The Carnage of Zentrica: A High Elf's Reckoning

As I ride through the desolate streets of Zentrica, the stench of death and despair clings to my very being like a shroud. The once-thriving metropolis now lies in ruins, a testament to the power of the Golden Elves. My people have suffered for far too long, and it is time for retribution. I can feel the weight of my bow, the familiar caress of its wooden stock against my shoulder, as I scan the horizon for my next target. The humans of Zentrica are so blind, so oblivious to the fate that awaits them. They think us elves to be weak, feeble creatures, but they are mistaken. We are the masters of the forest, the hunters, the killers. And I am the one who will bring them to their knees.

I recall the first time I encountered a human child, no more than 5 years old, cowering in the shadows as our Golden Troop descended upon the city. Its eyes were wide with fear, its tiny hands trembling as it begged for mercy. I remember the look on its face, the pleading in its eyes, and how it only served to fuel my rage. I raised my bow, the string singing with tension as I took aim. The child’s mother, a frail thing, tried to intervene, but I was beyond reason. I fired, the arrow striking true, and the child’s lifeless body slumped to the ground. The mother’s screams still echo in my mind, a sweet melody that I savor to this day.

The humans of Zentrica will soon learn the true meaning of fear, the terror that comes with facing the might of the Golden Elves. I will not rest until their kingdom is reduced to rubble, until their people are subjugated and their culture erased. And when that day comes, I will be the one standing triumphant, my bow raised high in victory, as the last remnants of their civilization crumble to dust. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, a thrill of excitement that I can hardly contain. For I am Iria, the High Elf of the Golden Troop, and I will not be defeated.