SumRansh3t

There was a time and place for anything and everything, within a war torn land. And while in a divided land, where everything and anything could find its place; some pieces of the puzzle remained out of place. This wasn’t to say that the painting wasn’t whole, no. In fact it simply required the finishing strokes. The lands of Erutira, a world that was both twisted and beautiful, varied in existence. With a single continent, Erutira’s land mass was both vast and stable for the time being.  The southern country side consisted of dense forests that covered the land like an ocean, while several mountains lay along the furthest reaches. As humanity reached one of its peaks in time, it laid waste to much of the lush forests; clearing the land for farm development. Urthira was the name given to this southern world, where stone surged up to the skies above, and cities were extensive and full of life. This state as it had been later renamed as, consisted of three noble houses and thus the lands where divided in an equal manner. To the west, lay the Wandering Lowlands. An area the size of the south, some thousand miles across. With dense pockets of forests here and there, the rest of the area was a rocky waste land. The natives of this area mostly consisted of the wood land folk, though they were somewhat scarce these days. The region to the north was the Frozen Tundra, which was a horrific realm unlike the others. While the others consisted of beauty, and savagery alike; the cold north left the rest behind in the sense that it lacked the tranquillity, and was far more war torn. With the fallen lurking, and the manifestations of hell arising in the desolate realm; few ever attempted to travel there. The Eastern Realms, as the native desired the land to be deemed, was a jungle climate that housed several swamp regions and remained constricted by the amount of rivers that flowed through this section of Erutira. This section of the land mass also contained the most species of the plant, outside of its endless sea. However, one cannot simply forget the region that besieges the land mass in the centre; the Ash Lands surrounded an active volcano known as Bel’phyre. Vampiric creatures, as well as the dark elves called this land home. The burning forests that forever cascaded the base of the mountain, held captive by a mystical wall of which the elves had created. From there a single city at against a section in the north wall, allowing access in and out of the hellish gate. Now that finishing touches of the painting have be stroked, it is now time to tell a tale of one of the many legacies of Erutira.

The sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves echoed beneath the hard padding of hooves along a dirt road located in the Ash Lands. Two riders and a Wee’Wah, a creature that appeared with the embodiment of an ape but the scales of a dragon; they rode in silence, while occasionally glancing off to either side of the wood land path. These exiled age old paths were rarely safe these days, but they were all that marked the passage between the seven outlining villages that consisted mostly of run down shacks and merchant stalls; while at the centre of each rested a tavern. Smoke lingered heavily in the air, which wasn’t uncommon being below the boundary of the burning forest. Most Drows preferred this southern region away from Bel’Phyre since its constant smoke obstructed the light from the sun above. For such a large section of the world, the Ash Lands were perhaps the hardest to live in for most of the other races. The Dark Elves as they were commonly called, alongside the Dreddics, one of the two vampiric races that lived in the volcano waste lands. Diamonds were their main form of trade, alongside that of coal. Drows by nature, all served the Matriarch whom resided in the Cirea city. The city itself had two walls, of which went around and touched back to the fabled Spirit Wall as the Dreddics called it. This strange vampire like race was humanoid in form, while having a more soft and leathery skin in appearance. Their softer flesh, and lankier bodies were only a couple of their bodily traits. Such creatures also had four eyes, and a keen sense of hearing and smell. Getting by on using Drows and whatever wildlife they could obtain; their fragile bodies were only the down side compared to their mystic might. But not all Drows fell into this belief, where they were forced to serve a magically superior race. They had fought the Elves of Light and retained their freedom, though it was only with the help of the Dreddrics that they were able to push the high elven born back.

“How much further to the tavern, Lucorin?” an uneasy voice asked. It was the voice of Are’the, one of the woodland elves. Like all wood elves, Are’the was short in stature, being only four foot and five inches. He wore a dark stained studded leather tunic that looked finely crafted, which was covered over at the arms and to the wrists by chainmail. His bright hide trousers were painted with a black substance in several spots to give it more of a camouflage appearance. Are’the leant back on the small pony that he rode, stretching his arms up past his head. Two exquisite elven blades rested at his side, both of which were forged and embedded with runes. Correcting himself, he reached down and lay a hand on the head of Vergo, the Wee’Wah. Wood elves had an unnatural connection nature, and as such were often capable of taming and developing bonds with an animal. These became their animal companions; one of the few reasons why the woodland folk were feared during the last Great War they were involved in. Vergo let out a soft grunt at the touch as he strode alongside his master. “It south be just a few more miles.” The crude effort to speak common tongue sounded nearly fluently from Lucorin’s lips. His white hair wavered down over the cloak that wrapped his shoulders, much longer than Are’the’s short blond hair. A long handle protruded through the back of the cloak, the shaft of Lucorin’s blade. River Splitter as it was named, was made of the same material as his friend’s short swords. Forged from draconite metal, the material that is harvested from the loins of a dragon’s throat, where their fiery fire comes from; made for an unbreakable and never dulling blade. The craftsmen ship varied between the pairs weapons however, Lucorin’s was obviously of the highest quality. With numerous runes forged into the blade, River Splitter was capable of sundering the heaviest of defences. Beneath Lucorin’s cloak, the tattered and distorted remains of the Matriarch’s guard held true; exquisitely crafted plate armour, interlocked with elven mail for sleeving offered the greatest protection to most weapons. Wearing only dark leather leggings, lined with more of the fine elven mail; Lucorin looked the very part he played before he had abandoned his post some years ago. A prized champion of the royal court, the dark elf had undergone every possible trial during his hundred and twenty-one years of living. From fighting fire with fire against dragons, to desolating the elven shrine of Teara, and rallying the defensive of the Korth outpost; Lucorin had long served his time amidst the Blighted Army, as southerners use to call them. Now the battle mage drifted from village to village along the border lands, with Are’the at his side. From time to time the pair would offer themselves up as sell swords, or make coin by waging on each other in the arenas that cling to the outskirts of the capital city.

The history and bond between these two elves, even though they are not kin dates back to the era of the second war, the War of the Elves. It was during this time when the two elven nations of the Wandering Lowlands joined forces with the noble houses of the south. The House of Aer, governed by a mortal king had always had a distaste for the Drow nation. Compelled with the House of Urt’rea, a house of elven born; they seized the moment when they had finally established an alliance with the nation of Nootria, and Erewa, the first being a mixture of wood land elves and dwarves while the later consisted of the more organized woodland folk that considered themselves a power. The combined weight of so many empires pushed the Drows back on the western and southern fronts; much of their land was lost during these conflicts, while families were divided and sold into slavery to the Eastern Realms. It was only when the vampiric race known as the Dreddrics, came down from their roast upon the highest of inclines on Bel’Phyre and offered their assistance; the dark elves were able to regroup and reinforce before pushing back and taking some of what once belonged to them back. While ground was still lost, the Ash Lands became more secure as dark skinned elves formed portals to cover much of the region to prevent constant threat. Eventually after several hundred bloody conflicts over a period of thirty-eight years, the war ended in an uneasy alliance. Lucorin had met Are’the during one of these conflicts. Both warriors battled tirelessly for hours, both physically and spiritually. Though, as their strength was finally becoming fleeting and each knew they could soon potentially gain the upper hand, a dragon of the mist appeared. A manifestation of fog, and flesh. Almost spiritual in some regards, the dragon presented the pair with a new challenge; and that task was to live. So they turned on this new foe, before eventually defeating it. After this, the pair had pledged to never raise a blade to one another again and that forever lasting would be their friendship. The two males parted that day, and eventually Lucorin made it back to Cirea. The anarchy that he loathed, especially when coming back from a blood bath. There were nearly as many taverns and whore houses as there were merchant stalls in Cirea. With the inner wall blockading the majority of the city from those of noble birth, and others that were capable of paying their way into the finer life; the rest of the city often had to fend for itself. During this period of time, Lucorin reflected much back on his meeting with Are’the. In the end, after returning and being forced to submit to a Dreddric ruler that the Matriarch supposedly chose, he knew this was no longer the life he desired. Thus, Lucorin left the vast city of filth and sin.