Val’Inthor is an area in the Dragonland Chronicles.
Dwarvish: Timberfell in recent times, illustrating a separation of the brotherhood between the peoples. The dwarves once called the Elder Tree Treesprout Tongue of men: The Elven Woods
As the eldest of the Three Cities, the origins of Val’Inthor is shrouded in mythology and legend as deep and thick as the misty dew of the elven glades. Human scholars of dendrochronology would tell you that the rings of the Elder Tree’s years are so numerous and so ancient that they are beyond counting or measure. The sages of our people, the eldest elves, do not speak of the origins of our home and lifeblood in such ordinary fashion, for our fate is eternally bound to the tangling roots and ever-reaching branches of our manyleaved mother. To this day there remains a proto-runic elven script carved upon the stem, detailing the creation myth of the elves.
It speaks of a time where the earth was barren and naked, and no living thing, no twig nor rustling leaves graced the realms. There was only Nea’thin, the wind, who would wander across the naked grounds in somber solitude and lonesome yearning, until one day the gods saw this. For one year they let the sparkling stars of the night sky fall upon the earth, touching upon the barren grounds as celestial leaves; the first seeds of Val’Inthor and the birth of Niarenen, the Naiden children; the elves.
In the First Years the elves would live and dance in the many glades of the young forest, innocently and childlike as our people once were. We needed not carved roof, no embossed wall nor golden temples, and even the trees would join us in animated dance and merry song.
Such it was until He who we will not mention planted the seeds of distrust and acorns of guilt into the fertile soil of the earth. Our people, who had not known war or fear became the master smiths of golden spear and silver helms. Great wars between the elven peoples ravaged the infant lands, and our people were decimated in the hundreds of thousands. The trees fled together with our people as a hind flees from the hungry wolf, and huddled together in but a few safe havens they now never dance nor speak or sing the mellow songs of olden golden leaves.
Val’inthor herself grew ever taller, the remaining elves of the south made her their chosen home, and there they would live in relative peace and tranquility, though forever stripped of their ancient innocence. They were however partially spared by Sylvanus, the great god of forests, and were allowed to retain their immortality. The Elven children of the north did not fare so well, and after continuing to make war upon each other they forever fell out of the grace of the gods; some even say they wandered east and became the first men of the highland ridges. Both elven and and human scholars consider this utterly false, but the brotherhood of men and elves has always been the strongest bond between any two peoples in the Realms.
But the times of late grow ever more troubled for the Children of Naiden, as we can feel our ancient mother writhing in pain on nights when the leave rustle less than others. She speaks to us of a prophecy as old as her very roots; a thorn in her that the sun does not reach – a certain impending doom that must be undone...
Excerpt from ‘On the Origins of Elves’, ANNO CXLIII A.W.F II of Human reckoning.