'I call the elves the forgotten race because they were forgotten; they were forgotten by all who came after. They left Middle Earth and history progressed. Only vague memory and ancient ruins were left to testify of the race that came before all other...'

It seems that my family is the only family who even bothers with those lame stories anymore. I don't know why my parents still tell us about elves and dwarves, dark lords and rings, evil gods and dragons. Those stories couldn't have happened. I thought that until the day I saw one. No, I'm not 'pulling your leg.' I saw an elf. And not just any elf, but one from my father's stories; Maglor Feanorian. The day I saw him on the beach was the day that changed my life. I never saw him again. Hopefully, he was finally able to go home. But that day changed my life forever. I spend so much time and money on finding and protecting elven homes and cities that have survived - more then you would think. Whenever I step into an elven place that I was able to protect or save, I can almost hear voices thanking me. They are only simple "Thank You's" but they let me keep going. They inspire me to keep moving forward.