Once we were the tribe of the Tall Tree Holt. We hunted, sung with our wolf-brothers and rejoiced in the Now. Yes, tribemates were lost and mourned, but others were born, balancing the sorrow with joy.

Life was good.

Suddenly one night a great light lit up the darkness, shining brighter than any star; even the sun would have paled, had it not already gone for its nightly rest. The loud sound of stone hitting stone followed and then all was still and dark again.
That was the night that the Stone came to us. All in the tribe could sense its magic and the Elders agreed that it was a gift from the High Ones. We celebrated.

But the Stone from the Sky did not bring us the happiness we'd thought it would. The situation between us and the trolls that lived nearby had been tense ever since our first Metal-Shaper's magic had shown itself. The arrival of the Stone only made things worse. The trolls tried to take the Stone from us, both through trading and stealing.
Of course we defended the Stone and the trolls' anger finally made them draw away from us, back into their mountain tunnels. We thought we had been left in peace. Oh, how we were fooled.

Three seasons later the trolls attacked at nightfall. The Stone was taken, as were most of our magic users. The rest of us were just in the way it seemed. Those of us who had no magic, or were deemed too dangerous, were slaughtered. Our once so mighty Holt was drenched in blood; the blood of our cubs, our mates, friends and Elders.
We fought back, but the attack had come too suddenly, too secretly for us to be prepared. The trolls were too many.

A bare fourth of us managed to flee the Holt without being caught or killed. We are wounded and we grieve for our dead and lost, yet we have hope. We know we will return to get our revenge and free the captured ones. But now we have to focus on surviving. We are few and we have no home.
Somewhere we will found a new Holt, perhaps with the help of other elves.

Will you join us in our search?