WendyyWolfe
In the elder days before mortal kings etched their borders into stone, before time was measured by crowns and conquests, when Elven Folk shared the world with mortals under treaties older than memory, there came upon our people an age of quiet sundering.
It was a time when Giants still walked the high places, when Dragons passed like storms along the horizons, and when Elven Folk shared the world with mortals under treaties older than memory.
Yet even then, doubt found root.
In those days there arose among mortals a whispering hunger, seeded by those who wore borrowed faces. The Changeling Wizards, who fed fear as if it were wisdom. Convincing mortal kings, the magic of the elves no longer served them.
What had once been shared truth became superstition. What had once been kinship became a war of wills. From that hour, the old goodwill ended.
Thus the space between our peoples widened, until the old paths closed and we were pressed back into the frost-bitten heights of our ancestral lands.
And what would happen next would leave the old world in the silent throes of AN UNEASY REALIZATION THAT ALL WAS NOT AS IT SEEMED...
A time when love and acceptance became fear and those fears bred greed. Greed bred forgetting. And forgetting became blame.
But in that age arose two souls. One born of mortal blood, one of mortal grace. Who chose to stand where others turned away.
Alvaro, and Daniela of the western shores, whose names the stone itself remembers.
𖤓𖤓𖤓
ONC Prompt 78 You begin to realize that things are not as they seem.