The Lost Cities

When The Marred One brought his false Seiðr-Song to the Mortal Races, war ensued. Between Elves, Giants, and Men, between brothers and friends, between the Lords of Song themselves. For centuries he poisoned hearts and turned folk upon each other in hatred and wroth, turned their minds and eyes away from the Saga; Until many had forsaken the Music of Old, the Battle Frenzy, the Óðr, and built temples to false gods across the realms. We became few, and still we fought him. The Elder Races, the Giants & The Elves have been laid low, either by way of their own sinful devices or by his machinations, they are lost. those of the old bloodlines among our number shall sleep that their kind are not erased by the Enemy, he will not touch them. But soon, he will find a way to reach us, even in these mountains, where no road leads. The Gates will fall, and our only hope lies in the ages to come. May the Truth of the Music Guide you to us, Herald, and may our secrets make your Óðr strong.