my friends of many worlds, I send greetings. I fancy myself Amândíl,
Elf-Lord in the Misty Hills, Timberwoof Shaman, Firstborn Child of
Danaan beyond the Sundering Sea, but thats mainly because I
dont know very many other elves in this part of the country,
and none with whom I have spoken have challeneged my claim to the
in a world of Men, Men who have created towers of glass and stone,
great ribbons of stone upon the ground, and carriages of cold metal
to transport themselves hither and yon. I am one of the last of
my race; my elders passed on to the Grey Shores many years ago.
day I, too, pretend to be a Man. In shame I cast a spell upon my
ears so that Men cannot see that I am unlike them, and like them
I travel daily to another palace and there perform Manly magic.
But I, Amandíl, Elf-Lord in the Misty Hills, choose not to
let go the old ways; choose not to let the ways of Men dictate my
life: I park my carmade of aluminium and steel, with no Cold
Iron to cause me painin a vast underground stone stable and
ride a little room up into a tower where I have a small apartment.
there I live my Elvish life, hoping one day that
will return and bring us back to something resembling our
former glory. Until then, my fellow Elves, let us make music upon
the land. Let there be intercourse and colloquy! Even if only for
a few moments, let shine the glory that once was ours.
an elf, you know the dangers of this World of Man, and you have
overcome them successfully, or you would not be reading this Web
page. So send me some e-mail.