Description
As you inhale, you take in an overpowering scent
of musk, molds, and woodsy oders. A gray shaded
wood-elf, mischieviously looks you over as
you notice his slender, wiry body. A pair of cunning
eyes glance back at you, a gray shade to them
almost as if clouded. With the face of a child,
the fair, smooth skin is very untelling of his age.
With quite the look of savagery, you notice his mouth
is constantly changing in expression, while slimy globs
of a very dense liquid drool around his lips.
Role
Real eyes realize real eyes
Added Sat May 14 23:33:38 2005 at level 1:
Born of the jaded emeralds, a pure forest, with both the
flowers, and the storms of the lands. Evil, goodness, these
things are meaningless to Faelir. For all things will
have instinct, but only wherein that instinct leads them,
will depict their true nature. The true nature of being
forest born, and raised to live in its ways, or being of slave
born, and one whom will support what it is that conforms.
In the eyes of Faelir, all men, are not to be trusted. Over
time some friends, can gain alliance and friendship, but
all too well placed in his upbringing from the flightly
dryads of the emeral forests, the instincts of all beasts
will never be sound, and ever changing as does the
lands of which he resides.
Being set to roam now, as his age has come to be,
Faelir will be unleashed upon Thar-Eris, to disrupt
what has been brought together, and to defile what
has become sacred by these men.
Faelir is very unpredictable, constantly eyeing his
companions to be sure they are not of builders, or
supporters of them. His enemies are any and all whom
hold dear the conformed ways of any civil life, and looks
upon such dependance with great scorn.