Morgiir stood atop a tall forested slope overlooking a great valley. He looked out across the vast white landscape below him…waiting. And how much longer must I wait? He thought to himself. The snow was up to the tops of his boots now, and it was still coming down heavily. The large white flakes made a soft pattering in the muted silence of the wilderness around him. He had set up camp in this spot more than ten days ago. It had been cold of course, but the snow was a new development. He knew it would not be possible to survive another week in this weather.
His pale skin and white hair were almost the same color as the snow. If not for the black chain mail shirt and cloak he wore, he might have been perfectly camouflaged. He chuckled softly at the thought of himself running naked through the snow like a wild beast.
If only I knew what it was I'm supposed to be waiting for! He thought. All his mother had told him was that danger would come to their underground village, and that he must wait for it, and warn them when it came. He chose this spot because it was the best vantage point for seeing any comings and goings from home.
Then, a faint sound caught his ears. The clattering of metal and harsh voices drifted across the valley. The snow had limited his vision, but he could see them now, they were moving into the valley below him. Orcs! "What in darkness are they doing here?" He said aloud, as if there were someone around to answer him. They looked like a raiding party, a rag-tag band of killers; he counted thirty…no forty.
He'd heard stories about attacks by orc's on outlying farms and settlements. But he had never thought they would risk passing through Nektulous forest, or ever even consider attacking the Dark Elves. Perhaps they were just passing through? Perhaps. He thought. But not likely.
Suddenly, a loud horn rang out on his left. Not twenty paces away from where he stood; a huge orc stepped out of the trees and began plodding towards him through the deep snow. The orc was covered in thick furs and it wore a wolfs head as a helm. A large gold ring hung in its broad nose and the hair of its black beard was tied into a thick braid.
The orc's below stopped and looked up the slope to where Morgiir was standing, frozen in shock. The orc smiled cruelly, as he slowly hoisted a giant rusty looking battle axe from his back. "A youngling, so far from its mothers cave?" The orc croaked mockingly.
Without taking his eyes off the orc, Morgiir slowly reached down and grasped the hilt of his sword. I don't have time for this. He thought. I have to warn them!
He released his grip on his sword and focused his energy. He felt the hate of Innoruuk spreading through him, into his hands and fingertips. He gathered it and tightened it into a ball, then threw it at the orc standing in front of him. A dark green cloud erupted around the stunned orc, as he turned and ran into forest. Behind him he heard the orc retching and choking. He knew he wasn't supposed to channel the darkness, his mother forbade the use it. But this was an emergency, he reasoned.
That is why his village lay separated from the rest of Neriak. They were the Ne'ernan, a community of Dark Elves who shunned the idolization of their creator, along with all of his gifts. Anything he knew of the dark arts came from what his father had taught him, before he died.
Branches whipped his face as he half ran; half trudged through the frozen forest. He heard another horn blast not far off. They were following him! It was then that he realized he would not be able to go home, not without leading the orcs directly to the front steps of Ne'ernan! I must lead them in the wrong direction. He thought, with a conviction he had never known before. On that thought, he began making his way eastwards, away from his home.