Kinslaying

The black-clad host of Elves moved as quietly as they could through the deep winter snow. Their heavy armour prevented them from moving silently, but they knew that their approach would be marked long before they neared their destination, silent or not. The mood of the company was grim, but hope remained that King Dior would see sense; that when the Sons of Fëanor arrived at Menegroth the doors would be open, with the Silmaril awaiting them.

I had come to the Sanctuary of the Laiquendi Order looking for more ancient tomes and noldorian texts when an Entry I had discovered beared a name of curious nature: It had a Quenya Title and beginning (little of which I know of), but it slowly transcended into the westron language. How odd.

Here reads the following entry (It is transcribed in Tengwar runes):