

It was because of this war, the elves scattered across the lands, and inhabited their place in all places the world could offer: Wood, Sea, Air, Desert, Rock, and the Underground. Magics florished,varying within the elf tribes, and as time passed on, the choices of the Elven reflected upon themselves. As the Humes and Trolls seemed to create unstead alliences, the Elves were having problems of theirown, for war had broken, even amongst themselves. It was a blood bath, and the grouns was covered thick in it.
In such a story as this, there is an isle off the southern coast of the mainland, about a two day journey, of which a half handful of elves have come to call home. Unfortunatly...the elves are of all the clans. It is a cursed isle, fuled by hate and anger,and surrounded by the ongoing war. Inside there is a clan, barely pulled together for the sole purpose of survival. It's mixed, of all the races of Elves that have emerged from the time of darkness, a group that struggles for a balenced ground to all walk upon the same level.
Bu the start wasn't always so....easy. no, in fact, this story, also, began in blood. For you see, the current clan chief, makerd her way in a path of blood, drawn from her own fingers, in the blood deep within the bodies of her own friends and family. Come and meet Chieftess Swiftshadow, and those of her unlikely band of elves, in the embrace of a tortured Isle called, Tearshed.
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