Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplays/@comment-26453572-20160711190118/@comment-26444332-20160721010520

Meanwhile, back at Lórien...

Faenor watched calmly from the ramparts of the great earthen walls of Caras Galadhon as the _Yrch_ from the accursed citadel of Dol Guldur advanced. More warily they came now, since their previous two assaults had been unsuccessful to the extreme.

'They come again.' says a young Elda behind him, speaking the Lórien dialect of Sindarin.

'Indeed they do, Angrendir. Indeed they do... It is my belief that one of the Úlairi leads this. Otherwise we would already have broken them. The cursed king of the East, perhaps...' Faenor responds in the same dialect.

Calmly the ancient Sinda raises a hand, and the Elven archers on the ramparts and in the trees bend their bows, arrows on the string. All around, the gold and red armor and the blue-grey cloaks flicker like ghostly apparitions in the firelight of the burning woodlands around the citadel. With a sigh, Faenor also flexes his own bow, the ancient silver wood of Rhîwrûth still strong and supple.

'Sound the call.' He says, and Angrendir raises an Elven-horn to his lips, blowing a sweet high note into the air.

'For the Lady and Star!' the young Elf cries immediately after, and the archers of Lórien around him echo the call, and soon all the walls are singing the songs of war and ruin.

Araw guide my arrow, Tulkas my hand, and Elbereth my blade, under the One, Faenor thinks, and with that, battle under the trees commences once more.