The forests of Midorian were peaceful and tranquil as always, there wasn't one thing that dared to disturb the peace. For if it did, the offending person(s) or things were quickly silenced, and peace was restored as quickly and as quietly as possible.
Elves are not short, plump, contented workers at the North Pole, nay, they are quite tall, all around 6 feet tall, thin, they are vegetairans, for the most part, and are very, very athletic. One elf, it has been fabled, was chalenged by a dwarf who was full of himself and though he could beat the elf on his own turf. There was no Tortise and the Hare, the elf beat the dwarf outright, and disappeared before the dwarf could utter a single slander at him, or her the story doesn't tell which.
These skills help elves in combat as well. Their blades and armor are made to be light in weight and thin in width. Normally any equipment made with these standards would break the first time anything struck them, but the elves have an ace in the hole that they turn to when forging the equipment: Magic. Magic which imbues the steel with certain powers, no mortal knows, that keep the edges sharp and the armor thick.
As such, the elves, when confronted, are a quick, nasty foe that if you don't land the first strike upon them, you have almost given up the battle, and possibly your life.
Thankfully the Woods haven't been tread upon by any evil. The Darkness seems to come towards the forest, only to shirk away as if some sort of invisible power tosses it back. Some say it's magic that holds it back, some say it's the pureness of the elven race.
But whatever it is, it's leaving, and it's doing it fast.