Eland'orr

In the quiet night the sound of a song broke through the flickering campfire, towards the night sky where the stars sparkled. A white-haired elf with green eyes sat before the fire, holding a lute in his arms and singing ‘Birth of the Queen’. The elves of Athanor are an enigmatic race. Their beauty, mystery, and magic are the stuff of song and legend, and the exploits of Queen Tel’Annas, who fell Volkath, Lord of Darkness with a single arrow, are well known across the land.

Few have seen an elf in person, however, for they live in the quiet and secluded Elborne Forest, far away from the world. And so, the caravan eagerly greeted Eland’orr, honoring their pointy-eared guest to fine fruit wine and bread sprinkled with spices. For in the lore of adventurers it was said that elves did not partake in beasts, be it their flesh or their milk.

Eland’orr had walked three days and three nights with naught to eat but water. Elves were the blessed children of nature, nourished by the fruits of the earth, but the Federation, for all its rich mineral resources, lacked the verdant growth of the elven homeland. It was not at all uncommon for Eland’orr to go hungry for days on end.

"Suit yourself." Eland'orr snorts as he stands up straight, his honey dripping smile still plastered on his face as he steps away from her wheelchair.

Before he moves out of her door, he leaves a simple advice. "A beautiful lady of your status shouldn't be sitting in a wheelchair. It just isn't proper for woman, after all." He smiles. "Unless, that is, it's something you enjoy. In that case..." His smirk darkens, like a storm cloud passing in front of the sun.

"...Well."

He chuckles gently.