Eluvias is one of the forlorn. An elf who has grown to adulthood in human lands. He never knew his true parents, rather he was raised by a swordlord by the name of Rodrim. In truth, the man had killed Eluvias’ mother in a duel over a dispute on the road. Upon realizing that she had a child with her, he took in Eluvias out of remorse.
Throughout his life his questions as to where he came from and how he came to be Rodrim's charge was always left unanswered. He stopped asking when he was old enough to recognize the air of sadness around Rodrim when the topic came up.
His early life was happy enough. He had a family who genuinely loved him, a community that accepted him, and he had the skills needed to thrive in his environment. Sadly, his story was destined to end in tragedy. Rodrim grew old while Eluvias, in true elven fashion, stayed young. Like all people, he had to watch his 'father' grow old and die. So too did his “mother.”
But his world fell apart when the same happened to the love of his life, one of his father’s students whom he had grown up with. He watched her grow old before him, wilting like a flower before his very eyes. He held her hand as she died, vowing to love her forever. Just as she died, so too did all of his friends and comrades . For Eluvias, he felt that he had outlived his time.
For some years he continued to live in Restov. Like his father he taught others in how to use a blade. He turned his attention to books...hoping to find knowledge to be less transitory than life. He earned the moniker ‘The Grim’ around this time, for he saw no need to befriend anyone. They would just die like all the rest. His life collapsed when his depression led him to the bottle. At the age of eighty-seven he hit his lowest point...his savings gone, his career in shambles, and without anyone to care about...or who cared about him. Soon he had sold everything he owned in his pursuit of the bottle. Everything except for his mother's sword, the only thing that he had left to remind him of her.
His story might have ended there, were it not for fate. One night ended especially poorly for him when he passed out in the streets while walking home. When he woke, he heard a voice in his head. Frantically searching, he found that it came from his sword. Thinking that he was still drunk, he found that even when he was certainly sober, the voice was still there. And it was a voice that only he could hear. Already his reputation in town was one of being a mentally unstable loner, a tragic figure that if anything just reminded everyone of their own mortality. When it was clear that he was hearing voices, the opinion that he was insane was solidified. And when the local priests declared that he was under no magical compulsions or enchantments, it was proven beyond the shadow of a doubt. He was convinced that something was indeed very wrong with him, and that he needed help. As such, he agreed to go to Briarstone Asylum, with his townspeople graciously assisting him in raising the coin needed to pay for his treatment. Bringing the sword with him, he has checked-in, with the hope of receiving the help that he needs.