Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplay Board/@comment-25344655-20151115041425/@comment-26444332-20151123052750

Faenor struggles to his feet, a cold drizzle beginning to fall. He holds his hand out, fingers outstretched, summoning Ringil back to him. He catches the ancient blade of Fingolfin deftly, wincing from the pain in his side from where he was struck. Despite the mud and blood around him, his robes and armor are still an unblemished white and silver. He gently removes the Star from his neck, nearly falling over from exhaustion and pain as the euphoric sense of unlimited power leaves him.

A single spirit, messenger of the Vala of Wind, whispers in his ear. Few can see it, but only Faenor knows its purpose. He looks with joy to the West, where the last light of day is streaking the sky with brilliant colors of red and gold. A single horn singing in the air is heard, the voice of it sounding like the voices of the choirs of angels. With a look of joy and wonder Faenor cries out, crying out in remembrance of his friend Fingon of old: "Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Edain, utúlie'n aurë! The Day is indeed Come, my friends!"

And with another mighty and sweet horn blast the hosts of Valinor, innumerable and glowing with power and majesty, crest the ridge before Kheled-arnin and the smoking battlefield in front of the Great Gate.