The spirit of a long-dead bard, who once commanded all pure-blood elves. He enslaved his people to spare the life of his dyrad lover. However, fate plays it's own notes.
"The world of now fades into memory as she awakens as if from a dream, outside of her control, standing upon the wall of a fortress unfinished, lute in her, nay, the bard's hands, playing a song.. It is forced, sad, each note stabs at her heart, as she watches the enchanted elves work themselves to death upon the stones of the unfinished city. High Ogres taskmasters stand at her side, approving.
Suddenly she can feel her skin boil, her visage only flame, as the mask upon her face bursts into fire, a male scream erupting from her throat. Worse than the flesh is a deeper pain as the heart is sundered with sorrow, a deep knowing that her truest love is dying in agony, as the rage wells up within, lute in hand, the ogre taskmasters step back in fear as she roars "Your promise is broken, now die!" as she plucks the lute in fervor, the elves attack in force, taking the ogres off-guard, their weapons no match for sheer numbers. She collapses on her knees, vision fading."
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