Oh, do I remember those days vividly. The fragrant essences of the meadows, the blossoming of orchids in the Royal Courtyard: how wonderful they were. I spent the first two decades and more of my life there, in harmony. Such good times they were.

The empire was at peace. My father, Emperor Rurik Xaldin, had dispatched a small rebellion when I was 18, and I served in his army for a while. That is where I gained my expertise of the blade and bow. He earned much fame and popularity with the people during that time, and the empire prospered.

Oh, but our race wasn't the only one sharing the continent. Dwarves, elves, orcs and many other grand and unknown races and species shared our grand continent, Frehirth. But not all races and creatures that share our lands are as peaceful as the dwarves and elves. Orcs, Fyrvren, and mythical dragons in the mountains kill and maim any that enter their small territories and domains. Such troubles they are.

Neither are they the only troubles we face. On a large archipelago far north across the seas, there are dark and evil races that Humans, Dwarves nor Elves dare to combat. Such a devious race they are. No one that has seen them has lived to describe them. All we do know is they are quite satisfied with their islands up north. Little did we know that they had ambitions of ruling more territory, much like our race does.

The world changed then.

We weren't ready for it.

-Torlon Xaldin

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All seemed quiet in the metropolis of Avarail. All the folk were asleep. All of the watch and guards were dreary eyed, as it was a night that seemed the ordinary. There hadn't been an attack on the capital of Kaleon in a century, but little did they know that the fact will change this very night. History will be written and in a way the citizens of Avarail could never imagine. Alas, for even as this very thought had passed through the mind of a mere guard, in that same moment an army had just finished preparations for their midnight siege.

Even in the camp of the orc army, all were still, naught but the occasional shuffling of armor was heard. As the platoon leaders prepped for the impending attack, General Zarous knew the city would be his by daybreak. He waved a lantern, with a front flap only allowing the flame to be seen by his army, over his head, signaling the order all the orcs have been waiting for. The army started their final march to the southern gate, and their victory.

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A slow rumbling was felt; the guards sleepily awoke and looked yonder across the dry plain between the wall and the impending army. They hurried into alert and awareness; took their places at the battlements. The rumbling grew, and lights of flaming projectiles burned across the night sky. Finally the source of this tremor was seen as the orcish army was racing around the bend and heading straight for the main gate to the city.

The guards finally realized the peril they were about to face and raced to sound the alarm. Crashes and explosions were heard. Homes were destroyed. Screams could be heard. The first wave of projectiles had hit their marks.

All of the archers started pouring into every available slot onto the wall, in hopes of at least slowing the oncoming force. Waves of arrows were sent but to no avail, their enemies' armor easily bouncing away the missiles. In the middle of this terrorizing force was a battering ram, going faster than seemed possible. The torrent of flames from the sky ceased as the ram finally took its place.

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