There can be found in a distant valley, hidden far from the well worn trails of civilization a race of elves who are shunned by all others of their kin. Disowned by all that makes an elf true to himself and his nature, they are the Valley Elves. There story is an enigma that none have ever been able to decipher, a riddle locked away from the first times whose key must have rusted into dust mingled with the sands of time. But even in this shroud of unknowns, there are rumors and guesses built upon whispers and speculation. What follows is a small portion of the dreams that envelop these mysterious elves.

       There are myths only hinted at by the most ancient of legends that a great war was waged in the lands east of the Crystalmist Mountains before the coming of men. This war was bloodier and more violent than any dreamt of by human tyrants, and lasted longer than the Great Kingdom's Rax dynasty. Assassination plots, blackest treachery, murderous sabotage, sundered cities, there were few tactics the two warring factions were unwilling to try on one another. This war, despite its scope was focused only on a single race, the elves.

       Few fragments can be found that provide any information from that long ago time, and what little there is does not provide any background for what led to the war. All that is known is that there was a sect that turned to evil. Why is unknown; but they chose to weave a great web of lies, ensaring their brethren in false feuds that were designed to weaken the rival woodland realms. Its uncertain how long the deceits were accepted as truths or how many elves lost their lives to reclaim the honor stolen by falsehoods. In the end though, the truth was revealed and the elves of good called

for a reckoning. The dark-hearted elves, their numbers flush with refugees from the clan-wars who could no longer see anything but vengence, challenged the other elves for dominion of all they possessed, including their souls. The evil in them had grow to the point that they cast off the Seladrine and declared their own profane godlings to be the new Celestial Court. With the the heavens aligned into two opposing factions where only one could survive, war was all that was left for them.

       The Seladrine called on all elves of good concsious to wipe the evils from the surface of the world. For it was well known that denying an elf the sun and stars along with the forest and field would be a death sentence. Those who repented their crimes and accepted what justice was deemed appropriate were spared, the rest driven into the shadows of the earth. The battles were long, the years past by, but elves are a patient race. Slowly, as more of the dark-hearted fell, and fewer could be turned from the banner of good, the evil that had infected the Flanaess began to lose ground. They were not without some success though. It is thought that one of the victories of the dark elves was the banishing of one tribe to the seas. Another was the splintering of the deepwoodland elves. Some driven so far back that to this day they fear a return to the world.

       Still, there exists one scrap of a legend carved by primitive men on crumbling stone that speak of an elven tribe that in their hour of greatest peril turned to a primordial power that exists beyond the known worlds of the universe for protection and shelter from the war. These elves, safe in their mountainous retreats sought to avoid the trials of war all together. It was thought that by denying the call of the Seladrine they had angered their elven gods. Such was the wrath of Corellion at the time that he cast out this tribe of elves out of his shrines and sanctuaries. All their clerics were stripped of power and title.

       They had become godless and homeless all at once; renounced by their creators and hated by their brethren. Those of good for not following the helping bring an end to war, those of evil for become slaves to an unknown lie.

       Most claimed that the elves of evil devoured them, but the songs of the eldest treants tell a different story. The Power that had been tapped into from beyond the veils of mortal reality led them away from the wars. Some say the elf-king took with him all that they had learned and mastered, refusing the world the gifts his people had brought, and as they turned their backs on their lost homes, so to did they turn their backs on the mystical essence that was Faerie. Walking into the mists, they were thought never to be seen again.

       It is said that in the end, the elves of purity drove out all the evil that they had possessed. The stain of dark elves was washed away by the sands of time so that their corruption no longer touched the waking the world. A disease stamped out by the righteous. While the elves who refused to fight were cast off as rubish not be be seen again. Or so the proper elves would have all believe.

       Gnome traders have wandered the trails and rivers of the Flanaess since before the rise of men. They have bartered with dwarves, elves, halflings, and humans for as long as could be recounted. Long ago there was a great gnome caravan that traveled the shadowed edges of the Dim Forest trading with the secluded villages of humans and tall-fellow halflings that lived in the region. During their trip through the darkest part of the forest a band of orcs attacked the wagon train. The gnomes fought well, but were simply no match for the numbers and ferocity of the enemy. With wagons and goods scattered and the orcs hunting down survivors to use as extra meat, it was only the quick thinking of the caravan's master that saved most of the gnomes.

       Instead of leading his people back down the trail the orcs knew all too well, the master chose the river's edge, going deeper into the forests and shadow of the mountain peaks than the orcs seemed willing to. Their flight lasted a day and a night, and less than a fifty gnomes survived the arduous run. Orcs were their pursuers at first, then late in the night dark beasts and monsters from the shadow. The remaining gnomes finally broke out of the forest darkness and collapsed into the sheltered grasses of a well concealed valley. The old master had heard tales of the dread valley so well hidden by the steep mountains surrounding it. Now though, it didn't seem so bad.

       As the gnomes took stock of their situation, no provisions, no pack animals, no trade goods, it didn't look so pleasant for them. But they were still alive and that was a start. The small group of weary travelers set up a crude camp and went about gathering what they could to keep themselves warm and not too hungry. While foraging for food the gnomes were approached by a tall slender elf. If not for the height they would have mistaken him for one of the grey breed. After only a few minutes discussion the elf offered to show the gnomes the way to his town so that the gnomes might have a bit of sup and a soft bed to sleep upon.

       The gnomes met with the king of these strange elves and heard a most peculiar, if vague, story. The elves said they had traveled to the secluded realm under the guidance of their immortal protector. Here they built new homes, studied the ways of the world beyond the limited gifts offered by Faerie; these taller elves even learned to farm after the fashion of men, while becoming adept at breeding domestic animals. Nature in and of itself was no longer something to be held in reverence, but instead a useful tool for survival. This expanding knowledge combined with the transcendent gifts bestowed upon the king of the valley granted all that lived here security.

       The gnomes stayed in the valley until the following spring, when under much merriment and celebration they were sent on their way with pack beasts loaded with provisions and trade goods taken out of the valley on behalf of the elves. A new market had been opened for the small traders. The success of the rare goods drew more gnomes into the valley. The festivals of trade continued, and when orcs would rampage through the settled lands, the gnomes traders would seek out the valley for sanctuary. It was barely two centuries before permanent gnome hamlets were built with their small burrowed homes and shallow roads tracing about their portion of the valley.

       To honor their host, the gnome clansmen swore allegiance to the elves and offered a yearly tribute to honor their protector and king. Thus was born the Kingdom of the Vale.

       Never had there been such surprise as when the King of the Valley road up to city gates of Gorna and asked to speak to the Grand Duke. It was not known if the elven king had ever actually left his secluded realm, and he had never traveled to visit another sovereign. The regent of Geoff ordered they distant ally be let in immediately along with his full host of 400 elves. If the mysterious elves of the valley came to see him, then they would. It is not known what was shared between the two rulers as during their private talks. The elven king stayed but a single night. The following dawn saw all the elves dressed and ready for travel. Before the royal elf took his leave of the human court he ordered a great oaken chest and a vast collection of scrolls to be left with the human lord. The elf then called over to the human whom he could easily look in the eye and shared one last private word with him. Then mounting his magnificent grey steed, the lord led his followers out of the city and south into the Crystalmist, passing from the site of men one final time.

       Little was known to be shared by the elves who came with their king save the group's composition. It was made up of his family, honor guard, and personal retainers. The whole of the elven royal house had departed. Still, even in rumor can certain bits of knowledge be gleaned. For keoland brandy has a way of prying away secrets that no interegator could ever hope to trap. The elf spoke of fears and whispers, that their patron had not shared his whole truth with them, that elves were becoming dependent on the will of the valley just to sustain themselves. When the king ordered that they leave for a time to focus themselves on their own path again, his own subjects refused. The drunken elf couldn't fully understand his lords claims though, as the drunkard's own brother had journeyed all the way to Greyhawk and the Wild Coast, albeit disguised as a human minstrel and felt no ill will aside from loneliness for his kinsmen. Still the lord's word was law to this elf and he would go wherever the king decreed. Even back into the beginning. There was more, but mostly just drunken rambling about hidden curses and fallen temples. Nothing that a proper fellow could take seriously.

       It didn't take long for the realization to spread that there was now a secluded valley full of near mythic wealth with no central ruler and little in the way of an armed force to defend against outsiders. Less than a decade had passed before a half-dozen warlords and mercenary despots had tried to force their way into the remote land. All had failed. Stories soon circulated of powerful monsters and night-terrors that come out after the sun has set to devour any that would intrude in their dark portion of the forest. It was unknown to the men if the beasts were left as guardians by the king or had begun to multiply in his absence, but it was certain that no ordinary force of men would gain easy entry into the elf-land. The robber-barons turned back to easier lands or petty keeps yet again and left the elves to their own ways. The valley's peacefrom the outside world was preserved.

       Just over sixty years ago a powerful aerdi mage entered the valley and offered his own version of protection to its inhabitants. There is no certain reason for why the elves accepted the human overlord as their new sovereign. It could have been because of the growing number of monsters entering the valley and devouring the passive native populace. Others say that it was a deep sense of fear and panic still felt by the apparent abandonment of their old king. Mayhaps the wizards mystical powers were simply so great that he simply enthralled the entire valley with one all-powerful charm. What is certain is that they accepted him as their one true ruler and now refer to their home as the Valley of the Mage.

       With all the events that have transpired around the Greyhawk Wars, all the deeds of heroism and villainy carried out by its great players, the valley had remained strangely quiet. Save for one brief assault by giants, the valley had remained isolated under their dark wizard's rule. Stories now circulate that the human recently seen claiming to be the Black One is not the powerful arch-wizard Krimeeah, but a potent necromancer who had fled Bissel a decade ago. Also, a lone valley elf spy that had been captured by Furyondy during the war claimed to serve a dark elf enchantress who served as steward and lover to their quasi-immortal lord. A score of other elves had been found in various parts of the Flanaess skulking about on the wizard's business, but they revealed nothing of the workings within their valley. Most simply withered under their imprisonment until they died a shadow of their former self. The few who didn't took vows of silence and now refuse to speak to anyone.

       In the abscence of hard facts rumors have begun to run rampant about the valley. Brave woodsmen of the forest claim that the valley has recently fallen into a perpetual twilight where the sun never fully sets and never fully rises. Others say that the elf-king has returned and now wages a harsh war of magic against the Black One somewhere deep in the ether for control of the valley. An astrologer from Rel Astra has gone so far as to say that a conduit between the half-fantasy Plane of Shadow and the valley has been opened by the Krimeeah who plans to use its essence to transcend his mortal longevity. The crown of Ahlissa has even begun to eye the mage of the valley as rumors that Ivid himself was focused on that wizard prior to his last descent into madness.

       What is known is that the Circle of Eight has a deep interest in what is transpiring within those sheltering mountain walls and that no amount of scrying into the valley has been successful. The secrets of the valley grow in value with each passing season, but the elves that once considered it their rightful lands let none slip into the light of day.

 


   

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