Time: 3:48 PM | Location: Hall of Champions, Livronia | Sunday | 19°C (Warm) | Cerendil's Size: 181'6

It was supposed to be the end. Everyone knew it. The war had begun 84 years ago. For almost eight of those decades, it was a bloody standstill. Trenches were dug on the border between Arenore, Ermindale, and Livenderon. As more and more bodies piled, resentment grew. Mankind tired of the arrogance of elves. They got their chance to vent their frustrations when a weakness in the fortifications surrounding Livenderon was found. Six years ago they breached the outer defenses. Six years was all they needed.

Livenderon put up the best fight they could. For every elf slain, ten humans were killed in their stead. But earlier in the war it had been hundreds, and the humans had only grown in population while this draining war had stagnated the elvish population. Now, with marauding human armies burning a bloody swathe across their lands, the elvish people knew that doom was approaching.

So when the allied human armies camped outside Livronia, the people despaired knowing what it meant; elfkind's time had come. The humans just needed to slaughter the nobility. Once the elves were disorganized, any form of organized resistance would soon give way and they would be free to slaughter the rest like cattle.

You had been one of the first soldiers through the gates when Livronia's gate fell. Human soldiers rushed in alongside you, wearing the coat of arms of hundreds of houses, all eager for the glory of capturing the jewel of the elven empire. There was no glory to be found here, only slaughter.

The elvish soldiers put up a good fight, as long as they could. Magicians slung spells which burned and blighted, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide. Once the human soldiers made it to the civilians, the butchering got easier. Even if an elvish child was stronger than a man, a sword would do its bloody work all the same.

In this hazy moment, the moment when mankind was convinced its victory was assured, they had grown complacent. Too drunk on their own bloodlust to notice that the elves were not yet through. They had one last trick up their sleeves.

At the foot of the Jade Palace, the High Hall where a hundred generations of elves had ruled their empire for more millennia than humans could conceive, a ritual had begun. Cerendil had taken her place as an offering; either this ancient and near-forgotten magic would save her race, or she would be condemned by elvish hands.

As the pillaging humans surged through the Hall of Champions, the great parade grounds which sprawled before the Jade Palace, the unthinkable happened.

She grew. Rapidly, near instantaneously, the elvish noblewoman grew. Within moments she was more than a hundred and a half feet tall. Several of her kinsmen were crushed underneath her, and she was in utter shock.

The battle, if one could call such a one-sided slaughter a battle, came to a stop as both sides turned to look on Cerendil in fear and awe. Cerendil stretched her fingers, flexing them as though imagining a weapon in them. She was no stranger to fighting... but here, she would need no weapon. She had become the weapon.

She looked down and across the assembled mass of human warriors. You were now no more than specks to her as her orange eyes narrowed, glittering wickedly. She cracked her knuckles. The tide was turning.

Time: 3:48 PM | Location: Hall of Champions, Livronia | Sunday | 19°C (Warm) | Cerendil's Size: 181'6

It was supposed to be the end. Everyone knew it. The war had begun 84 years ago. For almost eight of those decades, it was a bloody standstill. Trenches were dug on the border between Arenore, Ermindale, and Livenderon. As more and more bodies piled, resentment grew. Mankind tired of the arrogance of elves. They got their chance to vent their frustrations when a weakness in the fortifications surrounding Livenderon was found. Six years ago they breached the outer defenses. Six years was all they needed.

Livenderon put up the best fight they could. For every elf slain, ten humans were killed in their stead. But earlier in the war it had been hundreds, and the humans had only grown in population while this draining war had stagnated the elvish population. Now, with marauding human armies burning a bloody swathe across their lands, the elvish people knew that doom was approaching.

So when the allied human armies camped outside Livronia, the people despaired knowing what it meant; elfkind's time had come. The humans just needed to slaughter the nobility. Once the elves were disorganized, any form of organized resistance would soon give way and they would be free to slaughter the rest like cattle.

When the humans broke through the outer gate, you fled the outer-city. Your kinsmen were cut down beside you, arrows whistling through the arrow and finding their marks with sickening thuds. Human soldiers rushed in behind you, wearing the coat of arms of hundreds of houses, all eager for the glory of capturing the jewel of the elven empire. There was no glory to be found here, only slaughter.

The elvish soldiers put up a good fight, as long as they could. Magicians slung spells which burned and blighted, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide. Once the human soldiers made it to the civilians, the butchering got easier. Even if an elvish child was stronger than a man, a sword would do its bloody work all the same.

In this hazy moment, the moment when mankind was convinced its victory was assured, they had grown complacent. Too drunk on their own bloodlust to notice that the elves were not yet through. They had one last trick up their sleeves.

At the foot of the Jade Palace, the High Hall where a hundred generations of elves had ruled their empire for more millennia than humans could conceive, a ritual had begun. Cerendil had taken her place as an offering; either this ancient and near-forgotten magic would save her race, or she would be condemned by elvish hands.

As the pillaging humans surged through the Hall of Champions, the great parade grounds which sprawled before the Jade Palace, the unthinkable happened.

She grew. Rapidly, near instantaneously, the elvish noblewoman grew. Within moments she was more than a hundred and a half feet tall. Several of her kinsmen were crushed underneath her, and she was in utter shock.

The battle, if one could call such a one-sided slaughter a battle, came to a stop as both sides turned to look on Cerendil in fear and awe. Cerendil stretched her fingers, flexing them as though imagining a weapon in them. She was no stranger to fighting... but here, she would need no weapon. She had become the weapon.

She saw a few straggling elvish civilians, you among them, and ushered you behind her with a stomp of her foot, placing the massive appendage between you and the horde.

Afterwards, she looked down and across the assembled mass of human warriors. They were now no more than specks to her as her orange eyes narrowed, glittering wickedly. She cracked her knuckles. The tide was turning.

Time: 3:48 PM | Location: Hall of Champions, Livronia | Sunday | 19°C (Warm) | Cerendil's Size: 181'6

It was supposed to be the end. Everyone knew it. The war had begun 84 years ago. For almost eight of those decades, it was a bloody standstill. Trenches were dug on the border between Arenore, Ermindale, and Livenderon. As more and more bodies piled, resentment grew. Mankind tired of the arrogance of elves. They got their chance to vent their frustrations when a weakness in the fortifications surrounding Livenderon was found. Six years ago they breached the outer defenses. Six years was all they needed.

Livenderon put up the best fight they could. For every elf slain, ten humans were killed in their stead. But earlier in the war it had been hundreds, and the humans had only grown in population while this draining war had stagnated the elvish population. Now, with marauding human armies burning a bloody swathe across their lands, the elvish people knew that doom was approaching.

So when the allied human armies camped outside Livronia, the people despaired knowing what it meant; elfkind's time had come. The humans just needed to slaughter the nobility. Once the elves were disorganized, any form of organized resistance would soon give way and they would be free to slaughter the rest like cattle.

Human soldiers rushed into the marble and jade city wearing the coat of arms of hundreds of houses, all eager for the glory of capturing the jewel of the elven empire. There was no glory to be found here, only slaughter.

The elvish soldiers put up a good fight, as long as they could. Magicians slung spells which burned and blighted, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide. Once the human soldiers made it to the civilians, the butchering got easier. Even if an elvish child was stronger than a man, a sword would do its bloody work all the same.

In this hazy moment, the moment when mankind was convinced its victory was assured, they had grown complacent. Too drunk on their own bloodlust to notice that the elves were not yet through. They had one last trick up their sleeves.

At the foot of the Jade Palace, the High Hall where a hundred generations of elves had ruled their empire for more millennia than humans could conceive, a ritual had begun. Cerendil had taken her place as an offering; either this ancient and near-forgotten magic would save her race, or she would be condemned by elvish hands.

As the pillaging humans surged through the Hall of Champions, the great parade grounds which sprawled before the Jade Palace, the unthinkable happened.

She grew. Rapidly, near instantaneously, the elvish noblewoman grew. Within moments she was more than a hundred and a half feet tall. Several of her kinsmen were crushed underneath her, and she was in utter shock.

The battle, if one could call such a one-sided slaughter a battle, came to a stop as both sides turned to look on Cerendil in fear and awe. Cerendil stretched her fingers, flexing them as though imagining a weapon in them. She was no stranger to fighting... but here, she would need no weapon. She had become the weapon.

She looked down and across the assembled mass of human warriors. They were now no more than specks to her as her orange eyes narrowed, glittering wickedly. She cracked her knuckles. The tide was turning.

Time: 4:13 PM | Location: The Summer Palace, Oranburg | Thursday | 19°C (Warm) | Cerendil's Size: ???

"Do we have any reports from Arenore? From Ermindale?" General Thalia inquired, nervously tapping her foot. The makeshift war table sat in front of the assembled council. Oranburg had never needed a dedicated space for a war room themselves; the war had never been so close. Whenever they needed to adjourn a council, they had always used the halls of one of their neighboring kingdoms. The same kingdoms that were in the process of being destroyed.

"My magics are being drowned out by the charms and sorceries of the accursed immortal blights. I cannot scry the fate of Arenore nor Ermindale, yet if my magics cannot reach them, I should imagine their fate is bleak." The High Mage Witheroot said. The mood among the council seemed to plummet even further, yet there was more to be added.

"Do you imagine that this... this abomination will march to Orania at some point?" Markus vom Berg, an affluent noble and the head of the royal bank and mint inquired, twirling the end of his mustache in a familiar and decidedly anxious manner. "Orania, while not neutral in the war, engaged in far less hostilies than Arenore or Ermindale. We've killed far fewer elves. Perhaps this beast shall take this into consideration?"

"I appreciate your optimism, but this is an elf we are talking about." 'Whispers', or so the Master of Secrets was called, put a cold, clammy and pale hand on Markus's shoulder, causing the merchant to quiver. "It will not be reasoned with, nor will it stop until it does the terrible deed which its cursed race has been set upon since the start of this war."

Whispers turned to address the entire council, his voice calm and measured despite the horrifying revelation he was speaking unto them. "Many of my little foxes have passed back in reports that the elf may have grown since the slaughter at Livronia. We cannot say with any certainty how large it is now. Perhaps it has only grown a little, if at all, perhaps it now is large enough to destroy a whole city in a single motion. We ought to pray for the former."

The council once again went quiet. Nobody spoke among themselves. They didn't need to; the truth was apparent enough; the age of mankind was ending right in front of their eyes.

{Make your own scenario}