Quill and Compass, Entry 25: El’Koryn

The El’Koryn stand at the shared root of the now-divided kin of Elves and Orcs; not as a curiosity of history, but as the common beginning from which two philosophies of living gradually took shape. To speak of Elves or Orcs without first speaking of the El’Koryn is to admire branches while forgetting the trunk. Their story is one of unity stretched over millennia, until what was once a single form bent and grew in directions so distinct that its descendants no longer recognized the shape they once shared.

The El’Koryn did not call themselves Elves, nor Orcs, nor any word now spoken by their descendants. The name by which we know them was not of their own invention, but given by the Dragons in the first centuries of their existence. Al’Kor’Ren; a Draconic phrase meaning "the moving heart of existence." The phrase was softened over time, adapted to mortal tongues, until it became El’Koryn as we now know it.

Their founding lands encompassed most of central Sylandaria, with the epicenter in modern day Nilheim, at the site of what would become the Grand Temple of Ikozra. They arose in the closing years of the Age of Dragons, when it became clear that Gaiaxia’s balance could not be sustained. Where Dragons endured, the El’Koryn were meant to live, refine, and return. Their lives were long by mortal standards, but finite by design. They keenly understood this. Indeed, all surviving fragments of their philosophy point toward a culture deeply aware that existence itself was a responsibility.

In appearance, the El’Koryn would be recognized almost immediately as kin to modern Elves, specifically Moon Elves. They stood tall, most nearing six feet or slightly above, with lean but strong builds. Their features were striking and reportedly pleasant on the eyes, but not yet polarized into the extremes seen today. Skin tones varied widely, but favored darker tones and hues of blues, greys, and purples akin to their Moon Elven descendants. Their ears tapered to points, and their eyes carried a brightness often remarked upon in early accounts, though whether this was physical or poetic embellishment I cannot say.

The El’Koryn originated the tradition of ritualistically braiding and adorning one's hair at major life milestones or achievements. It was not adornment merely for vanity, but for communal witnessing, memory, and to tell one's story, even at a glance. Surviving records suggest that they also established the taboo of braiding one's own hair; another would always do so, affirming that a deed, vow, or transformation had been seen and would be remembered, not merely claimed. Both Elves and Orcs preserve this inheritance, though in vastly differing forms. In both cases, the principle was consistent: a life lived without witness was incomplete.

Their settlements reflected a similar philosophy. Excavated foundations reveal circular designs, often built in concentric patterns radiating outward from a central chamber or hall. Scholars argue whether this was purely symbolic or functionally defensive; I suspect both. The El’Koryn believed in circulation, of Spirit, of knowledge, of responsibility, and their architecture embodied it. The center was not a throne room, but a gathering place. Instruction, deliberation, ritual, and declaration all occurred within communal halls where no single voice held permanent dominance.

Adulthood among the El’Koryn was not determined solely by age. Physical maturity occurred as it does in their descendants, but full standing within the community required a public declaration of purpose. An individual would present themselves before their kin and state how they intended to contribute to the living heart of Gaiaxia. This was neither competition nor spectacle; it was commitment. Skill would be demonstrated, yes, but more importantly, intention was affirmed. To exist was to serve the cyclic nature of Gaiaxia; how one chose to do so shaped the path ahead.

The major fracture in El’Koryn society arose with the introduction of the Dweorgas. After many millennia of sole stewardship of Gaiaxia, the Dweorgas challenged the ideology of the El'koryn by sheer virtue of their existence; they lived faster but shorter lives that seemed to nourish Gaiaxia more than most El'Koryn. This critical crossroads in history is where the earliest divergence of the El'Koryn manifested. Some grew ever more determined to refine mind and Spirit through study and magic, seeking to ease life’s burdens and elevate communal prosperity. Others grew to believe that refinement required adversity; that the Spirit is tempered not in comfort, but in challenge. Those who leaned toward contemplative refinement became the forebears of modern Elves, further dividing along environmental and philosophical lines: control and prestige among the Sun; harmony and shared knowledge among the Moon; mastery of the mind and philosophy among the Sea; embodied instinct and oneness with Gaiaxia among the Wild. Those who embraced the strength and physical prowess presented by the Dweorgas would become the Orcish clans, preserving the rite of declaration as trial, and marking their stories in the scars they bear on the skin rather than braid in the hair. Their fangs grew more pronounced, their builds more formidable, but the root remained the same: contribution through demonstrated worth.

The El’Koryn did not fall to flame or famine, nor were they swept away by some singular calamity that scholars might neatly name and shelve. They thinned not through extinction, but through transformation. Over millennia, differences in philosophy hardened into identity, and identity into form. Environment pressed its will upon them. Belief shaped bone and custom alike. Time simply did the rest. What remains of the El’Koryn is not a lost civilization buried beneath Nilheim’s soil, but a living inheritance carried in braid and scar, in clan halls carved from stone and libraries grown from living wood, in the roar of a trial and the hush of a shared meditation. Their mastery of self did not perish with their unified name. It persists wherever an Elf contemplates the refinement of their craft, and wherever an Orc proves their worth before kin. The El’Koryn understood that their lives were finite, and that finitude was the point. They did not strive to endure unchanged. They strove to live so that when they returned their Spirit to Gaiaxia, it would be richer and more nourishing to the Realm that gave them that life in the first place.

May we remember that our divisions often grow from shared beginnings,
Yours, ever truly,
— Tobias Elanor, Bard, Scholar, Explorer Extraordinaire

© DracTheDrake

Hello hello!

The El'koryn have gone through many, many.... many many many changes through their development. We wanted to have a common ancestor that linked both Elves and Orcs, but weren't just a shadow of their descendants that's never spoken about or known.

The process of building them was an odd one for us, since we basically built them in reverse compared to most of Gaiaxia's other species. We started with the Elves and Orcs, then built the El'Koryn with the knowledge of what they would eventually become; which made things simultaneously easier and more difficult. Fun fact: they were originally going to be named the Eldori before I conlanged Draconic and realized that the name was far too close to the Aeldari of the Warhammer universe than I was comfortable with.

Thanks again for reading Quill and Compass! Our next few entries will cover the different Elves and the Orcs mentioned here. Hope to see you there!