There are heroes in the seaweed...
Before the Edge Landers, the people at the furthest reaches of the world were the elves. An ancient and nigh-immortal race, the elves were born in the crushing depths of the sea, birthed in the stunning, shuddering coral reefs. They gestated in the dark and then burst forth into the light, bringing all the colour of the rainbow with them.
Elves are savage and serious in war and sport, mercurial and ecstatic in all else. They build little, instead growing their living weaponry along the coral reefs. They armour themselves in bark and shark skin, stringing teeth and pearls around their necks for jewellery. Their hair and skin are shocking canvases, their clear bronzed skin sprayed with splashes of vivid colour, shards of coral and sea weed growing from their scalps.
For millennia the elves of the Far Flung Islands have lived their simple and inhuman lives. They see the younger races as tormented creatures, chasing obsessions of such crippling grandeur that they cannot hope to achieve them within their minuscule life spans. Elves are creatures of passion and nothing else. For creatures of such lengthy existence they are insanely near sighted. They experience life as a series of barely connected events, tied together only by the cosmic bonds of their own personality and whims.
The elves are loathe to go more than a day from the sea, and it is a rare creature who will sail away from their coral reef birthplaces. They call up elaborate castles of glass and sand along the coasts of their island strongholds, dancing around great fires at night and striking out into the crystal seas come sunrise in search of prey.
|Homes of sand and glass|
Elves are known for monstrous cruelty. Before the Edge Landers carved a path through their ancestral homelands, the elves might as well have been the edge of the world for all that it mattered to the younger races. Elves rarely leave the islands but when they come en-mass it is almost always for war. The creatures might remember a slight hundreds of years old and muster for revenge, mounting up in great war parties that will strike out across the ocean in an orgy of torture and murder, utterly oblivious to the fact that the objects of their sudden anger are centuries buried.