Is this open admission? If so... I'll join. I didn't read any of this, so I won't meta game, as I still have problems with that. I guess I'll edit in with a character sheet later? I'll make my character as I write. If I screw up any of the previously written stuff... so be it.
Meanwhile, far away from our heros, there lived a legend. A quiet legend, one nobody spoke of.
In the great forests, two titans dueled. Ferox, who was the ways of old, represented the old strength of the forest. His forces learned the old ways, fought in the old ways, taking from the sun and turning it into pure strength. The armies of Ferox were the hardest of the frogs and the birds, serving in rank and file. Relying on the strength of the forest and the sun, Ferox had once taught the people of life that all energy came from the sun, and that if you harness it, you could become a great fighter. Ferox taught the ways of wisdom. But if you weren't normal, if you were... strange... you were banished. It was a hard rule, but it was an effective one. The people were wise, but unimaginative. These were the ways of old.
The other titan, Elidnis, was the ways of new, and represented the new strength of the forest. His forces learned a new path, fought with new methods, taking from the water and using it to advance themselves in ways never seen before. The armies of Elidnis were the largest of the spirits, growing in time and doubling in strength, immortal and unstoppable. Relying on the strength of the water, Elidnis taught the people of life that you can grow, you can change and you can be different. Through self growth, you'd become stronger. Elidinis taught the ways of self improvement. But if you reached your potential, if you could become no more than what you were, you were useless to him, abandoned. It was an easy rule, but it was ineffective. The people did what they wanted, unburdened by limits or regulation. These were the ways of the new.
There were several challengers. Druidica, master of staves, used healing methods no one had seen before. The Witch Doctor's swarms of frogs rampaged over the land. The forest was in a constant state of uproar and conflict, and instead of being the peaceful place it once was, now the fire that was rage burned harder than it did in the volcanoes, so the legend goes. And this, all of this, is because of one thing. The banishment of the elves.
It started when the elves came to Ferox. They had showed him wondrous things, adrenaline which made his creatures work harder, emphatic bonds which helped them live, but when they showed him the spines they crossed the line. "The people of life do NOT kill" roared Ferox, "they defeat with their might and their perfection, achieving victory through strict regulation and hard work". And the elves went to Elidnis, still only a fledgling, and showed him the thorns. But Elidnis didn't care for their handiwork, he didn't believe in shielding at all.
The great Ferox wasn't angry at the elves, so much as stressed. Elidinis wasn't uncaring so much as busy. For both had an attack planned. And, neigh simultaneously, they did the unthinkable. Each trying to cripple the other, they attacked two other elements. Ferox, angered with water, charged at their murky depths, the elves under his command attacking a tribe of ulitharids and thinking naught of it. Elidnis, meanwhile, declared war on miracle, and his elves charged against angels. And when both failed miserably in their assault, too divided to conquer, they both blamed one scape goat. The elves.
And so the elves left the forest, fallen from their post. And the chaos began. The forest in a two front war and a simultaneous power vacuum, things returned to their tribal ways, where the big eat and the small get eaten.
But the saying goes one elf will return. It is foretold that when the tipping point of the forest is at hand, when light and water are staring down upon vengeance they do not deserve or understand, one elf will come and remind the woods why they needed them. He will show them what a hole in the forest they made when the crime was committed, he would rip a hole so wide the woods wouldn't be woods any more. 12 elements would become 11. The elves work done.
It is a frightening legend.
It tells of the wrath of the elves, gaining vengeance upon the angels themselves. Some say they've even seen the fallen angel, some claim it exists. It tells of ulitharid far from the deeps traveling all across the land, waging war against vampires, just for vengeance. Most close their ears to the truth.
One boy, one young lad, born from the roots of the great tree itself, is the last of the risen elves. Protected from the gods by the trees great branches, the boy grew up until he was 13. And it was then he learned of the legend.
"But papa," he said to the tree, "I don't want to kill you. I can't be the dark elf papa, I just can't!"
The great tree sighed a great sigh, rustling it's leaves to the ground.
"You may write your own destiny, my child."
And so this boy, Yüruk, lived his life feared, hated, and outcast. The elves resented him, were jealous of him, and the woods rejected him, laughed at his threat. And with the heavy burden in his heart, he tried to be good. As best he could.
Learning the ways of the elves, changing one creature to another, he successfully turned an old skeleton he found decomposing into a tiny ray of light. He named it Darloff. It was his companion. Darloff didn't say much, but it made musical pings, and sweet sweet chords when it was happy. It nuzzled up against Yüruk's face when he went to sleep, and splashed around in the rivers when Yüruk bathed.
Yüruk tried to be good. He really did.
One day by the river, a wild Otyugh, rampaging far from home, looking for something small, anything really, to feast upon, found Darloff. And Yüruk, scared for his pets life, turned the Otyugh into a spark, and it whisked away and died.
We join young Yüruk, now a murderer, knowing for all his life he was evil and was going to destroy his home.
He tried to be good. He really did.
Knowing now he couldn't trust himself, he packed his few belongings, sat Darloff on his shoulder, and walked away from the woods.
He could never, ever, go back.
I really don't want to impose, so since this is becoming dead-ish, I'll just leave his backstory here for now, until a good time arises.
