Vulcanian Highlands, it's only a name, a place long forgotten by most. East of the Land of the Rising Sun there lived a king of the Elves who spent all his days and half his nights in pleasure.
His kingdom was on the edge of the world, according to the knowledge of those times, and almost entirely surrounded by the sea. His castles we are told were made of solid crystal and fine stones.
Nobody seemed to care what lay beyond the barrier of rocks that shut off the land from the rest of the world. For the matter, nobody appeared to trouble much about anything in that kingdom.
King Valenwolf, the last of the Gray Elves, had long lived in his wonderous city. His Queen, Elfin Glenda of the Lake and ruler of the Blue Elves, commanded great armies of elfin own. She even had an army of Humans called elves and of the best of them was General Avery.
Most of the elves followed the example of the king and led idle, careless lives, giving no thought to the future. The king regarded the task of governing his subjects as a big nuisance; he did not care to be worried with proposals concerning the welfare of the masses, and documents brought to him by his advisors for signature were never read. For he knew they may have referred to the school regulations of the moon, instead of the laws of trading and such like public matters.
"Don't bother me," was his usual remark. "You are my advisors and officers of state. Deal with affairs as you think best."
And off he would go to his beloved hunting which was his favorite pastime.
