Allow me to tell you a tale,
Of the last Sorceress of Elves.
Of her plight that caused her to wail,
And seek help from beyond themselves.

For years she sought the cure,
Of her race's dying few.
While some turned to thoughts impure,
She turned to one only she knew.

"Raelira," came the voice from up high,
"Your kind will soon fade away,
"Your culture will eventually all but die.
"But take heart, for it must not be this way."

"From the east come a ship carrying a man of magic,
"A progeny of myth that all have forgotten,
"How he comes to be here is quite tragic,
"But from him is your solution begotten."

To the east Raelira looks, as she was told
By the dragon who watches her kind.
She will watch and wait till she gets old.
Or from time will the Elves unwind.

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