The Elves linger in their shady adobes under the canopy of the northern forests, the wood tied with enchantments and thich with magic, throbbing with life and danger.
In their early beginnings, they were a weak and fragile race, lacking in any sort magic. They lived with the trees, under the silver starlight. The great dragon, Endilen'shen changed the history of all races to follow him, lingering with the budding race, and teaching them the words of magic, the Dragon's ancient language. Endilen'shen was the last dragon, with the eggs of the Wyrms still laying vacant in the spine of the world, and the last carrier of the ancient tongue.
By proper use of the dragon's language, they were a changed race. Near immortality came upon them, beauty came to their features, strength to their slender limbs, and magic throbbing in their veins.
And the Elves changed the environment about them. They helped the trees grow to unheard of sizes, and strange beasts flourished in their wood, making it amoung the most dangerous of places in the world as well as one of the most beautiful.