Premise:
I am Loremaster Ducaril of House Naroril. I have served Lord Elmiril for more than a thousand orbits of our world, as my father did before the orcs slew him. Alas, the days are ill still. In your language, we are elves, but please put aside any impression of those blasted pixies; we are high elves. In our language, we are the Taridani – “star sailors”. And we are not alone:
Life spread beneath the Dragon's wing.
Elven aspiration knew no bounds.
Man made industry repeated our art.
Tales of riches on other worlds drew Dwarf up.
Lizard followed to escape Orc.
Orc followed for having no one left to fight worth fighting.
Halfling stayed behind until their farms filled the abandoned lands.
You may be wondering why therefore, I have travelled a lifetime's light distance, and now play the bard at this diner. The whole sorry tale is rather long indeed, but sooner begun, sooner done. It began going wrong when High King Vorahil was slain by his son...
Life spread beneath the Dragon's wing.
Elven aspiration knew no bounds.
Man made industry repeated our art.
Tales of riches on other worlds drew Dwarf up.
Lizard followed to escape Orc.
Orc followed for having no one left to fight worth fighting.
Halfling stayed behind until their farms filled the abandoned lands.
You may be wondering why therefore, I have travelled a lifetime's light distance, and now play the bard at this diner. The whole sorry tale is rather long indeed, but sooner begun, sooner done. It began going wrong when High King Vorahil was slain by his son...
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