Settings in Fantasy as seen in The Second Requirement

Out of the many different species and cultures that humanity seems to run into in Fantasy fiction, I have very special places in my heart that I hold for elves, dwarves, orcs, dragons, and most of the classic Fantasy creatures, beings, spirits, and monsters, but out of all of them I consider Elves the ones that demand the most work to make interesting and for some odd reason this has to be done so because Elves are weirdly taken for granted in the genre. I set out to try to do something different and not take them for granted in my newest series starring an immortal Elven ranger in The Timeless Ranger series, and specifically in its second novella, The Second Requirement.

All of this is to say I get to excitedly relate to you all about my Dharva and how they are both a response and critique of how Elves are seen in Fantasy.

In many ways elves are often the first fantasy characters children are exposed to because they have such close relation with fae or faeries in general, but for myself, the first time I was ever aware of elves was, of course, through the tradition of Santa Claus, which hearkens back to Northern European Mythology. Naturally this was further reinforced by Tolkien’s Elves in Middle-earth, which in many ways has set the standard for what we perceive Elves in fantasy to be. There is a good argument that Ra Salvatore basically wrote the book on Dark Elves (known in The Forgotten Realms as “drow”), World of Warcraft and Warhammer showed us that Elves can definitely be grimdark and have their eyes glow, and I think there should be some credit to Elfquest for presenting a very different sort of elven culture in that wonderful comic book.

However, Tolkien still set the standard for Elves that we see today: tall and slender (unless they need a hunky beefy boy to for the human princess to swoon over), pointed ears, likely long white or black hair (sometimes red and a beard because their dad isn’t Elven—shoutout Dragonlance), often great with a sword, bow, and arrows (sometimes spears if you are Gil-Gilead or of an Asian persuasion, and then things get very complicated), and always, always, always, elves have some sort of a special hold and skill when it comes to magic. More importantly, many authors, designers, and artists continued to build on the notions of magical mastery, a certain aesthetic elegance, and more importantly, rigid social structures that seemed to confine Elves into something distinctly different from the humanity it dealt with, and in many ways, against.

For a long time that held and continues to hold, until (and this is just my opinion) The Elder Scrolls and Dragon Age came to the rescue to give us something else to consider when it came to Elves. Video games often go where novels and narrative fears to tread, and both franchises should be commended for doing things that not only re-centered Fantasy’s most famous immortal race, but made it central to the worldbuilding of those settings in profound and creative ways. For example: instead of withdrawn, slightly fading culture we see from Tolkien’s elves, the Dragon Age-series paints their elves at victims of a longer history, where they were once high in the world before humanity and magic brought them low—but not low enough that they couldn’t endure, integrate/assimilate into society in new and fascinating ways, but for those who held and lived past the worst of the tribulations, they are searching and seeking, almost desperately, to excavate and restart their ancient culture. Not only to rise up against the Exalted Marches humanity used to almost wipe out their race, but to restore what was lost to them.

In contrast, Tolkien’s Elves at some point come to accept that their time in Middle-earth is over, and caught by what they have determined to be fate, must choose between eternity in the Undying Lands or fading in the forests, left to those same faery stories cited earlier.

In contrast to both Tolkien and Dragon Age, The Elder Scrolls takes an entirely different tact: Not only are Elves generally accepted inside of Imperial culture, but at points have come to dominate humanity at various times (like the Ayelids in Oblivion), and flourish on their own accord as well as any other mortal race does. Some of them are in the midst of diaspora (like the Dunmer, which again turned the notion of “dark elves” on its head) while others are simply integrated into a larger, multi-racial society, and some of them are meat eaters that live in walking trees (like the Bosmer). Some of them are outright fascists and villains (like the High Elven Thalmor in Skyrim.) In fact, Elder Scrolls even integrated dwarves (the Dwemer) into their Elven cultures, who unlike the Snow Elves who were wiped out by genocide, disappeared when they hit a technological level of sophistication that is still a mystery to every single fan.

As you can see, a lot of different depictions of Elves had great influence on me, so when I set out to create my own Elven society in the form of the Dharva and their homeland (called The Dharvakind Kingdoms), I wanted to explore two constant themes: Immortality at it is portrayed by Tolkien, but without the easy-out of the Undying Lands, and I’m so enchanted by the idea of forest-dwelling civilizations like the elves of Mirkwood and Lothlorien, or the Bosmere of Tamriel, that I knew there would be something born deep in the woods. But I also wanted to have Elves that didn’t fade into the woods once Humanity takes over (which never happens fully in my world of Dovhain), but actually have to address how the woods change with the times—as real environments in our real world do and are doing right now.

What would Elves do if their climate really changed?

Enter my massive, gigantic, titan-like trees called the Ohigmos. Five in number, these behemoths are nearly as wide as they are tall, and they stretch to the sky, reaching such heights that the dharva had built suspended observation lounges to study the earth from the boughs of the trees. The crowns play foundation and host to elegant cities crafted from sorcery and “flesh” of the Ohigmos itself, which allows its dharvan children to sculpt its wood without ever having to cut from its body. From its bark to the wood to the sap it leaks, every part of the Ohigmos is considered as holy as the children it feeds.

The massive trees walk in wide, endless circles across the breadth of territory known as the Dharvakind Kingdoms, which is centered in the middle of Talav’s continent. And to understand at all what I’m saying, here is a map:

All of Dharvan culture is built around the movement, bounty, and consistency of these trees—but what would happen if the trees stopped marching one day? What would happen if in the immense boughs and branches they ran out of room? What would happen to those dharva who have to settle on the ground, and can’t draw from the tree for their material needs anymore? What happens if the climate shifts?

I wanted to use the dharva to explore some ideas: what if, unlike Tolkien’s elves, they didn’t have a Valinor to return to? What happens when real change has to hit them in profound ways that force them to change? At the same time, I loved the idea of Skyrim and elves having their different viewpoints about what to do with their time. How does one love when they can love forever? What happens when the zest of life possibly runs out? What does one to do keep the life they live fresh and vibrant?

What does it mean to be something when that something, whether we like it or not, has to change?

What does it mean to live forever and get to change forever?

What does it actually mean to be dharvan? What does it mean, in turn, to be human with our finite years?

I started writing The Timeless Ranger series because the idea of exploring this immortality offered a chance to discuss how we as human beings deal with grief in our finite times, and I will dig into that in the next blogpost. But at the heart of these questions lies a deeper one that I struggle with even now—knowing there is an end for those we love, forgetting ourselves in the moment, how do we really live beyond them? I mean, how do we really do it in the midst of a grief that seems so sharp and present, even before the event occurs?

I think (and hope) it comes down to the choices we make in our long, lingering, but vibrant days. We’ll see. I hope you enjoyed this blogpost, and if you did, please consider picking up The First Duty here, or its sequel The Second Requirement.

Both are available to read for Free on Kindle Unlimited!