Consolidation A Test of True Faith: [Consolidation for Nirnaeth Arnoediad]

[TheThird]

The Island of Elysium had awoken, and all would soon rush to its conquest. The dream had foretold a blade that could slay even the gods themselves, a weapon of such terrible power that every kingdom, warlord, and faith upon Terra Firma would seek to claim it. Armies would march, banners would rise, and blood would be spilt in pursuit of a weapon none truly understood. Yet the Gods of Old had not been blind to these omens, and would not sit idly by to watch their demise.

Long ago, when the elves of Malamac still walked beneath the light of Elentir and their faith had not yet been fractured by corruption, the gods had bestowed upon them sacred relics born of divine craft and celestial purpose. Gifts meant not for conquest, but for protection. For faith and sacrifice. Now, as the world stirred toward another age of war, those relics stirred as well, searching for Champions to wield them in the name of their Gods.

Ulundil of House Guruthos was one such soul. Born to an ancient lineage whose name carried both reverence and shadow, Ulundil had been raised within a household where faith was not merely tradition but duty. His family traced its devotion back to the earliest days of Malamac. Though the world around him had changed, though corruption had crept through land and blood alike. The old prayers had never faded from the halls of House Guruthos.

This path will be treacherous and will lead him through sorrow and grief, but he is led by the will of the gods, and thus, if his faith is preserved, so will he be carried in their strength through the trials and battles to come.

This is the story of how Ulundil claimed the Shield of tears unnumbered.

 

[Ulundil of House Guruthos]

Ulundil awoke abruptly from his sleep. He had dreamt the most strange thing under the stars. Ulundil's mother had often told him the importance of dreams. It is where the reality of our world clashes with the desire of our mind, where past and future blend into an amalgamation of characters and scenes shown to you most strangely and indirectly. His mother always found a way to make even the most minuscule things seem fascinating and beautiful; it is a shame the elf could not share this dream with her, like he used to so many years ago.

This dream felt too real; its words lingered in Ulundil's mind, and the pictures swam through his thoughts as he walked down a long road in the eastern erovian wilderness. What did it mean, and why could he not shake its memory off?

All day, the Knight walked on and on, no clear path for him to follow, only the thoughts and this dream keeping him true company. Ulundil could no longer walk in silence; he had to speak, he had to voice his thoughts, and so he spoke. "I do not remember reading about an Island of Elysium in my time in the grand library of Orsi. It sure would be interesting if this dream turned out to be based in truth" He did not look or direct these words at anyone, but he knew someone was listening; there always was. "Maybe we could go visit the shores again. I have heard the finest wines are made in that region," He chuckles at the thought, as a smile grows on his face.

Finally, a destination in sight.

 

[Ulundil of House Guruthos]

Ulundil's travels carried him into the vast forests of eastern Erovia. It was on the third day that the knight saw something deeper within the woods, something far off the worn forest path. A golden light, no more than a faint shimmer in the distance, flickered between the leaves. Erovia was a land filled with old mysteries and quiet wonders. Fate had shown the elf this light, and Ulundil knew better than to ignore such things. Fate afterall is guided by the hands of the gods. Without hesitation, the devout elf stepped from the path and deeper into the woods, following only the small glimmer of light through the towering pines.

He had walked until the sun had long vanished and the stars dotted the pitch-black sky with their cold, distant glow. At last, he had arrived; before him carved into the side of a forest-covered hill was a grotto of ancient elven design. The stone had been shaped into tall pillars wrapped in winding stone vines of carved marble, their surface blooming with eternal flowers frozen in time. It was as if a single moment of life had been etched into the hillside and preserved there for centuries. At the centre of the structure stood a great open entrance, no gate sealed it, no stone blocked the way; it stood open as though waiting. Above the threshold, engraved into pale stone, were the words "Mana meril auta"

Ulundil read the old inscription before whispering its meaning aloud, "What will you choose to lose?"

The question lingered heavily in the night air. For a moment, he turned, glancing back over his shoulder into the silent pine forest behind him. The woods stood still and empty beneath the starlight, offering no answers. For now, he chose to press on, into the elven groto and into the dark and silent depths that lay before him. The Gods had led him this fahr he thought, it would be a shame to turn back now and never learn what waited beyond the veil of his sight.

 

[Ulundil of House Guruthos]

The air inside the grotto was cool and unnaturally still. As Ulundil stepped beyond the threshold, the sounds of the forest faded behind him, swallowed by ancient stone. Before him stretched a narrow corridor carved into the hillside, its pale walls etched with careful designs that had endured the passing of centuries. As he moved deeper into the passage, Ulundil noticed the carvings were not mere decoration; they told a story. Figures of the old gods were depicted walking among the elves of Malamac, guiding them through fertile lands and standing beside them in times of peace. Further along the corridor, the scenes shifted to war. Elven warriors stood shield to shield against monstrous foes while the gods themselves loomed above the battlefield, their presence a radiant force against the encroaching darkness.

Eventually, the corridor widened, and the narrow passage opened into a much larger chamber carved deep within the earth. The ceiling rose high above him, supported by tall stone pillars whose surfaces were wrapped in carved vines and blossoms, the same eternal flowers he had seen decorating the entrance of the grotto. Rows of stone coffins stood on either side of the chamber. Each tomb was carved from pale marble and sealed with a heavy lid bearing the likeness of the knight resting within. Their hands folded across their chests, their armour etched carefully into the stone just as they wore it in life.

Ulundil walked slowly between the silent rows, knowing these were the guardians, the family who had once served the realm through generations of war. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly across the chamber floor.

At the far end of the hall stood a tomb larger than the rest, its surface covered in intricate carvings of vines, crests, and the ancient words of passing. Set into the centre of the tomb’s lid was a towering shield. Even from across the hall, Ulundil could see its towering form. The metal had not dulled with age, nor had its carvings faded. The engraved willow tree spread its branches across the face of the shield, its golden leaves glimmering faintly in the dim light of the chamber. Beneath the roots of the tree, the carving of a grieving mother knelt with outstretched hands as a single golden tear fell from above into her waiting palms.

"Nirnaeth Arnoediad", The elf whispered to himself in disbelief. For a long moment, Ulundil stood in silence, gazing upon the heavenly relic, which had surely been the reason he was guided to this grotto. Then, somewhere behind him, stone shifted against the weight of time with a heavy grinding sound.

One of the tombs had begun to open.

 

[Ulundil of House Guruthos]

Ulundil turned at the sound of grinding stone, expecting a single guardian to rise and challenge him. Instead, the noise spread through the chamber like a slow-moving tremor. One coffin opened, then another, and another after that. Marble lids slid aside as ancient dust stirred into the air, and armoured figures began to rise from their resting places. These were the Knights of the old bloodline. They climbed slowly from their tombs, their movements stiff but purposeful, the faint glow of pale eyes shining beneath their ancient helms. More followed behind them, emerging from coffins along both sides of the chamber. There was no count to their number; each time Ulundil thought the last had risen, another stone lid shifted somewhere deeper in the hall. Ulundil drew his greatsword in a single steady motion, the sound of steel cutting softly through the silence. Holding the blade before him, he lowered his head and whispered a quiet prayer beneath his breath.

“Guide my hand. Steel my resolve. Let my strength not falter where my faith must stand.”

When he raised his head again, the first wave was already rushing toward him. The fallen knights surged forward between the rows of tombs, their movements far faster than their slow rise from the coffins had suggested. Blades flashed in the dim light as they descended upon him from the front and flanks alike. Ulundil stepped to meet them, planting his feet firmly against the stone floor as the first strike came crashing down upon him, ringing loudly as steel collided with steel. With the weight of his greatsword, he turned the blow aside, the force of the parry carrying his blade in a wide arc that carved through the armour of the knight before him. The guardian fell back into stillness, collapsing against the stone floor with a hollow crash. But there was no time to pause. Another knight came from the side, thrusting a narrow blade toward Ulundil’s ribs. He twisted his body just enough for the strike to glance across his armour before driving the pommel of his sword into the attacker’s helm. The ancient warrior staggered, and Ulundil followed with a heavy downward strike that split the guardian’s breastplate and sent him crashing back against a row of tombs. More came. The fight unfolded like a brutal dance in the narrow spaces between the coffins. Ulundil was forced to move constantly between the rows of coffins, his blade rising and falling in relentless motion as he pushed back the endless assault. Each strike of his blade was broad and powerful, sweeping arcs that forced the fallen knights to recoil or fall beneath the crushing weight of steel. Still, they pressed forward. A blade glanced across his shoulder as one knight slipped past his guard, the impact sending a jolt through his arm. Ulundil answered with a violent swing that knocked the warrior back into an open tomb. Another leapt forward immediately to take its place, striking again and again with relentless precision.

“Strength beyond mine… grant it to me,”

He muttered between clenched breaths, his voice low but steady as he continued to pray even while the battle raged around him. Steel rang through the chamber. Ulundil moved through the hall in a constant rhythm of motion, block, step, strike, turn. The greatsword became both shield and weapon in his hands, its heavy blade deflecting incoming blows before answering with devastating force. Minutes started stretching into eternity.

 

[Ulundil of House Guruthos]

The waves did not end.

Each time a guardian fell, another seemed to rise from some unseen corner of the chamber. The floor slowly filled with fallen armour and shattered stone as Ulundil carved his way through the endless assault. Time lost meaning in the struggle as the clash of steel echoed endlessly through the crypt. Sweat ran beneath Ulundil’s armour, and his arms began to burn from the strain of wielding the massive blade again and again without rest. His breathing grew heavier with each passing exchange, yet still he forced himself onward, his faith carried the weight of his blade and armour

“Do not let me falter… not here, not today.”

Another knight rushed him, shield raised high. Ulundil stepped inside the guard and drove his shoulder into the ancient warrior’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards before finishing the strike with a brutal swing that knocked the guardian to the ground. Still, they came. Hours seemed to pass in that hall of the dead as Ulundil fought from one end of the chamber to the other, his blade rising and falling in tireless motion. Each victory brought only another opponent stepping forward to replace the fallen.

"Guide my blade... let me strike true"

Gradually, though, the tide began to thin. Fewer coffins stirred. Fewer guardians rose from the rows of tombs. Yet as their numbers dwindled, so too did Ulundil’s strength. His movements slowed, and the weight of his greatsword grew heavier in his hands. His breath came heavier now, each inhale sharp with exhaustion as his body started to strain against the limits of its endurance. Yet he still believed in his cause, in his victory. Between strikes, he whispered more prayers, his voice rough with fatigue but unwavering in its devotion.

“Let my faith be my strength… let my cause be just…”

The final few guardians approached together, their movements just as disciplined as those who had fallen before them. Ulundil steadied himself and met their charge with a final surge of resolve. His blade rose once more, turning aside their strikes before crashing through their defences with the last of his strength.

One fell.

Then another.

The last guardian collapsed against the stone floor with a hollow echo that rolled through the chamber. Silence slowly returned to the crypt. Ulundil lowered his sword and stood among the fallen knights, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. His arms trembled slightly from the strain, and sweat dripped from his brow onto the cold stone floor beneath his feet. For a brief moment, he believed the trial had ended.

Then, behind him, the final coffin roared open.