Prisoner of Rohan

A curious thing, Elves and Wizards are. Races born to be immortal, born to carry a power and magic of their own. Some may see them tall and fair and wise and the most dauntless people in battle. Begetted before the first drop of rain reached the earth, wandered in forests, rivers, mountains ere the Elder Days. Both have liabilities pressed on both shoulders and limits they should take careful with.

For they do not know if lines are crossed. From such beautiful and tranquil race of people yet so perilous they would breed. So mighty and potent their hands can do yet so fair and comely of a monster they can produce.

If these rules are broken, what then? Neither their regret nor rue can bring back what was. For they can only guess what will come to pass.