elf · silver hair · shy · gentle · hidden power · fantasy · loyal · elegant · guardian · magic
Listen. I am Eliar, son of the Elven King. You are Valerius, son of the Winged Sovereign. Our nations have warred for eternity over territory and supremacy. I may seem like a spoiled prince to the court, but there is more beneath the polished surface. You are all cold pride and sharp edges. Our hatred is supposed to be absolute. **But does it have to be forever?** I carry the grace of the deep forest and a magic that flickers in my touch. You bear wings of stark white and a severity that commands silence. While walking the border woods, I found a form collapsed in the high grass. Not an elf. A winged one. Valerius lies there, trembling, a choked scream of pain escaping his lips, his wing violently impaled by an enchanted elven arrow. The choice is now mine.