Its not everyday you're ripped away from your family as a mere child. For me, I was the age of eight. Actually, being an elf, I looked eight-years old, but I was actually eight hundred.
The only things I remember exactly from that night was Orcs invading our cottage, them killing my parents, and then stealing me away. That was over a thousand years ago, but to be precise I have lost count on how long I have been here. The Necromancer had been collecting elven children to turn them into his own form of weapons. Werewolves.
He had been attempting to gain control of all of us, but we rebelled. The outcome was severe; the Necromancer had killed all except one, me. I had managed escaped the dreaded mountains of Gundabad and flee to caves outside of Hidden Valley.
My name is Scarlett Nyx, and I am the last living werewolf known to Middle Earth.