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well, I've been writing a bit the past few days, not enough to post yet, but I wanted to update this a bit. So, against my better judgement I think, I've decided to post this intro I wrote for english. I could turn it into a story if it was good enough, so I'll let you guys decide.

In her mind she sees a thick forest, the still, damp air screaming of ancient crimes and victories. No sunlight manages to break through the tree's long standing crowns, though a path shines in the dark, weaving its way into the distance. Following the path, it seems endless until a river appears, flowing before large cavern guarded by an intricate gate. Bright lanterns on either side illuminate the surrounding forest with a clear piercing light, and accent the rich runes on the silver gate.
Passing through the gate, a city is reveled, lit with multicolored glowing crystals, the first open cavern sparkling like stars on a moonless night, and branching into many tunnels. Pleasant laughter and song can be heard echoing through the cavern, like bells on the wind, thought no movement in seen in the hall. A rejuvenating breeze beckons from one of the smaller passages, and leads to a large well-lit room. Weapons from forgotten eras line the walls, swords eternally sharp and never-breaking bows, gifts from old friends and alliances, reflecting the clear lights of the room, a mystical sense radiating throughout.
Only a tall figure dressed in simple brown breaches, boots and a green jerkin is there, diligently practicing with twin blades, his shadow dancing like a flame on the walls.
His quick, powerful movements are blinding to even one well versed in the ways of battle, and surprising coming from such a lean form. Sadness and longing stream from him, and intensity can be read from his face. At last he pauses in his practice and, sheathing his blades, he turns to her, a long strand of golden hair falling in his face. Bright eyes met hers, deep sapphires piecing her soul, holding lifetimes of memories. Soundlessly he walks and takes a seat on a stone bench along the south wall, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A strong hand brushes the stray lock into a safer place, behind one of the man's pointed ears. Her eyes are attracted to his noble cheeks as two small teardrops appears on them, sliding down his soft, pale skin. As he bows his head, a single long golden braid glistening in the light, he speaks in his native tongue, his voice a deep, entrancing melody: "For the departed." Heart aching over the beautiful elf's sadness, she reaches out to hug his sturdy shoulders and suddenly wakes, with the whole scene burned into her memory.