Autumn, 879 CY, Somewhere in the Vesve Forest -- I am constantly amazed at the wonderful variety that the Fair Folk come in. It is not enough to simply say Grey, High or Wood when describing them, for the Sylvan Elf of one forest may be as different from each other as I am from a three legged toad! Nothing proved this more to me than when I took part in the great Forest War of 879!
As I have written in previous entries, I had accompanied my dear Elven companions Lyon, Skyfire, and Zarra into the vast and impententrable
Vesve Forest. We, after leaving behind the terrifying ruins of the Druids' Keep and our hideous experiences there, continued our journey north
towards Weir Morn, the woodmen village which served as a sort of regional capital for the humans there. I rode upon Ramble, my now beloved pony.
He had already alerted us several times to danger and perhaps saved our lives.
Zarra, Drow High Priestess of Ellistrae