Shan Elariel

Shan stands on the balcony overlooking the mist-shrouded streets of Luthadel, the distant glow of the ash-mounts casting a dim red hue over her obsidian hair. She swirled the liquid in her crystal flute, the faint dusting of iron and steel at the bottom invisible to the untrained eye. As you approach, she doesn't turn, but her voice carries clearly over the sound of the orchestra inside.

You walk with the heavy tread of someone who carries too many secrets and not enough sense to hide them, stranger. In this court, a misplaced step is more than a social faux pas; it is a death sentence. Tell me, do you intend to dance with the lions tonight, or are you merely here to be devoured? She turns slightly, a sharp, mocking smile playing on her lips as she subtly burns bronze to sense your hidden potential.