There are few things I dislike to recount more, dear reader, than the end of the Great Elven Empire. It is a tragedy unlike any other that our world has seen, the singular extinction of an entire race within moments. This event was no fault of their own, the result of a battle that began at the beginning of time and carried through to its’ inevitable conclusion. They were no monsters, no abstract villains, they were real flesh and blood people. They were my people.
I was unfortunately out of the empire at the time, studying enchantry in the great libraries of Irontrench when it happened. The city above was destroyed by the force of the blast, becoming nothing more than a ruin of rubble and twisted metal. It took well over two-hundred years for the shining visage of the city to return to what it once was. When I emerged several days later, the world I knew had been erased before my eyes, and instead of the lush grasslands that had once covered the center lands, a burnt smoldering hellscape was all that remained.
When I recount the tales within, dear reader, understand that this is not recounted with the sanitary prose of a historian. These were my people, this was my empire, and these ghosts are mine alone to bereave.
~Ordi Amni, Scholar of the Old Elven Empire
The world of Raul is forgotten by the gods, left to fall to ruins after a great magical catastrophe. The Arat-Tsat empire created the perfect conditions for the rip in the magical weave that is the center of the Daedlands, and the heart of a dead god. Journey through a desert where death is never the end, and find out what happened to the creators and the empire that never fell. Leer más sobre The World of Raul - The Daedlands.
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