A dark elf would sit next to a campfire, next to his little tent he called his home. Agis would start cleaning his weaponry, his spear, his shield, everything he couldn't use. The young elf remembered very little, one moment he was standing behind the gate, then everything went black and when he woke up there was nothing left. He did remember the wywern, lazily walking around the city's streets. He remembered the fire, the scale of destruction he couldn't help to stop.
The young elf, barely even 30, would shiver at the awful memories of what has happened that day, or rather that week. "It couldn't be anything else, than the wrath of gods themselves"
The young elf would end cleaning his equipment and tightly wrap it in skin, to protect it from the weather, so unpredictable around these parts of the shore. "I can only hope that not too many died"
He quietly said to himself as he layed in his tent and wrapped himself in the furs.
He'd soonly fall asleep, hunted by the memories and souls he could do nothing to save.
