The Firstborn, Kings in Exile
Once the masters of the World, the Elves have been reduced to vagabonds
and wanderers, the mournful descendants of their broken Empire.
Arrogant, decadent, and cruel, Elves are still masters of the magical
arts, but lack the discipline and organization to re-conquer all that
their former slaves, the Sons of Men, have taken from them. What few
Elves still remain are distrusted by all and treated as outcasts rather
than Kings - their legendary immortality now a curse, they wander
through the ruins of the World their elders made, watching them crumble
and waiting to die. The remnants of the great Elvish nations can still
be seen, borne out in each elves' skin tone: White in the oldest
families, who ruled in the cold Northlands; Brown for those born to the
Lords of the wood; and Green for the coastal families who once mapped
the great Seas.
Their People
The most beautiful of all the Children of the World, Elves are tall
beings, lithe and graceful, with slight frames and long, delicate
fingers. Never renowned for their physical strength, Elves are fair and
frail, yet possessed of keen minds. No other race can match the Elves
in intellect, and only the bird-boned Aracoix are their equal in speed
and agility. Born in the Age of Twilight, that dimly remembered time
before the kindling of the Sun, Elves can see quite clearly even in the
dimmest light, and their large, haunting eyes are as keen as any cat's.
Elves' pointed ears are instantly recognizable, and grant them superior
hearing.
Though the distinction is lost on
most other races, three distinct types of Elves have emerged over their
long history. Only the wisest Human mages have learned the names of the
Elvish peoples, though to Elves the distinctions are painfully
distinct. The Dar Khelegur, or 'High Ice Lords' in the old speech,
dwelt of old in the frozen mountains of the North and founded the
Deathless Empire. Their fair skin is as white as alabaster, white as
the snows of their homelands. Tallest of the Elves, the Dar Khelegur
are known for their mastery of magic and their limitless cruelty. The
second Elvish race call themselves the Gwaridorn, 'Masters of the Sea,'
and in their skin the green of the seas can faintly be seen. Of old
they dwelt by the shores of the great Western Sea and built mighty
ships, and were the strongest of the Elves in battle. Last of the
Elvish peoples are the Twathedilion, the 'Elves of the Forest,' whose
faces are touched with the brown of the trees of their homelands.
Stealthiest of all the Elvenfolk, the Twathedilion are also their
greatest artists, and are known for their mastery of the bow.
The first Elves were born before
the creation of Time, and are thus immortal, though few of these
Firstborn have survived the tumult of the Ages unto the dark present.
Every Elf born since the beginning of the Age of Days was born mortal,
although their lifespans measure many centuries. Of all the peoples of
the World, the Elves have had most cause to accept the Turning, for
with it their immortality has been restored. They greatly resent,
however, that in this dark age they must share their immortality with
the lesser races of the World.
Their Ways
Most Elves believe that they are the most perfect of the Children of
the World, and their arrogance knows no bounds. The Elves remember that
they were the first to walk beneath the twilight, and try to ensure
that no other race can forget it. Every Elf regards their culture and
civilization as naturally superior, having matured for millennia before
the other races were even born. Elves are creatures of passion, and
tend towards the extreme in everything they do. Elvish songs are almost
hypnotic in their intensity, their revels are unrestrained, their loves
fierce, and their wars are grim and terrible. Lovers of wine,
starlight, and music, Elves appreciate all forms of art, though their
tastes tend toward the decadent.
The Twilight Kingdom once reached a
pinnacle of refinement and advancement, but the Ages since have seen
Elvish society grow corrupt and cruel. Grotesque magical experiments,
torture, and debauchery became commonplace. Assured of their innate
superiority to all of the so-called "Lesser Races," the Elves have,
over the course of their long history, enslaved many and fought bitter
wars of extermination against the rest. The grim outcome of the War of
the Tears has fueled the resentment of the Elves even further, and most
Elves today are bitter and spiteful.
Once the undisputed masters of the
World, the Elves built mighty cities of alabaster, silver, and crystal,
or dwelt in hidden glades at the heart of the great forests. Now their
glorious towers have all been shattered or pulled down, and the forests
dwindle as the kingdoms of Men expand. Their numbers decimated in the
War of Tears, what few Elves remain are prone to melancholy, and wander
as outcasts in the wild, far from the eyes of Men. The Sons of Men
remain implacable in their suspicion and hatred of all Elves, and the
Temple of the Cleansing Flame has proclaimed a perpetual crusade
against all of Elvish blood. Their long lifespans and immortal
beginnings leave most Elves unconcerned about the problems of the
present or the immediate future, and Elves seem therefore easily
distracted, lacking the focus to carry a project or an idea through to
completion. Once an Elf becomes convinced of a course of action,
however, their pride gives rise to an implacable resolve.
In the wake of the War of Tears,
some Elves have been consumed with hatred for the Sons of Men, and are
marshalling their forces for a renewal of that bitter conflict. Others,
more fatalistic in their view, mourn the loss of their great empire and
have decided that it is far better to outlive their enemies than engage
them. Many of the oldest Elves have withdrawn from even Elvish company,
vanishing into the wilds. Their destination and their plans, if any,
remain a mystery.
Their Lore
"I greet you, Children of Twilight, all of you who have come so far and
gathered here beneath the stars to hear my words. It stirs my heart to
see so many young ones, for I have witnessed three great cullings of
our people, when the flower of Elvenkind's youth was slaughtered, and
it seemed all our race was doomed to death. Many of you are too young
to remember much of the glorious history of our kind, and few
chronicles of that lore remain. Why should we, the Elves, ever write
our history down, we who are blessed to live through so much of its
great span, and doomed to always remember it?
It is the cruel whim of Fate that
the Deathless Empire was cast down, that so many of the old and wise
were killed, and their wisdom lost to the young forever. The Sons of
Men write great volumes of history, but do not believe them. It is the
doom of Men that they forget, and their chroniclers compile only
rumors, legends, and half-remembered tales. I am Teldaniel Thilandrae,
son of the grandson of one of the glorious Sidhe. I was birthed in the
Age of Twilight, during the great glory of our people. I shall recount
for you now the long history of the Firstborn, a history I myself have
witnessed firsthand. Listen and remember, for I shall only say it once.
Elvish history is a complicated
dance of achievement and loss, tragedy and triumph. Most of the World's
civilized folk have grown mightier over the long march of the Ages, but
we Firstborn have waned in power, and now our civilization is little
more than a shadow of its former self. Indeed, the great Loremaster
Tophalion once wrote "the true extent of Elvish greatness can only be
measured by understanding what the Elves have lost." He was a dear
friend and colleague of mine for centuries, and alas, he proved himself
correct when I saw a so-called "Champion of Virtue" dash Tophalion's
head against the walls of Kierhaven. We Elves take great pride in our
knowledge of ancient lore and Ages past, for we the greatest of all
historians. The oldest of us have memories that stretch back five
thousand years and more with perfect clarity: what other "historian"
would dare dispute us?
The first Elves, the great Sidhe of
legend, were born of Braialla just after the flowering of the World.
Fierce and fair, they were nearly as powerful as the Gods themselves,
and all the race of Elvenkind sprang from them. The Sidhe and their
children reveled long in the mingled light of the two moons, and
wrought the Kingdom of Twilight, remembered in Song and Legend as a
realm of unsurpassed tranquility and beauty. The Gods themselves dwelt
with the Elves in that bygone Age, and taught the Firstborn much lore,
skill, and wisdom. Volliandra taught the Sidhe to sing and love music,
and Saedron revealed the ways of magic to the wisest. Malog taught the
Sidhe skill at arms and the arts of War, and they quickly learned
Kenaryn's love of the bow and the deep forest. The mother of the Sidhe
taught them the lore and love of growing things, and the Elves were
content to live in their paradise. Only two of the Gods, Thurin and the
All-Father Himself, remained strangers to the Twilight Kingdom, and
from them the Sidhe learned little. Many tales of that glorious Age
survive, describing the fabulous cities that grew in the Kingdom of
Twilight, with towers of alabaster and crystal taller than the trees. I
recall the sight of those cities, more wondrous than any tale of words
can ever describe. There was as yet no concept of Time in that sunless,
bygone World: only peace, beauty, and splendor, mingled all together
and suspended in eternity. The Elves were born in the fullness of their
power, and wrought the greatest realm the World has ever known. It
would not last.
The Kingdom of Twilight is gone
now, swept away by the tides of Time and Terror. It died in chaos,
pain, and fire when the Dragon, Terror of Terrors, awoke from its
slumber deep within Aerynth, and thrashed within its stony prison,
shaking the World as it clawed its way free. Tremors shattered the
glittering cities, and Gilliandor, first of all the Sidhe, died in that
cataclysm. Countless Sidhe and lesser Elves died with him. But this
calamity was only the prelude of the disaster to come. For the Dragon
emerged in fury from the deeps, and all the hosts of the Twilight
Kingdom marshaled against the Terror to slay it and win their
vengeance. But all was for naught: for the Warriors and Magi of the
Twilight Kingdom, the greatest the World has ever known, were swept
away in the briefest instant by the Dragon's fury. The beast held even
the Gods at bay, and the fire of its hellish breath consumed the Golden
Moon, transforming it into the Sun, ending the glorious Twilight
forever. At last the might of Kenaryn and the All-Father drove the
Dragon back into its lair, and the Elves that had survived were left to
mourn all that they had lost. I was fortunate enough to be among them.
Was it good fortune? Some years it is hard for me to say. In any case,
the Age of Twilight had ended, and the Age of Dawn had begun.
Students and scholars of the
Lowborn Races often question the existence of the Age of Dawn,
dismissing it as fiction: an Elvish invention. Nonsense! The Sons of
Men, in their arrogance, dismiss all that happened before their births
and the beginning of Time as one great Age, but we Elves have always
known better. Who are the Loremasters of Men or Centaurs to dispute the
Elvish reckoning of Ages, when the oldest among them cannot even recall
the fury of the Dragon, or the blistering light of the newborn Sun? The
World had changed forever, and even the Gods were mourning one of their
own, for Volliandra had died in agony when her palace on the Golden
Moon was destroyed. The Kingdom of Twilight was no more, and soon most
of Elvenkind fled its ruined boundaries seeking new homes, far from the
hateful Sun. Some say that our race never recovered from the calamity
that ended its first age.
The Age of Dawn was as trying for
the Elves as the Age of Twilight had been glorious. The Dragon had
fallen, but the First King of the Elves and all his sons were slain,
along with many of the greatest minds and artists the World shall ever
know. Our race itself was not what it had been. Where once there had
been one Elvish people and one kingdom, in the Dragon's wake Elf Lords
debated and feuded over the First King's succession, and the Elvish
people were shattered as tragically as their great cities had before
them. During the Long Parting the Elvish race divided into four great
nations, and reunion seemed impossible. Finally, the great Elf Lord
Sillestor, King of the Dar Khelegur, waged a great campaign of conquest
against his cousins, and founded a new realm that came to be known as
the Deathless Empire. Sillestor decreed that his dominion should regain
and even surpass the splendor of the Kingdom of Twilight, and all Elves
strove to drown the griefs of the past with new wonders and diversions.
Elvish Magi reached out into the
Void, calling Elemental Spirits and other things to help build new
cities, more splendid and ornate than those lost to the Dragon. Many
arcane secrets did they pry from the strange entities that lurk beyond
the boundaries of our World. In time, the opulence of the Deathless
Empire matched the grandeur of the Twilight Kingdom, though the hearts
of the Elves were hardened by memories of the Dragon, and in time we
grew bitter and spiteful.
As the Age of Dawn progressed,
Emperor Sillestor and the mightiest Elflords began to resent the
meddling of the Gods, and the Wandering God in particular. It was the
All-Father's bumbling, they reasoned, that roused the Dragon from sleep
to slaughter, and even His solemn word and Thurin's mighty sword were
slim assurances that the Terror would not come again. Despite His best
efforts, the All-Father failed to quench the fires of the Sun, which
threatened to scorch the entire World into one great desert, as they
had scorched the Burning Lands. The greatest Elves began to turn away
from the Gods altogether, and soon found new Patrons to ask for
guidance. The Beast Lords, they were called, mighty entities from
beyond the Void who granted great boons to the wisest of our people,
and driving tangled bargains to divulge the deepest mysteries of Magic
and Arcane Lore. Well do I remember the excitement of that time, when
learning and knowledge ran unrestrained, reaching dizzying new heights,
and powers undreamed of came into our grasp.
It was then that we learned at last
that we were not the children of the All-Father at all. Elvenkind was
born of Jackal the Trickster, craftiest of the Beast Lords, who had
taken the Wanderer's shape and semblance and so begot the Sidhe upon
Braialla. The Elves rejoiced at the knowledge, and resented the
deception we had lived under for so long. So began the Great
Enlightenment, when the masters of the Deathless Empire pulled down the
temples of the All-Father and we began to steer our own destiny, free
of the meddling or influence of the so-called Gods of the lesser races.
Here is the darkest tragedy of all: had we been allowed to follow our
enlightened road to its end, we would doubtless have become Gods
ourselves. But it was not to be. Our birthright was stolen from us. The
other Children of the World, still blinded by the deceptions of the
Gods, looked upon our actions as vile and black, and called them
Treason. Who among that rabble was ever worthy to judge our vision?
It was the Centaurs, blinded by
their outdated conceptions of Duty and Honor, who threw down the
gauntlet for their beloved All-Father, and soon the Elves were at war
with Kenaryn's children. There were, as yet, no Humans in the World, or
else they would doubtless have fought us as well. The Deathless Empire
was strong beyond measuring, and we easily defeated the armies of the
Horse Lords. Finally the Gods themselves entered the fray, when the
All-Father and Kenaryn stood against the power of the incarnated Beast
Lords, who our greatest Magi called to Aerynth in time of need. The
All-Father brought with Him a host of Archons, and in the end won out
over our greatest through sheer weight of numbers. Thurin the Shaper
slew Sillestor, and then cravenly took back the sword Shadowbane, which
he had freely given to the King as a defense against the Dragon. So
ended the conflict the Loremasters of the Lesser Races call the Taming,
when the power of the Beast Lords was cowed, but not broken.
The All-Father demanded that the
Firstborn return to the paths of "righteousness," and there were some
in the Deathless Empire who regretted the excesses of the past. They
returned to the All-Father's worship, building a new Church to honor
Him. Most Elves, however, were content to say or do anything so that
the meddling Wanderer God would simply leave us in peace. A new dynasty
was founded, and the Deathless Empire endured in peace until the ending
of the Age of Dawn, when Time began. The shame of the Taming was
difficult for us to endure, but the trials of the Age to come would
prove far worse.
The Age of Days (the scholars of
Men and Elves do manage to agree, at least, on the name of the new Age
when Time began) was an era of endless conflict and war for our people.
The Giants, first children of the All-Father, expanded into the icy
North, claiming the lands of the Dar Khelegur as their own. The war
that followed was brutal but brief, and finally the Magi of the North
cursed the Giants, breaking their power and ruining the future of their
race. Shortly after, our kind first met the Dwarves, Thurin's children,
who came to the Deathless Empire seeking the strange artifacts known as
Runestones. We were glad to trade the baubles for secrets of stone and
metal craft, and for a time Elves and Dwarves lived together in
friendship, until the greatest Magi discovered how to tap into the
Runestones' tremendous power. The simple Dwarves, too greedy to share
this newfound power, still demanded that the treasures be given over,
and refused to listen to reason. War quickly followed. At the height of
the conflict, a crazed Dwarf actually managed to abduct Lilliandra the
Fair, one of the last of the Sidhe, who all Elves still revere as the
source of beauty and the mistress of love. The vile Dwarves tried to
keep Lilliandra as their hostage, but the Deathless Empire's
retribution was so terrible that the Dwarves gave up their prisoner,
sealed their realms, and would not emerge from them again until the
Turning.
Another great evil that was visited
upon our people in the Age of Days, and though it came no from war or
strife it was the cruelest cut of all. The All-Father, unable to quench
the wyrmsfire still burning on the Golden Moon, created Time so that
the Sun might move, that the World might be saved from the Sun's
dreadful heat. As ever, the Wanderer was short-sighted in his vision! I
can recall the jarring moment when Time started, when the infinite
possibility of every instant was frozen into a bleak succession of
seconds, marching relentlessly, painfully forward. Those born after the
Great Change will never understand everything we lost when the First
Moment ended, when the magical eternity of our lives was suddenly
enslaved, yoked with tedium and mundanity. Indeed, the Dwarves and
Centaurs were too dull witted to even perceive much of a difference.
What was it like before Time? Glorious and wonderful, and that is all
the description I can give you. The beginning of Time had another
effect upon our race, however, that stirred our hearts with rage. Every
Elvish child born to the new Age was born mortal, a slave of Time.
Though it took them many centuries to reach their end, our children
began to wither with age and die. When Time began, Elvenkind was robbed
of eternity. Once again, the All-Father had wronged us. At the Turning
we were finally avenged.
Even as the War of the Stones
reached its end, we Elves finally met the "true" children of the
All-Father, the Men of Ardan, and relations between the two mighty
peoples quickly became strained. The Humans were all too glad to bear
the grudge of the so-called Great Betrayal and the Taming, events that
happened long before the first Man was ever fashioned. The arrogance of
the Ardani provoked the Wars of Spite, and for centuries the first
great realm of Humanity hid behind the power of the Titans and the
All-Father Himself, attacking and raiding the Deathless Empire with
impunity. Finally, the All-Father departed from Aerynth on another vain
quest, and the Firstborn were quick to strike, taking our vengeance and
removing the threat to our glory forever. Or so we were wont to
believe.
The greatest Magi of the Deathless
Empire unleashed the Blood Curse upon the Men of Ardan. Many of the
Titans died in blinding agony, and the Sons of Men were consumed with
madness, and quickly became mindless savages. After all of the
affronts, assaults, and atrocities of the Wars of Spite, it was a
fitting end for our foes and a glorious victory for our people. Some,
however, were dismayed at Man's plight, for indeed the Curse had worked
too well. It was decided that Mankind should be brought under our
dominion, before they died in ignorance and savagery. Thus the
Deathless Empire enslaved the pitiful remnants of Humanity, and many
found it only right and just that the World's usurpers should learn
their rightful place, and serve Aerynth's true masters. As the
Wanderer's meddling had enslaved our children to the tyranny of Time,
so we enslaved His.
In time, the Humans recovered their
faculties, and through treachery and deceit managed to escape from
bondage. A handful of them fled to the Vast Plains, where the huddled
remnants of the Centaurs quickly taught them to hate us, and to fight
us. The vengeance of the Firstborn would have been swift and final, but
the attentions of the Deathless Empire were just then drawn to the
Burning Lands, where the last Elvish nation, the Children of the Sun
who had never joined in the Deathless Empire's glory, had just
transformed themselves into hideous mockeries of Elvish perfection. The
true extent of their madness and treachery was then revealed, for they
declared their intention to rouse the Dragon and destroy the entire
World. For their treason, the Khalinviri were renamed Irekei, or
"outcasts," and our people unleashed the War of Flames against them.
For generations we decimated the hideous traitors, and much of the
World was ravaged. But on the eve of their total defeat, the Irekei
worked one last treachery. An Irekei Wizard opened the Chaos Gate, and
the hateful hordes of Chaos were quick to invade, and in the war that
followed the World was nearly destroyed.
All of the World's Children lament
the War of the Scourge, but it was the Elves who suffered the most
grievous losses. Never doubt it, and never forget it. I saw that
hideous War, and though at times the horror of it made me beg for
death, I was fortunate enough to survive. When the dread onslaught
began, the Deathless Empire was shaken to its core. Many cities were
destroyed or tainted by the foul invaders, and Elves died on a scale
undreamed of since the Dragon rose. Our dire need led us to deeds I
would have never thought possible. Elves, Centaurs, Giants, and even
the Sons of Men came together. I know it seems an impossible roster of
allies, but we saw the World's great need, and were able to graciously
put aside the wrongs the other Children of the World had done to us. We
led them in the Grand Alliance, fighting side by side against the power
of the Dark Lords. But even with our strengths united, the battle
against Chaos went poorly. Thurin's Blade returned into the World from
its long exile, but when Sillestor's rightful heir tried to take back
her birthright she was destroyed by Chaos, and the jealous Sons of Men
nearly sundered the Alliance. Finally the All-Father descended into the
World with his host of Archons for a second time, and drove the
invaders back once and for all.
The rest of the Age of Days (which
the Sons of men, in their pride, call the Age of Kings) was a time of
cautious hope, but in the end our people found only ruin and despair. A
new dynasty took control of the Deathless Empire, founding the Hidden
Court in the depths of the last uncorrupted forests. For a brief span
peace endured between Elves and Men, and trade even sprang up between
the Deathless Empire and the fledgling Human Realm of Ethyria. The
short-sighted Humans quickly fell to feuding, and Ethyria splintered
into a rabble of smaller realms, but the peace with our kind continued.
For centuries it seemed as if the Grand Alliance might endure forever,
but no one could foresee the dark times that lay ahead.
When Humanity began to encroach
upon the Elvish lands, building new towns in the sparsely populated
woods at the edge of our Empire, the lords of the Hidden Court
swallowed their pride and did nothing. When a Human madman opened the
Chaos Gate a second time, allowing Morloch and the Twisted Breeds to
escape into Aerynth, the lords of the hidden Court said nothing. But
when, at a great feast celebrating the thousandth anniversary of the
Grand Alliance, Konrad the Human King of Alvaetia insulted the honor of
the Elvish race in the midst of his boastful toast, the patience of the
Elves finally reached its end. The Grand Alliance crumbled, the Hidden
Court expelled the Humans from its borders, and the Men of the Ten
Kingdoms responded with bloody raids and slaughter. Valdimanthor, King
of the Hidden Court, roused the Elvish Host a final time, and the War
of Tears was joined.
I can remember the Twilight
Kingdom, and Sillestor's glorious Empire that came afterward, and
endured the Taming to finally fight the Hosts of Chaos. The power of
each of these great realms was diminished from the heights of its
predecessor, and the power of the Hidden Court was least of all. But do
not think that just because the power of the Gods was no longer ours,
that the Elves of the Age of Days were weak. Far from it, even in our
waning days we were more than a match for the Human rabble and their
Ten Kingdoms. Victory was ours, and if the cruel hand of fate had not
intervened, our Empire would endure still.
As battle followed upon battle,
atrocity upon atrocity, King Valdimanthor became consumed with hatred
for the Sons of Men, and repented the weakness of Kings past that had
led them to take pity on Mankind in Ages past and allow them to live as
slaves. The error of the Age of Days would be undone: Valdimanthor
vowed to exterminate Mankind outright. After Konrad the Boasting King
was slain, the Elvish hosts withdrew to the depths of the forests and
prepared for the final stroke, gathering strength for the last battle.
Valdimanthor renewed the ancient pacts with the Minotaurs, and with
their strength the armies of the Court became unstoppable. Cambruin,
young upstart King of the reunited realms of Men, sent heralds to
Valdimanthor asking for the return of lands lost in the War of Tears,
unaware that the war was not yet over. The Elfking repaid past insults
with new affronts, and goaded the so-called High King into a deadly
trap. For two years Valdimanthor's armies ravaged the lands of Men, and
even the High King and his Champions could not stem the tide of Elvish
vengeance.
Everything changed when Shadowbane
was delivered to the High King upon the field of Rennelind. There
Cambruin slew Valdimanthor in single combat, and the last great kingdom
of the Elves died with him.
With the Kingslayer in his hand,
Cambruin was invincible. And so the Sword of Destiny, forged for an
Elvish hand, was bathed to the hilts in a river of Elvish blood. Defeat
and ruin fell upon our great cities one by one, and countless works of
art and wisdom were destroyed. Entire libraries were consumed by fire,
and ancient Elves brutally slain by the Human marauders, the light and
wisdom of their memories snuffed out forever. The last vestiges of the
Twilight Kingdom died, and our world became a pit of barbarism and
savagery. In despair, we sued for peace, but Cambruin's thirst for
blood and plunder was not sated until the last bastions were broken at
Kierhaven. With that hateful battle's ending Cambruin himself was
slain. But even in the death of our dreaded enemy we Elves could take
no comfort, for the death of the Deathless Empire broke Braialla's
heart, and her grief shattered the World itself. So began the Turning,
and the Age of Strife.
Now we Elves are few in number,
scattered among the fragments of the World by the winds of war and
disaster. Hate still burns unabated in the hearts of Men, and what few
of our kind remain have been locked in a constant struggle for
survival. A few great Elflords endure, but none to date have tried to
unite the stragglers and try and forge a new kingdom. Indeed, it has
only been a few decades since our Magi unraveled the secrets of the
Runegates, and the scattered refugees of the Hidden Court could at last
be reunited. It is only through their labors that you are here now,
listening and learning. Rumor has it that in recent years large groups
of Elves have begun congregating at the ruins of the great city of
Diveryand, talking of glories past and vengeance yet to come. Here my
history ends, and to you I give the gift of knowledge, to guide the
present and shape the unborn Future. The Elvish race has lost more than
can ever be reckoned, but we have never forgotten who we are.
We are the Highborn, we walk
through eternity. We still recall the fixed and glimmering stars, in
that first Twilight before Time and Fire and Fear and Death. The
meddling of Men and Gods has broken all the beauty that we wrought, and
stolen the glory and power that is ours by right. But we have not been
idle, and our memories are long. Where now are the Gods who humbled us
of old and denied us our destiny? Where now is the invincible High King
who tried so hard to destroy us? Verily, long has been the Winter of
our shame, but in time, soon perhaps, Spring shall come...
Our Spring."