I shall tell you a story.

A tale of elder days, when all the world was cast in blessed shadow.

When light hid in the depths of forests, in the roots of mountains.

When the Blessed Ones first came down from their shining kingdom and raised their halls in the land men would one day call the Alderes.

In those days, Man had not yet found his way through the dark by lantern-light.

Elf-kind learned at the feet of their elders, and the venom of the Briar had not yet found them.

But the Dark Ones lurked in the shadows, drawn by the light.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

They were weak then, and full of malice.

They hungered for light, and hated it.

One day they would grow strong, and assail the very walls of Heaven.

But in those days, they were less.

And the iron pits of Orkael had not yet been delved to keep them.

They stalked the land, and the elves, full of the violent joys of youth, hunted them.

Even beyond the bounds of the world, and in this bloodshed became fell.

So the Dark Ones whispered into the ears of the Blessed, and one heeded the deceptive truths they offered.

He whose name shall not be said here, but you know him.

He Who Is Crowned in Night.

Traitor and Warmonger.

Lord and dupe of the Abgrûdai.

Whose spawn we call the Cambion, ruiner of the world.

And the Dark Ones grew strong.

Many are those still who fight them.

But they ruin what they touch, and fill all things with poison.

There is no greater sin than to heed their lies, for they know our hearts and hate us.

After all, they were born of us.

As accounted by the bard Tzanith

A Song of the Nameless