War of the Three Races

By Heran Phillips All Rights Reserved ©

Fantasy / Action

Quarian

Welcome one and all to this history lesson.

My name is Quarian Esana. I am here to tell you all what you should know already. You humans are not alone in the world. I am living proof of this. My mother was proof of this, until she was called home by Corellon. My father, that man in the corner over there, with the eyepatch, is one of Corellon’s exarchs. He also is proof that this is true.

But what I just said is too simplistic. It is too easy for you humans to go, okay there are elves amongst us. Big galaranor deal.

Neya. I know. But they can’t understand it anyways Etul. It’s not like I’m cursing them. Yet.

Sorry. I am no bard. I would say go find my uncle if you want a bard, but Kyle is long gone. Killed himself after Paelius died. Who are these people, you might ask. Well, if you don’t know who they are, then you have lived under a rock for the last few decades. I pity you, blissfully ignorant nelsaroi.

Fine. I’ll try to stop. Sorry Dad.

Look, all you really need to know is that my family has been keeping all of you safe for the past century. But that’s not all that I want you to know. I want you to know the pain, the anguish we have endured. Some of you have endured it beside us. Those of you who are Seers, and those of you who accepted the message my brother devoted his life to spreading. You are not alone. Elves are real. And they aren’t the only ones either. My uncles were werewolves. Paelius actually was a weredragon before his first experience with the dhaeraow. Of course I shouldn’t really call them that any more. They are part of the elves and the eladrin once more. The long extinct race of Faerie is recreated anew.

Some of you are getting restless. You don’t really care. Well, I care a lot. I have lost countless friends and family in keeping you safe. So settle in for a long tale. I may be no bard, but you are going to hear this story to the end. And trust me, this story has no happy ending. It is filled with guts and death. This tale is one of unimaginable horror and pain. So, if you are squeamish, or you can’t control your emotions too well, get a grip. You’re going nowhere. Please keep your vomit and tears held in until the end of this story. Thank you.

Oh, and by the way, you are on your own with the Elven. It is the preferred language for me, and therefore, I use it whenever I can. Happy listening.

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