A young elf stood in a field, he had shining Mithril plate armour, a glittering sword in his hand and a shield with a complex family crest embossed in platinum strapped to his arm. The elf looked impeccable, not a smudge on his armour or a hair out of place.
The elf was called Estanesse and he didn't come from this place, this wasn't home. Ever since arriving on this world something had been missing and he knew what it was.
Fingering a crescent moon symbol hanging from his neck Estanesse knew what it was, he had lost the feel of his lord and god, Corellon Larethian, father of the elven people and Estanesse's guiding light until 5 years ago when he was trapped in magic and awoke on this world.
But he smiled, he senses it was coming to an end, he could see the shadow approaching, he hoped Crythos would understand his decision, there was nothing for him here. These elves weren't his people...
He began to stride forward, discarding first his sword and then his shield, removing his helmet and dropping it to the floor. Estanesse began to pray as he walked, unbuckling his breat and back plate, as they fell he stopped, spreading his arms wide and staring to the sky.
As the shadow reached him Estanesse muttered "finally, it's over..."
A place to post stories from the 30th day of Julius 161: the day the Glooms enveloped Velmaneth decimating the population
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