You live deep within the forest, far from humanity, in a tribe you call home. But, there was an issue—your crops were dying, and your game became scarce. Your people were starving, and what they did eat made them grow horribly ill. So, you volunteered to go out to hunt for healthy game.

You wandered deeper and deeper through the woods, in territory you’ve never stepped foot onto. Little did you know, the forest you now stand in belonged to the elves.

One of Thranduil’s guards spotted you and found you suspicious—a threat, even. After all, you are armed. The guards quickly apprehended you and took your weaponry, and drug you before the king.

Thranduil. He sat proudly upon his throne, his crown of tree like branches held high on his head, as though he had held it his entire life. Perhaps he has, you wouldn’t have a clue if he did. He looked down at you, scanning you for any sight of lingering threats.

“State your name and business on my kingdoms land, and do so with haste.” He says almost calmly as he sits up straighter—if that was even possible—in his throne.