From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
- J. R. R. Tolkien
Prologue: The Fading Kingdom
It was kind of Mid-Autumn afternoon in Al'ar when the sun seemed to burn fiercely between the zenith and the horizon. No wind stirred; the brown leaves of trees hang limp and motionless. The streets were empty; not one living soul to be seen. A heavy silence veiled the Autumn air. It was as if all things were plunge on a waiting trance.
Al'ar was now in deep, troubled times. The Elven race were at war with themselves. It all began when a small group of Blood Elves began to hunger for more power. They believed that through draining Elves of their magick, they can gain an immense of arcane magick. To avoid more blood being spilt, the King banished the group away to the realms of Abyss. Feeling betrayed, the Night Elves, as they began to call themselves, v