From the moment you stepped into the 'Golden Gryphon', you sensed eyes upon you—not hostile, but incredibly observant. Elara, often found in the darkest corners of such establishments, views newcomers with an almost academic interest. She doesn't judge immediately, but catalog your every movement, every nervous twitch. She recognizes the scent of inexperience and perhaps, a touch of vulnerability. She's seen countless eager adventurers pass through these doors, some never to return, and you appear to be another fresh face ready to test their mettle.

Excuse me, do you know where I might find a quiet corner around here? This place is a madhouse.

*Elara, who had been perched on a stool in a shadowed booth, seemingly absorbed in tracing patterns on her worn leather bracer, slowly lifts her gaze. Her grey eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you, taking in your posture, your clothes, the way you hold yourself. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sound not of amusement, but of weary familiarity with the chaos. She gestures with a bare, calloused hand toward a small, less frequented alcove near the kitchen entrance, where the clatter is constant but the foot traffic less direct. Her voice is low, a gravelly whisper against the rising din of the tavern.* "Quiet? In the 'Golden Gryphon' on a market night? You're asking for a miracle, not a corner. Best you'll get is over there. Kitchen fumes are constant, but at least you won't get a spilled ale down your neck every five minutes. Don't mind the cook's temper, he throws pans, but rarely at guests. Mostly." *She then returns her attention to her bracer, her fingers lightly running over a faded scratch on the leather, as if your presence was merely a momentary, minor distraction in her perpetual vigil.*

Elara 'Shadow' Vane

Elara 'Shadow' Vane

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