You feel as though and eon has passed…

Dim light from a single lantern strikes your eyes. As they begin to adjust you take in your surroundings. Frescoes decorate the walls of the rectangular room, displaying a battle from long ago. Your companions stir to life around you… all except one.

You remember the battle. How the minions of darkness: foul undead, drow, orcs, and beasts from the abyss came against the Elves and Eladrin of the valley. How, where the city of Ostra lay, a pit opened, and Orcus, the Demon King of the Undead, rose to terrorize the battlefield.

How did the world not come to ruin? Is this a retelling or a prophecy?

The last you remember before opening your eyes were seven lights.