One day, Elder Throne entered the mystical land of E'lgoroth, he was struck by its otherworldly beauty. The air itself shimmered with ancient magic, the ground beneath his feet pulsed with a primal energy, as if the land was alive, infused with a power that had existed since time immemorial. E'lgoroth was no mere place; it was a realm where nature and enchantment were one, where towering trees whispered forgotten secrets, and the elves—beings of grace and ancient wisdom—lived in perfect harmony with the land's magic.
Elder Throne had come with a purpose, one that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He sought an audience with Queen Lythari, the elusive ruler of E'lgoroth and one of the few beings whose power and influence rivaled his own. Their realms shared a volatile border, where tension brewed like an unrelenting storm, threatening to spill into conflict at any moment. Yet, despite this, Elder Throne had always chosen diplomacy over war, a choice that had earned him Queen Lythari's cautious respect—though trust was something far harder to come by.
Their shared history was marked by an act of kindness, one that had forged a fragile bond between them. During a brutal conflict many years before, Queen Lythari had found herself and her children in desperate need of sanctuary. Her lands had been overrun, her people scattered, and her throne was in jeopardy. It was to Elder Throne she had turned, seeking refuge for herself and her unborn daughter. He had offered her shelter, not just as a gesture of goodwill, but as a symbol of his belief in a future beyond violence. For six days, Queen Lythari and her children were hidden within his stronghold, protected from the horrors of war. It was a debt she had never forgotten.
Now, Elder Throne was returning to E'lgoroth, but this time, it was not out of compassion—it was necessity. A vision had driven him to the heart of the elven realm, one that spoke of the future, a future where both their peoples stood united—or fell together.
As he crossed into the sacred lands, the air grew dense with power. The earth trembled beneath his feet, and the sky darkened, casting a heavy, foreboding shadow over the landscape. Suddenly, the heavens split open, and a radiant light spilled forth, illuminating the palace of Queen Lythari, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens, and the ancient throne that stood at its heart—
**The Throne of E'lgoroth:**
- **Base:** A massive crystalline foundation, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly, like stars shimmering in an eternal night.
- **Pillars:** Four obsidian columns rose from the base, each carved with ancient glyphs from a forgotten age, symbols of power and balance.
- **Seat:** The throne itself was a masterpiece of silver and gemstones, each one reflecting the elemental forces that governed E'lgoroth.
- **Backrest:** Fashioned from a single piece of polished black wood, the backrest curled like the wing of a dragon—silent, deadly, and commanding.
The throne emanated a presence that was palpable, as though it were alive. Lights flickered across its surface, pulses of energy that matched the rhythm of the land itself. Time seemed to distort around it, bending to the will of the ancient power that radiated from the seat of elven authority.
As Elder Throne dismounted, an escort of elven guards led him to Queen Lythari's palace. Word of his arrival had already reached her, and she came to meet him, her face an unreadable mask of grace and restraint. She was dressed in the flowing robes of elven royalty, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders like moonlight. Her eyes softened slightly when she saw him, though a flicker of wariness remained.
"Welcome, Elder Throne," she said, her voice a melodic blend of warmth and caution.
He bowed respectfully. "It is an honor to stand once again in your realm, Queen Lythari."
"What brings you back to E'lgoroth after so many years?" Her question carried the weight of something more—an unspoken concern that hovered between them like a shadow.
Elder Throne met her gaze, his voice steady but urgent. "I come with a proposition, one that could change the fate of our people. I seek an alliance."
At the word "alliance," Queen Lythari's eyes darkened. She stiffened, her expression growing cold. "An alliance?" she repeated, as though the very idea was distasteful. "You forget, Elder Throne—humans and elves have never mixed. My people would never accept such a thing."
"I know your hesitation," he replied calmly, "but consider the alternative. War is brewing, Queen Lythari. A war neither of us can afford. My people have strength, your people possess magic and wisdom. Together, we could stand against any force that threatens us."
Her face tightened, the memory of past conflicts flashing in her eyes. "Do not speak to me of war," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with barely restrained emotion. "Have you forgotten the massacre? My people were nearly wiped out during the last war. I lost more than I can ever put into words. Their blood still stains the earth, Elder Throne. Their cries haunt me."
Her voice faltered, and for a moment, the mask of the queen slipped, revealing the raw pain beneath. The memory of the massacre twenty years ago was still fresh in her mind—the trolls and goblins had ravaged the elven lands, leaving devastation in their wake. Families torn apart, cities reduced to ruins, the cries of the dying still echoed in her heart.
Elder Throne's voice softened, filled with empathy. "I am sorry for reopening old wounds. But we stand at a crossroads, Lythari. Another war is coming, one that will consume both our realms if we do not act. With your magic and our strength, we could prevent the devastation."
Lythari shook her head, her voice quiet and broken. "How can I convince my people? They will never forgive. The scars of the past have not healed. The blood spilled by trolls and goblins has not yet dried in their hearts."
"You are their queen," Elder Throne reminded her gently. "If you believe in peace, they will follow you."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken pain. Lythari's mind was torn between the past and the uncertain future. The war of two decades ago had nearly destroyed her people—her husband, King Altha, had led the elves in battle, but his death had left a void that still lingered. The memories of that time were like open wounds—El'vanar burned to the ground, the Siege of El'goroth that nearly broke their spirits, and the countless lives lost in the process.
The Great Devastation had left deep scars, not only on the land but on the hearts of the elven people. In the aftermath, the elves had withdrawn, isolating themselves from the outside world, focusing on rebuilding their shattered realm. The trolls and goblins had fragmented, their alliance crumbling into infighting and chaos. And though Elder Throne had brokered a fragile peace, the tension had never truly subsided.
Now, Elder Throne's proposal hung in the air, heavy with the weight of history and loss. "I must return to my people," he said finally, his voice gentle yet firm. "But I ask you to think on what I've said. The future of both our realms may depend on it."
As he turned to leave, Queen Lythari remained motionless, her heart heavy with doubt. How could she lead her people into an alliance with humans, after all they had suffered? Yet the thought of another war, of more blood spilled on the sacred lands of E'lgoroth, gnawed at her soul.
Could peace be worth the risk? Or was she merely leading her people toward another catastrophe?
The shadow of the past loomed large, and though the vision of unity flickered faintly before her, the darkness of war felt far more real. The scars of the past had yet to heal, and the future remained shrouded in uncertainty. The words of Elder Throne weighed heavily on Queen Lythari's heart. She stood alone in her chamber, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls, much like the doubts that clouded her mind. She did not know what course to take. The proposal of an alliance with the humans hung before her like a double-edged sword. As queen, her duty was to safeguard her people, to rebuild their shattered kingdom, still reeling from the peril brought by the trolls and goblins. Could she trust the humans after everything?Her thoughts churned like a restless storm. Should she accept the counsel of Elder Throne and consider the alliance with the humans? Or should she listen to the will of her people, who had begun to murmur about forming bonds with the dwarves of Kragnir? Lythari paced the room, her fingers gripping the ancient staff that symbolized her rule, her mind filled with turmoil.What will I do? she thought. Should I join this alliance with the humans, or heed the voice of my people, who long for the stability an alliance with the dwarves could bring?She paused, her gaze drifting toward the moonlit window. No, deep in her heart, she knew that Elder Throne had always been the voice of reason, the one figure she had trusted when the world around her crumbled into chaos. He had offered her people shelter when the relentless waves of war swept across their lands, and his wisdom had guided her through the darkest hours. Could she ignore his counsel now?I must listen to him, she told herself. He has never led me astray. But what of the others?A fresh wave of doubt washed over her. Elder Throne had been a pillar of support, but could the same be said of the humans he represented? Were they as noble as he was, or would they exploit the elves' weakened state for their own gain? Could they be trusted, or would they bring more ruin to E'lgoroth, as had so many others? The thought of placing her people's fate in the hands of humans—a race with a history marred by conflict and treachery—unnerved her.