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Echad Eregion

Memories: Of Echad Eregion, the First Time.

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

((Reposted from several years ago. Part of the conversation between Estarfin and Danel, just before he lost his memory.))

 

“Happier days,” replied he, not giving an inch of ground, though his hands fell idle at his side.

“Happier days?” I echoed his words, unable to accept them as his answer. So it was I made my decision, and that to lower my own defense in an attempt to draw him forth.

The Crafting of Ellaer

What type of content is this?: 
Artwork: Artscreen

Ellaer, the Ring of Art, was a mere Essay of the greater Rings to come. It was weak, an echo of what was to come. One of the weakest rings, even amongst the other Essays. And yet, its crafter, Golodhmiriel cherished it as her finest masterpiece and dearest treasure. 

Source: 
Screenshot taken by me; edited by me via iPiccy

Fencing with Estarfin: Round Two.

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

 

Old and Decaying

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

No matter how much time ran forward, she was still aching for the greatest meager six hundred years of her life. Now, however, the further time moved forward, the further away it was...

A Portrait of Aurthiel

What type of content is this?: 
Artwork: Artscreen

Source: Elf Avatar app from Google Play. 

Source: 
Elf Avatar App

Renewed Hope at Dawn

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: Event screen

Elves at Echad Eregion pointed the search group in the direction of nearby ruins, where doves have been seen as of late. Aurineth and her friends decide to set off early at dawn in hopes of catching sight of the birds as they awaken.

High Among the Ruins

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: Event screen

Caethel climbs to a higher vantage point upon the trees and ruins of Echad Eregion. There, she finds an old nest with a bright blue strand of thread, which marks the left leg of Aurineth's birds.

Observations: Parnard

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

I am not entirely sure whether Parnard drives me to amusement or madness.

He sits here even now, stitching away, as is his wont. I have tried a number of times to make out the depiction of the threads but to no avail. They seem to be a cluster of colours to my eyes. Doubtless he sees things differently.

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