Sahir Tenebris; Sorcerers of Darkness
For more than 400 years, the goblins tried different strategies. Sometimes, they sent smaller units- either small teams or a lone goblin at a time. Other times, they deployed large warbands or multiple squads with wide spacing to ensure that if one was wiped out, others could still advance.
They alternated their approach at different times- one party during the day, another at night.
Sometimes, they waited for months or years. At one point, even several decades, hoping something would change. Other times, they became preoccupied with the Primordial Dragon and harpies, or the lizardfolk decimating their numbers.
It wasn't easy- they were pincered between flying predators on one side and an unforgiving desert on the other.
The Dark Elves were also highly skilled. Their swiftness under the night sky, their superior night vision, and their spellcasting abilities gave them a significant advantage.
There were also only so many places to hide in the desert. So, they stayed close to the Oasis during the day, while at night, they hunted ritually.
Unfortunately, like all things, mistakes happen with time. As simple as missing a shot- with magic or slings- or a Salamander slipping and taking a rough tumble. The goblins were just as fast as the Salamanders, making such accidents disastrous.
These errors accumulated, and after four centuries, the goblins had finally smartened up.
Some, not caring for their bodies, buried themselves in the sand, waiting for an opportunity. Their warbands would be massacred, but those who survived long enough reported back.
Sometimes they were caught, sometimes they weren't.
But the Dark Elves' luck had finally run out.
At last, the goblins had found their home.
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When the first dwarves left during the first century, the ones that arrived on the Eastern continent were immediately hunted by the Black-Scaled Primordial. Out of fear, they fled back toward the sea again, but were far less fortunate the second time and died.
The others who reached the Western continent did not immediately encounter the Green-Scaled Primordial Dragon, allowing them to establish a settlement with relative success. However, their progress was hindered by the lack of Dragon's Breath, which had been crucial to their advancements.
Upon the year 478, the first Primordial Dragons and their lesser counterparts descended upon the Eastern continent.
They were, however, met with the unforgiving and skill of the Black-Scaled Dragon, whose wrath had simmered for centuries.
Using his harpy subordinates, the Black-Scaled Primordial massacred the newly arrived dragons. The lesser dragons that survived were scattered across the continent, and from their suffering, a deep hatred for harpies was born.
Meanwhile, the mountains of the Western coastline had become a graveyard. Dragon scales, Primordial remnants, and other untold treasures- artifacts that would likely remain undiscovered for centuries beyond- littered the terrain.
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Atlas frowned, taking another swig of his beer.
"Oracle won't work since they're scattered... That bastard is a pain in the arse." Grumbling, he set his beer down atop a nearby console and rotated his view.
His expression turned grim.
"The goblins will be there within the day, and Primordial Grey is too far away."
Pulling up the Species console, he pressed the -Upgrade- button on the Dark Elves tab.
A second interface popped up.
-----
-Upgrade Target-
-Upgrade Scope-
-----
Atlas rotated his globe and zoomed in on the Dark Elves, on Myra, celebrating an event with other Dark Elves.
"Will lightning ripple through the cave if I use oracle on her?"
Wisp responded promptly. "It will take the form of what they believe in the most. For the Dragons, it was the sky and lightning. The Dark Elves will be different."
Nodding, Atlas pulled up the -Oracle- command prompt next to the -Upgrade- screen before pausing.
Forty-five divinity left. And he was about to use ten more of this precious resource.
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Meanwhile, the Dark Elves remained blissfully unaware of their approaching doom. They were celebrating the birth of two new children- one of whom bore the Red Mist eyes.
After 478 years, the Dark Elves finally gave a unique name to those who resisted.
Sahir Tenebris, Sorcerers of Darkness.
The title was granted in recognition of their superior magic compared to the regular Dark Elves, and their belief that this power, when controlled, was in fact a blessing. Their standing, largely thanks to Myra's consistent efforts, had shifted for the better.
Myra cradled the newborn child in her arms as the mother wept tears of joy.
Her own children, Xanveris and Xelvanya, had grown well, displaying many enviable feats during the hunts. It was something this mother now looked forward to witnessing in her own child.
"I will teach her well," Myra said gently, careful not to disturb the baby now slumbering quietly. "She will grow to be a powerful Sahir."
"About time there was another to help shoulder the burdens," Xanveris, her eldest son, said as he returned with an arachnid's shell, carved out and filled with steaming stew made from various organ meats.
"Too many bugs for me to kill alone!"
"You mean us," Xelvanya retorted, crossing her arms as she watched him idly. "With this one, after we've trained her, we can expand with less risk to our people."
"We could've expanded long ago," Xanveris argued, using a scorpion's leg as a makeshift fork to jab a piece of organ meat. "The others are just too scared."
Some nearby Dark Elves glared at him.
Myra shook her head. "Don't be disrespectful, Xanveris. There is good reason to be cautious."
"You've let the Tenebris get to your head," Xelvanya teased with a smirk.
Xanveris glared at her but gave a wry smile in return.
"What? It's true," she said. "You can't win fights without it."
"Do you want to test that theory?" he growled, pointing at her with the jagged leg.
Before it could escalate further, Myra interrupted.
"Enough," Myra sighed, carefully returning the baby to her mother. "This is no time to fight. It is a time to celebrate. We-"
As Myra's voice rose to announce the start of the celebrations, gasps filled the enclosure. Dark elves stepped back nervously, their expressions shifting from joy to unease.
The mother's eyes widened, and Xelvanya immediately moved to help her retreat.
Myra looked confused at first, scanning the enclosure for the source of their alarm- until her gaze drifted downward.
Her eyes widened in shock.
The Red Mist, the source of their power, was rising from the ground beneath her.
It swirled around her like a storm, creeping into her eyes as her body rose a foot off the ground, stiffening unnaturally.
"Mother!" Xanveris cried out, attempting to approach. But the Red Mist's aura pulsed with power, thick and suffocating, repelling him before he could get close.
The Oracle had been delivered.
Her body suddenly dropped, and she collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air.
"Mother!" Xanveris cried out again, rushing to her side. Myra clutched her chest, her composure shattered- her wide eyes unfocused, breaths uneven.
"Are you...okay?" Xelvanya rose slowly, watching her cautiously.
Myra's gaze snapped up, causing the gathered dark elves to recoil nervously.
"The God of Tenebris has spoken to me," she said, her voice trembling. Uneasy glances were exchanged among the elves, but Myra pressed on.
"We are about to be invaded by the green-skins!" she declared, her voice shifting and tightening with urgency.
Xelvaneris helped his mother to her feet, but scoffed in disbelief. "Impossible. We've kept them at a distance for over four hundred years!"
Still leaning on her son, Myra's gaze sharply moved toward Xelvanya, who stiffened unconsciously under the sudden intensity. "Send out a party east. Do not engage, return immediately."
Without hesitation, Xelvanya signaled two other dark elves, both of whom hesitated but nodded, glancing at Myra uneasily before departing. Unconditional trust built up over centuries.
Xelvaneris watched silently as his sister vanished before his gaze returned to his mother. "Zark will be back soon from the Arachne hunt," he said, his tone cautious. "You should-"
"There is no time," Myra cut him off, pushing herself upright. "I need to go outside. God will grant me power for this battle soon."
A tense silence settled over the surrounding elves. The spectacle was undeniable, yet the claims still felt too outlandish.
She had been blessed before, yes. But God? In these accursed lands?
Ignoring the doubt in their eyes, she turned toward the exit.
Xanveris spoke urgently to one of the dark elves.
"Find Zark. Return with haste!"
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"Not as glamorous," Atlas commented, feeling a little disappointed. "I guess that's to be expected, considering their history."
He watched patiently as Xelvanya rode off with two other dark elves under the harsh desert sun toward the goblin horde, while Xanveris caught up with his mother.
His eyes drifted to the simple message he had written.
"
I am God, the source of your powers.
You have done well to survive over the centuries. However, now, I come bearing ill news.
An army of ten thousand green-skinned goblins is approaching. The offspring of the Corrupted Dark Elf Selena, cast out centuries ago.
With your numbers and power, you cannot hope to win.
I will grant you strength, as a reward for surviving this long. To protect your people now, and from this day forward.
Do not let the Darkness consume you.
"
'I wonder how they receive it... Just a wall of text they can understand, or do they hear a voice?' Atlas mused, his thoughts lingering on it for a moment before returning to Myra.
She stepped away from the others, away from the Oasis, into a barren landscape. Her hands clasped together, and Atlas grinned.
"Time to see what one Chaos gene point can do for this lucky- or unlucky- person!"