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Larp: Council of Oramvand
For long ages -- ever since the overthrow of the cruel Firstborn, the ifrit, in the dawn of days -- the four Wise Races have been masters of the continent of Erenor.
The immortal elves dwelt within the forests, growing their living cities and abiding in gentleness.
The centaur clans, with their mystic insight and their heroism, ruled over the plains.
The enigmatic merfolk controlled the waters, and hid the strange secrets of their kind beneath the waves.
The dragons made their solitary lairs amidst the most forbidding mountains and caverns, where they pursued their own curious arts.
Only these four wielded the celestial power of Sun and Moon; only these four could truly be called civilized. No other people could match them, for strength or for knowledge. Certainly not the short-lived primitives known as humans. What the Wise Races wished to do, they did. And when they sought to treat with one another, when the time came to make decisions for all, they sent their rulers to convene in the great Council of Myrrelon.
But everything changed when invaders came from across the sea. These were humans of a different breed, hungry for land and glory; their weapons, and their warlike customs, were unlike anything ever seen in Erenor. The Wise Races were not prepared for the scourge that fell upon them.
The ensuing war was catastrophic. Thousands upon thousands of lives were lost. Many of the world’s greatest treasures were destroyed. In the end, the Wise Races prevailed only by calling upon the oldest and most forbidden of magics.
Now they must determine how they will proceed. They must decide what will become of their defeated human foes -- including the native humans of Erenor, who allied and intermarried with the invaders. They must decide how they will use the limited solar and lunar power that they command to heal their battered continent. They must decide what they will do with the terrible forces that they called up in their hour of need.
The Council cannot meet in Myrrelon. Myrrelon, ancient beautiful Myrrelon, is a desolated ruin now. So the Speakers for the Wise Races have come together in a small stone pavilion atop a lofty dragonhome peak. Here, upon great Oramvand, the future of Erenor will be made.