The Great War

In the final age of shadow, when the skies wept and the earth cracked beneath the weight of corruption, the elves of Mountainrun knew the hour of reckoning had come. To them, the Great War was not a sudden calamity but the culmination of threads woven long before—threads spun from ambition, betrayal, and the forging of the Crown of Dominion.

The elves, more than any other race, understood the significance of what stirred beneath the mountains and forests. They had witnessed the Crown’s creation at the hands of Vaeril Dusktide and felt the weight of its corruption. The echoes of that ancient sin resonated still, and as the Wraith Lords gathered under the banner of Vyrakath, the elves recognized the hand of the dark god guiding their march.

The Gathering Darkness

The elves had no armies to match the warbands of men or the iron legions of the Dwarves. Their strength lay in the ley lines beneath the world that hummed with magic’s pulse. As Vyrakath’s power grew, the elves sensed the disruption in the ley lines. The land beneath Mountainrun trembled, and ancient wards flickered.

While men and orcs fortified cities, the elves strengthened the groves and enchanted the rivers that ran through their forests, weaving protections into the roots of Mountainrun itself. They would not hold the front lines, but they would guard the pathways through which darkness might creep.

From the shadows of their enchanted woods, elven archers struck unseen, and druids called upon the wilds to ensnare the twisted creatures that spilled from the Crown’s corruption. In the hidden places of the Reach, where mortals dared not tread, the elves fought a silent war—one waged in the groves, among ancient stones, and within the very essence of the Weave.

The Arrival of Elto

Yet, even as their wards held, the elves understood that their efforts were but strands in a fraying tapestry. When Elto, the Lightbearer, descended from the High Palace of the Immatuar, the elves were the first to recognize the breaking of divine law.

From their highest towers, they saw the stars dim as Elto stepped onto the mortal plane, and in that moment, they understood the gravity of the hour. The gods had long sworn never to walk among mortals, but Vyrakath’s corruption had forced Elto’s hand.

In hushed tones, elven scholars recalled the ancient prophecies: that one day, the Creator would sacrifice his divinity to redeem the land.

As Elto crossed the battlefields, the elves did not stand beside him. They stood behind him, casting their spells from the distant woods and watching as the Creator’s light burned away the shadows. It was not their war to win, but their world to protect.

The Battle of Gods

When Elto faced Vyrakath on the field of ruin, the elves withdrew to the edges of the battle, casting their gaze not upon the clash of gods, but upon the land itself. As light and shadow tore through the sky, the elves wove the Binding of Ley, a ritual designed to mend the ley lines fractured by the Crown’s influence.

With each strike Elto dealt, the elves felt the land tremble and the Weave fray. Trees withered and blossomed anew as the gods’ conflict shaped the world around them. They knew that no mortal act could stand against Vyrakath—but through their magic, they sought to ensure that, when the final blow fell, the world would survive the aftermath.

The Crown’s Shattering

When Vyrakath crumbled beneath Elto’s light, the elves held their breath. Yet even in victory, the Crown remained—a blackened, seven-spired relic pulsing with untamed power. The elves watched in silence as Elto lifted the Crown and placed it upon his brow.

They did not cry out or plead for another way, for they knew what must follow.

As the Crown shattered, its fragments cascading across the land, the elves felt the Weave shudder and settle. Elto’s body, fell to the earth, his light fading into the soil. In his place remained only the fragments of the Crown—scattered, but still dangerous.

The elves did not celebrate his sacrifice. They mourned it, understanding that his fall was not victory but the beginning of a new burden.

In the War’s Wake

After the war, the elves stood alongside the other races in signing the Treaty of Radiant DawnThough they had long remained distant from the affairs of, the weight of Elto’s sacrifice had stirred something deep within them. For the first time since the Fall of Lumispire, the elves stepped forward—not to lead, but to guide.

Through their signatures, the elves pledged to uphold the balance of the Weave, standing as stewards of the land and magic to ensure that the Crown’s shards remained scattered and forgotten. They took no seat of power, but their influence was felt in the silent places—in the growth of new forests, the restoration of ancient groves, and the quiet rituals woven beneath the stars.

The Great War was not a tale of triumph for the elves, but of remembrance. The Weave had endured, and with it, so did their quiet vigil.