The elders used to speak of a magic our ancestors would harvest and control, a powerful magic that made the Elven clans some of the most powerful. The warriors of the clans were brave a true, their swords and long bows were forged with that same magic flowing through them, making the weapons almost take on a life of its own. Druids came and went, bringing messages, leading missions and hinting of days to come.
Mankind was an inferior race in those days of long ago. They were weak creatures, lacking the magic of others who roamed this great land. Some say the first man and first woman angered their God, and thus their magic was taken. The Elven tribes took pity on mankind, helping them occasionally. Now mankind is everywhere and those of the magic realms stay out of sight, those that still remain.
The Elvenite Clan ruled the Eastern Plains. They were one of the last clans whose blood still contained that of the Elven Warrior's of old, though no longer did they have the knowledge to weild the magic, and some claimed it to be nothing more than a myth.
Even without the magic, the Elvenite Warrior's were feared throughout the land. Few dared to challenge them, those who did rarely made it out alive. Boys and girls were trained from a young age based on skills they expressed during the early stages of life. The land was prosperous, the food plentiful, and the clan safe from the terrorsvof the outside world. Each person chose their God to worship, each had their place, no one was hungry, and no one was beneath any other.
The Lithrina family were head of the Elvenite Clan. They were rumored to be the last true decendants of the Elven tribe, though even then little of the Elven blood ran through their veins. Emerion Lithrina was the unofficial chieftain and the clans strongest warrior. He was tall in statue for a man of his race, yet slender. His was tow-headed, his skin was fair. His eyes told every bit the warrior that he was, that brave determination in his sea blue eyes. He, his wife and daughter lived the simpily life, as did many of the clan. He lead the clan in protection of the ancestral land until the day a great evil traveled from the Western Wastelands hell bent on claiming all land as their own.
The Asmodeus would stop at nothing, their horde large in number, and following their patron God of Destruction. They traveled for many cycles of the moon, killing any who dared cross their paths. Bitterness and hatred swept through them, destruction followed their path.
They were headed toward the Eastern Plains, unafraid of the tales told by travelers. War would soon plague this once peaceful land. Once again, the Elvenite Warriors would be forced to pick up their weapons and charge into the mist of battle, never knowing if they would be returning to their families. Like the Asmodeus, the Elvenite had little fear for their enemies. They knew that even the strongest one day must fall, for that is the way of the world. If the strongest would one day return to power is something determined by fate. For in the end, they all must answer the warriors call.
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