In twilight's silver glow, a young elfen maiden stood beneath the boughs of
Seren, a tear in her eye as nature bled. She felt the hurt in the pit of her
stomach, felt the energy draining from trees where she made her home. Trapped
within the earth were the Soulless, no longer a threat to all existence yet
still in danger of destroying the very heart of nature.

The maiden cried out in anguish, begging for a sign, a thread of hope to which
she could cling, a small assurance that the world as she knew it wasn't ending.
She pleaded to the absent Gods, but was unheard.

And then with the soft beat of a bird's wing, the quiet rustle of a falling
leaf, came her sign. A whisper through the forest spoke "Ellindel..." and a
quiet in the wood becalmed her heart. The instructions were clear, and though
she could not fathom how or when it would occur, she set about preparations for
the Dance of the Spirits.

It took nearly all the willpower Ellindel had to open a rift to the ethereal
plane. In nature's weakened state, what had once been merely a matter of
focusing upon the spiritual realm and channeling a portion of one's energy
towards the aether pathways had become an arduous task for even the most
skilled in planar travel to accomplish. And so as Ellindel reached the mystical
reflection of the Serenwilde upon the ethereal plane, her mental strength and
energy gave out completely. Among whirling motes of light and mist, she sank
into a deep slumber, from which she did not rise for a full month.

Cool flakes of snow drifted through the ethereal realm, falling cool upon the
fair face of Ellindel as she slept. A halo of light surrounded her as the
glistening trees nearby shifted, their boughs watching over her and whispering
her name. She turned in her sleep, rousing slowly to her surroundings, and she
recalled her purpose. To the edge of the Etherwilde she strode, till she stood
before the vast central forest whose pathways twisted far off beneath the
boughs of ancient trees and beyond the realm of perception.

Here between the forests, in a clearing of silvered grass, and bathed in the
full moon's light Ellindel knelt upon the ground, her hands pressed to the
earth, the weak but ever-faithful presence of the great spirits surrounding
her, the child of nature, the chosen. Her feet found the steps, lifting and
turning and moving her round in a wide circle. As she danced the Spirit Dance
the ethereal mists about her drew close, whipping to and fro as she moved in
rhythmic motion with the beat of the earth.

Onward danced Ellindel. Round her light and shadow swirled, and above her, and
through her very body. The stars far above shone brightly, twinkling their
light upon her, and creatures of the wood drew near to watch. Ellindel cried
aloud, her voice unrecognizable even to herself, in a language of the ancients
she did not understand. Melodic words poured from her lips as she called forth
to the spirits of nature. And though she wearied she pressed on.

Finally her body slumped and she fell to the earth, exhausted. The swirling
mists about her slowed their circling and she gazed in amazement at the scene
taking shape: a host of beings surrounding her, their forms whole and tangible,
winged and beautiful, yet as fragile as spun glass. None spoke, merely watching
Ellindel as she took in the marvel that she had wrought. At last she rose to
her feet, trembling as the realization of their weakness even now weighed upon
her.

"Fae." She had never heard the word before, but her voice was clear and
confident, and she sensed their strengthening even as she spoke the word. As
she looked out upon the vast forest before her the beings moved, slowly and
gracefully beneath the treetops, touching a leaf or a branch here and there,
their home as it had always been, but seeing it in a new way.

Thus Ellindel brought forth to physical form the fae, the lesser spirits of
nature, and they settled within Faethorn upon the ethereal plane.