I am just writing this out of boredom and trying to survive this pandemic.
will contain blood, fantasy violence, some language, and implied/referenced past abuse.
Magic, the name some gave the ability to use energy, sigil, and spell. The driving force behind the true creatures of Etheria, though only a few races, knew how to wield it in its most primal form.
Few and far between.
Most races adept in magic were lost either to the exploration team known as the first ones or to the tyrannical forces of the horde. However, little did either side know that their greatest enemy (or strongest ally) would come from an unforeseen source.
The valley of the lost, a name given to the vast area that had once housed several kingdoms laid to ruin by the Horde's armies little over fourteen years prior.
Weapons had rendered the land useless, decorated only by ruins of ancient cities and a mountain range that housed the catacombs of a once-mighty race of warriors, long forgotten with the few survivors scattered to the winds.
However, if one happened to venture close to the base of the tallest mountain— called Talon for its gnarled silhouette on the horizon—one would find a door encased with ruins and guarded by creatures known as The Prea.
It was this place where Etheria's brightest moon only shone bimonthly and only then for just nine hours during the summer cycle that would offer a true light in the darkest moments of someone lost in the very truest of ways.