The Tower of Babel was vast beyond comprehension with the size of a floor ranging from acres of land to immeasurable expanses, that had within them large kingdoms and continents, to large-scale floors that had their own stars within them.
The 2nd Floor was one of those with vast expanses containing continents and Emeraldia was one of such continents.
A serene and mystical continent with flourishing villages therein that nestled deep within the ancient forests that Emeraldia provided, living peacefully and harmoniously.
Emeraldia showered the elves with its grace, granting them the beauty of nature and the priceless blessing of the green stone — emeralds.
None of the elven villages lacked anything. Not food. Not water. They suffered no afflictions or hardships as Emeraldia had all they needed to survive.
The days were filled with chats and banters and the nights were crammed with enchanting melodies and festivities with beautiful skies adorned by their many colourful fireworks.
They would sing so much that even the trees of the forest started to dance to their tunes, tangoing with the night's handsome and gentle wind.
The elven villages prospered due to their shared living and contributions to each other's growth.
To curb greed, the elders decided that no one elf shall rule over the villages.
Instead, a ruling council of the wisest elves, regardless of age, was established to oversee internal as well as external disputes between them.
They continued to flourish in their utopia and everything seemed to be going well until one day.
On that fateful day, twenty-five years ago, Emeraldia's green was turned to burning black and red like the innards of a raging volcano.
Its clear sky was ashened.
Emeraldia never remained the same again.
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A quarter of a century ago in Emeraldia.
The night sky was quiet.
The crickets chirped melodiously.
The large flames the elves set up for their festival burned like fresh fire.
The stars twinkled above in the silent sky.
The villagers were fast asleep and snoring soundly.
Sinister shadows breezed past in their numbers and quietly.
These harbingers of chaos loomed over the village in the dead of the night.
The green colour of their skins was even made to look more sinister by the light from the burning fire. They giggled sinisterly in excitement.
Led by their king, Jogund, the green creatures emerged from the darkness where they were hiding.
Their mouths widened into ominous grins and watered with saliva as they growled in thirst for blood.
Malice burned in their golden eyes as they raged on.
The enemy had stepped into the largest of the elven villages unnoticed.
Their master plan was to take this village and from the new bastion of strength, they could subdue the rest of the Emeraldian continent.
That was Jogund's idea.
The Goblin King whistled for her followers to move on, penetrating the village even further.
She swiped a tent open and saw an elderly elf sleeping without a care in the world.
She grinned maliciously.
"Found you," she said, satisfied with her discovery of the village's elder.
Jogund walked over to the snoring and sleeping body of the elder and chuckled.
She rested her club on her shoulder and put her heavy boot on his chest.
The old elf turned in his sleep, trying to push Jogund's foot off his chest.
His sleepy eyes fluttered and he caught a glimpse of an unstable shadow standing over him.
He blinked many times to clear his vision and that was when he saw Jogund's green figure standing over him and grinning.
"Hello," she greeted.
The elder let out a loud cry that travelled past his tent to the ears of the elves.
That was when the chaos began.
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The goblins went about plundering the homes of the elves, wreaking havoc and causing problems.
The helpless elves ran for their lives in a frenzy. Those who still had some energy in them stood up against the goblins in a fight but were easily slaughtered since they were outnumbered.
The flame no longer burned at the centre of the village alone, the goblins made sure to extend the fire to their homes as they relished the fiery view.
The enchanted tunes that the forest danced to turned into cries for pain and wailings of anguish.
The chirping of the crickets was drowned by the clinking of metal in combat.
The villagers, once united by joy, were now scattered, desperately seeking safety and refuge.
"Do not despair, my elf brothers and sisters!"
The voice of a young white-haired elf echoed within the ongoing chaos as he gashed the goblins he was battling.
He roared like a raging beast and tightened his grip on the sword he had taken from one of his green victims.
"Do not despair!" he roared again.
He walked angrily towards the goblins ahead of him and slaughtered them one after the other.
Like a dying fire brought back to life, the elves got their hopes back and started to fight again.
With the white-haired elf named Valor leading the charge, they began to take back what was stolen from them.
The battle raged on through the night, and the elves stood their ground, unwavering in their determination to protect their home.
The clash of their forces continued and intensified but little did the elves know that their resistance was only temporary.
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Valor's courage was a beacon that burned brightly, guiding the elves through their clash with the goblins.
The rays of dawn began to descend on Emeraldia as the day was breaking.
With this new day came the rejuvenation of elven hopes.
The goblins had lost their will to fight and with their king nowhere to be found, they grew weary and started to retreat in fear that they may lose.
The elves were tired. Valor was tired. But it was not yet time to show it.
Valor cried out loud. "After them! Don't let anyone escape!"
A facade that he put on to scare the goblins who thought it impossible that the elves could still fight.
However, Valor's courage and leadership was not the only thing capable of giving hope to his comrades.
Boom!
An explosion went off right in the middle of the village, sending a great shock to every elf.
Valor turned around to see.
"That's Elder Farlorn's tent. Elder Falorn..." he muttered.
"Elder Falorn!"
Valor took the first step to run towards the tent of the elder when a presence suddenly appeared behind him.
"Hello," she said. She had a wide grin on her face that made her look hideous.
Valor halted in his tracks and slowly turned around to see the great figure behind him.
She stood confident with the head of the elder in her hands, pouring blood to the ground, and on the other hand was her large club that was stained heavily with blood.
Valor's voice quavered when he saw the dead elder's head in her hands. His eyes shook and watered with tears.
"U-Uncle F-Fa-Farlorn!"
The figure before him was the Goblin King...
Jogund.