Elves

Lifespan
Six to seven centuries.

Physical description
The elves are significantly taller than men, often around six and a half feet. They are willowy, having the proportions of slim humans but with enough muscle on their frame to stay moving through their arboreal environments. Elven males cannot grow a full beard, lacking facial hair. The elves grow no noticeable hair besides that of the head. They are mostly a fair people (not counting the drow of the far south), with red, blonde, or dark hair. Their eyes are universally vivid green, more brilliant than any human eyes. They are highly androgynous to human eyes, the only real difference between the sexes being in vocal pitch and psychology. Their features are angular, and typically handsome. As they age, they seem to be consumed with an inner light that causes their skin to become marble white, their hair to turn silver, and their eyes to seem aglow in certain lights. They do not become weak or incontinent with old age, but seem as if they are growing “fainter” in the world, into an almost spectral state. When they are near the end of their allotted time, the elves do not die by bodily failure, but rather voluntarily relinquish their fading body. As their spirit races from its home, the body crumbles into a fine white dust that the elves call “waènya”, meaning “remnant.” The elves regard waènya as sacred, and bury it amidst the roots of their great gŵušîr trees in order to hallow them. If an elf dies before they grow old, the body remains and succumbs to rot. The elves regard this as a waste, and burn such a carcass. It should be noted that the gŵušîr neither sprout nor grow without waènya added amidst the roots, suggesting that the connection between the elves and their trees is more than simply spiritual. Elves do not sleep, but rather “trance” for roughly four hours a night.

Mental description
Elves are a hidden people. Since before the dawn of human civilisation, the elves have remained apart from the other races for reasons never fully understood by outsiders. Theirs, however, is neither the seething xenophobia of the orcs nor the unflinching clan loyalty of the dwarves (the former deplorable, the latter admirable). Instead, elven isolation seems a thing of deep sorrow and regret. One can see this in their art: a song of the Chùŋali’e moves listeners to weeping, not to laughter. Not that the elves are all caught in an eternal racial melancholy, for they are certainly capable of joy and humour, and they delight in the forests in which they dwell. Their vast lifespan means that they prefer plans to spontaneity, and are far less likely to react strongly than the short-lived races. Part of the cause of elven seclusion is that they feel harried and needlessly rushed by the energetic affairs of humanity. The elves care little for the ever-churning cycle of day and night, instead heeding the inhalation and exhalation of the seasons. They are individualists, but keenly heed the counsel of their elders. The elves regard the world fatalistically, observing the inevitable patterns that emerge in their own forests: patterns of growth, expansion, decay, and rebirth. Elves who journey beyond the forests can see kingdoms rise and fall several times over their life. They are loath to break oaths and are unflinchingly loyal to their fellow elves. They are highly self-sufficient due to their isolation from the other mortal races, and this feeling of independence affects their personal demeanour as well. The Chùŋali’e often seem unfeeling to the younger races, as they have a strong tradition of “dhirñoq”, or “serenity”, that is grounded in their enigmatic past. Romance is celebrated, but sexuality unimportant.

Alignment
The elves are altruists, committed to actions of righteousness and compassion. At the same time, they value freedom as critical to their society’s existence independent of the other races. They feel that their society is best governed by a small number of overarching laws that are open to interpretation. Absolutism disturbs them. The elves believe that the spirit of morality is far more important than the letter of law, and have no patience for ethical thought experiments. Overall, the elves are Good with Chaotic tendencies. The drow are another case entirely.

Relations
Elves are senior to all other mortal races in terms of culture: elven inscriptions have been discovered that date back more than forty thousand years at least. However, the elves are also primitive, building no cities in their forests and working only wood and stone. There may have been a more advanced elven civilisation, judging from a handful of undated artefacts and elven folk tales, but if such tales are true, this civilisation’s demise can be dated to hundreds of millennia ago. Today, the elves are secluded from the world in their forest villages and seem largely uninterested with outside affairs. The most contact the other mortal races will have with the elves is in the Guild. Elven wizards are easily the most cosmopolitan of their people, learning outside languages and spending several decades of their childhood away from home. Due to their contact with outside cultures, wizards are most often chosen by their kin to serve as ambassadors and mediators when dealing with humans, the half-humans, and halflings. The elves were frequently attacked during the orc wars, and consequently despise and hunt the Orkalṡṅul. It has only been two centuries since the orcs invaded, meaning that most adult elves have personal memories of the Federation’s collapse and the relentless attacks of the orcs. In the borders of Hentölla and Paakirjä, the elves stalk the frontier, pursuing any orc bands foolish enough to enter the elven woods. The elves have only a marginally better opinion of half-orcs, and sometimes attack them anyways due to a false assumption that the half-orc is but a runty Orkalṡṅe. The elves are nowhere near as hostile to the other mortal races, and humans long ago learned not to cross the pale people of the forest. Unlike druids, elves are well known to humans, and there are long-standing pacts between the races promising that humanity will not disturb the Elf-woods. The legend of King Sevayy, his family slain in the dead of night for his demand that the elves be driven from potential farmland, is well known to both peoples. The elves trade on occasion with humans, who give magical items in exchange for exquisite elven works of art. Mostly, humans are in awe of the elves and go out of their way to avoid troubling the Chùŋali’e. Halflings often wander into elven forests, where they are honoured guests: since halflings are peaceful nomads, the elves have no qualms that the halflings might encroach upon elven lands or trouble them with violence. The halflings often receive elven tutelage in the arts during their residence, and may even pick up the elven language with a few years’ study. Gnomes and dwarves only rarely encounter elves, and they often find each other strange. Elves are baffled and even repulsed by the strict laws of purity governing the dwarves, and the fascination towards technology that the gnomes possess is alien to the elven psyche. The close confines of a saighe would lead to an elf’s increasing discomfort and unease, and they try to avoid such an environment. Half-elves are the offspring of a surprisingly frequent coupling, and the elves often see them as an improvement, of sorts, for the human side. Certainly, a half-elf receives elven grace without elven melancholy, and human passion without human wastefulness. The elves revere the dragons as symbols of living majesty. Non-orcs are permitted entry to the Elf-woods provided they have a specific need for doing so (the nomadic need for shelter of the halflings counts as such) and do not violate any elven laws while within the borders.

Then there are the drow. The hostility with which the drow and elves regard each other is savage almost beyond imagining, and one of the founding laws of the Empire of Zresskeilt is that any elf that crosses into the Empire will be executed on sight. For their part, the elves will take any drow that enters their forests captive, and relentlessly interrogate the captive to discover what brought them there. There have been a few (extremely rare) situations where drow fleeing the dark cruelty of the Obsidian Empire have been accepted by the elves and allowed to live in the forests of Kerlonna, but a reverse situation for elves in Zresskeilt is impossible.

Social structure
The elven way of life is without nations, kings, or even agriculture, yet they are more culturally developed than any other speaking people. Among the elves, elders are the reigning authority, with wizards occupying the next-highest level of seniority. Owing to their independent and self-sufficient sensibilities, the elves have little sense of hierarchy, but they rarely question the elders, who, after all, have centuries more experience than the hot-headed eighty year-old body who is vociferously complaining that his lover’s father is butting between them. Another notable feature of elven society is that the sexes practice equality and segregation. The sexes live in separate branches of the arboreal village, and do not see each other for most of the year. In winter, the families gather and catch up on each other’s lives, grateful for both independence and affection afforded by their society. The sexes only heavily mingle during the Century of Spring, from around age one hundred to age two hundred, when they bear most of their children. Marriage among the elves is universally bigamous, though this is complex. Every elf, simply put, has both a husband and a wife. In sexual terms, most elves are bisexual, though heterosexuality and homosexuality are neither unheard of nor looked down upon. For heterosexual or homosexual elves, one marriage is simply a sexless romance. Elves are openly affectionate with their spouses, caressing the face and legs, which has led some shocked human observers to accuse the elves of promiscuity and perversion. However, elves are, in fact, the least libidinous of the mortal races, and regard the sexual act as precious, unthinkable outside of marriage, and to be shared only with the utmost sincerity. Females trace their ancestry matrilineally, males patrilineally.

The elves abhor the institution of slavery, and will gladly harbour escaped human slaves in their villages. Elven families are warm and nurturing, similar to idealised human love. Elves lack any type of currency, individuals trading in barter. There is virtually no specialisation in elven society: each can take the time to learn skills necessary to survival and working in the community. Priests and priestesses of the Daviskar dwell apart, higher in the canopy, and keep vows of chastity and vegetarianism. Crime and punishment are overseen by the elders, or in religious matters by the priesthood. Of all the speaking peoples, the elves experience the least separation from those of their kind that embrace druidism, with druids even occasionally returning to their home villages for a visit. The worst crimes, such as murder, are punished with exile, marked by a branding of the forehead. This is tantamount to a death sentence, as the exile will be violently driven from any elven forest, and humans will shut their gates against him. There are no real classes, and hierarchy is simply based on age. Education is done mostly by the parents of the children, but the qùšña (bards) teach folktales, myths, and music. An elven village rarely has more than a hundred and fifty residents, and if one village grows too crowded, young adults will depart to found new communities elsewhere. Humans that take residence in an elven village are welcomed and their skills put to use. The energetic presence of humans helps to stir the sometimes-lethargic Chùŋali’e. Half-elves usually leave due to frustration with the elven pace of life.

Culture
The age of the elven civilisation is unknown, even to the Chùŋali’e, who lack a calendrical system, much less a count of years. The elven “long view” is central to their thinking: material concerns are transient, while things of art and beauty are their own testament. An elf may spend years solely focused on an involved artistic project, or constructing their own residence amidst the boughs of a gŵušîr. The elves are universally literate, and their script may predate all human records by more than thirty thousand years. The elven melancholy is plainly manifest in their art: their music and lays more often recount loss and tragedy than joyous victories or grand adventures. There is a definite preference of the elves for music and poetry to other arts, with they often gloss over. Most elven instruments are unknown outside elven lands, as they are delicate devices that the elves spend a great deal of time devising. Curiously, they use bowed string instruments similar to those of the steppe peoples. The most popular and ubiquitous elven instrument is the harp, which they string with gut. At nearly all times of day, human guests in an elven village can hear training harpists learning to tie their voice in with that of the harp. Drums are rarely used in their music, as drums are considered ritual instruments for use by the priesthood. Weaving practiced by the Chùŋali’e is of incredible skill, and their textiles are exceedingly difficult to stain due to the tight weave. Extended poetic epics recounting the history of the elves are treasured by them, and preserved both in literary form and as part of the oral tradition. Their cuisine is intimidating and exotic to humans, including such delicacies as fermented maple leaves (notorious for provoking severe indigestion among non-elves) and roasted insects. There is no real brewing of alcohol among the elves, meaning they are often curious and alarmed by it when they encounter it in the outside world: it seems a strange human poison to them.

Location
Throughout Kerlonna, the elves are found exclusively within the great forests that they have inhabited since time immemorial. It is said by the elves that they resided in their forests even when humans first crossed the western mountains into Idroslekh. The dwarves and gnomes have no record of the age of the elves, but the dwarven creation myths attest that the elves have dwelt in their forests since the beginning of time. What rumours come from beyond Kerlonna suggest that in the Dahlimi Steppes, the elves dwell in groves of the gŵušîr cultivated on riverbanks and lakeshores. To the southwest of Kerlonna, in the vast wastelands of the White Thirst, there lie a number of green oases, and these are ruled exclusively by the elves. In the far reaches of the White Thirst, there is a great river called the Boenaid, and it is said that the elves rule its banks, trading water for foreign goods with the gnomish nomads that dwell in the desert. Elven arboreal villages are typically constructed in the canopy of the gŵušîr: platforms among the upward-sweeping branches are built, and the different platforms are then connected by rope bridges. Small buildings of wood are constructed upon the platforms, typically using the branches of the gŵušîr as supports. As the gŵušîr grow to incredible heights (at least two hundred feet), the elves use a form of rope-and-pulley elevator that resembles a large coracle, capable of carrying up to four elves at once, in order to travel between the canopy and the forest floor. On the forest floor the elves maintain winding trails which they use to pursue their game and visit productive berry patches. The elves are renowned for the uncompromising ferocity with which they defend their forests. In the entire history of the Marnic Federation, the leaders of Marnoz were only once able to convince the elves to allow trees to be cut down. Specifically, the lords of Marnoz sought to build the Great Kirati Road that would connect the road network of the northern provinces directly with the Low Road between the city of Najivano (the historical gateway between Idroslekh and the rest of Kerlonna) and the Vrotispal Mountains. The Great Kirati, however, would have to run through the largest elven forest in the known world, the Heiśêglu, which dominates the region between the eastern shores of the Akulap Sea and the northern extent of the Vrotispal. In MY 282, the High Senate of Marnoz assigned Hetriv Girnulye, a ranking member of the nobility, to negotiate with the elves of the Heiśêglu concerning the construction of the Great Kirati. These negotiations took no less than fifteen years before, in the winter of MY 297, Lord Girnulye finally reached a settlement with the elves. The Marnic lord swore that as long as the Federation’s peoples endured, they would pay a tribute every fifty years of treasure, metal goods, incense, and the fabled fabric, silk, that came from the far western trade roads. If the people of the Federation failed to maintain their oath to the elves of the Heiśêglu, the latter would then be permitted to drive the caravans off the Great Kirati and destroy the road, stone by stone. After the fall of Marnoz, Yenatar Malkerian only barely managed to fund the tribute to the Heiśêglu in Free Year 42, and since then Sraiyag Vacan has managed the tributes in FY 92, FY 142, and FY 192.

Religion
In elven myth, the figures of central importance are the Daviskar, a dozen ancient heroes that are said to have led the historical elves in a great war, long ago. Six are male, six are female. The men, from eldest to youngest, were named: Toùghen; Aròkyav; Yêqil; Frus’er; Îñuyeth; and Ŋŵurùdh. The women were named: Syèdh; Veuharà; Qayêśi; Litwaèn; and the twin sisters Rùas and Nìrghaev. Once, it is said, there was a thirteenth among the Daviskar, a fair maiden named Dhìsyave, but she left their numbers and is no longer counted among them. This war began in the long dreaming years before humans even crossed the Great Western Dakylsthas, when the elves had undisputed sway over the wilds of Kerlonna. According to the myth, a strange race that the records of the elven mythical tradition only name as the He’fîriś came into the regions of Kerlonna from the southwest, crossing the great deserts with vast armies. In that time the Daviskar were born, marked by radiant light emanating from their skin and flowers blossoming wherever they stepped. They were blessed beings, spirits of light and flame that had chosen birth with elven souls and shapes in order to aid the Chùŋali’e in their time of need. The He’fîriś had been created by dark powers of the earth to overthrow the elves and establish a new, glorious reign over the world (so the myth goes), and they drove deep into the elven forests with spears of bronze and roaring flame. The war was fiercer than any that had come before, or any that has been since: whole mountains were cracked asunder and new lakes gouged into the earth by the force of their arms. Great forests were laid waste, and the River Geñkaryo became poisonous from the bodies of both elves and He’fîriś that bobbed in its current. In the end, though, the He’fîriś were scattered, the back of their armies broken, their generals slain.

Victorious, the exhausted elves gathered at the heart of Kerlonna under the leadership of the Daviskar, who debated the course of action regarding the remnants of the defeated He’fîriś. Yêqil also joyously announced to the assembly of the elves that he had taken to wife a daughter of the western highlands, Ŵerlonrìya. Dhìsyave was wroth to hear it, for she had long found Yêqil beautiful, and had loved him in the silence of her heart. To spite Yêqil, she seduced his closest friend and former lover, Îñuyeth, and was impregnated by him. Now long was the assembly of the elves, for they were much occupied with the task of healing the wounded and assembling recovered treasures that the invaders had stolen. For two months the gathering was held, and near its end the Daviskar assembled, to decide on the matter of the surviving He’fîriś. Toùghen, Yêqil, and the sisters Rùas and Nìrghaev declared that mercy had to be shown upon the remnant, for the elves would otherwise have the blood of an entire race upon their hands, a stain that the ages would not wash away. Dhìsyave, however, stood and asked of the Daviskar, “Do ye desire that the seed of murder be left to sow itself? What madness I hear! Spare these butchers, and they shall but grow anew, and we shall reap a harvest of assassin’s knives.” The He’fîriś, she urged, should be put to the sword, their weapons cast to the sea, so that the earth would bear no trace of their passage. Though the Daviskar were appalled to hear such savage words, a large number of the elves, who had borne great misery at the hands of the invaders, were stirred by her. “Truly,” said they, “these Daviskar did not have to witness their screaming families silenced by the gutting blades of our foe. What do they know of the cruelty of the He’fîriś?” A steep divide opened between those elves following the other Daviskar, and those following Dhìsyave, and their words towards each other grew rancorous.

One night, Dhìsyave met again with Îñuyeth and coupled with him, and afterwards she whispered malice to him, saying that Yêqil mocked his old lover in the company of his new wife, and that Yêqil only wished to spare the He’fîriś so that they might serve as his slaves. For her heart had grown dark within her, and Dhìsyave sought ruin upon he who had never returned her love. Then she spoke a vile plan to her accomplice, describing how he would call Yêqil to a private meeting and there distract him, while Dhìsyave would lead Ŵerlonrìya astray into the forest and transform her into a stone, to be cast into the river and lost. And so their plan went, but as Ŵerlonrìya was led along a dark forest trail by Dhìsyave, the dark woman became filled with a sudden, flaring rage at the innocent wife, and so she turned about and smote her to the ground, slaying her. She raised Ŵerlonrìya’s spirit from the broken body and twisted it with her dread power, warping and perverting it into a savage hunger and a vile intellect. And Dhìsyave laughed madly as she gave fleshly shape to the thing she had made, now in the form of a great spider, which she called Syudhrakan: “lovely spinner.” She called the last gathering of the Daviskar and of all the elves, and in shrieking tones she summoned those that desired vengeance to her. She cruelly informed Yêqil of his wife’s death and “rebirth”, and of Îñuyeth’s treachery. Yêqil was filled with blind fury, and made to slay her, but the eldest among them, Syèdh, thundered, “Ye shalt not! She is with child!” Dhìsyave smiled at the assembly, laying a protective hand across her stomach, and spat, “If fools ye remain, then I repudiate your company. Daviskar I am not, and may ye pass to ruin!” She led her followers away from the company of the elves, and changed their shape, “That they might be marked as my people.” She blanched their hair to near white, while darkening their skin to utter black. Dràwas, she named them: “the ashen ones.” And as she departed, she called her lover, Îñuyeth, to follow: but he stared at her with dead eyes, and did not move. She cackled her hate, but did not move against him, and departed.

Into the unknown south she led the Dràwas, the far jungles of Varesyui, and gave birth to her daughter. Twisted by her mother’s hate, the child was barely alive, pale and fragile. Yet for all her madness, Dhìsyave loved her child, and could not bear to see her die. Therefore, she took the unnamed child, and set her atop Syudhrakan, as though riding the creature. A profane magic Dhìsyave spoke, shedding her own blood and working strange power, until, exhausted, she collapsed. As she died, Dhìsyave wept with joy at the perfection of her two children. The new creature was a union of the two: a drow woman from the waist, with hair of purest white, but her arms divided just beyond the elbow, such that she had four forearms and hands. Below the waist, she had the thorax and abdomen of a great spider, with eight splaying limbs. The drow knelt before her, and she named herself Syudhaenli, “perfect spinner.” The body of Dhìsyave they carried away, burying it in a secret place. For a time she taught the drow of the ways of stealth and patience, helping them build their new realm in the distant rainforests. They named her their living goddess, and she smiled. However, she was not mad in the way of her mother. After the drow had settled, she simply vanished into the deepest shadows of the jungle. The drow worship her and her mother still, by the names Taizenari and Zisyafer.

But in Kerlonna, the Daviskar were filled with grief. Îñuyeth bitterly repented his association with Dhìsyave, weeping and tearing at his hair. Yêqil embraced his friend and forgave him, and they sat side by side at the assembly of the Chùŋali’e. Syèdh asked of the elves what should be done concerning the drow: and Ŵerlonrìya’s father, the lord Qeryunè, leapt up, drawing his sword. He slashed open his palm, and roared, “By the blood that I shed, I name them the black foes of the world, the children of terror and of hate, and the ever-abhorred.” The elven hosts boomed their assent, and the younger Daviskar sat in silence, without protest. Syèdh bowed her head, and decreed that Kerlonna would be shut against the drow evermore. The He’fîriś, it was decided, would be allowed to remain in their lands, a rustic and diminished people.

The Daviskar had taken mortal elven shape, and they were not eternal, though they lived several centuries longer than even the most long-lived elves. When they died, the waènya of their bodies was kept by the elves in great stone containers, and seeded across Kerlonna, growing the old forests anew from the ashes of war. After the catastrophe of Yêqil’s marriage, the Daviskar had ruled that a marriage between themselves and elvenkind could only lead to grief, and they died without issue. To this day the Chùŋali’e revere the Daviskar, and believe that in future troubles for the elves, the twelve spirits shall return. But of Syudhaenli and her accursed brethren the elves say little, save that Kerlonna shall remain shut against them forever.

Besides the Daviskar, the elves also revere the spirits of forest and life, and have a deep respect towards the mysterious Great Covenant of the druids. Typically, the priests or priestesses will honour both Daviskar and spirits in one ritual, before a shrine of the twelve set beneath a particularly imposing stone or tree. Before the rite, the elves will ritually bathe (in the warm seasons bathing directly in a river or lake, in the cold months heating water in their villages) and wash out their mouths and ears. The clerics will spill libations of honey and rainwater in front of the shrine, chanting praises and gratitude. Drums are beaten in time with the chants, and the rest of the community will join in the music after the libations. Weddings are religious ceremonies, during which the elves will wear formal attire and celebrate for several days. Remarkably, the elves entirely lack the practice of dowry. Rather than exchanging vows, elves joined in marriage mark it by cutting one another’s hair and receiving a tattoo of their spouse’s name in stylised script upon the back of the right hand. However, the elves lack any real ceremony that can be called a “funeral,” as they are considered to spiritually reside in the waènya and the gŵušîr that grow from it. Indeed, for the elves, death is considered no hindrance to communication with the individual, and they will often address the person as though they were right beside them. This might seem madness to outsiders, but elves find it perfectly typical. Birth ceremonies are marked by a washing of the child and anointment with honey upon the forehead, as well as a recitation of the names of the ancestors of the child up to ten generations previous.

Language
The elves call their own language “Ghiñêsraf”, meaning “clear sounds.” Due to the vast elven lifespan, their tongue changes extremely little compared to that of men, and though there are dialectical variations throughout Kerlonna, the underlying structure is such that it takes only moderate effort for an elf from, for example, northern Paakirjä to speak with another from the forests of central Idroslekh. The elven script is universally used in Kerlonna and Taresani, and although there are regional variations, they are only in the way of aesthetic style. It is theorised by some that there exists an elven substrate in human Kerlonnic languages, as certain regular grammatical similarities in otherwise deeply dissimilar languages manifest that are identical to such structures in Ghiñêsraf. The elves have proved remarkably averse to the strong influence of the Marnic language that manifests in the human tongues of Kerlonna, likely due to the simple fact that the lifespan of an elf is longer than the full duration of the Federation’s history. Elves enjoy learning foreign languages, and of course elven wizards are the most likely to learn the new tongues of Gnomish, Teogenoi, and Marnic. Elves are universally literate. Their script is typically expressed by being painted with a brush rather than carved into a surface: their preferred surface for painting is parchment.

Classes
Barbarians are not found among the elves of Kerlonna, or even among the strange desert elves of the White Thirst. However, there are tales of ferocious elven warriors from the Dahlimi Steppes. Whether such tales are accurate is purely a matter of conjecture. Bards, among the elves, are called qùšña and are both performers and teachers among them. Adventurers that are bards are often interested in not only hearing the music of the outside world, but of incorporating it with traditional elven forms. Clerics are priests or priestesses of both the Daviskar and the spirits of the land, and they keep to two fundamental, unbending codes of behaviour: chastity and vegetarianism. Though they are permitted to kill in self-defence, this may only be done at the utmost end of need. They dwell separately from the rest of the village, higher in the canopy, and do not often emerge from their contemplative solitude. Druids are more common among the elves than any other race, as noted above, and they maintain unusually close contact with their fellow elves. Elves have always seemed strangely anxious towards the druids, and a few fragments of myth suggest that the druids are intimately involved with the mysterious origins of the elven race. Fighters of the elves are lightly armed with javelins and bows, and they travel silently, stalking those that transgress against their people. Elves are not typically known for a military attitude, however, and lack an organised army. Paladins are highly rare among the elves, due to their Chaotic nature: most would regard the disciplined life of a paladin to be nothing short of stifling. However, the paladin’s unflinching commitment to the ideals of Good commands respect from the elves, and they would never turn their back on one of their people who felt the paladin’s calling. Rangers are the first elves an outsider will encounter if they travel into an elven forest. They are the hunters and wardens of their people, often spending whole moons without visiting a village when they are on the trail. Rogues are uncommon among the elves, but they operate as the perfect ambushers of the forest, dropping silently from the canopy to crush the foe to the ground. They are also deeply familiar with the many poisons that can be extracted from woodland plants. Warlocks are outcast and despised by the elves for their traffic with the agents of damnation, and are universally exiles. Warlords are those elves that are closest to the Daviskar, being leaders in times of war against any foe that presents itself against their home-forests. Wizards are deeply respected among the elven people, and the elves have long formed an integral part of the Guild’s membership. Though the rigid system of the Guild is off-putting to the freedom-loving elves, their innate skill with arcane power and their ability to devote decades to wizardly study have ensured their importance among the Guild.