The Banished & the innocent

Hunt us in the shadows you banished us from. Dig deeper then any dead has ever dug, find us where the lava drops.

They dwell in the shadows, they who stays in the dark.
Those who cannot be heard nor seen but still lingers in thy mind.
Once they were a free people, but at this day banishsed from the lush lands.
Ever again will an fortune-seeker enter their land, a doomed quest.
Those who have seen the face of the forgotten are either immortal or foe.
In the darkness they feed. Thier origin one cannot tell since it was lost in the fading words of ancient books.
Its known that the race have gone into exile, contract-killers, thiefs and murderers.
The skin color varies from the ageness of darkness. New spawn has the color grey.

I am a whatever they call me these days. My blunt ears used to be pointy, or so they say. My painted skin is scared from the troublennes of my kind. With sharp razors we are tought to fight. The feeling we get when we slice through our grey skin is the contexture of our hate. Our Bodies reach height, but slender is our name.

----Betoros's story----

When I write this I am focusing on my own race, my own personalty, my own predictable fate. All are not bad, all are not good. When banished from the mainland we created our own kingdom, which no one wants to rule. As the world denied us we dug deep into the ground, and in the light of torches is the only light we'll get. Some of us have left this place, only to work for slave-herderes and arena men. Will I ever leve this place? I don't know. I have never seen the surface, but the old ones are speaking of it.
They talk about creatures with various colors, not the share of ours. The stairs up there are long and fragile. It will take weeks before I reach the old homeland. They speak about a pointed eared people, called elves. How they decieved us, calling us savages, primitive beats. The old master, the one leader had a vision. Long before my time when we walked the earth he made an alliance with the Zarash, swore an alliegence to their belief. The book says the elves had a grudge against the Zarash, but staid passive towards our kind. When the Zarash capital fell into the hands of elves and men our people fleed. Headhunters still hunts us in hope to fill their purse. I want to climb the levels of my home, don't even know the ones who dwells on the first. No one here remembers the first floor, don't even know if it still habitated. Sometimes people from upstairs are finding their way down here, telling stories of plauge and misory. Sickness has taken many lives, destroyd the legacy of many families. We lack the number of healers, the knowledge of the old has not been preserved, why I cannot figure.
As we are expanding our territory down below, strange noises have been heard.
We fear trolls are nearby as they also dwells in the deep. Disturbing their peace will be end of us, at least us who lingeres down below. Our people have no warriors, only diggers and metal craftsmen. Swords have been forged, aswell as armors but the need for them are absent. Before the roof over my head carves in, I will crawl through dust and dirt til' my revange is served. Even if someone resurrects me a thousands times and I fail, I hope my son will avenge me twice that time.