The retelling of an Ancient Poem

This day marks a time long since past when the swamps barely covered a quarter of the land,

when monstrous beasts were found if one took even a single step out of cities and towns,

Of a time when other races, not just the Twisted lived and flourished on this land, with us as well.

When the dwarves had mined under our mountains for our lovely gems,

When the elves alike populated the forest with us, as we had held the accord between our races,

When the humans had chosen to live on our plains and make the trade with the man-eaters.

In the end though, this peace over the land called Pedmil, soon came to an end, for on a single day,

On this scarlet day, a day that has gone down in history, for the atrocities committed upon the race I called my own, of a people long gone,

For the amount of blood spilled, for what age it brought forth, in the absence of our race, and with the bells of war tolling on the horizon.

The ones we called our neighbors, the elves who lived with us, we're the ones who brought forth this day of blood and death with glee.

Despite the peace, we had lived for centuries with them in harmony.

they chose to respond on this day with no patience or kindness, but with the blade of a sword, cutting through the flesh of chiefs, villagers, smiths, and children,

As my kind fought in bled, unbeknownst to us, and only years after as such, did we learn of the why, though it did nothing but salt the wounds,  the boiling hatred, and vengeance felt by those that survived

And including myself as well, in those who felt such.

As during all those years and decades since the treaty was made,

For when it was made and signed it held the peace, serving as the bridge for our people,

Yet their gods, from high and from those on the bottom, grew to fear what our kind could do, 

What we could accomplish if given the time to reach the potential they feared.

Of just what we represented, and what we may become and do if the gods they had chosen to stay in their hands.

We knew none of this then, but to the other races that lived with us,

breathed nearly the same air as us, and ate the same food as us,

We were a race looked at, keep in mind, a race that barely began to grow out from our stone tools,

A race full of possibilities as long as we grew closer,

A race that was built to not just survive, but thrives once we hit our stride,

A race primed to sweep all the others cleanly off the map if left to their inventions,

but alas, a race too full of chaos, too full of freedom and anarchy they thought,

too full of willfulness, they said, too reckless in our pursuit of magic it was said,

that was not natural, nor could it call any land home, for its birth came from those beyond the stars,

that the ones who made our race were players that could shake the foundation of the side of good.

For their beliefs, to prevent anarchy and the death of their chosen races,

Our race was chosen by the elven gods, approved by the human and dwarf gods,

to be one that cannot be allowed to further exist,

and on that day, they nearly succeeded,

known infamously thereafter as "The Emerald Massacre."

Written by K

Discovered in a chest under the Alter of Timlet.