Mirkwood

They rest. They talk. They prepare. They stay alert. They observe. They think.

But they do not know.

Dangerous they are, armed with weapons of bright steel and shining armour.

While some elves try to gather news from the wounded scout Glorhir, others carefully observe the surroundings.

The air is silent, but danger could come at any moment.

A maze of narrow pathways. Large webs, covering rocks and undergrowth like lurking scars.

A small camp. Nine elves. One of them injured, having barely escaped with his life.

What is fueling the actions of the Orks, the defilers of Middle-Earth, the Melkorohíni?

How can the Firstborn oppose so much hatred and lust for destruction?

Brothers-in-arms Annunghil and Raolor recalling memories of the past, pondering the nature of the servants of evil.

Two elves, somewhere under the eaves of Mirkwood.

"In the worst case, an enemy may try to escape. To avoid that, we might have to use stealth and disguise."

A soldier and a messenger being fond of crackling campfires.

Stories are told, and ideas are being exchanged, and together with the rest of the company, the two elves will soon set out for a dangerous mission.