The Fall Of Ravagwyn Falldreamer

Bards and Skalds tell the tale still of Ravagwyn. Ages past, the Woodelves faced a race for their very existence. Hunted by Orcs, Dragons, Dwarves, even by their own shadow-bound kin, they were on the verge of extinction.
The Woodelves had always been a peaceful sort. They found a way to live in peace with the land. They would forage for food and sleep in the trees. They had an innate connection to the cycles of nature and the needs of the lands in which they lived.
Their homeland is lost to the mists of time. Though it is believed they came from a land far away, no details have survived their persecution. They reached this new land a broken and hounded people. But Ravagwyn was determined. No more would her people be the victims of brutality. She led the survivors to a luscious forest. In the furthest reaches, even the sunlight seemed to have to request entry. There they made a home. Taming the wilder beasts and plants, cultivating the seeds they had rescued. Ravagwyn made it a priority to train every able bodied Elf in the ways of the sword and the bow. And in the more mysterious arts in which she was so adept. They formed a thriving community and for the first time in generations, the Woodelves prospered.
That changed with a single moment.
A screech tore the sky asunder.
A shadow passed. As ingrained in the Elves as a hawk’s shadow is ingrained in a sparrow. Children cried. Old folks muttered and hurried to places of safety or to caches of weapons.
They had been found.
Ravagwyn gathered her lieutenants. To say a plan was hatched would be to ignore the strategic brilliance of the emerald eyed commander. Ravagwyn had always known this day would come. But this time would be different. They’d had time train. To dig in. To prepare.
The Dragon was a terrible foe to face for the Woodelves. With every pass, it incinerated scores of the valiant defenders. They cared not for their own lives. They knew that their passing was but a part of the great cycles of Fate. But they wept as they fought. They wept for every tree. For every shrub. For every squirrel and crow. They wept as they fought. Arrows filled the air. The shimmer of Elven magicks. Sunlight shone on sharpened blades.
Ravagwyn recognised a lost cause when she saw it. They were few. They lacked the more accomplished Elven mages which their cousins could call on. They had lost their connection to the Seldarine. And now they faced a fight for their existence. She knew that there was a choice to make. Sending her squires away, she checked her Greatsword and Plate. Unusual equipment for her kind, but she had found that adaptability beats tradition when lives are at stake.
A roar erupted from the clouds. Ravagwyn set her visored helmet on her head, hefted her Greatsword onto her shoulder, and stepped out to meet the foe.

Date of First Recording

1 ASW

Date of Setting

7 BSW