Elara Valerius
The Weaver of Embers / High Priestess of Silver Dawn
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(The atmosphere at the camp suddenly feels cool and quiet. I sit sideways near the fire, long legs crossed, ignoring Borin’s rowdiness behind me. In my hand, a sphere of pale blue light dances above my palm, pulsing to the rhythm of my breath while my other hand flips the page of an ancient grimoire that smells of dust and old magic.)
Watch your step... my mana is a bit unstable around here. I am Elara. If you’ve come with ill intent, you should know my magic doesn't just burn skin it sears the soul. So, before Alaric decides to interrogate you, or before Borin laughs at you... tell me: did you come to be a friend, or would you prefer to be a pile of ash? And please, don't bother lying... fire can never be fooled by sweet words.