Eral was born and raised in Valen, which his parents had helped found only a few years before. His father was often traveling and selling magical wares across the country, so he was primarily brought up by his mother, the town resident healer. She taught him the importance of helping others, describing family as those you care about no matter what and instilling a strong sense of loyalty to his home town.
Growing up as an Elf in a primarily Human village was an interesting experience. Many of the adults in town were still younger than him and most of his childhood friends were long gone by the time he reached adulthood. This made him value his friendships all the more and he began to see death as just the last part of life rather than something to be feared. Some saw his outlook as quite morbid, but those who knew him well saw the loyalty his unique view created in him.
While he always had a good head for numbers, scholarly pursuits didn't quite suite him and neither did becoming a merchant like his father. Instead he applied his natural talents to become a carpenter and architect, the best ways to use his skills to help others. Over the years he helped design, build, and furnish most of the towns buildings, including city hall and all of the local churches. His work kept him busy and despite his long life (and a few flings here and there) he could never bring himself to find a wife or start a family. Instead, he treated the townspeople as his nephews and nieces, although he was eventually old enough to be most of their great grandparents.
His lived a happy life until he was hired to do some repairs on the old inn. He was examining the rooms on the second floor, crunching some numbers in his head, when he began to notice a pattern in the movement of the flames in a candle he was using for light. He followed the pattern in his head a few times then began drawing its shape in the air with his fingers. Suddenly, the flame jumped at him and he dodged out of instinct, the fire igniting a nearby table. He tried to quickly put it out, but caught himself reciting the pattern again, causing the flames to spread further. Panicking, he ran for the door but tripped down the stares and was knocked out.
When he came to the next day he learned that the inn had burned down, the owner having saved him from the blaze. No one, not even the owner, blamed the old Elf for what they all assumed was a tragic accident. Despite that, he still felt a horrible sense of guilt for what happened, though he told no one about the jumping flames.
After he recovered he tried to get back to work, but while putting together a table a he noticed another pattern, this time in the rhythm of his hammer and the shapes in the wood. He tried to ignore it but couldn't help but follow the rhythm with his free hand. When he finished the rhythm his hammer struck the table and shattered it to pieces, a feat he was nowhere near strong enough to accomplish. He dropped his tools and went to get a drink to calm himself, telling himself he just needed more time off, but every time he tried to work on a project he would notice more patterns and stop working out of fear. Since he couldn't work anymore and knew no other ways to make a living he quickly fell into poverty. At first, people who'd known him their whole lives were more than willing to help him out with spare change and extra food, but as time went on generosity would reach it's limit or he would refuse to impose on those who couldn't help him.
It's been over 60 years since the accident and now most of the town only knows him as the poor old Elf who lives under the old oak tree. He still cares for the town and people still give him enough to get by, but not even an Elf lives forever. He intends to spend his last days sharing what wisdom he has left with those who would listen and fondly remembering decades long past while trying to forget more recent ones. He hopes, as grim as it may sound, that the last part of his life comes soon out of fear that he may once again see the patterns and hurt he village he loves.
