The mortals fear this valley. They have good reason to. They may not know of what happened here all those thousands of years ago, but there is undeniably something repressive in the air. A lingering spirit that sends a shiver up your spine. Today - today, I am alone on this ancient battlefield, just as always. My cousin fell here, many years ago. It was so many years, I have forgotten how many it has truly been. I spend far too much time in memory lane these days. I don't have any other lanes to travel down anymore. I'm the only one left who understands. Who saw everything. The War of the Jewels, the War of Wraith, both Ring Wars and countless others that would take years to list. I'm the only one left who - above all else - remembers. Remembers the history of Arda as it was from the beginning. The ancient kings who now lie under mountains or seas. The realms as they were when my people still dwelled here. And as the sun begins to set and the sky is painted blood red in memory of those who fell here and who are now forgotten, I raise my voice and spin the tale of glories long past.