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Prologue

How did the Dark elves come to exist, deep underground where the Dwarf hammers ring? I’m sorry to say that my guess is no better than yours. The Dark elves simply exist, as the light ones do, in just as much adversity and number. However, I can explain how one dark elf came into existence. He was once a Half-elf, of light world lineage, but was thrust into an adventure that cost him his soul, and his innocence. That Half-elf was me.

In that time, the elders called me Dalharuk Anulo, the “son of the sky.” It would have been an honorable name, had I ever earned it. When I reached my age of maturity, I was given a choice. One of the Elders came to me and asked: “My child, what path do you choose?”

Every elven child in my village understood the question, and every elven child knew the choices. The question, fully said, was “What do you want to do with the rest of your mortal existence?” The elders never put it quite that way, but we knew the consequences of choosing the wrong profession. The answers were: Tradesman, Guardian, Wizard, Warlock, or Knight. A guardian was for the castle, or town guard, so they were trained as rangers, mostly. A knight was a traveler, and used a broadsword. Magic, however had always intrigued me, so I made the choice that would allow heavy magic use, and still proficiency in normal combat.

“I will be a Warlock.” I said, in what I hoped to be an assertive tone.

“Anulo,” she sighed, “You know that you are a Half-elf. You will be better with weapons than any elf, but in magic, you can’t hope to compete.” This particular elder had spoken with me before. She was named Hranna, but all the children referred to her as ‘Mother Hri’. She had always tried to persuade me to choose a non-magic path.

“Then I have chosen incorrectly. But that is my choice.” I declared. She stepped back out of the oak-house and returned to inform the elders. That was the first, and greatest mistake I ever made.

I spent every waking moment of every day, for thirty years, studying forms of magic, martial arts, Weapons craft and use, and Battle tactics. Mother Hri was right, in magic I was hopelessly behind. But where the normal elves took fifteen years on non-magic training, I did it in only seven, and excelled. No elf dared tell me I lacked magic, for fear that they would find themselves covered in bruises. I, similarly, did not see reason in bragging about my more human physical abilities. We all regarded each other as formidable, and there was little fighting amongst us. I ended my tuition in the correct amount of time, with a good deal of skills. At that point I was titled Journeyman. It was then that I began the trip that was to claim me.