The great green sea billowed in the wind under the heavy, furry paws of the majestic white lions. The human women rode across the valley in their scarlet, silk robes scarfed about their head. Their giant golden hooped nose rings shimmering under the hot sun.
They had been riding for two days towards the fabled woods, the land of the “Il-voquen,” the last of the Elf Lords. Since the crusades the Orcs had been virtually wiped out, the goblin race as well, but at a heavy cost. Most menfolk of the humankind had been killed. Because of the human kinds short lifespans, they were struggling to replenish their numbers.
The closest being that could breed with them were the elves. The Lords of the Old World had also been cut down in the last Great War…their numbers culled, the light that guides them shattered in west, north, and south. As human kind need air, the Il-voquen need the lights of the gilded star and now only one remains, even still rumors only. As they all traveled eastward they cling to only hope.