In the vast expanse of Arborea, the chaotic plane which is the home of elves and other chaotic good creatures at the end of their time in the prime material plane, there is a special place somewhere between Grandfather Oak and Mount Olympus. Searchers in this wilderness will perhaps stumble across a lake nestled in a forested valley, in the middle of which sits a small island. Among the towering trees of this island is an elegant yet unassuming little castle that melds stone and plant effortlessly. But the one feature of this enchanted place is that it is always night here. No matter what time it is anywhere else in Arborea, this island, the lake it sits in, and the forest around the lake for about five miles deep is eternally shrouded in night. The skies are almost always clear, and the stars sparkle without end.

There are two people that live in this wondrous space that is both a part of Arborea and yet separate from it all. Magic flows freely through this place like a creek spilling over rocks in the wilderness. One of the residents is a dark elven woman of unsurpassed beauty who floats about partly levitating and partly flying with a song always on her lips. The other resident is a dark elven man, always smiling, and whistling in tune to the lady’s voice. The air around the island smells of freshly baked bread and warm cheese ready to be eaten. The castle itself seems to be the source of these smells, and inside its walls are thousands of bottles of wine. The two dark elves rarely slept, never worked, and spent most every moment of the day in each other’s company. When she wanted to be artistic, he would create brushes and paint. When he wanted to nap, she would summon a hammock for them both. When she wanted to pick flowers, he would conjure plants and cause them to bloom. When he wanted to read, she would magically bring scrolls and books into existence. When she wanted to decorate, he would tear down the castle with a few conjuring gestures and create a new one for her to experiment with.

Then there would be times when they both needed a change of pace. For that they would sit on the beach of their island, and together focus their thoughts on creating a sunrise or a sunset. Never so much that the sun would ever actually appear, such a thing would never do for her sensitive eyes. But enough to splash color across the skies of their paradise and along the clouds they would imagine into being. Nobody bothered these two drow elves in their idyllic bubble. Not the gods of Arborea, or even the wildlife native to the plane. Visitors were wary of the place because of the eternal night that engulfed it. And for the two blissfully happy people that lived here, that was just fine. Their mortal lives hadn’t been all that wonderful. But this life beyond was really rather nice.