” The elf queried, clearly bemused by persistence of the staff.

Raazik roared with anger, his patience finally expired. He lunged forward smashing his great weight against Arweinydd’s and gripping the top of the staff once more.

“Enough of this deception and delay! If the tree will not release my staff then I shall burn it where it stands, and pluck my weapon from its ashes!”

Arweinydd toppled slightly, under the tremendous pressure of the mahjarrat’s assault, before quickly regaining his balance with swift elven agility. His hand still held firmly at the base of the staff. Where the majarrat and elf’s hands grasped the staff, brilliant light burst forward igniting the clearing in a flash of white. Black lightning travelled up and down the staff between the two hands, filling the air with a bitter-sweet metallic taste. Bright white and dark black auroras danced across the surface of the pool, which glowed with a deep blue hue, and up the trunk of the tree before meeting and entwining around the base of the staff.

Suddenly, the tree released it. The weight of the elf and the mahjarrat pulling the ancient staff from its embrace, sending them both flying backwards and into the thick carpet of lush grass and wild flowers behind. As the staff parted from the tree, the spectacular display was quenched leaving only the dull afterglow within the waters of the pool. Arweinydd rose, still dazed by the event. He turned to Raazik who was himself rising from his fall and brushing the soil from his robes. The ancient staff lay on the grass between them, glowing with purple energy and free from its primeval hold.

EQUINOX

Arweinydd quietly pondered over the ultimatum he had just been given. Each second felt like an hour as he concentrated heavily, considering every outcome, every possibility, but not once relinquishing his scrutinising watch of the dark lord stood at the far end of the hall. Rhoswen stepped forward, placing her hand on the crystal throne and speaking in a clear but gentle voice - unphased by darkness which lurked before her.

“The elves are resilient and numerous. We would suffer loss, but eventually prevail. Do not test the elves, Faceless One. Our kind live long and the bitterness of your last visit has yet to settle. We have waited and we have prepared; do not assume we would be so easy to conquer.”

“Enough.” Arweinydd barked. Determined to halt Lord Raazik’s retaliation before it came to fruition. Knowing full well of his unpredictable behaviour, it was best to maintain this lucid and benign state as long as possible.

The dark lord stood silent, his faceless gaze unbroken from the elf. Could Arweinydd really surrender the staff? If he was to overlook the dangers of handing a weapon back to a blood thirsty Mahjarrat whose very existence was to serve the Empty God, intent on global conquest, he would still be left with the difficulty of giving into the demands of an enemy. Handing over the staff could merely be a fiendish ploy to assess his weakness; something he could only further exploit. His train of thought was sliced by the familiar silence of Rhoswen’s call.

“Your fears are well founded and your questioning absolute. But he will obtain the staff, the equinox demands it so. We must trust the path Seren has laid for us. It will allow us to delve deeper into the mystery of the delicate equilibrium the two of you share.” She said, her voice bouncing and echoing within his head.

“You assume he would listen to reason and collected thought. He is no elf, he is a Mahjarrat. Born of war and harbinger of devastation. Can we trust in one who turned lush forest into soot, and brought crystal towers to their foundation?” He questioned.

“We have little choice. Our time is limited, and the guidance of Seren is absent.”

“Then my decision is made. Let us at least attempt to draw him from the city.” He spoke, as Rhoswen’s presence diminished and faded from his mind.

“Tick tock, tick tock …” The Mahjarrat spoke in his taunting tone once more. “What of Elven hospitality, Arweinydd? It’s rude to keep a guest waiting! Is your decision made?”

“I will escort you to your staff, but on the premise of one condition.” The Elf lord demanded indisputably. “You will not only not bring harm a single elf or creature within the elven realm, but also take heed of reasonable proposition upon receipt of your staff. Then you and your dark taint may leave these lands, and leave it to peace once more.”

EQUINOX

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.

EQUINOX

An attractive elf lady at the far end of the wooden table. She wore a long ivory dress woven from the finest elf silk, embroidered with silver ivy. A crystal broach, crafted in the shape of a leaf, held a long silk shawl over her shoulders like a cloak. On top of it sat long ebony hair which flowed from her head, where a tiara of ivy and flowers was woven into her hair and along the rim of her forehead. She was Rhoswen, fair maiden of the east and lady of Lletya. Many thousands of years ago, Rhoswen had been consort to Arweinydd during times of peace, but their responsibilities and ensuing war had pulled them apart leading the distant relationship to eventually fracture. It had been be argued that she was the elven aspect of Seren’s will; fair and gentle, but powerful beyond all measures.

Few in the elven realm wielded the power of the arcane, their magic being limited to the power solely held in Seren’s crystals. Of those which could, none wielded it to the extent to which Rhoswen was capable of. Her knowledge of the divine arts of natural magic allowed her to gaze past the borders of the elven realm and across the lands beyond, to pick the threads of fate woven by the gods and interpret the their temporal will, and the most peculiar of all, commune with the children of Seren without whispering a word. Her talents made her an indispensable advisor to Arweinydd, and it was her aide he sought from this convoy.

Their eyes locked across the room, the murmurs of elven quarrelling became distant. The room appeared to fall into utter silence. Then, like a sharpened blade, her voice cut the silence. Her tender tones bounced and echoed in his head, clear yet utterly distant.

“You seek my counsel. Ask it, and it is yours.”

“The Darian cannot deny him physical access to this realm, and the Arandar pass will not hold against his onslaught.” The great elf answered in a low but gentle tone.

“Your news is but confirmation of what I have already seen. Watching him from a far is difficult. He is shrouded in shadow; his presence, concealed from me. I see only fragments of what is and what has yet to come, like reflections from fractured crystal. Yet, I can feel his taint on the world. He will come, and it will be soon.”

“You must try to locate him”

“I cannot. I will not. Even the purity of the crystal bowl cannot stop his vile magic from flowing through. The longer I watch, the more susceptible I become. I will not be a vessel for his corrupt power.”

“Then come. Let me take you to the thawing spring. Maybe you can decipher what I cannot. I must know its relevance, I feel it is key to preventing the impending war.”

Sound returned to the room as she left his mind. The other elves were still locked in heated debate, oblivious to the conversation that just transpired. The elf lord rose from his seat, and the table fell to silence; each elf falling back into their chair, unwilling to interject their leader.

“I must attend alternative important matters. Bicker if you will, but you only waste precious time as it rapidly fades. Send word of what I have forewarned. We must be prepared for battle should the Faceless One come to claim these lands once more.”

As if in perfect unison all the elves, spare Rhoswen, nodded and acknowledged Arweinydd. He turned from his spot and marched to the door at the opposite end of the room. Rhoswen with elven grace stood and followed him as they departed the room, leaving the other elves to conduct their preparations for war. The two paced through the winding corridors of the citadel and out through the courtyard towards the main city gate. They remained silent along the travels, lost in thought and memories of the previous war … of their previous liaison.

They soon arrived at the forest wall. Once again it parted under Arweinydd’s command, offering passage to the small garden beyond. Rhoswen pushed forward of the large elf, and to the ancient tree sat in the centre of the clearing. The crystal pool had completely thawed, and clear water poured from the wound.

“The tree weeps once more.” Arweinydd called to Rhoswen.

She placed her hands into the pool. The water radiated a green hue around her hands which leaked and flowed to the distant edges like ink spreading in water. Soon the pool was ablaze in green light as the elf lady murmured silently to herself in elven song. At one side of the pool, thick beds of flowers and vegetation had grown, the tendrils of their roots creeping into the water, and at the other, the shores were devoid of life, blackened and barren like volcanic ash. Rhoswen, lost in a trance began to speak in a flanged tone. The two voices boomed, one held the familiar soft and tender tone of an elf, but the other was unrecognisable, spitting and hissing with abyssal tongue.

“I feel great energy in this spring. Two lives, intertwined and inseparable. Like the sun in the moon they are but reflections of the same facet. One of light and one of dark. Neither existing without the other.”

She quickly pulled her hands from the spring, the green hue rapidly fading from the water, and held them close to her chest, as if disgusted and terrified by what she just touched. She turned to Arweinydd, her face pale and her eyes drained.

“What did you see?” He questioned.

“You. Him. The great goddess and the empty god. You are all there. We are all there.”

“A premonition of events to come?”

“Of events that are. Seren and Zaros are bound, and so too are you and the Faceless One. A fine balance had been stirred during your conflict many centuries ago, only now has the equilibrium finally come to rest. I fear disruption of this balance could spell greater perils to come.” She said hesitantly.

“We must return to the city. Warn the others, and prevent what is to come.”

EQUINOX

Arweinydd awoke to the sound of horns in the distance; their flanged voices bounced along the walls of the room. He stirred under the heavy linen, lifting his large frame to peer out of the open window, sat toward the foot of the bed. The moon hung high in the night sky, its radiance illuminating the crystal city below. He stood up and tread across the hard floor, towards a group of crystal shards hovering in the corner of the room. He placed his hand in the centre of the floating shards, their dull glow responding with greater intensity. The crystals fell onto the back of the elf's bare hand, binding and growing into long thin plates around his arm.

As the armour grew, it appeared to engulf his entire arm, consuming more and more of his body as it moved. As it expanded, more of floating shards fell from rest, joining seamlessly with pre-existing crystal on the back of his hand. Each devoured and incorporated with the crystalline material, which had already spread across his chest and was now proceeding past his navel and down his arm. The sound of cracking wood and shattered glass echoed in the room as the single block of crystal fractured at each joint. Where the crystal had shattered, it began to retract taking form as protective plates, and exposing elven cloth beneath. His previously bare body now draped in cloth and crystal armour. More cracks and shatters filled the room as the crystal on his shoulders broke free and drifted into place above.

Satisfied with his attire, Arweinydd walked out and onto a small balcony adjacent to the room, peering across the city. Crystal spires dotted the view below, like shards of glass thrust into the ground; their height and size decreased the further from the citadel he looked. Many races in the eastern kingdoms beheld magnificent feats of masonry, but few challenged the intricacy and height the elven citadel and spires reached. Carved through the centre of Prifddinas, stretching from the gate of the citadel to the outer gate of the city, was the city thoroughfare; a great long and straight stone road interrupted only by the central plaza. Down it marched a convoy of elves and horses, baring banners of Lletya and illuminated by floating crystals glowing bright blue. Arweinydd span marching back into the room, his cloak fluttering in an attempt to keep up. He paced through the central room, the door wide open in anticipation of his departure.

Remerging at the base of the spiral stair case, Arweinydd made his way to the crystal throne at the head of the giant hall. Two elven guards, donned in elven cloth and wielding metal spears tipped with crystal and heavy crystal shields stood either side of the throne. Both turned to greet the elven lord.

“Good evening my lord. The delegates from Lletya have arrived.” One of the guards spoke in a low tone.

“Excellent. Send word to have them escorted into the council chamber upon their arrival.” He replied.

The elven guard bowed at the request, and marched down the hall and out the large archway at its end. Arweinydd nodded to the remaining guard and left through a small archway in the nearby wall. He followed the long corridor down to a large wooden door at the end, pushing on its side to entice it to open. The door groaned heavily as it slowly swung open, revealing the chamber inside. The walls were etched with long rows, each filled with a myriad of scrolls and ancient tomes documenting the history of the elven race. In the centre sat a long wooden table dressed with a similarly long bolt of elven cloth. Wooden chairs sat either side of the table, with a throne like chair at its head. Elves do not fell or carve trees. Instead they charm the trees to grow into the desired shapes in ancient elvish tongue, taught to them by Seren herself. This attribute means each object and piece of furniture in the elven kingdom is composed of sentient living wood.

A large door at the other end of the chamber rolled open, and a procession of elves marched through. Arweinydd greeted each elf and beckoned them to sit on one of the chairs, before taking his seat at the head of the table.

“Welcome honoured guests. Thank you for your hasty arrival, and apologies for relinquishing you of rest from your arduous travels.” He proclaimed in elven.

“Few delay when the winds carry presage of grave peril. Why have we been summoned?” A slender male elf down the table questioned.

“I feel a great darkness has befallen our lands. The thick scent of burning brimstone hangs heavy in the air, and the metallic taste of dark magic falls from the summit of the mountain border.”

“The work of Zamorakian demons?” A blonde elf lady, garbed in a dress crafted from elven silk, declared.

“I fear the source of this power is of more ancient origin. The Spring of Atgofion is thawing, and the cursed staff which pierces it wakes. At first it’s significance was subtle and had eluded me, but now it’s meaning is as clear as the crystal it is composed of. The Faceless One has returned.”

Stunned silence filled the room. The eyes of each elf widened in fear at the announcement of his name. It had been thousands of years since the dark general had walked these lands, but the scars of his memory had yet to heal.

EQUINOX

Arweinydd passed through the city market place, the scent of fresh fruit and flowers hung sweet in the air. The elves never eat meat, for all creatures of the forest are the sole creation of Seren, and to kill and feast upon their flesh would be as great a sin as doing the same to your own siblings. Instead, the elves eat a diet strictly comprised of fruit, nuts, and edible leaves which had fallen from the plant, flavoured with spices collected in a similar fashion. Ordered tables of fresh produce, elven cloth, crystal objects, and crafts constructed from living wood consumed the city square, with only small clearings existing to make way for fountains and sculptures decorating the extravagant plaza.

Elves of all ages and castes bowed and curtsied as the elf lord gracefully marched passed them, affording them a hasty but respectful nod of acknowledgement. Pleasantries would have to wait, too much was on his mind and too little time existed. His paces quickened as he exited the market and approached the second gate to the citadel, already open in preparation for his arrival.

“Any news from the Arandar pass?” Arweinydd questioned the guards standing post, as he strode into the courtyard, the gates groaning to a close behind him.

“None today my lord.” The guard replied in elven tongue.

“Notify me should any arrive.”

He stepped through the main archway separating the outer courtyard from the inner ward – a large hall decorated with large pillars sporting a great arching ceiling. It was lit with incandescent crystals floating within diamond shaped insets in the pillars. At the far end sat a single throne crafted from crystal, overlain with luxurious gold embossed elven silk, adorned with intricate swirls around a single silver diamond in the centre; Seren’s icon.

He stopped by the throne, passing his gloved fingers across the silk, following the swirls and finally the borders of the diamond. The elf who crafted this magnificent piece had died many years ago; slaughtered during the Zarosian conquest. Many had died, and had been many forgotten. None by Arweinydd. He bore every death and every loss, a permanent reminder of what he, and what Seren, strived to achieve. Peace.

The moment lasted only a fleeting second, as he once again turned to pass through another archway and up a flight of spiralling stairs. Each conceding turn met with a diamond window, which pierced through the thick crystal hull of the tower. As he ascended the city sank and disappeared giving way to the vast forest beyond, and the mountains which bordered it. The snow topped mountains divided the elven realm from the kingdoms of the other races, giving physical protection from the preying civilizations of the east.

At the top of the stairs he was met with large wooden door, gilded with shining metals of a blue hue. Inscribed the thick metallic bands was ancient Elven text. He pressed his hand against the door, and it responded. The wood sang as it swung open, greeting the elf back to his abode. The circular room was sparsely decorated, with only a few ancient banners hanging from the walls, and a large table in the centre. A bowl of fruit and nuts lying on a bed of leaves sat on the table.

Arweinydd picked up a pomegranate, and rubbed his thumb over its skin. The surface was wet; freshly washed by one of the many elves who strove to maintain this grand palace. He broke the skin and placed a few of the crimson seeds within his mouth before placing it back into the bowl. Satisfied, he left the room and out through an arch onto a balcony. The sun was beginning to fall under the horizon, igniting the sky in brilliant auras of red, orange, and violet. Far out in the forest he could see a faint light moving through the trees. They are already coming, and they are almost here.

EQUINOX

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.