High in the ancient boughs of trees that predate memory, the elves of Tambra have shaped their lives not with axe and hammer, but with patience, reverence, and song. Their cities are not built—they are grown, coaxed into being by generations of care, rising like flowering crowns amid the endless green.
Ruled by a matriarchal monarchy, the elves carry their traditions like heirlooms passed through time. Every whisper of wind, every root beneath the moss, is part of a living lineage they trace back to the Great Tree, which they believe birthed the forests themselves. In their eyes, they are not just a people—they are the firstborn of Nature, guardians of a wild and sacred memory.
Though many elves keep to the shade of their forests and the rhythm of their own ways, it would be a mistake to call them passive. Their mastery of archery, druidic magic, and forestcraft is unparalleled, and their stillness should never be mistaken for inaction. When the forest is threatened, the elves respond like the trees they live among—silent, swift, and unstoppable when roused.
To the elves, the forest is not merely home. It is memory, spirit, and inheritance made manifest. And to defile it is to awaken something ancient, elegant, and eternal.
Attribute Bonus
Elves recieve +1 bonus to Mana Points at level one.
Language
To the elves of Tambra, language is not merely a tool—it is an artform, an extension of beauty, grace, and tradition that flows like a river through their lives. Known beyond the groves as The Forest Tongue, the elven language is as lyrical and ancient as the canopy cities they call home.
The Forest Tongue is fluid and melodic, shaped by soft consonants and lilting vowels. It bears the elegance of Old French, layered with the gentle rhythm of Celtic song. Even in casual speech, elves speak as if reciting poetry. Their words rise and fall like wind through leaves, rich with feeling and form.
Where other languages may prioritize brevity or utility, the Forest Tongue prioritizes intent and elegance. Every word is chosen carefully, every sentence shaped to honor not only the speaker, but the listener. To speak coarsely is not just impolite—it is uncultured, a blemish upon one’s upbringing.
A greeting might translate to:
“May the song of your footsteps bring harmony to the moss.”
Rather than simply: “Hello.”
Cadence and Culture
Elves use metaphor and poetry as naturally as breath. A conversation about weather may become a verse about cloud-born dreams. A romantic confession may sound like a seasonal hymn. Even disputes are handled with care, cloaked in layered meanings and softened tones, with directness reserved only for the most solemn of occasions.
“To speak in Forest Tongue,” say the elders,
“is to paint with sound and plant meaning where it may bloom.”
Examples Phrases
“Douce lumière.” – “Gentle light.”
“Chants d’arbres.” – “Songs of trees.”
“Le vent se souvient.” – “The wind remembers.”
Every phrase is a window into how the elves see the world—not as a series of events or tasks, but as an ever-unfolding story meant to be spoken softly and remembered long.
To speak the Forest Tongue is to breathe with the trees, to sing with the streams, and to let meaning bloom between the lines.
Names
To the elves of Tambra, a name is more than identity—it is intention, lineage, and destiny bound together in lyrical form. Each name carries poetic meaning, often describing purpose, personality, or sacred connection to nature. Names are given with care, spoken under moonlight, and whispered to the roots of trees so that the forest itself remembers.
Personal Names
Flowing and elegant, often 3–5 syllables, the personal name reflects the essence of the individual. These are names that sing when spoken aloud, sometimes gendered, but often neutral.
Examples
Serelain – “She who dances with light”
Thalenor – “He who carries stillness”
Aravellë – “Wandering moon-heart”
Myrianth – “Of the deep blossom”
Erythas – “Gentle storm”
Calenthil – “Wind upon the water”
Meaningful Epithet or House Name
Some elves add an epithet that conveys either a great deed, a natural bond, or their house of origin, often using metaphors or phrases tied to nature or time.
Common Structures
“of the” + natural image (e.g., Serelain of the Falling Petals)
A compound poetic phrase (e.g., Thalenor Moonbound)
Lineage-based house names (e.g., Aravellë Valmariel, “of House Valmariel” — “those who guard the starlit vale”)
Full Name Examples
Serelain Valmariel – “She who dances with light, of the House that guards the starlit vale”
Thalenor of the Falling Petals – “He who carries stillness, named for the quiet grief of spring”
Myrianth Leafborne – “Flower of the deep wood, raised among singing trees”
Calenthil Windwalker – “Wind upon the water, child of the rivers and sky”
Erythas Nuariel – “Gentle storm, daughter of the dusk bloom grove”
Pronunication
Emphasize vowel fluidity; most names are designed to flow without hard stops.
“ë” and “il” endings often indicate femininity, but not always.
Nature and poetic references are common in both names and titles.
These names are gifts, not merely identifiers—they reflect the soul’s purpose, a tradition passed down through matriarchal lineages and spoken in ritual under moonlight.
Economy
The elves of Tambra are not driven by accumulation, conquest, or coin. They live in elegant harmony with the forest, taking only what is needed, and giving reverence in return. Among their people, prosperity is measured not in wealth, but in balance—between self and soil, effort and outcome, tradition and growth.
Sustenance and Stewardship
Elves require little to thrive. Their diets consist of berries, cultivated gardens, seasonal vegetables, and the occasional forest game, such as hogs, deer, and pheasants—each taken only after offering ritual thanks to the land. No arrow is loosed, no crop is gathered, without words of gratitude murmured into the earth. To harvest is sacred; to waste is heresy.
Their settlements breathe with life, woven into and around the trees rather than imposed upon them. The forest gives, and the elves in turn protect it with fierce devotion.
Craft and Commerce
Though reclusive, elves are unmatched artisans. Their goods—rarely seen in quantity—are treasured across Tambra for their grace, utility, and enchantment:
Rope woven from forest fibers, stronger than steel yet light as air.
Bows and arrows grown from the limbs of sacred trees, strung with spider-silk thread and whispered into accuracy.
Furniture that blends artistry and nature—light, durable, adorned with living vines that adjust to their keeper’s mood.
These exports are often reserved for envoys, nobles, rangers, or those who have earned elven respect. Each item carries not only function, but a story, a purpose, and a connection to the forest from which it came.
Elven armor and weapons are never mass-produced. They are grown or shaped, never hewn. A thornspear may take years to mature, its shaft guided around a living tree, its head kissed by sun and sap before harvest. Each suit of armor breathes with its wearer—woven bark and vine that moves as the body moves, offering protection without sacrifice of grace.
“We do not shape the forest. We listen. And if we are worthy, it offers itself to us.”
Currency and Trade
Elves do not place faith in coins. Their preferred currency is the wooden disc—each a small, polished token inscribed with meaning, often tied to a season, a promise, or a sacred event. These are not minted, but made. To receive one is not a payment—it is a gesture of trust.
Still, barter is more common than discs. Elves value exchanges of worth and intention—a fine blade for a crafted bow, a song for a cloak of woven reed. And every exchange is arranged well in advance.
The Art of Trade: Prearranged, Pure, and Peaceful
To the elves, trade is a ritual. Haggling is seen as not only crude, but disruptive to harmony itself. They believe that “Harmony lies in foresight; chaos lies in quarrel.”
Trade terms are discussed long before the meeting, often through letters, envoys, or ceremonial offerings.
All aspects—quantity, quality, compensation—are agreed upon in writing or spirit before goods are exchanged.
Any attempt to renegotiate at the meeting is seen as a breach of peace, sometimes even a personal insult.
To trade with elves is to enter a dance of trust, timing, and temperance. Those who respect this find lifelong partners. Those who don’t, often find no welcome at all.
The Cycle of Return
Perhaps most defining of all is this: no elven item is truly discarded. When a crafted item has served its purpose, it is returned to the forest—buried, burned in a sacred flame, or cast into a stream to rejoin the natural flow.
Every creation, every transaction, every gesture is part of a living cycle. To elves, this is not economy—it is ecology, ethics, and expression.
In the Forest Kingdom, to give is to grow, and to grow is to remember.
Government
In the Forest Kingdom of Tambra, leadership is not seized through ambition nor bestowed by law alone. It is grown, like a tree, nurtured by heritage, spiritual resonance, and the will of the wild. The elves are ruled by a matriarchal monarchy, and they believe their queen reigns not by lineage alone, but by divine appointment of the Great Tree itself.
The Queen and the Living Right
The elven crown is not forged of metal but woven of silverleaf and sacred vine, a living coronet that only the rightful queen can wear. According to ancient tradition, the spirit of the Great Tree whispers its will to the priestesses of the Verdant Court when a new ruler must be chosen—though by custom, it is always the eldest daughter of the reigning queen who inherits the throne.
This matrilineal succession honors the elven belief in the primordial balance between nurture, wisdom, and natural guidance. Sons may hold great influence, often serving as scholars, spiritual emissaries, or ceremonial stewards, but they are not heirs except in rare, world-shifting circumstances.
Queen Lysariel Verdantbough
The current sovereign, Queen Lysariel Verdantbough, has reigned for over three centuries. A figure of quiet majesty, she is known for her deep stillness and unshakable calm—traits believed to reflect her unmatched affinity for Nature magic, stronger than any queen in living memory.
Her rule has been marked by cautious isolationism. Though not hostile to outsiders, Lysariel has pulled elven influence inward, tending to the health of the forest and the spiritual strength of her people. Under her reign, the Forest Kingdom has grown more self-contained, but also more unified in purpose and reverence.
The Royal Offspring
Princess Sylthara, eldest daughter and heir, is a brilliant diplomat and masterful druid. She walks the line between tradition and curiosity, speaking in perfect metaphor, and commanding roots and vines with a thought. Some whisper she may one day rival even her mother’s communion with the forest.
Princess Aenya, the younger daughter, is the forest wind in motion. Restless and daring, she leads expeditions into the outer wilds and has walked among gnomes, humans, and even dwarves. She is beloved for her spirit, though her path is unconventional.
Prince Faeron, the queen’s only son, is a bard, scholar, and ceremonial envoy. Gentle of voice and bright of eye, he is welcomed at diplomatic tables and spring festivals alike. Though he cannot ascend the throne, he carries the grace of the Verdantbough line in word and song.
Beneath the Queen sits the Verdant Court, a circle of advisors consisting of high priestesses, elder druids, and trusted envoys. They do not rule, but they counsel, ensuring that every decree flows in harmony with both law and the forest’s will.
Political conflict among the elves is rare, but when it arises, it is resolved through ritual debate, symbolic gesture, or in the rarest cases, through binding oaths spoken before the Great Tree, which no elf would dare break.
To rule in the Forest Kingdom is not to command—it is to listen. To lead as an elf is to grow with the realm, to protect its balance, and to serve as both sovereign and steward of the sacred wild.
Key Locations
The elves of Tambra do not conquer their environment—they become part of it. Their homes, cities, and sanctuaries are shaped in harmony with the forest, coaxed into being through time, care, and living magic. No two places are the same, but all share one truth: they are sacred, alive, and older than most mortals can fathom.
The City of Branches — Crown of the Canopy
High above the forest floor, where the air is sweet with moss and sun-dappled leaves shimmer like stained glass, rests the capital of the Forest Kingdom: The City of Branches.
Woven among the boughs of ancient, colossal trees, the city is a marvel of living architecture. Homes are nestled in the hollowed hearts of trunks that still breathe and bloom. Vast wooden bridges, wrapped in flowering vines and softly glowing moss, span from branch to branch like ribbons of nature itself. The city is not just built within the trees—it is the trees.
Ruled directly by Queen Lysariel Verdantbough and her Consort, Lord Eryndor, the city is the spiritual and political heart of elven civilization.
Culture
Reverence and ceremony guide every action within the City of Branches. Outsiders are rarely permitted beyond the outer walkways, and only the most honored are welcomed into the Inner Canopy, the sacred seat of governance and ancestral memory.
Architecture
There are no nails, no stone. Every building, path, and hall is grown with magic, shaped with song and spell to create living structures that bloom, breathe, and heal.
To walk the City of Branches is to breathe in history and step softly through time.
Rivermist — The River’s Whisper
Where the Silverleaf River winds like a ribbon of moonlight through the Forest Kingdom, the city of Rivermist sits perched upon its banks—graceful, fluid, and open to the world beyond the trees.
While not as sacred as the capital, Rivermist is a vital lifeline for trade and diplomacy. Its bridges arc over flowing waters, homes perch on massive roots or drift on anchored rafts, and gentle music echoes from its open-air markets.
Ruled by Lord Vaelor Windshade, a widowed consort without heirs. His grief and the absence of a clear successor have seeded tension among noble houses, with whispers of petitioning the Queen to intervene—and others moving quietly to fill the coming vacuum.
Rivermist is the most outward-facing elven city, known for its cautious but courteous dealings with humans, dwarves, and gnomes. It serves as a bridge—both literal and symbolic—between the seclusion of elven tradition and the wider world.
Buildings rise beside and even within the river, their supports made of root and reed, their rooftops woven with leafy canopies. Many platforms float or sway gently with the current, creating a city that never truly stands still.
Small Settlements — Forest’s Edge and Heart
Beyond the great cities, deeper into the woods where the trees grow thicker and the stars fade from sight, lie the scattered villages and hamlets of elves who choose a quieter path.
These settlements are intimate, hidden, and wholly immersed in nature. Some are nestled high in the canopy, connected by swaying rope bridges and camouflaged among the leaves. Others rest upon the forest floor, their thatched homes half-buried in moss, nearly indistinguishable from the land itself.
Together, the elven settlements form a vast living tapestry, stitched through wood and wind. Whether suspended in the sky, rippling over water, or hidden in the underbrush, every elven home echoes with song, memory, and the wisdom of trees.
Current Tensions and Story Hooks
Wilderkin Divide – Hidden deep in the forest’s untouched heart, the Wilderkin reject the crowns and councils of their kin. They believe the Great Tree desires no queen, that elven purpose has been lost to vanity and stone walkways. They live in glades and nomadic circles, building nothing permanent, trusting only the forest’s will. Wilderkin see the royal line as an aberration, a corruption of nature’s true order. Among them walks Sylvaeon Greenthought, the Dream of the Forest—part prophet, part myth, who speaks with birds and bends the trees with a glance. Though few in number, Wilderkin influence grows quietly, especially among young elves disillusioned with politics. Even some in Rivermist seek Sylvaeon’s teachings in secret. Others fear that a true schism is forming—one not of diplomacy, but of identity.
The Rivermist Succession Crisis -Once a stable bastion of diplomacy and trade, the river city of Rivermist now finds itself on uncertain ground. Its ruler, Lord Vaelor Windshade, has no heirs, and his quiet grief has left a vacuum of authority that ambitious noble houses are eager to fill. Some nobles press for the appointment of a new matriarch, citing ancient rites that allow power to pass to the most “harmonious” family line. Others demand Queen Lysariel intervene before the river court tears itself apart. Meanwhile, radical voices—young, impassioned, and disillusioned—see the chaos as a chance to push for governmental reform, challenging the monarchy itself. Though the Queen remains silent, her daughter, Princess Sylthara, watches closely. Whether Rivermist becomes a foothold for change or a fracture in the Kingdom may rest on choices yet to be made.
Affinities
Among the peoples of Tambra, none are as closely entwined with the primal forces of the world as the elves. Yet their bond is not with a single Affinity, but with a greater harmony that transcends the divisions of element and energy. The elves walk in step with Nature—a composite current that flows through root and rain, leaf and wind, birth and decay.
While many mortals pursue isolated powers like Fire or Truth, the elves believe that true wisdom lies in balance. Nature, as they understand it, is not an Affinity in the traditional sense—but a living synergy of Life, Earth, Air, Water, and even Death. For in the forest, all things grow, die, and nourish what comes next.
The Hymn of the First Leaf
As sung in the Inner Canopy beneath the moon-veiled branches
When all was still, and still was all,
No root had grown, no leaf did fall.
The stars were dreams, not yet begun—
The forest slept, and there was none.
Then Light, a breath upon the air,
Caressed the dark with longing fair.
And Darkness, moved by gentle grace,
Welcomed Light to share its space.
From hush and flame, the Earth was born,
A sacred grove at break of morn.
Where stone lay warm in Light’s first gaze,
Rose Fire to dance, and Wind to praise.
Then Water sang in silver streams,
And all was still—and yet it dreamed.
From dream and rhythm, Life took shape,
A bud, a beast, a form to wake.
But even spring must bow to fall,
And Death was sown to balance all.
Then Thought arose, like branches wide,
And named the truths no stars could hide.
Yet Truth, alone, grew sharp and cold—
Till Trickery wove tales untold.
So Light and Dark, and Earth and Air,
Still spiral through the lives we wear.
But Nature knows the dance, the tune—
She sings it still beneath the moon.
The Nature Affinity — Balance Made Breath
To an elf, Nature is not something they wield—it is something they tune themselves to, like a tree to sunlight or a river to gravity. Those attuned to this Affinity may display a blend of the following gifts:
Life: Healing wounds, nurturing growth, speaking to beasts
Earth: Strengthening roots, summoning barriers of bark or stone
Air: Moving with silence, guiding wind, leaping like deer through canopy
Water: Calling mist and dew, shaping streams, nourishing plant life
Death: Withering corruption, returning the fallen to the soil, sensing decay
This blend of powers allows elven druids, rangers, and seers to act as living conduits of the wild, their magic shaped more by intention and balance than raw force.
The Absence of Fire
One Affinity the elves rarely pursue is Fire. Though they respect its purpose in nature—clearing underbrush, forging tools, igniting stars—it is treated with caution, even reverence, as a power too easily unbalanced in the forest’s embrace.
Fire is a disruptive force, a destroyer that consumes without regard for growth or memory. While other cultures embrace it for war or invention, the elves keep it at arm’s length, kindling it only when ritual demands, and always under strict control. Among elven circles, a pyromancer is as feared as they are pitied—for they dance too close to what may consume them.
“Fire forgets. Nature remembers.” — Elven proverb
Philosophy of Affinity
Elves believe that every being has a song within—a resonance with the world’s deeper rhythms. Their children are tested not for which Affinity they possess, but for how they harmonize with the cycle of wind, water, root, and bone. Those who align with Nature are seen as blessed by the forest, but even those who show leanings toward singular Affinities (like Air or Earth) are taught to see the whole before the part.
Elves are particularly skeptical of those who wield pure Death or Fire magic without balance. They do not condemn such powers outright—but insist that without humility, even a seed becomes a poison.
Nature in Practice
A Nature-Affine elf may entangle foes in vines, then cleanse the soil beneath their body.
They may call a stag from the wood to ride, and nourish a field with their presence.
They may walk barefoot and feel the life and death of every root and worm beneath them.
Nature is not flashy. It is not loud. But it is ever-present, and in the hands of an elf, it is profoundly powerful.
To be elf-born is to be branch and breeze, leaf and loam. The Affinity of Nature is not merely their magic—it is their memory, their song, and their soul.