The slender trees moaned and flexed as they drifted out of place, carving a path through the dense foliage, impenetrable to even the fiercest of flames and harshest of assaults. Only the elves, enlightened children of the great goddess of tranquillity and life, Seren, can command the ancient trees of Tirannwn to obey their will; and even then, only the highest the peculiar race can instruct the most primeval of varieties, such as this. The trees came to a halt, revealing a narrow dark tunnel through the canopy, leading to a small but bright and exuberant garden beyond. A tall and robust figure, adorned in heavy crystal armour, approached and entered the newly formed fissure. As he passed through, the trees once again sprang to life, closing behind him and sealing the living wall once more. "Gwsg hen ffynnon goed" he whispered in a low but soft voice.
In the centre of the clearing sat a tree with a thick trunk and dense leaves, speckled with white blossoms which glimmered like crystals under the beating sun. The trunk was pierced with a staff of ancient design, the metal embellished with dull glowing runes and the top with the Zarosian symbol. From the wound crystal fell, like a waterfall, into a shallow pool of solid glass engulfing the roots. Now stood within the opening, Arweinydd, lord of the elves and trusted general of Seren, briskly paced towards the lonesome tree. Elven cloth lined the joints of the elf lord's armour, joining the plates of solid crystal and allowing the armour to slide over itself, offering the motility required of the agile race. The crystal was jagged in texture, decorated with intricate elven designs matching the embroidered swirls of the adjoining cloth. Flat shards of crystal protrude at the knees and the elbows whilst free fragments float and hover above the shoulders forming a mantle. On his head the elf wore a simple crown, resembling the antlers of a forest stag - crafted from living wood. Arweinydd crouched down and touched the crystal flowing from the wound on the tree's trunk. His fingers slid across its surface. It was wet to the touch. He then ran his hand up the stem of the staff, the runes brightening as his fingers brushed across it. He could feel the energy beginning to flow within the weapon once more.