February 2, 013
As Corellon looked out the window high on Drow Castle, he could still see the oak stakes driven into the ground where the bodies of his four fallen comrades were found. Nearly his entire fellowship, Garronlinta, Glamour, Glendale and Dalanor had fallen earlier today when the high elven army came to lay siege to the castle. The battle was successful overall, for how else could the king be looking down upon the remains and bodies strewn on the field below otherwise? He always expecting that not all of them would survive the battlefield this day. But he was not prepared to lose them all. There is one other, though. Barrazzo lay in fits of seizure from sickness. Corellon and his army could not have found him alive if they didn't march when they did. But his outlook was very poor, as he tossed in heated sickness under a burlap blanket in the corner of the room.
Men moved around, quite a few soldiers and some priests in flowing robes, below him. A slight rain was beginning to fall and finally the stench of battle was being washed away. Already the Darkwood seemed clearer as clerics stood in the four corners under the grey boughs to call upon Erevan Ilesere and Labelas Enoreth to heal the forest. The soldiers were disposing of the dead. The combination of the gruesome details with the cleric's revitalizing energy made the scene surreal and strange.
Finally Alfeim has reclaimed this corner of the woods. Drow has been destroyed. But where are the leaders? Drow King Calds was dead, indeed, but the other four members of the Drow echelon were somewhere in Albinor to be sure. Will they ever return? What should be done with this castle? Should it be razed? Should he send a party after the missing enemies? These questions and more remain, and Corellon knew that he should begin to figure them out. If Barrazzo passed on, which is possible at any moment, he would be the remaining elf.
He turned away from the window. A pristine tear had escaped.