Wardancers burst forth from the leafy shade during a swift, deadly ambush.

The oldest of all the forests of the Old World, its most ancient trees having grown from saplings seeded by the Old Ones’ servants, Athel Loren is a mystical place whose shadow stretches far across the land. Whether it was the Old Ones that granted strange life to these woods, or perhaps the coming of Chaos that awoke the trees, it is impossible to say. All that can be said is that in the dawn of time, the trees began to think in a way that trees are not meant to, and that they learned of feelings such as anger and hate. The forest became aware of itself and of the other races crawling like insects upon the world, and it was not pleased with their intentions.

Standing stones carved with worn Elven runes mark the borders of this primeval realm, beyond which giant trees loom, their branches moving slowly as they strain to escape the magical barrier of the watchstones. Roots twist and claw across the fern-covered rocks and loam, and low mists coil and spread throughout its hollows and glades. This verdant labyrinth unsettles even the most courageous soul – filled with movement glimpsed from the corner of the eye, strange noises, and the feeling that one is being watched at all times. There is a slumbering awareness and a sense of watchfulness that permeates each leafy glade and winding track.

Dark forms move through the twisting branches and dense undergrowth. Tiny darting shapes flit between the trees on the very edge of vision. Athel Loren sees and feels everything within its boundaries and is watchful and secretive, perfectly willing to destroy those that seek to enter. Only the insanely brave, mad, or foolish dare to cross into Athel Loren, for the forest is a haunted place, filled with unquiet, malicious spirits.

The forest of Athel Loren defies the natural laws of the world, and time flows strangely within its bounds. An individual that treks under the dark boughs for what may only seem like a couple of hours may, if he survives, return home to find that 100 years have passed. Equally, one might wander lost within Athel Loren for decades, only to find that scant minutes have passed in the outside world. Athel Loren is more alive than any normal forest, and landmarks and glades shift and move. What was open clearing one night may be heavily wooded the next morning, and pathways often disappear or turn back on themselves within hours.

Most that try to enter Athel Loren find themselves constantly returning to where they started despite their best efforts to make headway. Even if they try and walk a straight path, they invariably find themselves turned around and facing out of the forest. Most travelers that persist in entering Athel Loren are found on its outskirts as little more than gibbering wrecks, their sanity shredded by whatever horrors they witnessed in the magical forest.

That is, if they ever return.

However, there are those spirits whose hearts are not darkened to the other living creatures of the world. The fortunate or the worthy might occasionally find passage between the changing paths, guided perhaps by a welcome shaft of sunlight, or coming across a forest trail at an unexpected turn. So it is that there are always those that would dare the dark forest to learn its secrets or were drawn by fanciful tales of treasures and hidden knowledge to be won.

Throughout Athel Loren are the magical halls of the Elven lords. These places are filled with ghostly music, laughter that sounds like the wind blowing through trees in autumn, and soft glowing light. The mighty entrance doors to the Elven halls are woven from the trunks of ancient trees or delve into the turf of the hillside – they are hidden to those the Elves do not welcome, though outsiders might pass within a few paces of such portals.

Those that enter through one of these strange gateways find themselves in a grand, beautiful cavern deep below the tree or hill. Roots can be seen far above, curving down from the roof of the hall to form elegant, interweaving pillars. Here, the Wood Elves make their homes, fine structures of ethereal beauty. Elegant lanterns adorn the hall filled with tiny, flitting, glowing figures. Here the Wood Elves feast and celebrate the natural cycles of the forest, holding grand banquets of woodland game and free-flowing, intoxicating Elven wines. The halls are alive with wild dancing, lilting laughter, and melodic music. Boy children taken from the lands around the forest, destined never to grow old, joyfully serve their graceful Elven masters. It is not unheard of for outsiders, such as Bretonnian Questing Knights, to join an Elven feast on occasion, but it is a foolish individual indeed that would eat or drink the foodstuffs of the Elves without invitation.

Elves have dwelt around and within Athel Loren for almost 5,000 years. Over this time, they have become intrinsically linked with their forest home, and their nature has changed to reflect Athel Loren. Forsaking their ties to other Elven folk, the Wood Elves have become deeply secretive and suspicious and shun all outsiders. They are the guardians of the forest, and their fate is utterly entwined with that of Athel Loren: if the forest were to die, the Wood Elves would die with it.

Capricious and unpredictable, the Wood Elves have been likened to a force of nature, neither truly good nor evil. Athel Loren and the Wood Elves are far removed from simple comparison with the values held by other races. Like a placid lake, the Wood Elves can appear serene, beautiful, and enchanting, or as frightening and destructive as a storm. For every intruder that the Wood Elves guide out of Athel Loren, another is slain without question or remorse and left where he falls to be claimed by the forest. Bones and skulls can often be seen on the outskirts of Athel Loren, many with arrows protruding from ribs or embedded in eye-sockets, before they are obscured and covered by twisting roots and undergrowth or taken away by forest animals.

Ever watchful and vigilant, the Wood Elves guard Athel Loren ceaselessly. Even those who enter the forest with no ill intention are regarded with suspicion and resentment and will often come to a bad end. The Wood Elves have a distinct lack of interest in the goings on of the world outside of the forest and care little for those who are not their own. On occasion, they must take part in wars and battles beyond the borders of their forests in order to save their homes from future threat, but this situation is rare indeed. If the Wood Elves could live their lives without interference from the world beyond their fey lands, then they would do so gladly. However, Athel Loren is assailed constantly by those that seek to invade and corrupt it, and so they must wage an unending battle against these despoilers.

Unparalleled archers and almost unnaturally stealthy, the Wood Elves are a deadly foe to face. Those that they slay will rarely have even glimpsed their enemy before being struck down by unerringly accurate arrows from the dense woods. Swift and silent, the Wood Elves erupt from the trees in sudden bursts of savagery, cutting down their enemies ruthlessly before vanishing like ghosts into the depths of the forest.