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Old 01-01-2006, 01:05 AM
Jarlaxle Jarlaxle is offline
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Join Date: Sep 2005
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Default Narmir Setting

[size=large]The young children gathered around the fire. It was their favorite time. Once a month the old shaman would tell them stories and tonight would be their favorite one of all. The legendary myth about where things began?.[/size]

The phantom steed carried its pale rider across the expanse of the celestial realms, through planes of existence undreamed of by most. His origin unknown and his purpose as mysterious as his shadowy steed, the pale rider took pause upon reaching a long forgotten world. The enigmatic figure plucked three stars from the heavenly realm; one of brilliant gold, another of greenish tint, but the third could not be seen for by its very nature it seemed to consume light instead of produce it. He cast the orbs to the planet below as if to destroy it once and for all; instead two of the orbs shattered like glass, raining crystalline fragments across its surface.

The amber orb fell in the northern hemisphere atop mighty plateaus, its fragments spearing into the ground like countless god-sized daggers. The dagger-like crystals absorbed the solar energies reflected by the snowy landscape. Inside could be seen developing humanoid creatures. The amber crystalline casings melted away like ice and hence the high elves were born.

Similarly the emerald orb fell in a more temperate zone, shattering above dense forested areas. Vegetation enveloped the emerald crystals, nurturing the elven embryos inside while feeding off the crystalline shells. Thus the symbiotic nature between forest and wood elves began.

Lastly the ebon orb passed unseen as if it were a mere hole in the dark sky. If not for the awesome sound of its impact, nothing of its passing would have been known. Instead of shattering in the air, the black orb penetrated the crust before breaking up. Underground the pieces literally absorbed the minerals around them, creating vast caverns. Hence was formed the first dark elven subterranean cities.

And so the mighty elves came to be, a mixture of the metaphysical essence of magic and the corporeal energies of the solar winds and organic soil. But, not all of the crystals fell upon fertile ground. Some fell into barren deserts while others fell into stagnant tar pits where they laid dormant ?

Feeling the arcane disturbance near his celestial territory, an ancient dwarven entity investigated the matter where he witnessed the elven creation. To allow the weakling elves to roam anywhere unchecked would be an atrocity, so he decided there was but one thing to do. The mighty dwarven god, Morlax, summoned his avatar upon the ancient landscape near an erupting volcano. He waded through the streams of lava as if it were mere flowing water. Up the incline he marched until reaching the top where he plunged into the volcano?s mouth.

An explosion of enormous proportion rocked the countryside as a hole was blasted out of the side of the volcano by Morlax?s enchanted hammer. The lava ceased flowing from the mouth of the mountain as it now flowed from the hole in its side. Morlax continued to pound inside the mountain, creating a large cavern just above the glowing magma that ran like a river of liquid fire. When his new smithy was done, he scooped the molten ore with his bare hands and began creating an anvil; shaping the glowing ore like an expert potter would sculpt clay.

Sweat poured from his brow as he labored, falling into the fiery river where it hissed and steamed. The moisture tamed the volcano as the molten ore finally cooled. Morlax then took his hammer and began pounding upon his newly crafted anvil. The sparks flew in all directions around him. Where each spark fell, a newly created dwarf came to be. A few sparks, however, flew completely out of the top of the volcano?s mouth, where they landed in the charred timbers?

Eternally at war with Morlax, yet another deity fixated his attention upon this new world. He too summoned his avatar on that exploding mountain, an avatar with dark green skin and yellow tusks protruding from his maw. As fiery embers continued to spew from hammer and anvil, the few that escaped the volcano?s mouth landed in the surrounding remains of what was once a tall forest. Focusing now on these energized embers, the orcish deity used a wickedly serrated blade to draw his own blood from the palm of his calloused, green hand. From the mixture of the green skinned god?s blood and the arcane energy of the enchanted hammer came the orcs.
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