Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows through the dense trees of Nan Elmoth. Aurion moved silently through the underbrush, his keen eyes watching the distant silhouette of the heart of the forest. For months, he had been observing, memorizing the area surrounding Eöl's personal halls—watching for weaknesses, uncovering patterns, and learning how to avoid the ever-watchful eyes of Eöl's followers. The time had come to make his move.

It had become evident to Aurion that the heart of the forest, where Eöl's most coveted secrets lay, was not simply a physical location—it was protected by magic. As he crept closer to the edge of the mist that clung like a living thing around the heart, he could feel its weight. The air grew thicker, more oppressive, and a faint sense of vertigo tugged at his mind, as though the mist itself was alive and aware of his presence.

The wall of mist shifted and swirled, obscuring everything beyond it. It was a perfect barrier—a guard against unwanted eyes. Aurion knew this was no ordinary fog; it was magic, the kind only a master like Eöl could weave. He would need to find a way through it if he was to get to the forge—and to the coveted secrets of Galvorn—hidden deep within.

Aurion had learned over time that Eöl's closest followers were not just smiths—they were warriors, fiercely loyal to their master and entrusted with protecting the heart of Nan Elmoth. He had seen them in passing on his rare trips near the boundary, tall and silent, their dark armor reflecting the forest's shadows. They moved like phantoms, their eyes always scanning, always alert. These were no ordinary guards; they were an extension of Eöl himself, bound by their loyalty and perhaps by some unspoken oath that kept them rooted to the heart of the forest.

Aurion knew they would be the greatest challenge in his plan. They were everywhere, watching every path and listening to every sound. If he was to succeed, he would have to outsmart them, avoid their sharp eyes, and find a way to slip past their vigilance.

For now, Aurion's goal was clear: study the territory around the mist. He spent his days tracking the guards' movements, noting their patrol routes, and searching for gaps in their watch. Each time he ventured closer, he felt the weight of the eyes on him—the constant sense of being watched, even though he was never seen.

He marked out the weaknesses he found on a crude map he had made—a small piece of parchment he kept hidden under his tunic. The map was not of the forest itself, but of the routes the guards took, the pauses in their patrols, and the spots where the mist seemed less dense, where it might be possible to slip through unnoticed. He noted the times when the guards grew lax, when the mist seemed to shift in response to their passing, as though it too was aware of their patterns.

Aurion's plan was coming together in pieces. He had observed that the guards followed a predictable pattern during the night, with shifts changing every few hours. They never strayed far from their paths, but they always moved in pairs, never allowing themselves to be separated. Aurion knew this was both a strength and a weakness. If he could isolate one of them, he might be able to slip past undetected.

There was a place in the forest, just beyond the mist, where the trees grew more sparse. The ground there was covered in loose stone and thick moss, an area the guards rarely passed through. He had marked this as his point of entry. From there, he could make his way closer to the heart of the forest, where the mist was thickest and the guards most concentrated.

It would be a dangerous journey, but Aurion had never been one to shy away from danger. The power of Galvorn, the metal that could rival even the might of the greatest smiths, was too great a prize to leave untouched. His future was tied to it, to mastering its creation, and he was willing to risk everything to unlock its secrets.

Time, Aurion knew, was running out. Eöl was growing more suspicious of his dedication. Despite his best efforts to blend in and keep his true intentions hidden, the Dark Elf had begun to notice his increasing obsession with the work. The longer Aurion waited, the more likely it became that Eöl would discover his plans. Every day he spent in the forge without uncovering the secret of Galvorn was another day Eöl's suspicion grew.

Aurion had also heard rumors from the other smiths—whispers that Eöl was considering taking a trip to Nogrod and Belegost, to speak with the Dwarves. The thought of his master leaving the forge for even a short time presented Aurion with a golden opportunity. If Eöl were to leave, it would give him the perfect window to act.

But that was still weeks away, if it happened at all. For now, Aurion needed to rely on his wits, his knowledge of the forest, and the careful observations he had made over the past months.

The moon rose higher, casting its silver glow on the forest as Aurion sat on a low stone outcrop, the map of his surroundings spread before him. His eyes glinted with determination as he traced his fingers over the parchment, marking the final routes and times.

He would move when the moon was high, when the mist was at its densest, and when the guards were least likely to notice him. It would be risky, but Aurion had learned from the finest. He had spent years perfecting his craft with the hammer of Fëanor, and now, it was time to put his skills to use in a way he never had before—stealth, patience, and precision.

No more waiting. No more being patient. The secret of Galvorn was within his reach, and nothing, not even Eöl's magic, would stop him from claiming it.

With a final glance at the heart of Nan Elmoth, Aurion stood, tucked the map securely into his tunic, and vanished into the darkness of the forest, ready to begin his most dangerous game yet.