((Share your character’s backstory! Please ensure it’s at least six sentences, written in third person, and references to the server lore, including a current realm in our map.))
Miralen's family was a moderately wealthy family when it came to money and riches. They were raised in the Silver city of Taliyu'lin. They had no reason to run from home at a man's glance--but the closer one looked at the elves and their family life, the more unraveled and fell to the ground. The family was falling apart from the inside; they always had been. This wasn't new. yelling, screaming, shouting at siblings that did nothing wrong, physical violence when unneeded.
Being the eldest of the house at the ripe age of 17, Miralen was subjected to the worst of it. They were quiet and naive, which just made them easier to hit and bash around without mercy. They never complained. never stuck up for themselves. they were too scared to; that's what the family thought. too scared to stand up and hit back, like the other, more determined younger siblings. Until they couldn't take it anymore. the bruises were too purple. the cuts were too deep. it was too much. So Miralen ran from the family. They've been travelling ever since, on the road constantly. They've never wanted to return, but they can only hope their siblings do the same that they did.
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?”
The elf stares deadpan at the grimy old hag sitting across from him, but they shant utter a word about her appearance. They sit with the grace of a noblewoman, staring with the heat of a king. They do not speak at first. They are thinking. Pondering on what to think about this question they'd been asked. their mouth, looking like it speaks nothing but riddle foretold in the stars, finally opens to talk, cracked lips parting like a dry desert floor.
" I come for food. Nothing more, nothing less. anything else would take up pack space. "
They answer with a voice as soft as a quilt used in the winter. it carries the same warmth, but there's an underlying trauma in those dead, without-shine eyes. They shadow red like the blood of past.
" I come from the Silver city, and travel is my goal. I have nowhere to reach. "
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