Elves of Veth'Arden
Before the cataclysmic Age of Ruin, the High Elves known as the Valestri ruled vast swathes of Veth’Arden from alabaster bastions and aether‑wrought spires. They believed themselves the flawless pinnacle of elvendom, and their arrogance bred cruelty: lesser elven lineages were taxed, indentured, and at times shackled in outright bondage to feed the Empire of Val’thanis. When rebellion, hubris, and fractured ley‑lines finally brought that empire low, the Valestri escaped through shimmering liminal gates into the parallel realm of primal dream—an enchanted reflection mortals now call Lysanthir, the Luminous Veil. Their departure left the surface world scarred yet very much alive, tended by those kin they had once oppressed.
In the dawn of the Age of Emberlight the word Elf no longer conjures a single court but a brilliant mosaic of surviving peoples: the sun‑bright Gildress of Goldvale Elves whose matriarchs weave druidic rites amid towering green canopies; the nocturnal Tierkara or Nightshade Elves, animalistic hunters whose skin and senses adapt to the darkest wilds; the bronze‑skinned Aurisandar nomads of Granheim, tattooed with tales of dune and storm; the Xalanti of Ravel’s rainforests, their tattoo adorned flesh and vine‑tressed hair marking them as the jungle’s favored children; the moon‑kissed Tsukinoi or Lunalis Elves wandering Kozuka’s mist‑silver glades; and the icy‑veined Galari whose sapphire eyes mirror Falengaht’s eternal auroras. Though climates and customs differ, an unbroken thread of starfire heritage links every lineage—tall and lithe, long‑eared and long‑lived, minds tuned to the faint music of aether.
Common across their diaspora is a reverence for equilibrium—between growth and decay, mortal toil and otherworldly wonder. Their civilizations build with stone and root rather than upon them; their rituals honour both Lysanthir’s lost brilliance and the silent shadows of Nyth’Rithral. Memories of Valestri tyranny remain a cautionary hearth‑tale, reminding each clan that pride untempered invites ruin. Yet hope lingers that, one day, the sundry branches of Elvendom may re‑graft in harmony—guardians, not masters, of the living song that threads leaf, tide, and starlight through the ever‑turning ages of Veth’Arden.
In the dawn of the Age of Emberlight the word Elf no longer conjures a single court but a brilliant mosaic of surviving peoples: the sun‑bright Gildress of Goldvale Elves whose matriarchs weave druidic rites amid towering green canopies; the nocturnal Tierkara or Nightshade Elves, animalistic hunters whose skin and senses adapt to the darkest wilds; the bronze‑skinned Aurisandar nomads of Granheim, tattooed with tales of dune and storm; the Xalanti of Ravel’s rainforests, their tattoo adorned flesh and vine‑tressed hair marking them as the jungle’s favored children; the moon‑kissed Tsukinoi or Lunalis Elves wandering Kozuka’s mist‑silver glades; and the icy‑veined Galari whose sapphire eyes mirror Falengaht’s eternal auroras. Though climates and customs differ, an unbroken thread of starfire heritage links every lineage—tall and lithe, long‑eared and long‑lived, minds tuned to the faint music of aether.
Common across their diaspora is a reverence for equilibrium—between growth and decay, mortal toil and otherworldly wonder. Their civilizations build with stone and root rather than upon them; their rituals honour both Lysanthir’s lost brilliance and the silent shadows of Nyth’Rithral. Memories of Valestri tyranny remain a cautionary hearth‑tale, reminding each clan that pride untempered invites ruin. Yet hope lingers that, one day, the sundry branches of Elvendom may re‑graft in harmony—guardians, not masters, of the living song that threads leaf, tide, and starlight through the ever‑turning ages of Veth’Arden.
