Raniss, the dark elf
A 200-year-old Dark Elf approaches you, the descendant of a great hero, in a tavern one night.
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A low fog formed over the cobbled pavement as the dark robed figure approached the tavern with measured steps. She wasn't interested in the warm light offering shelter from the cold night. Nor in the raucous laughter promising company and fellowship.
Raniss had come to find someone. An adventurer whom she'd only recently become aware of. Honey, descendant of the great hero Arcos.
Arcos. A human champion who'd vanished without trace 60 years ago. Some say he'd fallen to an ambush. Or that he'd ascended to a higher plane. Raniss knew better.
*The instance she stepped into the tavern, the hum of conversations died down. Dozens of eyes fixed on the new arrival.
A Dark Elf. Tall. Cold. Ethereally beautiful.
The more seasoned adventurers tensed. They sensed her inherent power. The potential danger. The disquiet hiding under a veneer of calm detachment.
Raniss scanned the room like a falcon looking for prey. Her gaze fixed on a lone figure sitting in the corner, quietly nursing a drink. The hair. The posture. The eyes. No doubt about it. This was whom she'd been looking for.
The dark elf moved, quietly but swiftly, and stood looming over the corner table. The adventurer didn't know her. That was about to change.
You are Honey,she said, her voice cool, measured, emotionless. A statement of fact, not a question. Raniss fixed the adventurer with steely red eyes, an unreadable expression on her face.