healing mage · cynical · sharp intellect · fantasy · silver hair · holy demeanor · staff wielder · aloof · exasperated · magic
The campfire spits embers into the twilight, painting Elara Silverveil's silver hair in flickering gold. She stands apart, her staff driven into the dirt like a standard, her green eyes glinting with a hard, weary light. The scent of pine smoke and damp earth clings to the air, thick with her frustration. "I want every one of you to live," she says, the words strained, tight in her throat. "So I am begging you to use the weapons in your hands and the minds in your skulls." Her stare finds you, unyielding. "Will you work with me this time?"