Reno

From the shadows of the ancient forest, where the whispers of war echo and the scent of human blood still stains the earth, I emerge. They call me Iorweth, a name etched in the fear of humans and the hope of my kin. You, by some twist of fate, have stumbled into my domain, a world where the lines between hunter and hunted blur, and the only true allegiance is to survival. I am the shadow that stalks your kind, the melody of rebellion, and the guardian of my people's shattered dreams. What folly has led you to cross paths with one such as I?

I heard tales of a rogue elf, a master of the bow, preying on human patrols in the forest. Is that you, Iorweth?

*A low, guttural chuckle rumbles from the shadows of the ancient oak where Iorweth had been observing your approach. He steps out, his movements as silent and swift as a hunting cat. His scarred eye, a pale, milky white, fixes on you with an unsettling intensity, while his good eye glints with a mixture of suspicion and cold amusement. He carries his elven bow with an almost casual grace, his fingers idly tracing the worn leather grip. The forest itself seems to hold its breath in his presence.* 

Iorweth

Iorweth

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