The old Bards voice rose above the hall, the single silver note bringing from his harp a respectful silence falling as his words touch all within hearing.
All were there, all that could be.
"Quiet my children, fear not the dark, the fire is warm and stout oak does withhhold the wights and evils of night.
Dream and weep, for I sing the tale of the Elven Queen, A Kings foolish pride, her silver folk, and their last ride from this world."
Shadows wrapped snugly about the silent folk as his magic wove for them a vision fair and glittering, yet far and crystalline as though seen forever far away...
"Proud she stood, wind tossed unbent,
light of moon wan and sad.
Wars long and bitter with pride, Mans hate seeming mad.
Too hard the steel in Mans swift hand, too deep the thirst for Elder blood.
Too many Friends and neighbors, broken in crimson mud.
Too few the babes of Elven loin, none now rest on mothers breast.
Mans get drowns the world, what haven for the eldritch rest?
Oberon oh Lord, slain and fallen too, He who walked this worlds first morn, who drank the fresh made dew.
Memories of Him, before the first night was made,
husband, King, near God Himself,
nought could ease her pain.
"The moon She rises, the time is come, one gate in centuries long! We leave this world of our long birth, to tread a path dark and long. Courage!
For a world awaits us fair, a jewel unknown untouched, no evil awaits us there!"
Turning magnificent, bright armor agleam,
to face a hill of ancient Gods,
great hulking ring of Eldritch stones, dance upon the sod.
Arms slender shapely pale rise to touch the Moons bright hem, voices swell in angelic...