The crescent moon is low in the starry night sky, giving off a light glow to the glimmering white frozen plains below. Windswept dunes of snow rise here and there, void of signs of being disturbed. This is a holy place -- a place where Snow Elves once roamed freely, giving prayers to their Gods above under the open skies of effervescent auroras. But no more. Now this divine snowy plain is a desolate reminder of ages passed. All signs of her people are extinguished, erased from history -- save for one radiating reminder. A staff, embedded into the frozen ice, protruding out towards the heavens above. Encased in the head of the staff is said to be a star, a present to the Snow Elves from the Gods of old. This star can be seen for many, many miles, and felt even further by the people it had been gifted unto.
Even he can not touch the power that gleamed from this staff. He would not dare try.
She kneels before the star, grief etched upon her beautiful face. She mourns for her people, her family; begs upon the Gods to tell her why they allowed this to happen. Beseeching upon them to restore them. But she receives no answer. Tears run down her alabaster cheeks, falling to the ground in frozen droplets.
"Have we not made you proud?Have we not kept you in our hearts?" she asks of the Gods.
Still; no answer.
She falls to her knees in exhaustion, drained emotionally.
The star of the staff flickers lightly, causing her face to raise with a look of hope upon it. But that hope is quickly tarnished as she feels the presence. The presence of evil. How dare they enter this most holy of ground, this sanctuary of her people.
Her grief promptly turns into an unconcealed anger, the tears ceasing to flow. The events of the past flash through mind, slowly adding to her rage.
Death himself had entered the mortal world, commanding a decree that Snow Elves were to be cleansed from the surface; that none were to bare children, or to be married. Such an army that he commanded, that none dared to stand against him except for the Snow Elves themselves. Their allies faltered, disappearing into their own kingdoms. The Snow Elves stood alone, defiant, but to a vile end. Deaths horsemen rose from their graves and swarmed through the homelands of the ancient Elves, murdering without conscience. Linadriel herself had defied the decree and had a beautiful daughter with a Human Druid. But on the eve of her daughter's tenth birthday, Deaths army had found the last remaining refuge of her people and massacred them. Linadriel had been on a spiritual quest, returning to find her people and her family in the most ghastly of manners. Her husband's body had been torn apart by Deaths hell hounds, the elders of her people decapitated and left on display. Her daughter's body was nowhere to be found, compounding her grief.
For three years she had searched the planes of existence, scouring for a sign of her daughter or her people; but none were to be found. She returned to the staff of stars every year on the eve of her daughter's birthday, to mourn and beg of the Gods.
The evil at her back now pulsed through her. She stands and turns, facing the the distant snowy ridge. There, Deaths Calvary stands, representing everything that she hates in this mortal world...
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note: unedited and will probably change in story and order of happenstance. Opinions wanted!
