A stranger to this land...
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Far to the south, deep in the forest of Yuirwood stood a small and unknown by most, elven city, by the name of Silvermist. A beautiful city by all means, made from white marble and blend to the forest to the point it looked as if it was always meant to be there. A stream was passing right through it and trees would provide a second roof for its buildings, while the roots were wrapping around them, embracing them without causing damage.
That was what Serendil first called home. He was born to the head Ranger family, a noble and respected house who served Silvermist for generations. Many times would the orcs try to pillage it only to be utterly crushed by warriors and rangers clad in deep, elven blue.
Since he was little, Serendil was trained with the bow and the sword, following his father whenever he was able, looking the proud Rangers with respect and admiration. It was his wish and his future to become one of them. Not every story has a happy ending though. When he was barely of age, another attack came. Eager to show his worth, the young elf took up arms and rushed to his father's side to face the most terrible of foes.
No one knew what evil sorcery had brought them to the forest, but the walking dead were marching to Silvermist. Endless in numbers, unstoppable and vicious. No matter how many they would slay, more would rise and with every fallen elf, the ranks of the dead where bolstered. They held for days, fighting bravely through pain and exhaustion but it was impossible to hold forever. Who can stand against an army that needs no food, no rest and knows neither fear nor pain.
The defenders fell, one after another and the city was sure to fall as well. In the thick of battle, Serendil's father turned to him. "Run! Go north, summon reinforcements! Waste no time… we will hold!"
And so he ran. He ran and ran north, his feet barely touching the ground as the seconds time was racing against him. But as the time passed and the forest was getting thinner he could now see what his father's plan was. No reinforcements were to be found on the north, no outpost, no grove, no city or hall, only the fields and the Dragonjaw Mountains in the horizon. It was a final, desperate act of love to save his young son's life, the only one he could save anymore.
With a desperate scream that reached to the skies and echoed through the forest, Serendil flew back, dashing through the forest like a beam of light. It was already hours since he left, and it would also be hours until he would see the white walls once more but he still hoped there was something he could do. The silver light of the moon lit his path now as he kept running with all the strength he had left.
He could feel his lungs burning with the chilled air of the forest, mist already lingering around his knees as he drew closer to his home. But what he saw that day was to haunt him for many years. Silvermist had fallen. Bodies of Rangers, Knights and simple citizens piled on different places, visible from afar. The marbles colored red with blood as only the walking dead were moving anymore, feasting or butchering the bodies of the fallen, creating macabre monuments to their victory.
Serendil's knees were too weak to support his body anymore. He fell on the ground with an empty thud, covered by the thickening mist and wept silently. An invisible knife had pierced through his heart, shattering it into a million pieces. But the young elf realized that he should not lay there and die. So many died so he could be a survivor, or one of the survivors if other existed, and it would be unacceptable to let their sacrifice be in vain.
Front that point on, he headed north, past the mountains and towards the Forests of Lethyr. It took him months to reach the forest and with no supplies or money, he was forced to survive with everything he could find, or occasionally steal to survive. He was still wearing his family's uniform, the clothes of the Ranger, baring their seal, a silver cloak pin that many asked in exchange for gold, food and shelter but he always refused.
When the rangers of Lethyr finally found him, he was in terrible condition. Famished, with his clothes torn and dirty, barely standing on his feet, stubbornly pushing his legs to drive more into the north. Some of them recognized his seal and took him along with no question. They tended his wounds, fed him and let him rest. It took days before his empty eyes shined again with the force of life they once had.
Serendil was safe once again, studying and living with the rangers. They knew his story and they also knew how much he craved revenge. Studying with them he learned the ways of the forest, how to survive better, how to treat wounds. And so the years past.
Nothing he had from home remained anymore. It was years after he left, and the cloth would never last this long after all it had been through. All that remained now was his pin, the seal of the family, a house with only one remaining member: himself.
Walking around the forest and hunting a few orcs would not reclaim his family's name though; at least that's what the young elven mind thought. In his books back home, he had read of the great Narfell, of grand cities with astonishing technology and wealth like Norwick. That was where he wanted to go, where he could start over, find more and rebuilt what was lost.
Despite the warnings of his Ranger friends of how these lands have changed, he left the forests heading straight to Norwick, always to the north like the stubborn needle of a compass. Running from a past that was chasing after him, and chasing after a brighter future, Serendil was now in an unknown land, hoping he can finally steal the pen from destiny's hand and write his own story...
((PC name: Serendil Thunderblade
account name: Ares))
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