From the memoirs of Gulliard Whitecross, in the Year mumblemumblemumble:
There is evil afoot in this land. Beneath the seeming peaceful trees and quiet hills, dark things have sprung up like weeds.
I have heard in tales that elves favor the gentle light of the stars and moon, but never have I seen an elf that so cringed in loathing from the light of the sun. Our prisoner hissed in frustrated anger at us, but not without fear too, for it knew this day we had the mastery: five and four of its dark brothers had gone down beneath our swords and spells. And three more dead before that. A glorious victory.
I take some comfort that the fey woman of the forest — but no, I must remind myself, she is not a true woman, just a woman in form — the wood spirit spoke of goblins in the south, but she said nothing of these dark elves. So it may be that they dare not venture into the open lands beneath the sky. So much the better. And why would the tree-witch lie..?
My companions are a strange lot, wanderers and outcasts from many peoples and walks of life. But who am I to judge, I who swear by oaths few remember? I am little more than a vagabond myself, much fallen from the glory of my forefathers. But despite their odd ways and dubious blood, I have seen that in truth they are stern allies in matters of life and death. Had even one wavered, I know in my heart not a one of us would have escaped the dwarven mines alive…