Beneath the sheltering arms of a vast mountain range, where clear waters flow over bright stones, there lies a hidden vale of natural grace. Rivendell endures there, a refuge untouched by the weariness of the world, where time seems to linger. Here, the burdens of the road are set aside, and even the most troubled heart finds a measure of peace.
Upon the windswept crown of Weathertop, the ruins of kings long fallen keep their silent watch. Here, beneath a fading sky, a small fire once burned and drew forth shadow from the dark. In that brief and perilous hour, steel and flame held back the night, yet a wound was dealt that fate itself could not forget.
A spear of stone rose into the upper airs, its jagged crown ever mantled with snow and shrouded in restless cloud. There, upon the peak, stood Durin’s Tower; once sturdy dwarven stone, now cleft by elemental fury, as shadow met light and dark flame was extinguished by storm.
There upon the narrow spine of the mountains, where shadows clung like cobwebs and the wind wailed through black stone, rose the Tower of Cirith Ungol. Hewn in an age of watchfulness by the men of Gondor ™, it had long since fallen into ruin and ruinous purpose, defiled by the hand of the Enemy. Rusted iron crowned its jagged crest; torn banners whispered of ancient honour lost.