Elves vs Goblins: 55-63

Vengeful, spiteful and capricious, the forest spirits witness the suffering and sacrifice of the daughters of Loren with something akin to satisfaction. The pain and fear of flesh and blood is as nothing to beings so ancient and primal, who have witnessed the endless struggles of predator and prey since the dawn of time. All that matters to them is that each surrendered life, each willing or unwilling death, goes some little way towards assuaging the pain and hurt done to the forest by Goblin axes.

Eiluned and Gwenllian, Haeledd and Hafren, Eiddwen and Tonwen, Ceridwen and Blodwyn lie in the mud of the cleared forest floor, their blood, their pain and their immortal lives offered up in honour of an ancient bargain made long before their birth.

Long, long ago, before things like Goblins came into the world, the hubris of the immortal Elves wrought ruin on the young earth. The magical cataclysm their arrogant mages called down upon themselves sundered the lands and brought forth all manner of abominations and disasters, almost annihilating the Elven empire in the process. In the great Elven capital, the mightiest of the Elven mages erected a barrier, shielding the seat of Elven power from harm and protecting those within. But not all of Elven-kind were able, invited or willing to shelter within.

Some chose to hide underground- the so-called Deep Elves; the Dark Kin. They made pacts with the evil things they found in the darkness, to maintain their grip on immortality. Others- the Sylvan Elves- had already chosen to wander the wild spaces of the world, forsaking the pride and grandeur of the Elven courts for the verdant majesty of the great forest. They made their own bargains, entwining the fate of their people with that of the forest. Where their High-born kin drew their power from pure magic and the dark ones consorted with demons, the Sylvan Elves swore to become the fearless, tireless protectors of the great forest, in exchange for a measure of its immortal power. One with the forest, they would be bound to its pitiless imperatives of winter and summer; predator and prey; life and death.

The bargain has stood the test of centuries, and its currency is blood.

All this is foremost in the mind of the Lady of the Glade as she raises her arm to signal her warriors. The debt is as yet unpaid. The Goblin cancer is yet un-purged. More must be done.

More must be given.