Chapter 2: Of the Elves
The Elves of Althum are believed by many to be the first race—ancient spirits of the forest, born from the world itself. But they are vicious, territorial, and ruthlessly reclusive.
Chapter 2: Of the Elves
The Elves of Althum are believed by many to be the first race—ancient spirits of the forest, born from the world itself. They live in nomadic woodland tribes, deeply in tune with nature, magic, and the ever-whispering spirits of the land.
But though they walk in harmony with nature, they are vicious, territorial, and ruthlessly reclusive. Few who trespass into their sacred woods ever return. To the elves, the forests are not just home—they are holy. And they will bleed the earth red to protect them.
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Dark Rituals
On the night of the fullest moon, the forest trembles with dark energy. Deep beneath the emerald canopy, elfkind gathers in a sacred crescent, kneeling before the Idol of Ael'Nareth—a towering effigy of a long-forgotten elven priestess, one arm stretched toward the heavens, the other pouring enchanted water from an open palm into a stone fountain.
Their chants begin low, rhythmic, and haunting, growing louder as the moon reaches its zenith. Their eyes shimmer with eerie, ethereal blue light. From the trees emerges a high priestess, draped in silken robes that seem woven from moonlight and shadow. At her side, two armored guards drag forth a slumped human captive, his wrists bound, his face pale with terror.
The crowd falls silent.
The priestess murmurs sacred words as she approaches the fountain. Drawing a curved ceremonial dagger—its edge glowing with old magic—she gazes down at the trembling man. One guard jerks his head back, exposing the neck. With cruel precision, the priestess slices deep, blood spilling in thick rivers across the cold earth.
As the human cries out, his voice echoing through the trees, the priestess begins to chant louder, her voice rising above the screaming wind. Blood lifts from the forest floor into the air, swirling into a crimson orb above them. Her teeth sharpen; her eyes turn black as pitch. With a feral screech, she sinks her teeth into the man's neck, tearing out his throat in a burst of gore.
The crowd erupts in exultation.
The floating orb of blood is guided by the priestess's hand, flowing into the mouth of the fountain. The waters run red. As more captives are dragged forward, the elves descend into a frenzy, feasting upon the flesh of the dead in a horrifying communion with their gods.
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The Separated Tribes
Long ago, Althum was a world of endless forests. The elves thrived in unity, each tribe holding its own sacred groves and spiritual pacts. They lived in harmony—not only with the wilds, but with one another.
But then the humans arrived.
At first, the elves responded with subtlety—hit-and-run raids, cursed whispers in the night, illusions so haunting they shattered men's minds. But humanity was resilient. Settlements grew. Forests were cleared. Roads carved through sacred land.
The war escalated. Cities rose, and with them came fire and steel. Many elven tribes were slaughtered, driven into exile, or left to rot beneath felled trees. Only the most savage endured—and they embraced the darkness.
Turning to forbidden magic, the surviving tribes delved into blood rites, using the essence of their enemies to fuel their power. Their magic grew cruel, violent, and feral. No longer protectors of nature—they became its avengers, believing themselves the rightful rulers of the land, and humans as vermin to be culled.
But with the forests dying, the elves were cut off from one another, forced into isolated fragments of their once-great domain.
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The Traitor Elves
Yet not all elves embraced hatred.
One large tribe, exiled from the deeper woods, began to see humanity differently. They watched how humans built, adapted, thrived—and realized that the world was changing. Rather than fight it, they chose to evolve.
This tribe established Silverleaf, a settlement that blended elven grace with human structure. They traded openly, forged friendships, and even began to teach humans the secrets of magic.
To the other elves, this was unforgivable treachery.
The "Silverleaf traitors" were exiled, hunted, and killed if they dared set foot in any forest claimed by the old tribes. But among humans, these elves were revered. Kings and queens welcomed them as tutors, advisors, and court mages. Their teachings laid the foundation for the magical arts of noble bloodlines.
Thus began the great schism of elfkind—between those who walk in blood, and those who walk in peace.