Hilt of his sword in hand, tip buried into the earth itself, on one knee with his eyes shut, Ancalë, Guard to the tree city chanted his devotion to his second Goddess, Kieraline of the Light. Devoted first and foremost to the Lady of Life, the Guard followed also the Ladies of Light and Peace, those three being the cornerstone of Paladin lifestyle.
"Hail Kieraline, Goddess of Radiance, in her light we shine," the words rang from his deep, clear voice.
"Hail Threnody, Goddess of Balance, in her wisdom we are humbled," his face was lost in reverence as he uttered his devotions.
"Hail Lothlómendil, Goddess of Life, in her mercy we are sheltered. Guide me, teach me, protect me; I live only to serve, my life is yours." To Ancalë, these were more than words; to Ancalë this was his calling. He was a Paladin first and last.

His amber eyes snapped open and his sword slid back home into the scabbard. It was a pretty, though plain sword, heavy and sort of worn, but in no way diminished in value. As he rose, Ancalë's cloak was drawn shut and the weapon was more concealed than not. The sun was low in the sky, arising from the blue horizon and bathing the trees in a soft, golden glow. The sun caught in the Guards eyes and in the rubies in his headband and he looked every bit as Radiant as his name implied.
The rising sun brought to Ancalë's rising eyes the vision of the charred top of the city; the aftermath of a visit from Lady Chaos. The mentally insane Valar had come in search of her adopted emancipated daughter, a lady whom Ancalë had the utmost respect for after watching the battle. But with her simple disappearence, he did not know. The gathering storm of Ita's rage had decimated parts of the city, but life was moving along in the tree city as it should be, for now at least anyway.
Having said his daily devotion, he turned and headed back from the direction he had come, cloak drawn about him. The golden sun overhead cast wonderful pools of light all over the beautiful city, making it seem as if everything radiated a golden glow. The only scar of the tree city was at the top, left by Chaos. Her minions were enough before that, but to have her just unexpectedly drop in for a chat was considerably bothersome.

Not really wanting to go back to his room, Ancalë strolled the grounds. He came across a bench and took himself a seat, spreading his arms wide as he stretched, basking in the radiance of the sun. His eyes flicked over the scenery, taking in all the people going from place to place for who knew what. Today he just wanted to relax, whether or not he got the chance would be up to fate.

The sunrise filled the forest and life began at once. Birds went to and fro from their nests feeding the newly hatched chicks. The warm light reached a small hole in an elm tree. Inside a luna sturred and opened her golden eyes. She got up and looked outside the morning dew still on the ground. She opened her wings and took flight out of the tree after thanking the squirrel she shared the hole room with.

A ball of light floated in on the gentle wind that filled the forest moving small branches and blades of grass with ease. The small ball of light was probably no bigger than a human's hand. It floated above the walls of the forest city, looking down at the many creatures who were there. There were mostly elves but others were there as well. Very few people looked up to see the flying ball of light that got past the archers, who probably knew that it was an ordinary sprite. She looked at the city as she rode the breeze. She wondered where she was, there were a lot of elves in the city but she had never heard of a city in a forest. Below her was a male elf sitting on a bench. She flew over to him, "Excuse me, Mr. Elf? Can you please tell me where I am?" she asked.

Almost on the verge of a doze as elves slept, the Guard General, bored to the edge of tears, wrote some poetry in his head, as he did often when there was little or othing else to do. There was a momentary flicker of light in his vision, but he paid it no heed. The voices were hushed, the air calm, unlike most other of the worlds cities.
The elf heard the tiny voice from above. Almost lazily, Ancalë rolled his eyes up to meet the bringer of the voice. She was a small ball of light with wings.
"Strange." the Elf said in the common tongue. "In all of my years on this planet, I've never met a sprite before." he announced, not yet answering the creatures question. Ancalë felt a certain connection with the creature immediately; there was a holy aura of the same type as his radiating from it.
"Well, this is the Elven tree city of Yomenïampa, my fair friend, and I am a general of its guard, one by the family name of Varnoi, first name of Ancalë, Ancal being easier on the tongue in this language, so you can drop the extra syllable if you'd like." he told her... or him. Whichever it was, Ancalë had no way of knowing, only guessing, which he didn't do. His unlined face showed little emotion but that of the person with naught to do, but his eyes, amber and lively, showed a spark of light all the time; this time, there was also the note of curiosity and a vague sort of interest in a creature of this sort. After all, as he said before in complete honesty, he had never actually seen a sprite before.
It was at that precise moment that he noticed a sharp pain in his side. He shifted the sword around until is hung by his leg. He hated when that happened, particularly in public.