RPG:Races/Dominion Era/Elledynnë (Stats)
This page discusses the Tabletop RPG stats of the Dominion Era Elledynë. If you are interested in seeing the culture associated with this race, visit: Elledynë (Culture).
Template:Infobox elledynë I SEE HIM LEANING AGAINST THE RAILING. D'Fairyn Orus-Creda, our king—my lover. There is only one thing between him and a fall to certain death far below: a banister made not of simple wooden balusters, but of a graceful lattice of white wood so artfully crafted that the trefoil leaves carved into it seemed to move with an unseen, unfelt wind. Around his brow, glistening in the pale moonlight that set aglow the Olŷna that grow far below us, is the Weeping Circlet, the symbol of kingship to our grand and beautiful people.
He turns as I enter the balcony, wrapped only in the sheer cloth of my nightly gown. My breath catches in my throat. He is beauteous beyond compare, and the falling rivulets of water from the silver circlet he wears around his brow glitter in the moonlight and seem to make his eyes glow with unearthly light. We made love not too long ago, and the truth is that some part of me yet aches because of his passion. He catches my lips in his as his warm breath ghosts over my cheek. "The winds are changing," he whispers to me as he presses against me, his hard and aching loins rubbing against my own.
I nod to him in agreement. I can feel the cold upon my face and through the sheer silk of the cloth wrapped around me. This is not the natural cold of the moonrise. It is different. The winter is upon us once more. If the divinations of the sages of the court are to be believed, the winter shall be harsher than any we have yet known to this day. I am happy for I know that this will be the chance for our people to retake what is ours, but in the back of my mind I fear that there is a malevolence to the chill that I simply cannot name.
He bites the lobe of my ear and I cannot help but groan against his touch. His hands roam down my neck, over my chest as flat as his, and over my stomach firm as his. His fingers cup around my bottom and seize me with possessiveness. "Lovely," he whispers as he grinds his hips to mine, "Come the morrow I shall give the word. With the coming of the frost we shall take back what belongs to our people and destroy those pale monstrosities, their false gods, and their stolen empire."
Deýdë Rhomydë Di'Lanan(My Lover the King)
Those few who might have met a pleasant High Elf might call them the Fair-Folk, but this could not be further from the truth. Vainglorious, conceited, and overly-concerned with outward appearances, the High Elves have certainly earned for themselves the name of "The Masked." Do not let their beautiful faces, their sonorous voices, and their claims of service to their Triple Goddess fool you. Many of the High-Elves might be beautiful on the outside but downright rotten on the inside.
Beautifully Superior
In the faith of the High Elves, the Ovyrë Ohyrda, the High Elves are said to be the fairest and most beautiful of the many races that populate the planet. Where the others rose from the earth, the High Elves believe that they were crafted by the fingers of the Triple Goddess herself, granting them superiority over all other races, especially the Bone Elves whom they believe are twisted High Elves corrupted by the evil of the Raven Goddess.
To the High Elves, there is no equal to them. They believe that they are the pinnacle of creation, set above and beyond all others by their beauty. Not even those of their people are safe from this mentality. Only the ugly are sent to work their farms, forced to hide their looks through masks wrought in a twisted representation of the High Elfin standard of beauty.
Egotistical Conquerors
The High Elves fancy themselves high and mighty. They believe that theirs is a utopian society. However, it is anything but. Contrary to the Bone Elves, who believe that there is innate equality among all races and that all peoples should be allowed to govern their own—of course, with the caveat that all answer to the Pale Imperator, the Ivory Throne, and the Stranger—the High Elves believe that, because they were put upon the world by the Triple Goddess Herself to rule over all races, everyone else is inferior to them.
Where the Bone Elves conquer to fulfil the Divine Imperative of their gods to spread the good of the Dominion, the High Elves seek to expand their empire because they believe that as the superior race, they are entitled to all the world—land, sea, and sky.
Sun-kist Slavers
The High Elves are not only called "The Golden Ones" because of their often-blond and lustrous hair. One of the favourite past-times of the High Elfin people is lounging on rocks to bask in the sun, giving them a slight bronze sheen. Once again, however, do not let this petty pursuit of an untenable standard of beauty fool you. Though the golden dragons may be paragons of virtue, these golden elves are anything but.
The High Elfin standard of beauty is what dictates a person's social status, with only those who inherit great beauty from their parents capable of holding public office or any significant amounts of wealth. A High Elf that falls toward the bottom of this hierarchy of beauty is tossed to the countryside. Condemned to toil in the fields like a slave, owning nothing but the few clothes they can make for themselves and the porcelain masks that magically attach themselves to their faces come morning to hide the shame of their ugliness.
This High Elfin attitude extends not only to their own people, but also to the other peoples that have the misfortune to fall under the rule of the Silvered Realm. Few, if any, of the conquered peoples retain their old lives, sold to slavery so that the "better-looking" High Elves could avoid having to do any heavy lifting. This is no more true for the small villages of the Faeren, a wolf-shifting people that share the Termalttë with the High Elves and the Bone Elves alike. They have been enslaved by the High Elves the longest, with no hope but the Bone Elves and their Dominion in sight.
