The Elohim ("god" in Hebrew) are immortal beings of pure Earthpower, also referred to as the silvan fey folk of the Land in spite of their bearing no resemblance whatsoever to traditional forest elves.
The fluid essences of the Elohim allow them to shapeshift into any form conceivable. Judging by their psychedelic choices, they have some eternal magic mushroom juice flowing through their substance as well. When communing with stable Earth beings, they prefer a human shape of ethereal beauty wearing a selection of questionable outfits. The original cover of The One Tree informs the reader that these consist of garish, ragged muumuus the atrocity of which makes even the whimsical wights blush.
If one word were used to sum up the Elohim, it'd be "haughty". Or "egocentric". Or possibly "disdainful". Or maybe "superelegant". Or even "übercool". The fact remains that these eldritch beings are so far up themselves that they generally consider all worldly matters far too mundane and grubby for them to get their perfectly manicured hands on. Very occasionally, if there is a situation that might cause the cosmos to fall to rack and ruin, the Elohim will finally deign to get involved, pretty much because they abhor the concept of messiness and let's face it, any Ragnarøkkr-like world-ending catastrophe is liable to cramp their style.
In these extremely rare latter cases, the Elohim will get together and decide upon one of their number to become Appointed. This should not be seen as any type of honour; quite the reverse in fact, since the named Elohim has to go out into the oh so unstylish world and serve for all eternity as a bulwark against whatever the impending crisis is. Although it is never spoken about, the selection of an Appointed is fixed, rather than random - the status is reserved for whichever one of the Elohim is considered "least cool" by the others. This undoubtedly explains why the Elohim spend every moment of their immortal existences desperately trying to out-vogue each other.
The Elohim's traditional home is called Elemesnedene and is situated on a remote island far offshore. Needless to say, the entire place is architect-designed and simply reeks of chic. Interestingly, the time in Elemesnedene never changes - it's always 6:00pm on a summer's evening and thus the middle of cocktail hour.
The structure of their actual language lurks in deep, impassable caves, but it is known to resemble the tinkling of silver bells, for which the author provides a specific, informative term: tintinnabulation. In Ancient Rome, a tintinnabulum was a wind chime often wrought in the shape of a phallic figure. Can this this etymology be taken as enlightening the reader as to the contents of this secret speech?
However, the Elohim are most noted for their supreme past-mastery at all sorceries involving bamboozling the minds of less magically-able beings, and especially humans. They are rightly feared for such expertise at creating completely credible illusion - or casting glamour, to use the correct archaic term - that is utterly indistinguishable from reality to the perceptions of their unfortunate target. Think stage hypnotism, but dialed all the way up to eleven.
A prime example of this occurs in The One Tree, where, wary of Thomas Covenant's dire and rage-filled propensity to lose control of his wild magic and thus bring the Arch of Time crashing down, the Elohim, led by Infelice their queen, cast their most powerful glamour upon Covenant, mentally locking him in an entirely unresponsive (and thus safe) state. They do this by sorcerously and totally convincing Covenant that he is not in fact the wielder of white gold, but that he is instead a laughably bad 90s rap star wearing ludicrously baggy trousers.
The sole thing that Covenant is capable of doing whilst trapped within this eldritch illusion is utter just three words of the utmost bitterness, three words that directly relate to his self-loathing, together with his physically leprous and equally morally envenomed condition. He mutters these while unceasingly dancing like an aphasic monkey to the no doubt arcane rhythms of a music that only he can hear.
A tragic plight indeed, until he is rescued from the shackles of his mind by Linden Avery (finally doing something useful, but only after chapters and chapters of agonizing and inaction). Scary stuff - don't mess with the Elohim.
<In good sooth, it might be better if one plunged straight into the nearest caesure as soon as spotting one of these buggers from afar. The sneaky shapeshifters will not hesitate to strike unfair deals either, the dire consequences of which may be met only after millennia. Once in the mists of time, a host of Giants narrated them the tale of Thelma and Bahgoon, and won the gift of tongues in the exchange. However, sans explaining the entire extent of elo-plotting, the fey folk claimed the life of a yet unborn Giant to do as they willed, and later ensnared the grandson of Gossamer and Pitchwife into the webs of a calamitous geas to kill Linden. The wetter than wet dream of Thoolahians, undoubtedly, but it furthermore ruined the mind of the victim and drove him to kill his own kin as well as into the clutches of raving insanity.