Post by MHadmin on Nov 14, 2007 11:29:12 GMT -5
Over one hundred years ago there was darkness.
The place of the battle overlooked the city of Celvarion at the ancient watchtower atop Mairesford Hill. The Dark Riders of the north surrounded the last legions of the land of the Elves holding up in their high fortress. Hope was fleeing from the hearts of the warriors looking down into the valley. The city had been evacuated through the caves and labyrinths hours before and it seemed as if doom and death had already came to the nearly empty land.
Life had fled.
The battle that commenced was ugly. All was not lost, however. In what looked like the last hour of the Land of Elves aid arrived. A combined army of all of the world's other beings came out of the woods and through the Maires river and slaughtered the Dark Riders. The very trees fought thanks to the Dryads, the Giants shook the earth, Fae rooted the Darkness almost in place, Dwarves came from the evacuation caves en masse, and Men cut the evil down, unified in this one cause.
It was victory at a high cost but the Darkness was able to survive. As night came to the battlefield the leader of the Dark Riders fled, leaving his legions to be slaughtered in the early morning hours but not before delivering a curse, a rather powerful curse, on the land that surrounded him. No rest, none for either side, would be found for those who met their entombment on this hill. He would return with the spirits enslaved to him and take up his cause of domination again.
The century has passed, the alliances have slipped into neglect and the Hill stirrs. The curse must be broken before the Dark King of the North is able to claim his new army. The Hill has stirred.
The place of the battle overlooked the city of Celvarion at the ancient watchtower atop Mairesford Hill. The Dark Riders of the north surrounded the last legions of the land of the Elves holding up in their high fortress. Hope was fleeing from the hearts of the warriors looking down into the valley. The city had been evacuated through the caves and labyrinths hours before and it seemed as if doom and death had already came to the nearly empty land.
Life had fled.
The battle that commenced was ugly. All was not lost, however. In what looked like the last hour of the Land of Elves aid arrived. A combined army of all of the world's other beings came out of the woods and through the Maires river and slaughtered the Dark Riders. The very trees fought thanks to the Dryads, the Giants shook the earth, Fae rooted the Darkness almost in place, Dwarves came from the evacuation caves en masse, and Men cut the evil down, unified in this one cause.
It was victory at a high cost but the Darkness was able to survive. As night came to the battlefield the leader of the Dark Riders fled, leaving his legions to be slaughtered in the early morning hours but not before delivering a curse, a rather powerful curse, on the land that surrounded him. No rest, none for either side, would be found for those who met their entombment on this hill. He would return with the spirits enslaved to him and take up his cause of domination again.
The century has passed, the alliances have slipped into neglect and the Hill stirrs. The curse must be broken before the Dark King of the North is able to claim his new army. The Hill has stirred.