The elf is a striking sight. The six foot four figure is lithe and sinuous, but so are most elves. His hair is unremarkable, fair blond and straight, well past his shoulders. His eyes are deep pools of ink. It is something else, neither august nor imperious. It is as if the brashness exudes from the eyes. The posture is cocky. The rapier hangs like a statement. It’s not the elf, it’s the style. This is Sarithiel. He walks about town with a contagious smile. He never fails to say hello (especially to women of all races.) His force of personality gregarious nature is contagious.
He is a brightness seeker, and that journey has brought him to Torch. Here are wonders the world is willfully ignorant of. Here there are mysteries beyond mortal ken. Here there is adventure. The call is strong, and it has a source. To satisfy his hunger Sarithiel read voraciously; books, journals, scrolls, and stories. It was when he found the issue of The Pathfinder Chronicles detailing the wonders of Numeria that his interest was piqued. Here was something different. Here was a path to greatness that eluded the simple mind. He knew that his weird would unwined as it must.
He also knew he couldn’t be alone. Torch attracts seekers of many things. Some seek the future, some seek the past, some seek to excape the future and the past. Sarithiel has been seeking them. He knows that there’s safety in numbers. He also knows that a mutual goal helps fuel the desire. Thankfully, he’s right. Since arriving, he’s met a select few who kennit.
This is there story. These are their adventures.
