Valor drew his last breath with Jogund seated by his side, watching him as his soul passed to the higher plane of existence.
And as the last light of day faded into night, Jogund remained there, a solitary figure in the midst of the aftermath, honouring the memory of the elf who had fought with valour until the very end.
As the Goblin King emerged from the forest on her way back to the elven village, the message was clearly understood.
"Boss!" the goblins cheered, clinking their weapons in the excitement of a much anticipated victory.
The elves knew that there could be no draws in such a battle between Valor and Jogund. They understood from one glance at Jogund that their hero had fallen to the villain.
Valor had died fighting for them.
The elves wept, their hearts aching from the sudden bitterness that shrouded them as they mourned for Valor.
He may have passed on but the memory of his bravery and determination would forever be etched in the hearts of those who witnessed the epic battle between him and the formidable Goblin King, Jogund.
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Chirpings of crickets echoed in the darkness and the hooting of a owl resonated under the night's moon.
The moon hung low, casting a pallid glare over the elven village.
A sombre hush had settled as elves, their eyes shimmering like starlit skies, gathered around a bed of flowers and leaves.
In their midst lay the fallen warrior, Valor, his noble features now serene in eternal rest.
Elven mourners, adorned in ethereal garments, sang a haunting dirge, their voices weaving a tapestry of grief and remembrance.
"So... touching," a random goblin of the band commented as he cleaned his eyes with a finger.
Jogund, who heard what his follower had said, turned to him with his face devoid of expression. The random goblin staggered back out of fear, cast upon him by Jogund's deathly glare alone.
The Goblin King said nothing but the unfortunate goblin understood that it was best he stayed quiet and kept his opinions to himself.
The elves' melody seemed to reach beyond the mortal realm, carrying their love and longing to the divine realm of their ancestral spirits.
Each note resonated with memories of Valor's bravery, his laughter in the face of danger and his unwavering loyalty to the elves.
They stepped out one after the other, walking to and past the gently laid body of the elven warrior with tears in their eyes.
Their gentle hands placed offerings of the emeralds of Emeraldia and delicate feathers upon his bier, a tribute to a life lived in harmony with nature.
Flames danced to the tune of the wind inside the spiral flame torches stationed nearby at different points, their warm light flickering in rhythm with the mourners' heartbeats.
Tears flowed freely, a testament to the profound impact Valor had on their lives.
The night tarried and soon became filled with the tales of Valor's valiant deeds. The stories spread like wildfire through both crowds — the elves and the goblins — just as Jogund had promised.
Laughter punctuated the tears as they told tales of his daring adventures and selfless acts.
Though grief weighed heavily, a strong sense of unity and shared purpose emerged, a testament to the unbreakable bond between the elfkind.
Under the canopy of trees illuminated by the moon, the elves went on with their vigil, celebrating Valor's life with aching hearts and unshakable devotion.
In their dreary time, the elves found strength, for even in death, Valor's spirit remained a guiding light, forever woven into the fabric of their existence.
The Goblin King and his band waited behind the elven crowd, according them both the respect and the serene environment to mourn their dead.
Their terror thereafter was to come with the rising of the sun — the birth of a new dawn.
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Morning came.
The morning that the elves greatly dreaded.
The nefarious band of goblins, known as the Gryn Tribe, had established their dominion on Valor's elven village of Eraldion.
Armed with crude yet deadly weapons, the goblin warriors of the Gryn Tribe had stealthily infiltrated the peaceful elven village.
The unsuspecting elves were caught off guard as chaos erupted in their homeland. Homes were set ablaze, and the melodic songs of the forest were replaced by the guttural cries of the green invaders.
The conquering of Eraldion was the beginning of their grand scheme. Led by the powerful chieftain, the one they named the Goblin King — Jogund Gryn, the Gryn goblins set into action their sinister plan to dominate all of Emeraldia and bolster their strength and wealth.
With the breaking of dawn, the village lay in ruins, and the surviving elves found themselves bound and shackled, now captives to the goblins under the rule of Jogund, the Goblin King.
Her golden eyes blazed with malevolent satisfaction as she watched the elves being carried away. She gloated over her elven captives and revelled in her victory.
Jogund commanded that the female elves and the elfkins be allowed to live in Eldarion and till the land whereas the males who have come of age are taken to the mines, where they were to sweat through the day and night digging for emeralds in Jogund's name.
The pride that used to dwell in their elven spirits was cracked by the Goblin King when she appeared and shattered when she killed Valor.
The captured male elves now forcibly marched up the hill towards the mines in a sorrowful procession. The goblins mocked and jeered, relishing in their captives' humiliation as they journeyed onward from Eldarion.
Jogund rose hastily from her talk wooden seat, crafted to look somewhat like a throne, compelling everyone to become alert in an instant.
She raised her bludgeon with authority and snarled at the captives, striking fear into their weakened spirits.
"From henceforth, Eldarion shall be known by a new name!" she declared.
As she spoke, her followers cheered her on.
"It shall be known as the Hearth of Jogund. And for Emeraldia, soon it shall become the Cage of Jogund!"
The goblins hammered on their shields with their clubs, spears, axes and weapons of all kinds, creating chaotic sounds and screaming battle cries.
"Hearth of Jogund!"
"Hearth of Jogund!"
"Cage of Jogund!"
"Hearth of Jogund!
"Cage of Jogund!"
The green creatures continued to chant the newfound names to the glory of their leader, Jogund, as they marched their male captives forward to the mines.
The elves that resisted their captors were either punished greatly by clubbing or killed on the spot and their bodies disposed into the valleys that ran between the many hills of Emeraldia.
A cycle of change had begun in Eldarion and was soon to spread out into the entire land of Emeraldia.