Elandor Shadowborn

The sleek vessel, The Wind’s Grace, cut through the mist as it neared the shores of Barak Varr, the gateway to the Old World. Elandor Shadowborn stood at the bow, eyes on the rocky coast. After weeks of evading Dark Elf patrols, they had arrived. "Anar uthrai, ithil nar," he whispered, the path is dark, but the light awaits. Behind him, a crew member muttered, "A Dwarf port... their craftsmanship endures." The towering stronghold loomed ahead; the true journey had just begun.