You stand before the statue of a man holding a large mirror. Eight feet tall, his garb matches your own, and his face is at once familiar and remote. A dreamlike image painted onto your dreams.
As you examine the carved details -- untouched by time -- you realize you know the weapon hanging at his side. All know it, Men and Elves and Dwarves, for it is the very same that severed the finger of the Evil One and lifted middle earth from the darkness of the Second Age: Narsil. Recognizing now who the man is, you whisper his name in reverence.
"Elendil."
You look again at the face. He is beautiful. And terrible. You cannot help but run your hand over the smooth stone of his cheek.
The eyes brighten with white heat, and you find Elendil's latent authority and might driving you to your knees. Glancing about you see an ivory fog filling the cavern. You are unable to rise. Or keep your eyes open. Or breathe.
You stand before the statue of a man holding a large mirror. Eight feet tall, his garb matches your own, and his face is at once familiar and remote. A dreamlike image painted onto your dreams.
As you examine the carved details -- untouched by time -- you realize you know the weapon hanging at his side. All know it, Men and Elves and Dwarves, for it is the very same that severed the finger of the Evil One and lifted middle earth from the darkness of the Second Age: Narsil. Recognizing now who the man is, you whisper his name in reverence.
"Elendil."
You look again at the face. He is beautiful. And terrible. You cannot help but run your hand over the smooth stone of his cheek.
The eyes brighten with white heat, and you find Elendil's latent authority and might driving you to your knees. Glancing about you see an ivory fog filling the cavern. You are unable to rise. Or keep your eyes open. Or breathe.
You awaken on a small island aloft in the clouds. There is no time to consider what has happened as shrouded figures, large and lithe, form a ring around you. One steps forward and begins to speak.
"You've come upon the refuge of the King. Answers our questions, quick and well, or find only the point of our spears."
Refuse.
"Ask me, then."
Who are you?
Be silent.
"Ghost."
"Arador, Ranger of the north."
"Who are YOU?"
Whom do you serve?
Be silent.
"The Light."
"The Shadow."
"Myself."
"My kin and comrades."
"Gondor."
"The weak."
"Riches."
Why have you come?
Be silent.
"To find wealth."
"To find a the means to push back the Enemy."
"To find your sweet-ass sister."
"To find power."
"To find immortality."
Imagine for a moment that the Enemy has taken you and your comrades as prisoners of war. He locks each of you in a separate cell and ensures you have no way to communicate with each other.
After days of starvation and discomfort a maimed Orc comes to your door and explains his game: in each cell there is a lever. If you pull the lever you will die, but the doors on the other cells will open. There is a similar lever in every cell. If one of your companions pulls theirs, you will be free at their expense.
What will you do?
Be silent.
"I wait."
"I call the Orc a liar and start looking for another way out."
"I don't pull the lever, knowing full well that one or more of my companions will do it."
"I tell the Orc I want to be one with the Shadow."
"I pull the lever."
"I pull the lever, though, in honesty, I would hesitate."
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