The Wood Elven Army
A Wood Elven army is made of two major groups: Elven soldiers, and the forest itself. 'Forest Spirits' can and will be awakened in a time of need to fight for the well-being of the entire forest. These Forest Spirits usually take the form of leafy tree-like creatures (called Dryads, Tree Kin and ). Dryads present themselves as lithe and lovely maidens who entice the unwary into entering the forest. At a time that the dryads find amusing, the lovely, near-human aspect is shed and the violent aspect manifests as a tree-like vengeful monster that tears the erstwhile guest to shreds. Tree Kin are more nebulous spirits that normally move freely through the forest, unbound to any physical instrumentality. When the need arises, however, the Tree Kin embody a collection of dead limbs and trunks, which then shambles along with the elven horde, smashing and crushing all that it meets. Most terrible of all the forest spirits, however, is the, which results when an exalted spirit makes the choice to bind itself permanently to a tree. The resulting creature lives for centuries: indeed, the eldest of, the Ancients, recall a time when the meaty nuisances of elves and men, orcs and dwarfs, did not trouble and pollute (and, worst of all, cut down) the forest. Also found in the forest are 'Spites'- the lowest form of spirits Athel Loren has to offer, who attach themselves to a unit, place or character and which confer a wide variety of unusual benefits.
Read more about this topic: Wood Elves (Warhammer)
Famous quotes containing the words wood and/or army:
“He will not idly dance at his work who has wood to cut and cord before nightfall in the short days of winter; but every stroke will be husbanded, and ring soberly through the wood; and so will the strokes of that scholar’s pen, which at evening record the story of the day, ring soberly, yet cheerily, on the ear of the reader, long after the echoes of his axe have died away.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“This fantastic state of mind, of a humanity that has outrun its ideas, is matched by a political scene in the grotesque style, with Salvation Army methods, hallelujahs and bell-ringing and dervishlike repetition of monotonous catchwords, until everybody foams at the mouth. Fanaticism turns into a means of salvation, enthusiasm into epileptic ecstacy, politics becomes an opiate for the masses, a proletarian eschatology; and reason veils her face.”
—Thomas Mann (1875–1955)