Elves of the Eastern Realms

Elf lore in my fairly standard setting. Perhaps something here may interest you.


Though much of the Eastern Realms are dominated by the crawling expanse of the Human Kingdoms, the Elves persist just beyond the borderlands.

Slender, blonde, beautiful and supposedly immortal. Elven androgyny fools Humans, as the folk-comedies will tell you. The Elves are fickle. They delight in spending time doing nothing at all - a decade spent picknicking on a meadow is well spent, but so is leaving everything behind to venture for a painting they once heard of, only to abandon it once recovered. It is said that some Elves have collected stores of tomes so vast they rival that of Kingdoms, but no, not for reading, for appearances. The aesthetic of reading, like many other things, is far more engaging to an Elf than the act. An Elf will find any means of avoidance preferable to something they don't feel like doing, a trait shared with Wizard's apprentices.

Elves thrive off beauty, and poetry, which they consider to be the same. They are great sponges, absorbing in beauty for as long as they please, until they are ready to begin their Heartwork. A Heartwork is an irresistable calling to an Elf, done at most thrice in a lifetime. It is something that nothing can interrupt, the one thing of which an Elf never tires of. It is the reason for Elven reknown for brilliant art. It is the art often left incomplete by the artist's passing, their perfectionism never settling. A Heartwork is made when an Elf has seen enough beauty, and decides to create their own. It is of course their art. They have learned to guard them jealously, lest some mortal plunder it and pass it off as their own. A scarce few are in circulation of the mortal courts, priceless treasures.

The favoured art of Elvenkind is poetry. Each Elf is a treasury of hundreds of years of wordsmithing. So enrapturing that many Elves are known to speak only in verse, or recitation. If it were not for poetry, no Elf could dedicate themself to learn another language. An Elf, of course, would never stoop so low as to read a translation.

High Elvish is an impossibly baroque language. When speaking with mortals, Elves instead adopt their 'mortalname', after something they like, such as "Hues-in-Autumn". Due to the fickleness of Elves, these names can change by the day, whatever they feel like at the time.

In battle, Elves wear armour not for protection, but to be the most noticeable on the field. Their armours are often made of ineffective but natural materials such as wood or leather, sculpted to perfection. The very best they may field is Moonsilver plate, of a purity only found in the Fay realms. Elves are deadly vulnerable to iron, the mere presence making them sick, leading to Elves favouring bows in the realm.

Elves prefer handcrafted goods of their own make, but may instead prefer the utilitarian tools of the Dwarves - human goods are unreliable. Elves usually wander in youth, making companions with humans. Though Elves soon learn to treat them as we treat puppies - its sad if they die but you can always get a new one. Occasionally this leads to carnal relations (and it is well known that humans lust after Elvenkind) but this is strictly prohibited by Elven culture. At most, an Elven man may lie with Human women of exceptional beauty, but even that is looked at with scorn. Anything more is met with extreme prejudice. Elven beauty is finite, and to lay with others is to discard a precious treasure. The infertile half-spawn, Helves, are looked at like defaced art, something you'd rather not look at and it's really just a shame. Sex is pleasureable to Elves, but they are more attracted to the poetic. If a pair finds a hundred years of virgin love, cuddling but never having relations, to be more poetic, they will do that. There is too vainglorious Elves, who play decades long courting games, only to stare at themselves while consumating. They have relationships only for as long as they please, no marriage, though they are monogamous.

Finally, a joke that players may encounter in a tavern.
He Watches On
A young Elfen couple once lay under the shade of an oak tree,
Watching the meadow, and feeling the breeze.
Beseeching her lover, the maiden asks,
'How feel you this day? Shall we make art?'
He watches on.
She frolics and dances under starlight,
They watch the world freeze.
He watches on.
Men come to draw them, a paper mimicry.
He watches on.
She stays by his side, as the Mortal Kingdoms rise.
He watches on.
War wages and a Knight rides by,
'Will you fight for us? Will you aid our King?'
He shakes his head and watches on.
The Kingdom falls, his maiden sings with fairies.
He watches on.
Finally, one moonlight night, he turns to her and says,
'I'm feeling fine dear, perhaps later on.'