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The hall echoes as the doors slam open. “Sorry I’m late, but I was off saving the world and such.” The boots of the black haired elf are covered in mud and track footprints on the stone floor. The elf looks around the room with a sparkle in his grey eyes. “What a glum lot this is.”
His hair is tied back in the classic knot work of the northern elves. The leather that covers most of his body is worn and has seen much abuse. The bow he carries is ornate and obviously cared for daily and protruding from the quiver of arrows on his back are perfectly fletched white feathers. Before anyone can interject he bows deeply to the Duke.
“I heard that you were looking for someone to deal with a little problem you had concerning a tomb? If I may introduce myself, I am Sarael.” He looks around as if in anticipation of great rejoicing at the mention of his name.
“Sarael…? The best shot in three kingdoms? Defender of the temple of Tir? No? Destroyer of the black dragon Tenrath? Sarael the blinding arrow? Anything?” With a sigh and more than a little regret he continues, “Word doesn’t get around the way it used to… I’ve come to offer my services.”
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