In a desolate shire ruined from a cause so old it is not sanged by bards nor remembered in history but known and experienced to one man. His hair shines a shade of oak , his left eye reflects a forest green as his other is of crimson. They brighten before a oven fire baking bread. His skin, gray as stone with a fair stature of a human. The building once lively is now silent with dreaded echoes of a crumbling walls. A crow glides through the broken ceiling. With it a piece of parchment. He holds the parchment and reads " my old friend Drogar , word of the human kingdom of emerald hills suffers the wrath of the dreaded old ones. Yet there stench still remains among them. We fear they may be corrupt from within and so we fear they may spread it among our people. Your valued friendship has left us with hope that we can trust you to venture to the human lands and seek out a audience with there current king conduct a full report on your findings.Your efforts will be rewarded. May the gods watch over you. Your friends -insert elf ,Dwarf & Gnome names- . Drogar puts the parchment in a scroll case. " never was fond of my mothers people" He said as he took the loaf of bread from the oven and slide it into a basket. He broke a piece of the bread for the crow and rode the beaten forest path. " it was inevitable for me....to live among humans for my third century. .
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