Tacita

Eira's hand fell across her stomach, gazing beyond the library's gazebo into the angry summer sky. Not a cloud was above her. The gazebo usually had a fanciful fountain working with flowing, rich waters. Now, the well was dried up and hot from the sun's relentless beatings. The drought was taking its tole… She closed her eyes, looking back to the previous night.

With the albino raven Snowbird awaiting its mission, Eira wrote a letter in haste. She was unsure if Demlemoth would approve of her reaching out, and she had disappointed him enough recently. She wanted to write to her friend, tell herself that she was alright. Of course, she was the pinnacle of caution writing this short letter. Barely any details were given, and her location and name were left unknown.

The doors flung open in a wild display. Marching through the door, a small armored warrior strode in with regal confidence. These halls had no lowly orcs. They were filled with black uruk guards in dutiful watch, far more disciplined than the standard orc kind. The halls were fluttering with slaves, Stout-Axe, Nurnhoth, and others. Near the end of the throne room, under a massive stain glass window, was a flight of stairs guarded by Black Numenorean elites. Atop the stairs was a throne.