The Tales of Daragoth

A history of Daragoth, told through a few tales.

Of the Beginnings

The Loreldians

(lore-ELLE-dee-ans)

• The most ancient of texts discovered in Daragoth are written by the Loreldians. Who they are is not entirely clear, but it is rumored that they are the eldest descendants of the Elves. A tall, slender people (by their own account), their hair was silver and gold, the colors of jewels, and their first stories describe the creation of the world.

Of Thoranduril

(thor-AN-doo-ril)

• This is a poem about a Loreldian named Thoranduril, recovered off a carved gemstone buried in the middle of the world.

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Thoranduril felt a power, growing inside his land, in his hand he held a flower, and the flower burned his hand.

Then he knew as we know now, that power lies in the world, a heartbeat of souls, a secret vow, the power of magic unfurreled.

A history of the discovery of magic, perhaps?

Of Melanduadane and the Raven

(mell-an-DOO-ah-dane)

• This story is a summary of a Loreldian named Melanduadane.

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Melanduadane, a wayward child. Restless, his folly will forever be remembered.

“Hark!” crowed the raven on the tree.

“Foolish raven,” said he, “I do not hark to the dark. I tire of the stars, I wish for something brighter.”

“Hark! Your desire will be your fall!” And with that the raven flew off into the night. The Stars above shone, but Melanduadane was uncontent.

“These stars are boring, in their pin points! Their small lights.. I want more light, so that I may see my love Anboeal (anne-BOW-ee-al) in all of her glory.” Love was his motive. So he climbed to the top of the highest mountain, and lit a torch. His desire for light grew and grew, until he realized that the light would be better if something that flew could hold it.

“Raven!” He cried, and the raven came.

“Yes? What do you want, boy?” The raven crowed.

“Carry this torch for me, oh bird of blackness, that light may fall on the world.” And Melanduadane held the torch to the raven. In his clumsiness, his grip faltered, and the raven was set ablaze. Crowing madly, the raven began to peck at him, and grabbed him in his talons and lifted him and began to fly over the lands.

Now the raven can be seen in the skies only part of the day, as he flies by, burning, carrying Melanduadane. The raven comes and takes away the night, lighting the world. Melanduadane’s desire was his ascension and downfall.

Of Serrelain and Moltiare

(sair-AH-lane) and (mole-TEE-yair)

Of Serrelain and Moltiare

Moltiare, brother to the bears, the man of no name.

Basking in the bright light of Melanduadane.

He heard a voice enter unto his domain.

A voice of a girl, fairest beyond constrain.

Her name, upon being questioned, was Serralain.

They fell in love, but were torn apart by pain.

A darker shadow now dwells in that forest lane.

An evil proud, and shrewd, and horribly vain.

Forever desiring his love again, no longer sane.

This was a typical Loreldian poem, for the time. It is written with nine lines, and is typically called a Fylen (fee-LENN). Is it merely a myth, or did it describe a truthful event?

Of the Second Age

The second age can be described as the Age of Forging. The world that we know today, including the peoples in it, is mostly created during this age in some form or another. The Loreldians disappear, suddenly and without explanation, marking of the beginning of the second age. From their wake, we see that the Elves, Men, and Dwarves appear.

The Apostles

Emissaries sent by the ‘Enlightened’, super beings sometimes worshipped as gods.

Pathos (Dualism)

(PATH-ohs)

Apostles:

Lanethan (LON-eh-thon). The light side of the dualism. Other names include Dragonbane, Soothsayer, Lightbearer, Aginor of Many Names.

Urdual (Balance)

(YUR-doo-all) Apostles:

Myrlance (MEER-lonce). The balancer of war, he seeks unnatural gaps that may appear in the souls of warriors.

Torkalath (Chaos)

(tor-KAY-lath) Apostles:

Kurgoth (KIR-gawth). Lord of the dead.

Felewyn (Order)

(FEL-ah-win) Apostles:

Heath (HEE-th). A being of light, he enforces the will of Felewyn.

Other Second Age Beings

Elderath

(ELL-dir-ath)

An elf king, he founded the city of Kray-Edoralad near where Melanion is now. He was the first of mortal race to slay a dragon, and the first of mortal race to behold one of the Apostles, an apostle of Felewyn, who reffered to him as one of her children. He forged the blade known as ‘Fyrlance’, and it is said that as long as the elven race exists, this blade shall not break, nor show sign of wear.

Norim

(NOR-imm)

A dwarvish warrior, employed by the king to find the path of fire, deep in the heart of the mountains of Utraakkrh (oo-TRAY-kah-rah). He journeyed underground for nearly seven months before stumbling across the Palace of Urdual. This portion of his journey is related in this diary entry:

Norim

“...As I made my way down the dusty path beyond the ring of chasms, my eyes were suddenly blinded by an intense light. I shielded them with my hand, and after a few minutes adjusted. Ahead of me stood a great palace, stone towers rising so high in this great cavern that they were lost in the slight haze. A monolith of beauty, an immeasurable bridge spanned a ravine. At the center of this bridge, surrounded by stone walls at least 50 meters high, I could see a stone pedastal, on which a very simple house stood, bare, alone. Next to this house were two statues, at least twice as tall as this dwelling, one of a large man sitting cross legged, holding a jewel in outstretched hands, and the other a curious design of two crescent shapes that intersected near the bottom, between them floats a jade crystal, as if by magic...I’ll draw a hasty sketch...

I will now make my way to the building..what sort of beings could build such a wondrous palace?”

Norim never returned to the king, but his journal was found, left purposefully it seems, on top of a small rock structure that was found just inside a small cave, almost one hundred years later.

Tumbold

(TUM-bold)

Tumbold was a wise human who travelled the lands seeking for his brother Jiro (JEER-oh), seperated at birth. He was the first man to make contact with the elves, and they recieved him well, for they had been watching Humans from afar for a couple of years previous, and had decided them to be ‘Tolerable.’ He met with the king Peldamyr III (PEL-dah-meer) a very noble king who later constructed the road between Adel (the human capital, at the time, which was later destroyed by orcs) and Kray-Edoralad. Tumbold decided to stay in Kray-Edoralad, for he adored the elves and their customs, and knew that if his brother Jiro was still alive, anywhere, he also would seek the Elves. He was sadly correct.

Jiro

(G-rOH)

Jiro, brother to Tumbold the Wise, Elfenmet, was nearly the opposite of his brother. A wicked and evil man who dabbled in the ways of the Bafflement, a form of mind control, he had formed a small army and made a castle, today known as Veldamyr (Wicked Stone). Jiro was not weak by any means, able to harness the powers of any mortal creature. His first attack was centered on Winanadoa (wuh-NAH-nah-doh-ah), a fair sized human city built north of Kray forest. His army of evil men slaughtered the poor misguided townspeople, their own city forces failing to an unknown knight, the captain of his legions, Beldagar (BELL-dah-gar), whom the elves named Guldacor (gool-dah-CORE), meaning ‘Green Knight’, for he wore a suit of mail which shone a brilliant green. Somehow he was able to strike an uncombatable fear into those who stood in his way. The elves immediately recognized him as a force to be reckoned with, so they mustered their forces into an army known as ‘Ne Cledsar’ (NAY CLED-sarr), meaning The Watch in their tongue. When Jiro attacked again, his forces struck Weldar, a small portside town on the northern tip of the continent, which housed The Great Library, a collection of ancient works and tablets which the elves frequently visited to gain insight into the Loreldians, their myterious (supposed) ancestors. The elves, having known this would be his next point of attack, had already prepared a defense.

This defense proved useless, however, for although the elves were able to withstand the maddening fear that Guldacor radiated, they had not counted on Jiro coming himself. With one mighty spell, standing on a hilltop overlooking the town, the Green Knight standing beside him, the sea fled, leaving a bare ocean with fish flopping for miles to see. Suddenly and with a clash the sea returned, as recounted by this eyewitness:

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“The sea had retreated even from his might, but not in fear-no, in preperation for an attack. Without warning the sea rushed to return, and it flooded its way over our town, washing people many miles inland or out to sea, the cries of the elves ringing in our ears. That portion of beautiful land I used to call home is now deep underwater, O nothing but woe do I feel for that.”

As the sea flooded the land, an elf cried, “Medefalon fe, Lor Malgoriand rek aleo!” (mah-DEF-ah-lon FAY, LORE mal-GORE-ee-and RECK ah-LAY-oh) which is roughly translated, Avenge me, The Shadow Bringer must fall! And so Jiro was named Lor Malgoriand, ‘Bringer of Shadows.’

Lor Malgoriand’s army was also drowned during this attack, however, which left him powerless for a time. It was then that Torkalath of Chaos bestowed upon Lor Malgoriand a gift, The Orc. Orc, an elvish word, means ‘Scar’, and sometimes they are referred to as Kayre (KAY-ree) Orc, meaning ‘The Scar upon the World.’ A hideous creature, standing nearly man height, with rough green skin, it is born into a consciousness of hatred and detest of all creatures, especially the elves. Lor Malgoriand went on to destroy Adel in a fierce battle, eventually burning the city into the ground, at the cost of Beldagar (Guldacor), who was stabbed by a child of no more than seven years named Dhero, after his parents were brutally slaughtered in front of him. The elves’ capital was also attacked, but before it could be destroyed, a miraculous event occured, as is recounted in the reference The History of The Elves compiled by many scholars of later times.

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“The orcs were piling into the city gates, elves crying in the distance as a black smoke issued forth from the once great, shining walls. Outside the gate, two of the largest trees in the forest were laid waste, and upon falling on the fortifications, ripped through them. Then, suddenly, a light, not coming from any one source as it seemed that merely all things began to glow, a light of fearce white halted the actions of all creatures, including the hideous Orcs. A woman’s voice, proud and noble, rang through the ears of all: Torkalath has gone too far, the balance cannot be preserved. These..these Orcs, ripping through the trees.. And here the voice faltered a bit, as if on the edge of tears, ...and slaughtering my children! This can not occur."

The light died down, and there, floating above the city, was a woman with long green hair, around 7 meters tall, wearing entirely gold armor which reflected the suns rays in rainbow hues. She held aloft something that was nearly blinding to look at, a sword made of light, and swiftly brought it down to point towards the city. The orcs bodies were torn apart by an unseen force, and Lor Malgoriand was lifted above the city and his body was cloven in two by the sword of light.

Felewyn had saved her children.

Syrrus and the Dragon Krathor

(SEER-us) and (KRAY-thor)

An elf who was born a poor peasant, his schoolings in life were focused around becoming a warrior. He left his family in Melanion, a city built south of the ruins of Kray-Edoralad, when his training was complete, and he wished to wander the world in search of fame and fortune. From his journals, it can be learned that he stumbled upon something vastly important, which even he refrains to name, hidden in some secret place. He returns home to announce his triumph to his parents only to find that a Dragon named Krathor had been terrorizing the city, killing many (his parents included). Stricken with grief, he returns to his treasure and removes it, taking it with him to Deralia, in the hopes of finding out exactly what it is. He sketched it in his journal:

A rock with golden spots, and a light source shining golden light from within. He took it first to a smith, who said the gold was worthless. Determined to find the answer, he took it to a Wiseman, who is not named. This wiseman immediately recognized the light of gold coming from within of the rock, and recited this poem:

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Hidden in the grasses and waters of Daragoth, lost in the sands of time’s immortal dance, a hero will be born at the discovery of the light of gold, a hero will find the blade of the Fyrlance.

Syrrus noted that he had been unable to break the rock open, proving that he must not be the hero. The wiseman saw it was more a fear what the prophecy might entail than a truthful observation, so the wiseman chanted the words of opening, and behold the Fyrlance was revealed. Insisting that Syrrus must know of some great deed that needs to be performed, Syrrus’ mind recalled that the Dragon was still probably around Melanion. Bidding farewell to the Wiseman, Syrrus returned to do battle with the Dragon, wielding the Fyrlance, which still shone with a fierce golden light.

The Dragon Krathor was a Green Dragon, of Fire Breath, and his perch was atop a mountain a couple dozen miles outside of Melanion. Scaling the mountain, Syrrus was badly injured in a fight with a Cave Troll, bursting out of its lair and grabbing him from behind. Coughing blood up, his left leg nearly useless and gangrenous, he reached the summit. His battle with the Dragon was obviously fierce, as an onlooker from below notes:

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“And I saw the moutaintop blaze, and a hideous dragon scream, the likes of which I had never heard before. Lights and flashing, the fierce screams of a young man echoed into the forest below. And suddenly, in a blinding flash, I saw the Dragon rear back, a gold light shining from a point emblazed in its chest, and it flew off towards the sea. I heard no more of the man.”

South, about 50 miles, the people of Seaside recalled this:

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“A green streak across the sky, tinted with flashes of gold, and the thing hit the water with such force that many of our boats were torn apart by the force of the waves. The splash reached a hundred feet into the sky!”

Syrrus was found a couple of days later, when a brave group of explorers, including the one who had seen the effects of the mountaintop fight, scaled the mountain themselves, knowing the dragon to be gone. His body was torn to pieces, but on his face a smile was worn. He will forever be remembered as a hero in his age.

Ghale, last of the line of Raelandor

(GALE), (ray-LON-door)

Ghale was an Elfman, a half-elf and half-human, born to a human father named Durnbold (DIRN-bold) and an elf woman named Lysa (LIE-za). He grew up a noble in Melanion, with Silver hair from birth and eyes of gold.

Ghale inherrited a silver medallion from his parents, a ‘family heirloom’ that had been passed down to the first born son of each generation, on his mother’s side. His mother had no brothers, so she inherited it instead, and then gave it to Ghale when he was born. She called it Mondalpaece (mon-doll-PAY-see), meaning ‘Spirit of the Dragon.’ At his 17th birthday (just after the above painting was made), his parents were slain by a band of maurauding Orcs, he was hidden in the castle cellar. After emerging onto the world, his medallion began to shine a faint radiance of gray. Seeking where his heart led him, he wandered through the Kray forest, aimless. He was attacked in the woods by a dwarf rogue, whom Ghale might have killed had his medallion not shone brightly before his hand fell. Instead, he befriended this dwarf, named Kirmo, and they decided that it might be of great importance to find out what this medallion was, and how it glowed. They trekked deep into the Kray, Ghale had a vision that commanded him further into this forest, and eventually they stumbled upon the ruins of an ancient temple, so overgrown with moss and vines that it was impossible to see that it was a temple at all, and not just a growth in the forest. They entered.

Upon entering the first room, the door shut loudly behind the two (luckily Kirmo had brought a torch), and they were trapped inside. When walking across the floor of the second room, the medallion suddenly shown with a great brilliance, and the two adventurers froze. Bending down, Kirmo lightly tapped the stone step in front of him: A large spike stabbed from within a hidden panel: It would have skewered Kirmo had he not jumped back. Using the medallion as a guide, they slowly made their way through the temple, and eventually reached an altar which glowed a deep blue in the room. A gentle man’s voice flooded the room:

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“So, you have come at last. We have waited long for the descendant of Elderath to arrive. Your blood line was meant to have died out with the death of Elderath, but by some fickle chance of fate that man had a son, and he had a son, and so forth. Come, now, Ghale, it is time for you to leave Daragoth: Your time has ended.”

Kirmo began to speak, but he was cut off by a harsh, booming voice of deep apathy and loathing,

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“You may not come! You are not of the line of Elderath, and if you ask again, I shall wither your brain like a prune!”

Ghale said that he would not go unless Kirmo went as well, and again the voice of hatred sounded,

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“We have not waited for that...we do not tolerate disobedience, and for that...”

A harsh pain ran up Ghale’s spine, but was quickly cut off,

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“No, no, we don’t want to hurt him...” Chimed the sweet voice. “Let the Dwarf see where he wishes to go. I’m sorry, Kirmo, but you cannot come, you can only see.”

The temple walls vanished, and they were standing in a field just off a beach looking into an ocean of brilliant blue hues.

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“Ghale, your sword: You are the key.”

Kirmo recounts this later in a biography that is now regarded as one of the greatest events in our time:

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"...And lo it appeared to them, as Ghale held aloft his blade, a light shone forth - It was revealed to them. The sky split asunder, the clouds retreated, and a golden glow issued forth. There in the sky, it was, an island as if uprooted from the ocean, and rivers flowed into immeasurable waterfalls down to the sea below. And a golden bridge of light grew, spanning miles into the sky, upwards towards the island. Ghale stepped lightly onto it, as one would on a bridge of light, and began to cross. They called the island, Eldamare, (ed. note - ancient elven tongue for 'Sky Bridge') and when two days time had passed they reached it. Looking ahead, Ghale's eyes beheld a wonder which had never before been seen by a mortal - A Crystalline Palace - The walls made entirely of a nearly completely transparent material that seemed to be of diamond-like origin. It was in the shape of a face, except the face was distorted - the left half smiling sweetly, benevolent, the other half the face of demonic hatred and loathing. It was the castle of Pathos, Dualistic overseer being."

Ghale turned to Kirmo, and said,

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“I go alone from here.”

Kirmo found himself alone, on a beach. It took him nearly two months to find a way back to his home city, where he sat and wrote his biography that this story is taken from.

Wuldegren and Leida

(VULL-dah-green) and (LIE-dah)

Wuldegren, an Elf from Melanion, was born to parents Faelon (FAY-lon) and Pylean (PIE-lee-ann). On Wuldegren’s 16th birthday he was given a sword by his father Faelon and instructed to keep it safe from all others, and to never sell it or even tell people that he possessed it. Wuldegren, being an honest son, did as his father asked, and lived a peaceful life as a fletcher near Melanion, for over 30 years.

His journal reflects the night on which his fate changed:

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“And as I was reading from the latest Uldagrand, I heard a terrible rapping against my door. Springing from my seat, I hurled the door open: A human woman fell to the floor in my entryway. I reached down to pick her up, but when I turned her over I saw that her robe was drenched in blood, so I carefully brought a blanket and carried her in that to my guest bed. She couldn’t speak elvish, and I couldn’t speak human, so communication was difficult. I insisted upon seeing her wound, but she was hesitant. I tried to show her my good intention by displaying a bandage I had recently made upon my left arm: the hunting accident.

She agreed, finally.

The wound was horrible, but did not look life threatening. I soaked it and cleaned it, then I applied some of my natural healing potion. I tried to inquire of her name, and after some time I got it: Leida. I introduced myself, and I know now that she thanked me for my help.

Leida was fleeing a band of ragged Orcs, as I learned when my front door was forcefully ripped from its hinges and my entryway nearly chopped to pieces by a ravaging axe. I hurried to my room, just down the hall, and removed the sword from my strongbox. Suddenly, a scream from the guest room, a woman, and I rushed back. The thing had her by the collar of the overcoat I had lent her.

As quick as I could, I rushed the Orc. The sword in my hands flared, I felt a hot energy ripple from it as I rose it for the strike. I cried, “Loran Adelefan!” (unhand the woman) and stabbed with all my force into the back of the Orc.

My blade should have bounced back forcefully, as he was wearing a heavy iron breastplate and this sword obviously had never been sharpened by me in its use, but instead it passed through, I felt no impact and no resistance. A horrible gurgling sound issued from its throat, and it fell to the floor, falling as easily off my blade as I had entered it.

Leida was not afraid, I saw immediately. She was furiously ready for battle, and I looked at her hands: A blue glow, crackling with the force of lightning. A wizard.”

They had to flee the house, as it was lit ablaze by flaming arrows from Orc Archers, and they ran out of the woods and into the Kray plains. Feeling they had escaped for the time being, they slowed their run and began merely to make their way to Deralia, which Leida insisted was an extremely important destination. Leida and Wuldagren eventually learned eachother’s language in the wild, by talking with eachother. Leida explained that there was something magical about his blade, but she could not place what it could be. At Deralia there was a lore-master who knew many things about magical swords, and it may be important to her to have him as a partner: She had learned that one does not easily infiltrate the Black Palace and escape without making enemies all over the world. She had found a secret plan in the Black Palace, something to do with Torkalath scheming another imbalancing act, and they must make their way to the long forgotten temple of Felewyn, and warn her if possible. Unfortunately, the way to Felewyn’s threshhold (which she explained as: Another plane of existence) involved breaching The Pillars of the Moon, a series of towers now controled by beings of hatred and malice. Wuldegren would have refused (he was not exactly the pinnacle of youth) had he not have fallen for Leida, although he kept this matter a secret.

In Deralia, the lore-master pondered long over the meaning of the symbol on the sword.

He was completely puzzled until he looked through his old collection of tablets, and found one with exactly the same symbol on it, it was engraved on a stone of Loreldian times, and had a Fylen poem:

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O bane of dragons and of evil, a blade for all to hear, Shines with power and with hope when all around is fear, Let it shine forever more O bane of woe and tear, A blade of joy, a ray of light, a sword come from Wyr, And in those darkest hours let it bring you cheer, For all the leaves will live through the waning of the year, As a blade for warriors to fight through times unending gear, For remember you the words of the blind and gallant seer: In this world, never again, shall be made its peer.

And below that the sword was named:

Atlas

(OHT-las)

Knowing now that he possessed a blade of unequaled power, Wuldegren announced that they would be leaving for The Pillars of the Moon the following morning...

Through many adventures they fought, and never once were the two without hope, for the blade had made it so.

And so they came to the pillars of the moon, unspeakable horrors crossed their paths and many a harsh battle was fought between the two adventurers and the Agents of the Dark, Torkalath’s minions sent there to block the paths of any seeking to warn Felewyn of his plan: But Torkalath had not counted on Atlas being wielded, for if he knew that Atlas had been rediscovered, he would have retreated his forces, for he knew the blade well. Wuldegren and Leida reached the gateway to the Threshhold of Felewyn, a gateway of uncomparable magic forces on top of the tallest, the tower of Cordalae (core-dah-LAY), which in elvish means ‘The Tower of Fate.’ Crossing through the portal was easy for Wuldegren, but Leida’s body was badly burnt and when he reached the other side, carrying her, she was dead. He wanted to weep, but the blade would not let him. He felt nothing but anger, anger that Torkalath had set such a horrible trap, to end the life of his secret love!

Felewyn’s palace was in the shape of a giant woman, made entirely of gold, wearing a suit of armor unlike any Wuldegren had seen the likes of before. Towers were raised around the statue, and the sword which she held thrust into the ground was a tower in itself; he made his way to it, still carrying the body of Leida.

The grand hall was immeasurable in distance, for as he tried to walk across its length, he never got any closer to the opposite end. Puzzled, he lay the body of Leida at his feet, and kneeled. A woman’s voice, calm and soothing, issued forth suddenly,

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“Who are you, and how is it you were able to withstand Torkalath’s power at the gate?”

He answered,

“I am a humble elf who seeks your counsel, O wise and honorable Felewyn.” Then a thought struck him:

“You knew about Torkalath’s trap?”

“Yes, I know everything he knows, and he knows everything I know.”

Dumbfounded, Wuldegren asked, “So, you knew of his secret plan of destruction?”

“Yes. We serve the same power, you understand, don’t you? Pathos, Dualistic maintainer, the dark and the light are as one. We strive to create equality. Urdual is the produce of that continous balance. I am the light, I create light where there is too much dark. Torkalath is the dark, he creates darkness where there is too much light. The world of Daragoth is at the moment peaceful, in fact, too peaceful: The inhabitants will grow weak, and forget the old ways, they will unbalance the force of duality. Torkalath and I have agreed on this matter, and he is now creating a balancing force.”

Enraged, Wuldegren cried, “So I’ve come all this way in vain?!! My love’s life is forfeit for nothing?!”

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“I am sorry. I had forgotten. It was necessary that you come here, as it was possible that you might have found the Atlas blade, the blade that was forged by Edarial (ay-DAR-ee-al) in her folly, the blade of unbalance. Whomever wields it becomes a serious disruption of the balance of duality, for his will is enforced regardless of opposition. It is important that we remove that blade from the world, and so your fate has brought you here. You must come with me, and cast the blade into the depths of the sea of Proral (PRO-rale), the sea of duality that exists in Urdual’s threshhold.”

A sudden blur, and he found himself standing alone, on a rock structure sticking a couple meters straight out of a turmultous sea, no other land in sight. He unsheathed the Atlas, held it in its hands, shining with joy and happiness. Then with a sudden resolve he hurled the thing, spinning as it shone with a blue flare, into the sea below. Watching it even after it hit the water, he saw the light from it slowly die out. Another blur, as if one simply refocuses his eyes upon something closer to him, and he was again standing in the hall, above his dead love. He broke down on the floor in tears.

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“Do not cry, Wuldegren. It is done, and all the unbalance that the sword has caused will now be lifted.”

Cradling her in his arms, her eyes slowly lifted open.

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“W-wuldegren? Where...am I?”

His heart choked, and he wept with a new strength, and embraced her tightly. The world around him was peeled away, and he found himself cradling her in a forest thicket, a small house - his house, no longer ashen.

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“Home.” He said.

The Age of Rebuilding

Humans, Elves and Dwarves live in a world of monsters and greed, their once great cities now dust in the ground, struggling to rebuild while the Orcs that survived Felewyn’s wrath plague the lands.

These are the times you live in.

Perhaps you can make history, yourself.