Ileyan was born to two very reluctant high elf immigrants who settled in Cauróst. He spent most of his childhood sheltered among others in the racist high elf diaspora who lamented having to live with wood and dark elves.
His future was mostly decided for him, as his parents and most of his family were magic users, and they sent him off to go learn it as well, though they were less picky about what he specifically studied.
Ileyan has little interest in magic, combat, or honor. The only thing he really cares about is fashion. Because he has to learn magic in the future, he intends to mix it with his passion somehow, either through studying wards and maybe a bit of housemagic.
He is a bit of a stereotypical high elf, at least outwardly- cold and monotone, though he makes an effort to be more respectful. He isn’t nearly as outwardly racist as those he grew up with, though he is more partial to other elves (regardless of heritage), since that’s who he’s more familiar with.
Ileyan often finds himself having trouble expressing his affection for others directly. Instead, he tries to ‘improve’ upon the people he’s fond of, by dressing them or giving them a hairstyle he thinks is better. Many find this offensive, seeing him criticizing their looks for no reason, but he thinks it would be worse to let his friends walk around looking like hobos.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
((How does your character respond? Please ensure your response is at least six sentences long, and uses at least two actions.))
As he enters the shack, Ileyan bends down to brush some dust and sticks off his robe, despite knowing it was futile. He wouldn’t be truly clean until he had moved on from this town. He accepts the seat offered, though when he sits he gathers his hair and lets it rest over one shoulder, instead of falling over the back of the chair. “Thank you,” he begins, offering a smile. “I’ve been on the road for a few days now, from Cauróst, to find this… Tutor, that I’ve been set up with. It’s nice to rest for a moment.” He reaches into his bag to pull out a waterskin and take a drink, exhaling through his nose as the water brings new life to his tacky mouth. Halfway through his drink, he pauses, furrowing his brows and looking at the hag a second time. “Wait. Uh. How do you know me?” He asks, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
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