In the 2nd age a vile and wicked plague ripped throughout the land of your ancestors killing them in droves. A militious miasma which has left a tiny population of elves clinging onto their ancestral lands as the Empires of man decimate nearby countries. The balance of power on Mundo is violated.

...

"Quickly skirmishers, ready your arrows and steady your hearts. Keep your wits steadfast, and we shall emerge victorious," your captain says in a hushed tone as she passes through the line of soldiers. The sounds of marching are directly below you, a contingent of a hundred imperial troops clad in metal plates. "Release the timbers when the cart is below us," she whispers to a burly skirmisher brandishing an axe.

"I hate these forests, these fucking knife ears lurking in the shadows, I can't wait to gut one." An imperial says.

In reply another lifts his jacket to reveal four elf ears hanging from his neck and says,"I take 'em, watch 'em scream for mercy, savages don't feel pain."

"Now."

The great timbers of the forest sling down and knock the wagon down, setting off a loud explosion from inside its walls. The sight of black powder and fire covers many of the humans as they struggle to their flintlocks, a volley of arrows are released piercing many of them as they struggle to regain composure.

"TREE FUCKERS, TO ARMS MEN!"