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A Light from the Shadow (Tolkien CKII)

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@MaHaL I don't think that works quite as well while they don't know us and simply see the Scorn of Kazad-Dum or something alike destroying (part of) the land.
 
[X] Continue despite the oppressive feelings

We are here as a guest. Once we speak with the elves we can find out what or if they know about this discord and address it appropriately.
 
Glad to see this back. :)

[x] Continue despite the oppressive feelings

At least some talking is necessary before going into smiting mode. I'm pretty sure those are universal rules for the LOTR setting. ^_^
 
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The Lady of the Golden Wood part 2
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    • The Lady of the Golden Wood

    You walk along the ancient pathways of Lothlorien with a troubled mind. It's not the cries of the birds in the trees you pass by, nor it is the breeze that follow you, change of direction to match your movements while you are not able to guess if it seeks to taunt you or refresh you. It's not even the eyes of the elven sentinels you sense peering from their tree-houses. You do not fear them, nor begrudge the alarms and hushed sentences in the clear language of the Sindar. What kind of elves are these anyway? Are they Sindar, of the Grey Elves you fought in Beleriand so long ago? Are they of simply of the Quendi, the forest folk who once refused the summons of the Valar and preferred wanderings beneath the stars than the sojourn of the Valar? Surely they are not Noldor of the race tricked by your Master and Ennemy, for those spoke another language entirely and disdained the cover of forests.

    No, what trouble you is the scream nature in its entirety pushes through each leave and each blade of tree. You thought the Elves gifted in the speech of trees and stone so why do they do nothing. The forest cries for winter, for the day of rest where trees can lay down their leaves and sleep awaiting spring. A power maintains all thing in its fullness here, and you suspect this realm is never in full winter garb but that the trees have always leaves on them. It irks you. Timeless were the halls of the Allfather before all began. Not even Melkor wished to turn back the melody of time when Illiuvatar decreed it should flow. What Galadriel created, for you are now sure only a Noldo of high birth and fair lineage could have this arrogance, is beautiful but you weep at the consequences. For as the Lady banned Winter and forced everything to halt their march to reverse the Fading of her race had doomed it all. Winter would come to these lands after her death or departure, a winter as long as it was delayed.

    As you walk, you pity the Man who would tarry long beneath these enchanted eaves. For his strength would be taxed at every moment during time he would not feel pass. Would he die then in a matter of years, consumed by the exertion, burned like the butterfly next to an open flame. Or would his strength be lengthened beyond nature, his body fading, consumed by the might of his Fea, perhaps eager to escape the bonds of the flesh? Would it remain like an insect taken in amber, beautiful in its deadly state.

    Such thoughts carry you to Caras Galadhron without anyone to show you the path. You follow the sweet sickening music of time slowed if not stopped and arrive amids bewildered elves. You do not have need to speak for her eyes were on you during the journey through the woods. She and her mate has descended from their trees to greet you or oppose you.

    The husband is of no consequences. He's a grey elf in armor and silk, a battle-axe fastened at his belt covered in the glyph-rune of the lady of nightingales. A gift of Melian you wager, made in the darkness ere sun and moon and covered in spells against the creatures of Melkor. Tall is he, strong of arm and keen of eye. Still you do not care for him. Sinda of high birth may he be but the one beside him is of the highest blood and the strongest might.

    She is fairer than words can name and in her blond eyes you see the light your master always coveted. Slender she is but strong as a young tree and you sense might in every feature of her flesh. She is undoubtebly Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, sister of Finrod Hewer of Caves and Turgon king of Gondolin. Morning is in her face but also the first hours of night and the splendor of the Firstborn. You saw Luthien the fair with your own eyes and even as you consider her the first beauty of this earth, you convene Lady Galadriel is the second fairest.

    At her finger a star shines bright and you don't know what it is

    Neither of them will talk first as they await your announcement. Well time to make a good impression.

    [] Write-in
     
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    • [X] I am here to parley, any who wish not to treat with me may begone this place for I am mighty and I shall parley where I stand.

    Its time to be boss before the ears get ideas, bro.
     
    [X] "It saddens me yet how even the great are prone to folly. I would know, my mistakes are more terrible than most."
     
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