Allaryx was born to a pair of Dark Elves, a race subjected to extreme discrimination throughout the Old World.
Being sold as slaves was a common fate for these supposed 'lesser people.'
Allaryx's fate was no different.
His earliest memories were of an underground prison. The smell of iron bars and blood-soaked ground was the first scent that he could remember. Born in darkness, his eyes could see nothing until he turned a year old.
Just like his destiny, his first words weren't common either.
'Worn Iron' was what he said, looking at the bearded man glaring at his tiny head.
Right there, he was removed from his mother's care, who had no strength left to stop them.
Allaryx would not see her ever again.
Worn Iron was a cult that worshipped the Craven Lord, the god of murky flames.
Depending on how one saw it, it was either the worst possible fate or the only hope for a Dark Elf.
