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Veryacano studied the eager elf before him for a long while before speaking. ‘‘Spirits you indeed have, young Parnard!” he said, chuckling, and gestured for him to stand.
Fire. Burnt wood, turned into charcoal in a blaze of energy. How it should have warmed, yet the flickering of the flames could not pry away the feeling of dread. The night over the once fruitful and lively land had come and gone, leaving its guests scurrying to prepare breakfast, feed the horses and plan for the morrow.
The Order of Hammer is marching From Rivendell to Eregion to keep southern approaches safe. Will they be able to return home safe from yet another deployment?
Rivendell. When walking the imposing halls of the Lord Elrond, when listening fragments of small talk of the beautiful Eldar of the Valley, when loosing the turmoil of my thoughts and fears in that of the waterfall, when its drops merge tears making them cold as snowflakes on my face instead of burning fire I can almost forget. For a whole second at least..