The sun was high in the sky when the dark elven forces finally breached the front walls of Lor’drassil. The wood elves, led by their new king, had fought them from afar through the morning, but the sheer number of dark magic enchanted constructs were simply too many to defeat. They came in wave after wave, and finally Sadron ordered the full retreat to the boats. The amount of ammo he had set aside to keep the invaders at bay had long run out, however, with the help of the Arch Mage Seborhil and his casters, the wood elves had been able to continue to fire projectiles made entirely of light magic. When Seborhil himself fell from exhaustion, Sadron knew their time was up, and hoped they would have enough food for a lengthy sea voyage. He knew not where they would flee too, or whether or not they could find another land mass, however it had been clear since the moment the dark elves appeared that they would not stop until their sworn enemies had fallen. Legends told of a group of explorers, who had lived centuries ago, that set sail from Lor’drassil, and never returned. The king of that time had been a paranoid one, and feared attack from the sea, and constructed the wood elve’s navy for protection. For hundreds of years, the boats had sat idle, though they had been maintained. It was these boats that Sadron’s people would be fleeing on. As he hoisted Seborhil onto his feet, and gave him his shoulder to lean on, Sadron followed the rest of his troops towards the docks at the far northeast side of the city. Now was where speed would be everything.
From the shattered curtain wall of Lor’drassil, a dark figure strode through into the city he had hated for over five hundred years. His eyes were blood red, his skin was dark, and his hair blended perfectly with the shadows that surrounded him. He surveyed the wreckage of the lower part of the city and frowned at the lack of bodies. They had been evacuated quickly. His frown grew deeper. Syril Thorontur was not competent enough to organize an evacuation so quickly and efficiently. The figure began to snarl silently as he realized that the heir to the old throne must have finally stepped forward. Regaining his composure, the dark elf held out his hands, and glared at the fleeing figures on the inner city’s wall. The shadows surrounding him manifested into a pair of sharp blades, which appeared in his hands. As they solidified the figure charged at the inner wall. The enemy could not be allowed to escape again. With a thunderous roar, his forces charged after him, tearing up the rest of the city and the one or two occupants who had refused to leave.
Sadron heard the battle roar as he was halfway to the docks. As he ran, he took in as much of the city as he could. The fact that it was about to be destroyed, never to be rebuilt, finally sank home. All he felt was shame. The inner wall collapsed as Sadron and his army reached the docks, and boarded the ancient ships. Thankfully, they were deemed seaworthy by the naval commander who had been charged with maintaining them. In minutes, the five and seventy ships that had always guarded Lor’drassil’s eastern border finally left their docks for the first time in years. The ships had been controversial when they were first commissioned, since the elves abhorred the practice of cutting wood. Usually, the elves crafted what they needed out of branches, or old wooden items that no longer served any purpose. This was rarely done however, since all the elven tools used in daily life were enchanted to keep them from wearing or breaking. The ships however, had required over two hundred trees to be cut from the forest of Cyri’alar. In atonement for this, the wood elves had planted twice that number of saplings wherever they could. When they had the lumber required for the ships, the king had ordered every inch enchanted to resist water. Because of this, instead of floating on the waves, they actually hovered above them through use of complex spells. All that was required was a breeze to fill the massive sails, and that too could be generated magically if necessary. The wind this day was strong however, and it was blowing in from the west. As it filled the sails of the ships, the populace all stared back at their beloved city, and the enormous tree in the middle of it. Sadron felt particularly sad, as he had been wed in that very tree not a day before. His bride stood next to him on the top of the deck, right behind the steering area. The boats were silent, save for the waves that splashed away from their sides. Everyone aboard watched their city’s main tree, and counted the seconds until the inevitable happened. A few seemed almost optimistic as the minutes passed, and the tree grew smaller, but their optimism was shattered as an enormous beam of dark energy shot up from the tree, disintegrating it. The unholy beam of light remained however, and shot all the way up to the sky, and beyond. Each wood elf bowed their heads in sadness, and began to sit wherever they could. It was going to be a long, cramped journey.
Sadron left his bride to stay upon the top deck, as he went to find out just how much food, weapons, and other necessities they had. His trusted second-in-command, Rolan Lightarrow, reported that they had enough food, if rationed and guarded carefully, to sustain them for three months. At the speed they were going now, he predicted they would reach a land mass of some sort long before they ran out. Sadron made guarding the food and weapons Rolan’s top priority. Once that was done, he returned to his wife, and addressed the crowd. Seborhil, who had also joined the king atop the steering center, amplified his voice so the surrounding ships could be heard. Sadron told him to raise it higher, and motioned for the ships to halt. He wanted whatever dark presence that was in his city to hear him. “My friends, subjects, adversaries, our world is gone. Our empire, once mighty and strong has been uprooted, and forced away from our lands of birth. We will not return to Mythrindiar, for it is undoubtedly overrun by dark forces now. We will cross this ocean and find a new home. We will rebuild, bigger, and better than before. The day will come when the dark elves find us once again, and mark me; we will never run from them again!” Sadron turned to where Lor’drassil had once stood, and shouted, “Mark my words Dar’falan! We WILL hunt your race down, and exterminate you! It will not be today, or tomorrow, and I will not likely live to see this promise fulfilled! We will never forget your unwise aggression, and we WILL have our retribution! This I swear!” Mass applause from the citizens on the ships around him followed his declaration. Seborhil lowered the volume on the audibility spell, as Sadron addressed his people once more. “Wood Elves, it is now our sacred task to hunt, and kill any dark elf we come across. If they have not yet learned how to cross the vast oceans, they soon will. We must be ready before that happens. Until their race is completely exterminated my friends, we are in a state of war. Forget your comforts, forget your life before, we must harden ourselves if we are to survive. Now, onwards! To our new home!” The fleet resumed its pace again as they unfolded their sails, and Sadron had a feeling that wherever they landed, they would be able to fortify. One thing he knew for sure however was that he would need allies. The wood elves knew there were many races in their world, and although many were thought to simply be myths, Sadron knew there had to be at least one that would ally with his people.