Wood Elves

"Athel Loren shall not suffer the presence of Men, nor Orcs, nor Dwarfs, nor Beastmen. If a foe takes a single step upon such sacred soil, they shall not take another."

- Skarloc, Mist Walker of Athel Loren



The Wood Elves, known as the Asrai in some tales, or as the Fay Folk of Athel Loren are a reclusive, secretive and highly isolationist race of Elves that have long ago voluntarily split off from the rest of their kin, preferring instead to live out their lives in Nature's embrace beneath the enchanted forested canopy of Athel Loren. From here, they have learnt to dwell in concord with the seasons and the weave of life and death that binds all living things together. For millennia, the Wood Elves have lived in this state of harmony, lying in wait and hidden from the prying eyes of the wider World.

Yet times have changed since that ancient age, and the Wood Elves realize that the fate of Athel Loren is now tied to that of other lands. Though they do not seek to act as the world’s protectors as do the High Elves, nor enthronen themselves as its rulers as do the Dark Elves, there are those times when the will of Orion and Ariel, the King and Queen in the Woods, must shape the fortunes of those that live beyond the boundary of their homelands.

As such, the Wood Elves have spent their entire existence bent solely on the preservation of their forested realms, to ensure that it persist throughout the ages and to protect their demi-god rulers from all harms. Never has this been truer than in these dark days, where every broken bough or withered leaf carries an omen of darker times to come. It is this cause in which they fight, for no land endures long if it cannot take up arms against those that wish it harm, and the waking woodland of Athel Loren have endured for many thousands of years, so long as the watchful eyes of her protectors continue their loyal vigilance.

History
The History of the Wood Elves is tied with those of their former kin, the High Elves, but the forest that they would call their home have existed long before that. Long ago, before the coming of Chaos, before even the rise of the Elves, a great forest took root upon the world. Like much that came to exist in that halcyon time, the forest was the work of the mysterious Old Ones, who planted its seeds and saplings as part of their grand experiment. This was no magically tainted arborea, as the jungles of the south would one day become, but a form of life utterly unique in all the realms of the world. Of course, other forests had existed before that time, and would exist again, but they were pitiable things in comparison, populated by trees that possessed neither voice nor thought and were unable to protect themselves from the predations of those who sought their boughs for fire and shelter.

The Forgotten Season (-10,000 to -1501 IC)
This great forest was different, for powerful spirits dwelt within and amongst its trees. It is impossible to say whether this was part o f the Old Ones’ design, the work of the Elf gods or caused by some other influence that seeped into the trees’ souls, but as time went on, the trees came to think in a way that trees were never meant to, and learned of feelings such as anger and hate. Before long, the great forest became aware of itself, and of the blooded life that crawled upon the world like insects. The great forest treated some races with tolerance, and even friendship. Others, especially those greedy folk who saw the trees only as a ready source of fuel, were met with ruthless fury, sparking legends of remorseless tree-daemons that would last for millennia.

By this time, the Oak of Ages at the great forest’s heart had spread its roots across many lands, creating a web of worldroots that the spirits of the wood could traverse to reach faraway places. So did the great forest first discover the summerlands of Avelorn, and encounter the Elves of Ulthuan. No race grew closer to the spirits of the great forest than the Elves, who in their innocence, marveled at its wondrous nature, and whispered with its ancient spirits so that they might learn their secrets. One of the spirits in particular, Durthu — or Oakheart, as the Elves named him - grew fond of Avelorn’s folk, in particular of their Everqueen Astarielle. Soon, he consented to teach them how to shape the trees without harming branch or bough, and blessed them with many other secrets his kind possessed. For a short time thereafter, Avelorn knew a golden age that would eclipse any that followed. Under the combined stewardship of Elves and forest spirits, the woods and meadows blossomed into incredible life. Many of the great forest’s spirits forsook their home for Avelorn’s paradise, for they were determined to awaken those trees as they themselves had been awakened. Yet, though Avelorn became ever more wondrous and beautiful, its trees remained silent. Then the Daemons came.

The Coming of Chaos
With the collapse of the great polar gates, Chaos swept across the world. Everywhere, civilizations burned and madness overtook order. Ulthuan suffered greater than any other land, for many amongst the daemonic host thirsted for Elven souls above all others. Had great heroes not arisen to meet the challenge, the Elves would have been utterly destroyed and their land made over into a court of pandemonium. Greatest of these heroes was Aenarion the Defender, first of the Phoenix Kings. It was he who rallied the Elves to hold back the daemonic tide, and his example ever spurred others to greater deeds. In time, Aenarion took the Everqueen Astarielle as his wife, and she bore him two fine children: Morelion, and Yvraine. As the Phoenix King fought to preserve Ulthuan, the Everqueen withdrew into the hallowed woods of Avelorn to raise their children as far from war as those days would allow.

Avelorn had so far been spared the horrors of the invasion, for the Daemons sensed that Durthu and his kind were not dissimilar in nature to themselves, and were wary of attacking their domain if easier prey was close at hand. Such a state of affairs could not last, however. One fateful day, when Aenarion’s army was campaigning far from Avelorn, a daemonic host greater than any yet seen descended upon Avelorn, and the slaughter began. As Avelorn burned, Durthu and his kind fought alongside the Elves - they could have fled back to the great forest, but chose to stand with their allies. Many were destroyed, others were driven mad with despair, yet still the spirits of the forest battled on. But Avelorn could neither be saved by valour nor by strength of arms. Hour by hour, the Elves and spirits were driven deeper into their heartlands, until finally there was nowhere left to retreat to.

It was late on that last day that Astarielle came to Durthu with a desperate request: that he rescue her children from the coming doom. For a time, Durthu stood silent, as the forest burned around them, the tears and pleas of his petitioner seemingly unheeded. To carry blooded creatures along the Oak of Ages’ worldroots would no doubt be seen as a dire transgression, and he was minded not to invoke the wrath of his peers, let in his time in Avelorn, Durthu had seen how the Elves and forest spirits had been far stronger and wiser together than they had been apart — if either survived the darkness, that strength would surely serve the great forest well in whatever world followed. So it was that when Durthu spoke again, he agreed to Astarielle’s request. But, he cautioned, there would be a price to pay. If he saved the Everqueen’s offspring, the great forest would one day claim many Elves as its own, so that they might serve and protect it as they had tended the land of Avelorn.

Now it was Astarielle’s turn to fall silent, for there was something ominous in Durthu’s tone. Yet she had little choice - if Yvraine died, the line of the Everqueen would die with her, and the Elves would soon after fade forever. It was then that a colossal Daemon broke through the Elven lines, bellowing in triumph as it swept aside the last of the Everqueen’s bodyguard with its four mighty arms. Even in a day beset with horrors, this was a cruel fate. No mere foot soldier of the Daemon host was this, but mighty N’kari, foremost servant of thirsting Slaanesh. He was not merely a despoiler of bodies, but a devourer of spirits; his cruel embrace brought not death but the oblivion of the soul. Kissing her children once last time, the Everqueen now gave them hurriedly into Durthu’s keeping. As the spirit led Morelion and Yvraine away, Astarielle summoned what little of her magic remained unspent and went calmly down into the battle to meet her destiny.

The Corruption of Nature
When Durthu returned to the great forest, his wards deep in charmed slumber, he was dismayed that his home had fared little better than Avelorn. The great greenwood that had once sprawled across the world was now but a fraction of its former size. The land where it had flourished bore the scars of fire and wild magic that had driven it back, and even then its borders were assailed by Daemons beyond counting. It seemed he had exchanged one hopeless battle for another, yet appearances were deceptive. As the great forest’s battle for survival had become more desperate, the natures of some of its spirits — particularly those of the striplings — had changed.

Many were now wilder and more aggressive, perhaps even cruel, and their lithe and slender forms had grown much more suited to battle. It also transpired that much of the forest that had been destroyed in Durthu’s absence had been lost many years ago. The outpost that remained, nestled between the shoulders of two great mountain ranges, had held its ground for more than a decade, and was even now spreading outward once more. Yet if Durthu had been wrong about the forest’s plight, he had been correct about his fellow Elders’ reception. Adanhu, wisest of the tree lords, was readily displeased that the sanctity of the worldroots had been breached.

Coeddil, who had for long centuries directed the great forest’s wrath against its despoilers, was consumed with bitter fury and demanded that the interlopers be slain. At first, Adanhu agreed with Coeddil, but eventually relented. Eldest he was and fearful of change, but so too did he fear that the forest’s survival might have come only by sacrificing the gender and peaceable side of their nature. Unchecked, the spirits of the great forest would become an enemy as dire as that which they had fought, and Durthu’s bargain presented some small hope that such a destiny could be prevented. Though Coeddil railed angrily against the decision, Adanhu agreed that Astarielle’s heirs could remain within the great forest until their homeland was safe once more — provided that they never awakened from their magical sleep whilst within its bounds. Thus did Morelion and Yvraine slumber through the last terrible deeds of that war. Avelorn was cleansed, and in time would become beautiful once more, but it would never recapture the glory of its heyday. The spirits of the great forest fought on as best they could, knowing that they could not end the onslaught, only endure it.

As for Aenarion, he was driven to madness by the loss of his wife and children. Soon after, he fell into darkness, only to redeem himself at the last. In the end, the world was saved not by force of arms, but by the cunning of an Elf mage, whose great ritual of banishment cast the Daemons from the world. With the passing of the Daemons, Durthu was finally able to keep the promise he had made to Astarielle. Journeying through the worldroots once more, he brought Morelion and Yvraine to Ulthuan’s beautiful Gaean Vale, and there left them to be discovered. Neither sibling ever recalled anything of leaving Ulthuan, only that Oakheart had rescued them on the night of their mother’s sacrifice. Yvraine soon became the next Everqueen, and Morelion a stalwart protector ever at her side.

As for Durthu, he longed to rebuild the glory of Avelorn, but knew that the great forest needed his guidance far more. Gathering to him almost all of the spirits that had survived the invasion of Ulthuan, he returned home. Many centuries passed. Little by littie, the spirits of the great forest and the lessons they had taught passed from the tales of the Elves, remaining only in half-remembered tradition and folktales. In time, Ulthuan grew in power and glory, establishing many colonies overseas. The world was riven by earthquakes, and the worldroots were severed, isolating the great forest from the wider world. Through it all, the Elders watched with patient eyes, awaiting the opportunity to collect on Astarielle’s debt.

The Season of Rebirth (-1500 to -1095 IC)
It would be millennia before the destinies of the Elves and the great forest became entwined once more. Ulthuan’s power was now at its height, and Elven colonies were established in many lands. Most were founded along the shores, but a great many Elves headed inland. Some were guided by dreams and visions, or by urges not easily explained. Others were driven by wanderlust that set their feet on paths that had lain untrodden since the dawn of creation. It was these Elves who first encountered the great forest, and they were intrigued by what they found. At night they saw strange lights dancing in the darkness beneath the bows, and huge shapes lingering on the outskirts of the glades.

Captivated, the Elves attempted to push deeper, but found themselves thwarted at every turn by shifting paths. Despite this resistance, the Elves never once considered settling elsewhere. The forest’s magic was in their blood, a legacy of Astarielle’s long-ago pact, and it could not be denied. Thus did the Elves name the forest Athel Loren, which translates to "Wood of the Dawning of the World". They settled on its outskirts and planted great waystones about the boundaries to contain the spirits within. Despite these precautions, folk occasionally vanished into the forest, driven by strange visions or lured by ghost-like nymphs. None of these were ever seen again.

The Sundering
Far away, an age of tragedy was dawning. Malekith, son of Aenarion by his second wife, sought to claim the Phoenix Throne by force and, in so doing, split the Elven race forever. No longer was there one race of Elves — now there were the Dark Elves loyal to the traitor Malekith, and the High Elves who were true to the Phoenix Throne. Ulthuan was torn apart in the battles that followed and, by the time Malekith led his defeated followers to the chill land of Naggaroth, the shattered nation was but a shadow of its former self.

Never again would the High Elves know peace. On those rare occasions which they were not locked in vendetta with their hated cousins, their colossal arrogance sparked conflict elsewhere, chiefly with the Dwarfs of the mountains. Many colonies were drawn into these fruitless campaigns, but the Elves of Athel Loren refused to become involved. When Phoenix King Caradryel finally gave the order that all loyal folk of Ulthuan should abandon their colonies and return home, only the Elves of Athel Loren refused, and they soon declared their independence from the Phoenix Throne. As the High Elves withdrew westward, the Dwarfs advanced. As the first snows of winter began to fall, the grudgeful children of the mountains descended upon Athel Loren, hacking and burning. This callous action drove the forest into a fury, but its spirits had ever been sluggish during the months of frost. The Dryads were soon scattered or slain, and Durthu, the only ancient not yet at slumber, was wounded near to death by keen Dwarfen axes.

Realizing that the forest could not defeat the Dwarfs alone, Durthu bade it draw back from the encroachers, and open up pathways that thrust them onto the fringes of the Elven settlements. Thinking themselves under attack, the Elves assailed the Dwarfs, filling the air with volley after volley of arrows. As the forest had twisted the advance of the Dwarfs so too did it now guide the footsteps of the Elves. Whenever the Dwarfs turned to face this threat, the Elves slipped away into the trees, only to emerge impossible distances away moments later. Unable to defeat a foe upon which they could not lay honest steel, the remaining Dwarfs retreated. In the wake of victory, the Elves began to dwell within the borders of Athel Loren, for they feared reprisals from the Dwarfs more than they did the capricious will of the forest. The forest did not resist, and the Elves wondered why. The wayward children of Ulthuan never heard the harsh words that raged between Adanhu and Coeddil as they argued over their fate. Durthu, instigator of the current situation, remained silent through it all. He had suffered greatly from the Dwarfen axes; his once-kind nature had all but fallen away, and he no longer fully trusted his own judgement. Ultimately, Adanhu’s will prevailed, and the forest now opened up many of its secrets to the Elves, though the Dryads and Treemen took care never to intentionally reveal themselves.

At the very heart of Athel Loren, Ariel, foremost amongst the Elven magi, spoke with the forest for the first time and before long, many Elves learnt this art of treesinging. It was then that the Elves, always respectful of all things natural, truly embraced Athel Loren as their home. More than that, the Elves treated the forest with the awe and reverence it deserved and demanded, seeing the essence of their ancestral gods in its seasonal cycles. They vowed never to take from the forest without giving back equally in service and sacrifice. When the Elves needed wood to burn in order to survive the icy winters, they would take only fallen branches, and in the spring they would nurture and tend to new saplings, encouraging them to shape graceful halls above and below the ground. When the Elves hunted the animals of the forest for food and clothing, they used all that they took, and gave thanks to Athel Loren in ceremonies of blood.

The Great Council
Before long, Dwarfs marched upon Athel Loren once more. This time they came in a throng many tens of thousands strong, with warriors drawn from dozens of holds. When they learned of this threat, the great lords and ladies of the Wood Elves held council at the foot of the Oak of Ages, and even the trees of the glade crowded close, as if paying attention to what was said. The devotees of the trickster god performed their ritual dances, and the seers and prophetesses read the skeins of fate in the stars and patterns of flame. In that fire-lit glade, beautiful Ariel found herself drawn to the Lord Orion. He was the bravest and most handsome of his folk as Ariel was the wisest and fairest of hers. Whilst the council debated how best to oppose the Dwarfs, Ariel and Orion were deep in a conversation of their own, seemingly oblivious to the great matters that were discussed around them. Finally, they slipped away, unnoticed and unremarked.

The mood of the council was otherwise bleak, for it was apparent to all that they could not best the Dwarfs in battle. Worse, the seers had determined that the Dwarfs were but the lesser of two nascent threats — a great horde of Greenskins was but a few days from launching their own assault. It was in that moment of despair that Adanhu finally revealed himself to the Elves. He pledged that the spirits of the forest would fight alongside them if only the battle was brought before winter came. Emboldened by Adanhu’s words, the Elves prepared their plans anew. In their enthusiasm, they were heedless of the ancient one’s warning that a great sacrifice would be required.

It was not until many hours later, when the feast was over, that the absence of Ariel and Orion was noted, but when no amount of searching would reveal them, the errant lovers were reluctantly forgotten. Next day, the great host of Athel Loren brought the Dwarfs to battle. As Adanhu had promised, the Elves did not fight alone. Colossal Treemen strode amongst the Elven lines, and great hosts of Dryads swarmed about the flanks. Mighty Durthu led the charge, an unstoppable force of nature who sought revenge upon those who had scarred him. Against this host, the Dwarfs stood little chance. Though they strove with all the stubbornness of their race, they eventually broke and ran, leaving the mountainside heavy with their dead.

The Winter of Woe
Alas, scarcely had the last arrow found its mark in Dwarfen flesh when an icy wind whistled through the boughs of the forest and a chill gripped the land like never before. The cold only hastened the Greenskins onset. In an orgy of destruction, the Orcs built great pyres in order to warm their calloused hides. The Elves fought with all their might under skies stained with the ashes of living wood, but the Orcs were too many and their forest spirit allies addled by intense cold. Little by little, Athel Loren fell to the invaders. The Elves prepared their last stand before the Oak of Ages. They did so with heavy hearts, for they did not believe that they could win, but knew there was no choice save to fight.

Then, at dawn, they saw that the forest was transformed. The snows were in retreat and blood-red blossoms had pushed through the hard ground. Animals had roused from hibernation and a restlessness could be felt on the air. As the sun rose, the haunting cry of a great horn echoed on the wind. As the note faded, the mighty form of Kurnous, god of the hunt, crashed through the woods. A pack of shadowy hounds was baying at his heels, and all the Elves who looked upon him were filled with fresh vigour. The horn was winded a second time, and the Greenskins met their doom. Kurnous smashed into the Orcs, slaying all before him in an orgy of destruction. Newly awakened Dryads swarmed in his wake, eager to bestow their cruel mercies.

As the living god plunged deeper into the Greenskin lines, the Elves joined the charge, eyes and blades afire with their god’s furious power. By the time the sun set, not a single Orc remained alive. In the battle’s aftermath, the exhausted Elves came before the Oak of Ages to pay homage. Here they discovered the enthroned figures of Ariel and Orion, now become avatars of Isha, them other goddess, and Kurnous, the hunter. Another great council was swiftly called, and all the lords and ladies of the forest knelt in worship to Ariel and Orion, now and forever the Queen and King in the Woods.

The Season of Withering (-1094 to -625 IC)
To begin with, Ariel did not truly understand the blight that had risen to wakefulness - only that it posed a great threat to Athel Loren. Determined to discover the truth, the Mage Queen took council with the Elders of the forest, and sent her canniest scouts to scour distant realms. Little by little, Ariel was able to glean the nature of the creature she sought. No Wood Elf had yet seen the beast and lived to speak of the encounter, but the works it left behind were testament to its unspeakable ways. W here the creature walked, the fabric of the world twisted in hateful transformation: trees writhed into terrible and unnatural shapes, blackened crops bled under the scythe, and flesh reformed like clay in the hands of some crazed sculptor. Where it passed, sanity became drooling madness, and measured nobility became wanton abandon. By these works did Ariel finally put a name to the foe: Cyanathair, she called it the Corruptor, incarnation of disorder and chaos. To his own vile kin he was known as Morghur, Master o f Skulls.

The existence of this being was of great offence to Ariel, for its ruination of the Weave represented everything that she opposed. Desperate to learn how to combat this new foe, Ariel took a great risk. Adopting a spirit form, she went out into the lands where Morghur had known free rein. After long months of tracking the creature’s spoor into lands no mortal Elf could tread without harm, she finally discovered the beast capering madly in the company of other abominable things. So lumpen and wretched was the creature that Ariel almost laughed to see it. She had expected some poweraddled Mage, or a vengeful sorcerer of the ancient times; what she beheld was a crude and ignorant beast that lacked the wit to understand its own nature. Without hesitation, Ariel called cleansing flame down upon the Corruptor and its yowling herd.

Her task complete, the Mage Queen returned home. In her arrogance, she believed that Morghur’s threat was ended. In time, she was sure, the living world would heal from the Corruptor’s touch and the Weave would gradually be restored. What Ariel did not realize was that Morghur was not so easily destroyed. Even as the Mage Queen turned to leave, the beast’s wounds had begun to heal. Worse, Morghur had taken her measure just as she had taken his. The beast had understood little of what he had seen, for his warped mind was a mad spiral in which thoughts and words were alien concepts; but Morghur was not so addled that he did not recognize Ariel for what she was. Having tasted a small measure of her power, he hungered for more. Slowly but surely, Morghur’s meandering path began to creep southwards to Athel Loren.

The Coming of Mankind
It was at about this time that human barbarians began to cross westward over the Grey Mountains. The Elves had long abandoned this land, leaving in their passing only abandoned fortresses and settlements. A great many of these elegant halls had been torn down and burnt, for greenskins had overrun the land as the Elves had retreated. The superstitious and ignorant barbarians avoided these places, fearing that they were haunted, and fought hard to drive the Orcs and Goblins out of other domains. The Wood Elves looked with amusement upon these battles between primitive tribes, content to let one set of barbarians eradicate the other. Only when the fighting spilled close to the borders of Athel Loren did the Elves take action, driving back the interlopers with spear and bow before vanishing beneath the trees once more. Thus began the tradition of the Wild Hunt.

Each summer, when the battles ‘twixt men and greenskins were at their most sprawling, Orion led the most hot-blooded of his folk across the Wild Heath and into the barbarous lands beyond, hunting their two-legged quarry as they would any other prey. Soon the glory and terror of the Wild Hunt passed into the barbarians’ legends, and they learned that to threaten the forest was to invite a swift and merciless death. As time passed, the Elves came to delight ever more in making sport with the lives of Men and Orcs. They even began to manipulate the two sides into ever-escalating confrontation — though in truth the greenskins needed little encouragement. The Elves told themselves that they did this to control their enemies’ numbers as they would with any dangerous beasts. The further afield the folk o f Athel Loren plied their sport, the less credence this idea held, but they cared little and continued to foment war in all the lands north of the mountain range known as the Vaults.

Morghur's Revenge
Yet whilst the Wood Elves cowed the threat from without, they failed to notice the danger growing within. There had been Beastmen in the forest as long as any of the Elves could remember, great warherds that roamed beneath the boughs, hacking and despoiling as they travelled. Each year, the Elves hunted these interlopers without mercy, but each year there were always more. Some lords and ladies of the wood believed that the creatures had some instinctive understanding of Athel Loren’s timeless paths, and so used them to avoid extermination. Indeed, they said, given the curious passage of time beneath the boughs, it was entirely possible that they fought only the same warherd time and again, its warriors trapped forever in a cycle of defeat. Such theories appealed to the Elves’ arrogance, and so few of them noticed when the numbers of Beastmen began to increase. It happened slowly at first, so slowly that no-one noticed. By the time the Wood Elves awoke to the danger, it was too late — Morghur was upon them.

It was now more than two centuries since Morghur had grown aware of Ariel, and he had spent that time gathering to him warherd o f incredible proportions. Thousands of Beastmen and other horribly mutated creatures had responded to his silent call, and now they hurled themselves at Athel Loren. For the passage o f many seasons the forest was riven with bitter warfare. T he war would have been dire enough if the Elves and forest spirits had fought as one, but Morghur’s primal nature spoke to the forest’s heart, and parts of Athel Loren rebelled.

For a long and terrible year, the natural order of Athel Loren was disrupted, for Morghur could seemingly not be slain by the weapons of the Elves. Worse, he recovered from even the most heinous of wounds. Most disastrous of all, the trees and spirits of Athel Loren did succumb to Morghur’s taint. Countless times, the Elves would be on the brink of victory, only to have it snatched from their grasp as madness seized spirits that moments before had been their allies. This insanity was not always lasting, but seemed to afflict the Dryads worst o f all, for they had ever been the most capricious and malevolent of all their kind. This terrible conflict was only ended when M orghur was slain at the Battle of Anguish.

Coeddil, one of the most ancient tree lords, scattered the Corruptor’s forces and seized the beast himself. As Morghur attempted to free himself, Ariel smote the creature. This time, the Mage Queen was determined that the creature be destroyed, so she drew not only on her own power, but that of the forest as well. Before such an onslaught, not even Morghur could endure; Ariel battered through the creature’s defenses and shattered his mutated form. The battle had been won, but the forest would ever bear the taint of Morghur’s passing. No living being touched by the Corruptor’s blood would ever truly recover. A gnarled oak tree, branches twisted like claws, still marks the place where Morghur’s tainted blood was spilt. The site of Morghur’s death was known ever after as the Glade of Woe, for it was home only to twisted and withered life thereafter. Alas, Ariel soon learnt that Morghur was as immortal as she — whenever the beast was slain, it was reborn elsewhere. Thus did the Battle of Anguish mark the beginning of a secret war between the Wood Elves and Beastmen, one that would rage down all the ages that followed.

The Great Betrayal
Five hundred years after the Battle of Anguish, Athel Loren once more knew internal strife. The tree lord, Coeddil, driven perhaps by a last taint of Morghur’s madness, and who had begun to harbor a deep resentment of the Elves, sought to disrupt Orion’s rebirth. That winter, Coeddil and his Dryad handmaidens did not sleep, but bided until Ariel began her own long slumbers within the Oak of Ages. With much of the forest quiescent, and the Elves unaware of his intent, the ancient strode to King’s Glade and slaughtered all he could find, for if no W ild Riders survived to lead the ritual of rebirth, Orion would be severely weakened — if indeed he could be summoned at all.

Ariel was abruptly awakened from her slumbers as the first Elven blood was spilt. In a great rage she sped to where the Wild Riders fought for their lives. Against Ariel’s fury Coeddil and his followers could not endure. Summoning all her awesome power, the M age Q ueen scattered the ancient’s handmaidens and cast down the tree lord. T hough Ariel dearly wished to slay the spirits for the damage they had caused and the blood they had shed, Ariel could no more end their existence than sever a portion o f her own soul, for Coeddil was still bound to Athel Loren, and Ariel was bound to the forest. Instead she imprisoned the Elder, and the Dryads who had followed him, in the Wildwood — the dark southwestern corner of Athel Loren where no Elves dwelt. The Wildwood was then encircled with waystones, and Coeddil was abandoned amongst the shadow-glades to brood upon his betrayal.

Since that day, no Elf has set foot in Coeddil’s prison, for to do so is to walk with death as their only companion. Coeddil may silently contemplate his fate, but his handmaidens have been driven mad by their exile, and resdessly stalk the glades with cruel desires in their hearts.

Goverment
The Realm of Athel Loren is not actually a single nation in its strictest sense, but rather consist of a conclave of smaller semi-independent kingdoms known as the High Realms. Each High Realm is tied together by mutual kinship and their loyalty to the forest and their demi-god rulers; Orion and Ariel. Some realms are permanently locked in time, and only ever experience a single season as the years pass. Others dwell eternally under the night, or in the glory of the noon-day sun. Scattered throughout the glades of these realms are the magical halls of the lords and ladies, their mighty entrance doors woven from the trunks of ancient trees or delved into the hillside. They are hidden to those the Elves do not welcome, and many an interloper has passed within a few paces of such a portal without knowing it was there.

Those who enter through one of these strange gateways find themselves in a series of grand, beautiful caverns deep below the tree or hill. Roots can be seen far above, curving down from the roof of the hall to form elegant, interweaving pillars set with silver and gemstones. Everywhere there is ghostly music, soft glowing light and laughter that sounds like the wind blowing through autumnal trees. It is in these halls that the Wood Elves feast and celebrate the natural cycles o f the forest, holding grand banquets of woodland game and free-flowing, intoxicating Elven wines. Children taken from the lands around the forest, destined never to grow old, joyfully serve their graceful Elven masters. The halls are alive with wild dancing, lilting laughter and melodic music. It is not unheard of for outsiders, such as Bretonnian questing knights, to on occasion join an Elven feast, but it is a foolish individual indeed that would eat or drink the foodstuffs of the Elves without invitation.

High Realms

 * Talsyn  - Talsyn is the largest and most propserous of all Athel Loren's high realms, and its warriors have ever formed the backbone of its armies. It is upon this realm that the King's Glade and the Oak of Ages currently lie, thus the Realm has also been known to be called the Groves of Eternity.
 * Arranoc  - Arranoc is a kingdom known to be encased in eternal summer, with brilliant sunshine being shonned all year round, even when the rest of the world is blanketed by darkness. Those outsiders that wander into this paradise are glutted with pleasure before they are given up as sacrifice upon the Vaults of Winters.
 * Argwylon  - Argwylon is a land of light and wonder, where the rivers are alive with naiads, and the waterfalls sing with ghostly voices. This is a realm of mages and magic, of daily deeds that would be thought miraculous in other corners of the forest.
 * Modryn  - Modryn is a land that lies forever in shadow. Sunlight never reaches these glades, and the only light is that emitted are the flickering spite-creatures that quarrel and frolic as they flit through the upper branches of the trees. Shaped by the perpetual gloom, the Elves and spirits of the Night Glens are spiteful even by the standards of Athel Loren. They practice magics and customs that are forbidden in other realms, andworship gods most other Wood Elves shun.
 * Cavaroc  - Cavaroc, also known as Skymark is the land of the meadow glades, the sparsely-wooded grasslands that lie on Athel Loren's southern border. The Elves of Cavaroc are horsemasters as fine as any in the world, and the first to march when the war-horns are sounded.
 * Atylwyth  - Atylwyth is a realm locked in the icy embrace of winter; its boughs are ever covered in a thick rime of frost, its glades always heavy with snow. Pale statues line every path, and mark the entrance to every hall. Some of these works are exquisite ice sculptures, shaped by an artisan’s patient touch. Others are frost-caged mischievous naiads or spiteful kelpies, imprisoned by Elven magics in punishment for past misdeeds or to prevent future ones. These statues flow and reform when the eye does not rest upon them, the creatures inside ever seeking to escape.
 * Cythral  - Cythral is known as the Wildwoods, a place where the forest has rejected the presence of the Wood Elves unto this very day, and thus is not considered a true High Realm in its own right. Instead, the Wood Elves living here are tasked with maintaining the waystones that traps the foul spirits that still lay untamed within the forest.
 * Wydrioth  - Wydrioth, known as the Pine Crags is an embattled region, ever beset by the Dwarfs and greenskins of the Grey Mountains. From the outside, its steep slopes appear to be no more defensible than any other part of Athel Loren. It is only when an invader is drawn beneath the eaves that he discovers that the Pine Crags is in fact a sprawling fortress.
 * Fyr Darric - Fyr Darric is Loec the Trickster’s holy ground within Athel Loren, the site of many shrines to his anarchic glory. Here too can be found the Feast Halls of the Wardance — the closest thing that the nomadic Wardancers of Athel Loren have to a home. As a result, the glades of Fyr Darric always resound to the sound of laughter, though much of it is mean-spirited. Every deception requires a victim, and the consequences can range from wounded pride to a slow death.
 * Torgovann  - Torgovann, also known as the Forge of Starlight is the domain of makers and craftsmen, o f the artisans and smiths who create all Athel Loren’s many tools of wonder and war. In the very centre of the realm lies Vaul’s Anvil, the shrine to the Maker God, and every night, the beech trees of that glade bask in the light and warmth of the mighty forge-temple. Inevitably, the rippling heat from Vaul’s Anvil draws forest spirits from the nearby groves, who watch the striking of hammer upon anvil with childlike fascination. Such creatures love the flame for the warmth and life it gives, but are also wary of it for the harm it can wreak if left untended.
 * Anmyr  - Anmyr is a realm in desperate decline. Many years ago, the foul beast Morghur was slain in the heart of the region, and his blood corrupted the land for many leagues around. Indeed, Addaivoch, the mighty elm that once served as the halls of Anmyr’s rulers, was reduced to a blighted and atrophied husk during that battle, and its shadow falls now only on barren and lifeless soil.
 * Tirsyth  - Tirstyh is a High Realm encased in eternal autumn, where the land itself appears to be on the very verge of death but continues on living for thousands of years. It is a sombre place, and is filled with Wood Elves that have a high respect for the end of life, erecting statues to commorate the long deceased.

Society
The Wood Elves, or the Asrai as they are named in some tales, are but one of three Elven races. Like the others, they sprang from the cradle of Ulthuan. Unlike the others, they did so before acts of jealousy and spite shattered that great nation and its traditions. For this reason, the Wood Elves hold themselves to be the only true Elves left in the world, for only they embrace the whole of their nature. The folk of Athel Loren are unburdened by ritual sanctimony and therefore capable of great extremes of thought and deed.

They are at once capricious and generous, malicious and caring, servants of both the dark and the light. The folk of Athel Loren know it is folly to claim guardianship o f the entire world, and that it is only arrogance that drives their cousins to make the attempt. Just as the Wood Elves see the princes of Ulthuan as inflexible and prideful, they perceive the Naggarothi as wild and impetuous children, lashing out at a world that has most bitterly wronged them.

For much of the Wood Elves’ existence, they spared little thought for the outside world unless it began to encroach on their daily lives. Indeed, only the very youngest and oldest paid it any heed. The youngest did so because they yearned for an adventure that could not be found within the forest’s bounds, the oldest because they had been taught too many times that Athel Loren was not so removed from the circles of the world as they m ight have wished. Yet, little by little, the Wood Elves have come to realize that the fate of other realms is theirs also.

There are rumblings of a doom that will see the world torn asunder, and the sanctity of Athel Loren forever lost. Such is a fate fit to shake even the Wood Elves from their millennia of isolation. Guided by prophecy and the wisdom of Ariel, their immortal Mage Queen, the Wood Elves seek to prevent the oncoming disaster from claiming their forest home. Now, their hosts march with a purpose not seen for millennia. They know Athel Loren will not survive the coming disaster unscathed, and if the price o f saving their beloved home is the preservation o f other realms, then so be it.

Appearance
The Wood Elves as a whole physically resemble very much like their High Elven brethrens, whom they are descended and related by blood and kinship. As such, they are typically tall and lithe in body, and are elegant and graceful in movement as well as being quick and agile. After splitting off from Ulthuan, the Wood Elves had to adapt to a new life within the forest, living and roaming among the trees in search of game and edible vegetation. Nevertheless, different societies of Wood Elves within the Forest of Athel Loren also have their own distinct appearance, with some resembling close in appearance to the High Elves while others appear more savage and feral.

Unlike their fellow brethrens to the west, the attitude of the Wood Elves are in stark contrast to the arrogant nature of the High Elves and Dark Elves. They are a humble people, more interesting in being left alone in their forest than anything else. They don't preach their superiority over all the races within the Old World, but rather reserve an air of suspicion. They broke little trust with those that live beyond the borders of their realms, and only take action should the fate of their forest come under threat.

No matter what they might like to think, Elves are not immune to the influence o f Chaos; they are untouched by physical mutation, but the power of the Dark Gods has seeped into their souls. Here it fans an arrogance that was legendary even in ancient times. The unconditional compassion that was once the Elves’ defining trait has long since been extinguished, replaced by a belief in their own preeminence that knows no denial.

This arrogance has manifested differently amongst the Elven races. It has remade the Dark Elves as selfish despoilers of a world they see fit only for their pleasure. The High Elves it has made stubborn and conceited, the self-appointed protectors of a realm whose fate lies far beyond their control. Only the Wood Elves reject the lure of bending other lands to their will, for in them, the influence of Chaos has awakened only distrust and isolationism. The folk of Athel Loren crave nothing so much as to be left alone, to tend the groves of their woodland home in peace. Only on those occasions where the fate of the wider world threatens Athel Loren do they even notice the lands beyond the forest’s eaves.

Language
Elves are subtle creatures at heart, and live in the details of thought and deed that lesser creatures seldom notice. They live for intrigue and find joy in a clever tongue wielded by an accomplished mind. The speech of a Wood Elf is particularly incomprehensible to an outsider. This is not because the words themselves make little sense, but because there are always at least two possible interpretations of the intended meaning. In this way, a promise of assistance can sound disturbingly like a threat, and a death sentence like an offer of clemency. In this way does the speech of the Wood Elves reflect their complicated relationship with the world. Until backed up with deeds, words are just empty prophecies that speak to possible outcome; sometimes, even the Wood Elves do not know what they intend until the moment of action.

Military
The Wood Elves consider themselves to be eternally at war, for their forest home is surrounded on all sides by enemies who seek to do it harm. There is no peace, just moments of silence between the clamour of battles. When the invaders inevitably return, then do the lords and ladies marshal their great hosts, and mighty Orion summons forth the Wild Hunt. Each battle they fight, whether upon the borders of their own realm or in the lands beyond, serves to protect Athel Loren and preserve the balance of the Weave upon which all living things depend.

The humans see the forest as a brooding and malicious foe. Dwarfs see Athel Loren’s boughs as a resource to be harvested and put to work as fuel for their great warmachines. Reckless wizards too see the forest as a wellspring of fuel, but it is not timber they crave, but the magical essence which gives fife to the trees and vigor to those that live within the forest’s bounds. Then there are those that seek to topple the trees and defile the ground for no other reason than to cause destruction.

Thus does the host of Athel Loren march to war, hidden by skeins of sorcerous mist. The battle starts with a single arrow, fired by the greatest marksman in the host and aimed at the enemy warlord’s heart. This signal given, Glade Guard and Waywatchers emerge from concealment and blacken the skies with their own volleys, each shot guided by an instinct beyond human comprehension. Only then do the hunting horns sound, loosing the Wood Elves to the fray.

The demigod Orion, who dies in flame each year only to be born anew in the spring, leads the charge, scattering enemies with every thrust of his mighty spear. W ild Riders gallop in his wake, their furious steeds trampling any who survive the riders’ onset. Wardancers dart and spiral through their bewildered opponents, their every cut and parry an act of worship to their trickster god. Eternal Guard and Wildwood Rangers advance next, blades blurring as they strike. And the Elves do not fight alone, for they are joined by the spirits of the forest. Lithe Dryads rip through their foes, their quicksilver forms given purpose by the seething malice in their thorny hearts. Colossal Treemen smash through the enemy fines, their gnarled fists pulverising all in their path. Overseeing these battles are the Spellweavers of Athel Loren, who direct both dark and fight magics to wherever they are needed, bringing balms to wounded allies, and blasting enemies apart with searing bolts of the blackest magic.

Wood Elf Infantry

 * Glade Guard - Renowned for their impressive longbows, the Glade Guard are skilled bowmen whose understanding of the woods allows them to move seemingly unhindered through thick brush and dense undergrowth. Both Scout and Glade Guard are best suited to ranged combat. Storywise they are feared throughout the whole world for the deadlyness of their archery and rightly so.
 * Deepwood Scouts - Deepwood Scouts hold the responsibility of patrolling those areas of the forest deemed too dangerous for Glade Guard to enter. To tread such paths, an Elf must be invisible not only to a predator’s sight, but to his other senses also - no easy matter when contending with otherworldly creatures to whom an Elf’s soul manifests as a brightly burning light.
 * Wildwood Rangers - Wildwood Rangers are those Elves that have suffered a great tragedy by the hands of those entities that live within the Wildwoods, and have thusly dedicated their lives in patrolling that cursed grounds.
 * Eternal Guard - Using a unique fighting form with deadly swordstaff called saearath, Eternal Guard will solidly stand against any who threaten Athel Loren. Eternal Guard are frequently utilised as bodyguards for Highborn and Noble Elves. They are the only ones standing between the enemy and the destruction of the forest during winter time. During other seasons they have mostly ceremonial roles and of course, the right hand of the royals.
 * Waywatchers - Waywatchers are elite scouts/rangers that have honed their skills to a point where they can remain concealed and unmoving for days on end and then let loose a volley of arrows instantly and with deadly precision, without the foe ever seeing their attackers. They are the best non-hero archers in the game and use similar tactics to scouts. They can pierce armour and even slay the most powerful heroes with just a single shot.
 * Wardancers - Wardancers are the elven equivalent of berserkers—they have no armor, move fluidly, weave 'dances of death' around their opponents, and are immune to psychological effects such as fear and terror. In Wood Elf folklore, Wardancers are treated with the utmost respect. Wardancer Kindreds are known for dancing at great feasts and banquets.

Wood Elf Cavalry

 * Glade Riders - Forming a friendship of trust and understanding with their horses, Glade Riders move swiftly through the forest branches to bring their deadly bows to bear on the less mobile intruders. Glade Riders are capable of both ranged combat and close combat, though it is often better for them to weaken a target for another unit to better assault. They often provide a curtain force on the front ranks, to delay and channel the intruder into a prepared devastating attack by wardancers, dryads, treekin and treemen.
 * Sisters of the Thorn - The Sisters of the Thorn are Ariel’s handmaidens. In many ways, they are equal and opposite to the Wild Riders of Kurnous, a sisterhood pledged to sorcery and subtlety where Orion’s equerries know loyalty only to the glory of the hunt. Where the W ild Riders are borne into batde on steeds as reckless as they, the Sisters ride upon Steeds of Isha — mounts whose viciousness lies hidden beneath a graceful aspect.
 * Wild Riders - The Wild Riders of Kurnous are Orion’s personal guard, each as aggressive and impulsive as he. They are fey and dangerous creatures who are no longer truly the Elves they once were. Now and forever they are a part of the Wild Hunt’s eternal glory.
 * Warhawk Riders - Warhawk Riders are light, flying units used mostly for march-blocking and hit-and-run tactics. They are highly skilled elves riding agile, giant hawks, and resemble a sort of aerial cavalry.

Wood Elf Warbeast

 * Great Stag - No beast in all of Athel Loren is treasured more than the Great Stag, a creature that the Wood Elves revere as representing the true soul o f the forest. Wherever the truth of their nature lies, the Great Stags are unquestionably magical creatures, though they are undoubtedly of a nobler cast than Unicorns.
 * Unicorn - The Unicorn is an innately magical creatures that serve as either warbeasts or mounts for the Wood Elven hosts. They are magical creatures and thus are attracted to female Spellweavers like moths to a flame.
 * Great Eagle - A Great Eagle is just that — an eagle of epic proportions. They live in the Grey Mountains, or on the very hightest treetops of Athel Loren and have a special connection with elves. Wood elves use eagles as deadly flying monsters. Some heroes of the Wood Elf race are even known to ride them to battle.
 * Dryads - Forest spirits that are the embodiment of nature's duality: Beauty and Ferocity. Dryads will lure intruders off roads and trails, then let their sharp branches and thorns teach the intruder the folly of tresspassing in Athel Loren. Dryads are some of the most capable assault troops in the Wood Elf host, being fast, strong, tough, fear causing and nigh unstoppable.
 * Tree Kin - Tree Kin is the name given to the spirits of Athel Loren that bond themselves with dead trees to create an abominable, moving tree monster. They are, in essence, lesser forms of Treemen. Tree Kin tactics closely resemble that of other monsters its size, like a Troll. They are great monsters that induce fear.
 * Treemen - Treemen are the most powerful spirits in Athel Loren. They, unlike Tree Kin, are permanently bound to a living tree, making a connection that only death can sever. Also, Treemen are ancient beings -some are old beyond mortal reckoning- of gigantic size and have many abilities that Tree Kin do not. One example is the mystical power of tree-singing, which can enable trees to walk or attack nearby enemies.
 * Forest Dragons - Forest Dragons are mighty serpentine beasts that dwell within the enchanted woodlands of Athel Loren. Protected by the forest canopy and shielded from the attentions of young heroes seeking to make names for themselves by the sheer rock faces of the chasms, these Forest Dragons thrived and multiplied.

Lords

 * Highborn - Highborns are the upper, ruling class of Elven society. They lead the Wood Elves in time of peace, and it is expected of them to be equally capable generals in times of war. They are far more skilled then the average elven foot troop. Highborns (and nobles) can take up special areas of training (called kindreds), which give them various skills and abilities. Most notably, the kindreds include the "Alters," who are characters that have been changed by the forest. They take on the aspects of the creatures of the forest, through which they move as rapidly as cavalry, and when they come upon the intruder they visit it with a torrent of attacks.
 * Spellweaver - The Lord-level Mage is similar to mages in every other army, though she (female mages are far more attuned to Isha than males are) is limited to choosing spells from the Lore of Life, the Lore of Beasts, or the Wood Elf-specific Lore of Antel Loren- a set of magical skills which allow Spellweaver and Spellsingers to communicate with the forest for a variety of offensive and defensive benefits.
 * Treeman Ancient - Treeman Ancients are the oldest and wisest of the treemen that live in Anthel Loren. They are just as large and strong as their brethren, but their knowledge of the past and workings of the Forest give the abilities much stronger than those of the average treeman.

Heroes

 * Shadowdancers  - Shadowdancers are the closest thing that the Trickster God has to a priesthood, and they are both respected and feared as a result. They, and only they, know all the paths through Athel Loren — indeed, it is said that they tread the paths of the Dream ing Wood as surely as they do the mortal world.
 * Waystalkers - Waystalkers’ personalities have become entirely submerged by their obsession with stalking prey. They are taciturn and solitary individuals, and they may let years pass between visits to Wood Elf halls. Waystalkers are perfectly at ease within their forest homeland and effortlessly survive by their wits and cunning in the wilds.

Notable Characters

 * Orion, King of the Woods - The immortal Consort King of Athel Loren, Orion is the rampaging avatar of the elf god Kurnous. He is a terrifying sight to behold, standing over ten feet tall and his green skin ripples with muscle. Although he must die each winter, he is reborn each spring, and reaches the peak of his power in mid-summer. Such is the way of things, the "continuation of the never-ending process of death and rebirth". Orion is normally accompanied by his baying hounds and the Wild Riders of Kurnous. Orion counts as both a Lord and a Hero choice. At the height of his power in midsummer, Orion is a terrifying being of majesty and power. And his lithe, green-tinged body ripples with barely contained anger. As the moons align overhead on midsummer's eve, a beautiful cloak crafted by his Queen is draped over his shoulders, and the great horn of the Wild Hunt is placed reverently before him. As the time of the conjunction draws near, he takes up his weapons from their shrine within the Oak of Ages. At midnight, Athel Loren goes utterly silent – not a creature stirs – for all know that the ride of the Wild Hunt has come.
 * Drycha - Drycha is the most powerful Branchwraith in Athel Loren. The Asrai believe she was driven mad when the blood of the powerful beastman Morghur was spilled in her glade, though in truth, she was malevolent and capricious long before that. She hates all who enter into Athel Loren, and blames the Wood Elves for all the evils that threaten the enchanted forest. In recent years, she and the forest creatures that serve her have taken to attacking villages around Athel Loren, leaving no survivors and showing no mercy. Drycha is believed to have entered the service of Coeddil, a tree-man whose hatred of the Asrai is legendary, and it is rumoured that she is forming a resistance to exterminate the Asrai. She counts as a lord choice and any army led by Drycha may only contain "Forest spirits" (refer to the Wood Elves army book).


 * Naestra and Arahan, the Sisters of Twilight - The Sister-Twins of Athel Loren are a mysterious pair who occupy the alpine slopes of the Pine Crags. The story of their existence has been retold throughout the ages by the wardancers. They tell that a small Asrai child, Naestarahan, was lured into the woods by glowing farie lights to a place where even the Waywatchers feared to tread. There she was split into two halves: identical in looks, save that one has hair as dark as night and the other has hair of the purest white. Both command the forest: Naestra, out of love, Arahan, out of fear. As long as one endures, both will endure. They always ride to battle either Ceithin-Har a forest dragon, or Gwindalor, a Great Eagle. Both sisters take up a single lord choice, while Ceithin-Har takes up an additional hero choice.


 * Scarloc - Scarloc is a champion to the Asrai. He is known for his skill with the bow and his stealthy abilities. He is also the leader of the masterful scouts. In Imperial year 2007 he and his scouts slew Morghur, or Cyanathair, Child of Chaos, by piercing him with a hundred arrows.


 * Ariel, Queen in the Woods - The opposite of Orion, she is the incarnation of Isha and represents the very nature of Athel Loren itself. She takes the form of a beautiful maiden with the wings of butterfly. Ariel is the most powerful spellcaster available to a Wood Elves army.


 * Durthu - One of the eldest of the Treemen Ancients, he suffered at the hands of many races trying to desecrate the forest (particularly the Dwarves, who left him scarred beyond recognition). As such he now hates all races, and only has limited trust of the Wood Elves

Source

 * Warhammer Armies: Wood Elves (8th Edition)
 * pg. 5
 * pg. 6
 * pg. 7
 * pg. 9
 * pg. 10
 * pg. 11
 * pg. 12
 * pg. 13
 * pg. 15 - 27
 * pg. 35
 * Knights of the Grail (8th Edition)
 * pg. 42

Elfos Silvanos

[[Category:W]]