After the Great War against those who cannot died since the beginning of time, lasting 10 millennia, the Lord bestowed a great reward on those who fought bravely and sacrificed so much for the great cause.
He has gifted them with a longer life, greater height, and wisdom beyond their years. Recognized and esteemed by all, these selected individuals have been elevated to a status above that of other races. But just as they began to enjoy their newfound gifts, a greater entity intervened.
This mysterious entity appeared before them and banished them from the Old World, taking them to a distant continent called Laruthar in the first year of the Third Age. Even the Elves and Dwarves suffered the same fate. He then covered the land with magic, preventing them from leaving its boundaries. The inhabitants of Laruthar were confused and frightened by the appearance of these strange creatures, with their height and ancient wisdom. They were worshipped as divine beings by the people of Laruthar, who knelt before them in absolute reverence and awe. But the mysterious entity has other plans for these creatures—plans that will change the course of history forever.
With the passage of years and the waning enchantments of magic, the recollections of the Great War slowly ebbed away from the minds of the chosen ones. They forget who they are and where they came from; their previous lives are nothing but a distant dream. The inhabitants of Laruthar firmly hold the belief that these beings have perpetually dwelt among them, ordained as the undisputed sovereigns of this realm.
But with the passage of time, fissures of unrest and discord started to rupture the facade of peace and prosperity. The chosen ones are increasingly restless, longing for the world they have left behind. They yearn to escape Laruthar's confines, return to the Old World, and regain their lost memories. But the other entity doesn't allow that.
The magic surrounding Laruthar is impenetrable, an unbreakable barrier. The boats went out to sea, but none returned; rumors about sea monsters gradually dampened the will of everyone. Farther north, beyond the Whispering Forest of the Elves, on the other side of the sky-scraping gorges of the Great Mountains, lies the only way back to the Old World. Ironically, right in front of the mountain connecting the two continents is the dark tower Khazadum, around which is the lair of the Orcs, Lazurad.
Within 2000 years since being exiled to Laruthar, countless expeditions, conquests, and holy wars were launched to wipe out the demons and find a way back to the old continent. However, no one has succeeded, and no one has returned.
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As time passed, the great Elves slowly died as darkness filled Laruthar like a thick, suffocating blanket. The once magnificent and magical Whispering Forest begins to wither and die. Magic is also slowly leaving the land.
In the year 2300 of the Third Age, the Elves, realizing their impending doom, chose to retreat deep into the forest, seeking refuge in the fortress of Lylaththeas, surrounded by towering trees. They know that they are no more than a candle in a storm, no match for the growing darkness that threatens to swallow everything.
The forest lost its guardians, causing the darkness to grow stronger. The once vibrant and colorful trees now stood twisted and gnarled, their leaves turning a sickly black. The animals that once roamed freely now hide in fear, their eyes filled with despair.
Spiders, the minions of darkness, have taken over these forests. The whispers in the forest grew louder, filled with stories of suffering and despair. The once beautiful melodies of the Elves have now fallen silent, replaced by the haunting cries of creatures accidentally lost in the darkness. The once clear streams are now filled with poison, their waters tainted and corrupted by the evil that now dominates this forest.
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The dwarves aren't much better. Deep underground, where darkness reigned and the air was thick with the smell of dirt and sweat, the dwarves worked tirelessly. Years of digging have calloused their hands and hunched their backs, yet their insatiable greed drives them to dig deeper.
Dwarves have always been a secretive race, hiding their treasures underground. But their greed knows no bounds, and they dig deeper and deeper, searching for more precious gems and metals to hoard in their underground vaults.
As they dug deeper into the earth, the dwarves unearthed something dark and ancient, something belonging to the continent of Laruthar, something that should have been buried forever. It whispers to them in the dark, poisoning them with promises of riches beyond their wildest dreams. With each dig into the earth, the murmurs swelled into deafening echoes, saturating their minds with visions of supremacy and riches.
Their greed completely overcame the dwarves' good nature. They still dug deeper, despite warnings. And then, one fateful day, the ground shook beneath their feet. The whispers turned into screams, echoing throughout the halls filled with gold, silver and precious stones like the wailing of the banshee.
The dwarves attempted to flee, but the cruel hands of fate had already sealed their doom. Darkness rose around them, swallowing them whole. Will those engulfed by darkness recognize their own engulfment?
Their treasure was forgotten, buried under the weight of their own greed. The darkness has never been kind to us all, reducing Vanuir, the richest capital of the dwarves and the deepest dugout, to ruins in a single day.
The last two dwarven fortresses, Threhbor and Ahrabor, took months to acknowledge the fall of Vanuir when trade and communications went unanswered.
Like the elves, the dwarves are also gradually disappearing from Laruthar. The fortresses in the mountains turned out to be more vulnerable to darkness than ever. For the dwarves have unleashed something dark and ancient, something that will not rest until it has claimed all. And so the mountains shook, and the darkness waited, biding its time until the next foolish soul dared to disturb its sleep.
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As for the chosen ones, after arriving at Laruthar, they were divided into two great houses, Lionheart and Wolfenstein. These two are the strongest and most powerful in Laruthar, and together they form a seemingly unbreakable alliance.
As the years passed, the Lionheart and Wolfenstein families grew in power and influence, bringing all the small clans and native nobles of Laruthar under their banner. All people hold them in high esteem and respect, and there is no doubt about the power that they possess.
Together, they ruled the land with wisdom and justice, bringing peace and prosperity to humanity in Laruthar. However, with the passage of time, an unsettling restlessness crept into the hearts of the chosen ones. They yearn to return to the Old world and reclaim what is rightfully theirs. The great houses of Lionheart and Wolfenstein turned their swords toward this goal, embarking on countless conquests and campaigns to find their way back.
However, after 2,000 years of endless struggle and hundreds of failures, the chosen ones suddenly found themselves no closer to achieving their goals.
The relationship between the two great houses begins to deteriorate as tensions increase and disagreements erupt. An alliance that was once the strongest now seems fragile and on the brink of collapse. And so it was destined to be, whatever must come shall come.
From then on, darkness has covered the most precious things of humanity and as a matter of necessity, they began pointing their swords at each other, with the two great families of Lionheart and Wolfenstein leading the way.
The chosen ones were trapped, doomed forever, in a land too small for their ambitions. And so they live out their days in exile, haunted by memories of a past they can't remember.
They searched the continent of Laruthar, looking for answers that would never come. And as the decades passed, they remained only myths and legends, whispered in hushed tones by the people of Laruthar.
But deep in their souls, the chosen ones know that they are born to serve something greater. They can feel the pull of fate tugging at their hearts, urging them to remember who they really are. And so they waited, waiting for the day when they could finally be free of the chains that bound them to Laruthar.
Unfortunately, a veil of darkness has insidiously encased their hearts, shrouding them in despair and desolation. As time passes, the blood of the chosen ones is no longer pure; heroism and chivalry gradually die along with the lords who leave and never return.
Thus heralds the dawn of an age rife with chaos and the looming specter of death. Yet, amidst the darkness, a glimmer of hope remains, flickering like a lone candle in the night. The chosen ones must find the strength within themselves to resist the encroaching despair and rise up to fulfill their destinies before it's too late.
Map of Laruthar: https://postimg.cc/K3r88zZk