Some call me 'The Dark Druid' or 'The Forest Killer' and few know me simply as Foster. I'm a sylvan elf, or at least I used to be.
We were a peaceful people living in harmony with nature in the vast lands of Lyréanor. This world, if I had to sum it up in a few short sentences, was peaceful, joyful and free of sorrow, but this peace didn't last and was cut short when our people were defeated by the dark elves, an ancient people, even more ancient than this world. It is said that they arrived in Lyréanor by boat and since their arrival, chaos has been unleashed.
Proud of their obscure power, drawn from dark rituals, they have raised gigantic armies of monsters whose name is synonymous with terror: 'Obscurus'.
They went on the rampage, and wherever they went the grass didn't grow back, life died and disintegrated.
Our people fought back, using our magic to slow the wave of destruction.
But in vain, our efforts only served to stop the wave of lesser monsters, for the real terror came long after.
Seven, there were seven. The seven dark elves known as the Lords of the Apocalypse.
One move on their part was enough to bring us all down, one move on the part of one of them was enough to decimate us in blood and terror. We retreated to the last of our strongholds, once known as Fotiya (the last rampart), where our final battle would take place, where our story was to end.
A call, a voice resonated within each of us, calling us.
We then discovered, inside our last stronghold, a passage, a hidden door, built by our ancestors and forgotten by all for a long time.
On discovering this door, I saw hope blossom again in the eyes of my queen, in the eyes of each and every one of us.
Because yes, we were led by a queen, Eleanor de Rivéra, the most powerful magician for 1,000 years, and her failure against the seven Lords of the Apocalypse and even against the lesser Obscurus completely shattered her confidence and was a blow to the rest of us.
But back to the point, we passed through this door, descending underground by steps made of stone, very damaged and very old, one false step and we ended up at the bottom in a flaccid and liquid state.
The descent took an awfully long time, so long that we heard the doors of Fotiya collapse with an abominable crash, and we heard the screams of those who had stayed above to give us time to get down.
My fist, like those of my companions and my queen, clenched in dull anger. The debt of blood had been written for eternity.
Finally, after a time that seemed infinite, we reached the bottom, where a door made of a wood unlike any we had ever seen stood before us. In the centre of this door was a handle with an emblem inlaid inside, just the width of a ring. The inlaid emblem represented that of the royal family, an immense tree with infinite roots, the emblem of a legend of our people, the world tree.
We didn't dare believe it, each of us trembling, what if the legend was true, what if the World Tree did exist?
We waited with bated breath for Eleanor to make her move.
She raised her hand and placed her ring on the emblem embedded in the door.
With a shudder, the door opened and a blinding light burst forth.