In a serene silent night, a light flickered deep in the thick jungle of the luscious basin. Silhouettes of figures were curiously observing the mesmerizing graceful dance of the lanky figure by the bonfire. With a mask of an ever-changing expression, the figure garbed in the diamond checkered pattern continues to dance while singing the tales of the past and the future.
The mask turned grim.
Hell, the future shall be.
Putrid stench of death, polluting the air.
Harbingers of apocalypse transpires, doom imminent.
All manners of vampiric mon-keighs are converging; azure, ruby, jet, ivory, and even those tainted by the Old Ones.
Feral wolves thundering with their bloody claws and long fangs, with mercy as cold as the arctic wind.
Beyond control the Devouring Hive has been, consuming everything in its path.
The mask then brightened.
All is not lost.
Glitter of hope, there is.
Lay with the mon-keigh, it is.
Ilfirin shall be witness of the future, as it was foreseen.
They shall carve the path for our ascension to our former glory.
By the blessings of Cegorach, Glory for the Eldar!
The last few words inspired the Exodites and they cheered in unison, emboldened. The herald of Cegorach’s mask smiled during evanescence.