Second Age 1572

“Do you have mercy for those who fall High King? What shall be my fate?” Asked the Murderer of Many, to the man who stood in front of him with the bitter happiness of victory. “You shall die.” Said the honorable King Tenlor. “And what about the peace you have always wanted?” Asked again the Lord of Cruelty. “We shall make peace!When you pay the price for every single one of the men and children who lays dead before my walls. We shall make peace when your corpse is being eaten by some crows.” Those were the words of both wisdom and grief. It was certainly not the words of mercy but how could anyone be merciful after the deaths of the ones who they loved.

Suddenly a war cry has been heard from the battlefield and a spear cut through the air, pierced the kings chest. He embraced the spear because finally he was going to his dead son and to his ancestors. Although he hated the man who threw it because he still had some unfinished business to do.

He fell to the ground with all his glory, with no hesitations holding him back and never got up. And that’s how the last High King of Belfast has passed from these lands.

They immediately caught the killer and killed him right there but it was too late for their king. ‘He is going to a better place.’ they thought. But it was such a shame. Their King had to left before seeing the destiny of his finally defeated rival.

They took the Cruel Lord Syrian as a prisoner and went back to their home with the mourning of their dead King. 

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Lights of the moon and stars were sad that night. They were refusing to touch the earths surface without the presence of High King. The absence of Tenlor was slowly falling to the world. He was a true honorable man, husband and a king but now he was nothing more than a memory like all his family.

Women cried, man drank for his memory and so many songs and poems has been written for him over the years. But none of them has fully told his glory. The night seemed like it did not want to end. And this was the story of how world unwillingly accepted it’s lost.

People talk, bards sing and they all tell a different story but they were on the same page this time. That world would never be the same.