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I made an oath in my younger, more dim-witted years of my childhood. I promised myself that I would not give my faith to any gods unless I had to make a great sacrifice for my own personal salvation. I was a fool.
I remember traveling through the harsh forest home of which we came from, my family exiled from the elven society from which I was a brood of. My pig-headed father insisted that he wouldn't give up his use of magic, and for that we paid a price that would scar our race from then on. We trekked up over the mountains, and set up our own society, adopting the pompous title of "High Elves". Quel'Thalas was now our home, and slowly we began to lose the vision of just what we were. We began to forget things. Important things.
My own life and mind were no better off than the rest of my race. When the trolls appeared, my people made an insipid dealing with the humans, creating an alliance that stands, albeit fragilely, to this very day. I despised them. I despised their way of life, their need for expansion, the look and smell of them. I was disgusted when I heard that the great nation of Quel'Thalas would bear such an endeavor with such putrid little men.
They entered our villages and drank from our wine, talked with our women and played with our children. As much as the trolls were an invading force to the humans, they were as much to me. Their fetid stench stretched from courtyard to castle, and soon, even a "High Elf" such as I began to lose my patience.
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