Just as I heard our wise man tell it, I transmit the teachings of the past. We were a race mistreated for centuries. Our lives, far from being satisfying or cultured, were limited to being and staying under the command—call it yoke—of the Blood Elves. We lived enslaved even after they abandoned the plains, leaving us in charge as servants of their keep... Anyone could say it was an improvement. But the fortress had its plans—written deep in its structure, a code of activities and who must perform them. The cruelty of its punishments for non-compliance nearly drove us to extinction.
While we lived our humiliating existence without awareness of what was happening outside in our beautiful forests—which we missed and about which we wrote beautiful poems and wild songs for years, reflecting as best we could in the entrance gardens and the various levels of the construction—everything proceeded without change. Our previously brown skin whitened to that sickly tone only acquired in darkness.
One day, the keep gave us news: "There is a new master." We thought they had returned—those haughty, cynical, detestable elves. But we did not care much. They, and only they, could let us out to bury our ancestors' bones in the forests they dreamed of. So we prepared as best we could. We were allowed to bathe even though not a week had passed since our last hygiene period. We chose the most beautiful and handsome infants and youths to become offerings for the new master. They would probably be killed or mutated, but they knew their future—it had been the fate of many before them and would be of generations to come.
We arrived wrapped in the cleanest rags. We all came to the dining hall, where he awaited us. It was an enormous surprise to discover a human... a being without magic waiting before a banquet prepared by the keep itself. The oldest invoked their weapons, their work tools, ready to defend their masters' home. The young human, by his features, smiled very coldly. "You defend yourselves against me? I will let you." At this point, his smile disappeared. "Or do you want to protect your enslavers' legacy? If so, I will have no mercy on you." At that precise moment, we felt such a high power that I lost the ability to describe it. No one among the old races had such raw power—not even the ancient masters... At that moment, we all knelt. Indeed, it was a different race, but it was the new master.
We made the introductions proper to our slave condition. He scorned them. We offered our lineage as gifts—a snort of contempt. All, disconcerted, awaited his orders. There were some references that he eliminated those who did not think like him—which was difficult, as no one knew what happened behind those faces unflinching at our pain, limited to using us as guinea pigs. Finally, one of the youngest asked what he wanted... and he pointed to the tables. All who were to be sacrificed went and sat. We remained in our place. We did not want to think what poisons he had seasoned the food with, or worse, if the chairs would activate their traps and impale us.
The youngest ate while he watched us with penetrating eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his greatsword and slammed it into the floor, making a huge crack in the immaculate marble. A bolt shot from the walls toward his body—a vengeance some had already experienced, a concentrated attack meant to leave a stain on the floor. It was stopped with one of his hands while he took a glass from the table and drank. One, two, three gulps while the keep's attack proved useless against such power. When the attack ceased, he smiled again. "If that is how you want it, for this time I will be as you desire." He drew his sword and pointed it at those of us remaining at the entrance. "If by the count of three you are not seated with a hand on the food... you will die!" Needless to say, by the number two, all of us—myself included—were enjoying our first bite of meat. Some had never tasted it. For me, it was only a memory from childhood—so delicious it made us cry.
While we ate, he asked everything that came to mind. As the eldest, I answered—first hurriedly, then gluttony overcame me before the delicacies of the table, and I ended up speaking with my mouth full. He did not seem to mind. We told him we were Forest Elves, explained our functions here. We told him that without magic beyond that related to plants, we could not escape this construction. I told him how we had to live on giant mushrooms from the deepest levels because we could not consume anything from the pantry. Thoughtfully, he insisted on why we did not face the castle. Only a few tried, I told him—they did not seek to dominate it, only to leave for the forests. But none of us were Blood Elves, and the castle, upon reaching the entrance limits, annihilated us.
After the meal, he took us to the library and asked about the darkest volumes. Some of us had been librarians, so we could tell him about the content of what we thought he might be seeking. He told us some should stay with him; the rest would compete to choose the hundred most agile, intelligent, and strong. No one asked. I went with him while the young began to look at each other.
About three months passed while I accompanied him through various volumes of magic and botany. He sent for samples of our mushrooms, of the water, even asked for blood samples, skin from men and women. No one understood what he was looking for. I could only watch him and curse my ignorance. I saw him so powerful, but for the first time in my existence, I met someone for whom time was a priority.
Throughout this time, he asked only one more thing: no one was to touch the coffin already in the front garden. We all obeyed—not only because such a powerful person asked it. That chest gave the impression of being mortal just to look at. The gardeners avoided passing within ten meters of the forbidden object. Yet the garden's condition did not deteriorate. It looked beautiful, but with the beauty only something very dangerous could emit.
Finally, he came out. In the throne room, many of the strongest and most intelligent of my people awaited us. He spoke to us, and for a moment, I wished he would not.
"Children of the trees, your home no longer exists. Everything the elders knew has disappeared. The forests you so longed for are gone—consumed by this keep to provide water and raw materials." The elders wept. We did not want to admit this was true.
"There is no power that can bring back your beloved trees," he continued in a whisper that echoed through the hall.
"I can make them grow, but it will be artificial. There is no water or minerals to sustain them after I leave." We were all frightened by these words. We knew that if he left, this construction would be waiting to avenge our insolence.
"Forest Elves! I offer you an opportunity to know freedom! The mushrooms you consume are magical in origin. It is not much, but they generate and maintain the keep's runes functioning. I can make them multiply. I can cover kilometers with mushrooms as large as your beloved trees. You will eat from them, live from them, they will be your shield and armor. In return, I ask that you guard this place and not allow it to fall into anyone else's hands. Those who accept will renounce their skin color. I will tattoo runes that will allow you to channel the magic of these new forests. But it is not white magic—it is night magic. That is what they produce, and that will be the tone of your skin. These are the conditions. Do you accept?" I say with pride that our raised fists formed a forest of will.
We all cried those weeks. We saw the forest grow on the barren plains where ancestors once lived free. The tattoos were very noticeable at first, but each time we used magic, they darkened our skin. Today, before the new generation of brothers who look upon us, they have heard the story—the legend of our imprisonment and the liberator. We are free men who chose to serve our Dark Lord to our last breath. We are elves who renounced the lost forests. We are the Dark Elves! No one will take our freedom from us—we have won it!