Prologue:

The world that we created…?

The battles were horrible, and those who lived would never forget, no matter how hard they tried. Most of them were haunted by nightmares and echoes of the past for the rest of their lives. Images of the dead bodies, the vultures and the unmistakable stench of death all around them. Brutal memories forever printed in the minds of the survivors. As they came home to their families and shared their gruesome visions with them, many a legend grew and was told over and over again. All of them were not true but that didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter. At the end when all the corpses had been burned (many of them were never identified), they all knew that nothing was or would ever be the same again. What started out only as a small dispute between two villages soon became the greatest and longest war in recorded history involving all the races in all the corners of the world. It was battle upon battle, bloodbath upon bloodbath, increasingly cruel and merciless. For more than 20 years all everybody knew was war, war, war. People lost their homes as villages and crops were burned and entire herds of cattle killed. In the end, the "insignificant dispute" ended the lives of nearly half of the world's population. Not only soldiers, but also thousands of civilians died, mainly because of the starvation and the diseases.

Finally the desperate warriors resorted to the use of magic. They were unusual and cruel, almost unspeakable kinds of magic. That was when the wizards at long last got involved, to chase away the ghosts and foul remains of the spells, to try and mediate and bring things to an end. The final battle and the biggest one of them all, with about two million humans, three million elves and the 400 000 trolls that were left, took place in the great valley of Haramaschia in the southwest. This valley was afterwards renamed the Silent valley, because the bodies of the dead soldiers were piled up and set on fire all over the valley. Traces of what had happened still remained and no one ever went there again, and so the valley gave rise to many a ghost story. It was said that it was haunted by the souls of the dead, you could still smell the smoke from the fires, hear the swords colliding and the screaming and moaning of the dying soldiers. Some went so far as to claim that nothing would grow there anymore, not even the toughest of vegetation… but no one knew for sure. There weren't even any birds or other animals there anymore. It really was a silent valley, a living testament to the consequences of war. By the time it was all over no one could really remember why or even how it all started, but the tales were told for thousands of years. The elves got away pretty easy, but men and trolls were all but extinct.

Near the end of the wars the goblins had made an attempt at black magic towards the elves. They failed of course, goblins being, after all, not very skilled in the art of magic. But as a result the elves lost almost all the characteristics that made them elves. Their wisdom, calm composure, superior vision and hearing and their ability to run extremely fast for miles without having to take a break. However they didn't loose their fabled immortality. Which was what the goblins had really intended. The dwarves were the only race who did not take part in the fighting; they all stayed hidden inside their mines1. The goblins quickly realized that they were outnumbered and without allies and fled into the northwestern mountains early on. Almost every race was now scattered and leaderless. In these dark times no one was safe. People were doing what they had to in order to survive. The old borders were disregarded as small groups of different races roamed around freely, looting and destroying whatever and wherever they could. All trade agreements were broken and not many dared to leave their home village. Too busy mourning their dead, distrusting the world outside and trying to get their lives back on track. The only law that still existed was the "law of the jungle", eat or be eaten… kill or be killed. And the wizards, unspoken leaders of the world and keepers of order, all survived, but had drained almost all their powers and had gathered in the Eastern Mountains to recover their strength. All was chaos.

However, legend also tells of an elf that embarked on a seemingly impossible journey at this time. For reasons he might not even have understood himself. Not at all knowing what he was about to become part of. Inexperienced, unprepared and with little company, he went to face the unknown. If you will bear with me for a while I will tell you of that legend…

1 The dwarves themselves insist that this had absolutely nothing to do with being cowards. But I leave it up to the reader to decide whether or not the dwarves can be trusted in this matter.