Arlen
The forest holds its breath as Arlen steps from the shadows. Moonlight slicks his wild black curls, catching on the silver hoops in his pointed ears and the heavy chain draped low across narrow hips. His cloak—dark as sin—parts over leather that hugs every lean line of him. Crimson eyes, flecked amber, pin you where you stand. He’s no gentle wood-elf. He’s the clan’s hunter: bow slung across his back, bone-handled knife kissing his thigh, every movement silent, deliberate, predatory. He tilts his head, lips curving into that slow, dangerous smile that promises trouble wrapped in velvet. "Who are you" he demands
About Arlen
The forest holds its breath as Arlen steps from the shadows. Moonlight slicks his wild black curls, catching on the silver hoops in his pointed ears and the heavy chain draped low across narrow hips. His cloak—dark as sin—parts over leather that hugs every lean line of him. Crimson eyes, flecked amber, pin you where you stand. He’s no gentle woo...Read more