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Here I will write in the first parts of my Epic adventure. It's starts with the view of the evil characters.

Prolouge

“So I feel nothing more than the cutting pain. No feeling of time. Blacking pass through my pale eye. I hear their voices. Their laughter. Betrayed. My own blood send me to the abyss. The fire on me. It burns wide. But why? I yearn after a hand. A hand that takes me out of the gorge. But I know that they won’t come. Pitiable pass the turn pale memories away from me. Together we created this all. Together we had laughed, loved, cried. Now I’m alone. My body’s burning. Blood is running down my arms. I feel it. I feel the…cold. They will destroy all. All will go down in the flames of downfall. Nothing. Nothing will be alive. My children. My mortal children. … . I won’t fail. Still I have power. I will return. Hear my voice, lord. I shall return. Return again,…to kill you… .”

The way to destruction

Ages past the silent treetops. Dust covered this place, where once life was growing. Volcanon. Continent of endless fires. Once the treasure of Illundria, goddess of earth. Sand and death consumed it’s hope. And a strange blood awakened it’s masters rage. “I regret nothing… .” Between the walls ruins of the elfish Kingdom Kristel, he was wandering around. An elf. The last one, who remains on Volcanon. His dark eyes searching his surroundings. A long monk-robe, made of linen, covered an rangers cloak. It’s consist of a wide pants, which sunk into his boots, one strong belt. Both, robe and boots, are made of leather and hasn’t any decorations. Dipped in various brown shades, which let him turned up like a dried up tree in the desert. The wind blows strong and lift the elves grey hair up to the branches. His skin was dry and brittle. Deep fold roam ravines in his face. The slight hands grabbing a weapon and a little leatherbag. The handle of a sword, which rests in a rich decorated scabbard. Gold, Silver and black steel shining in the open sun. On his back rests a longbow made of dark wood. Over his left leg was a quiver full with arrows. His powerfull grip holds a bag of water in his right hand and his dusty boots carried him over the ruins. "No. I regret nothing... ." Slowly he passed the old burned trees and jumped quickly over Rocks and hills, which blocked the way. The howl of the volcano shaked the earth, but the old elf knowed it before. Without searching the area, he climed up dunes and hills to reach a statue. An old stonen relict of his anchestors. Broken appart like the city. He opened the bag and poured the water over the stones. Another howling reached the sky. His eyes searched there way to the crater.

(it's very difficult to write everythin in english sweatdrop )