Le_Merwen

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 painless, but this peace didn't last and has been cut short ever since our people were defeated by the black elves, ancient peoples, 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 everywhere they went the grass didn't grow back, life died and disintegrated.

Seven, there were seven of them. The seven dark elves known as the Lords of the Apocalypse. 

A single gesture from them was enough to strike us all down, a single gesture from 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, help arrived.

A call, a voice resonated within each of us, calling us.
We then discovered, inside our last bastion, a passage, a hidden door, built by our ancestors and forgotten by all for a long time.

However, our hopes were quickly dashed...

Table of My world-tree system

Table of contents

Volume 1