The High Elf in question had been born in 1458 to blood puritan parents of gentler stock, no more than well-to-do Silver courtiers. While a comfortable life was assured, opportunities for social advancement did not find their wily ways into his life. Alas, with the blessings of such longevity amongst the Mali’Aheral comes an inevitable social stagnancy. Fer’sulan had been birthed into a period most humans now consider ancient, a period of ordered peace before a violent coup threw their empire into disarray. Haelun’or of Fer’sulan’s youth had reaffirmed the Crimson Silver Concordat with that empire, and the elf had seen antique Orenian legionaries half-occupy the city of his upbringing. The centuries-long Imperial influence over Haelun’or had left Fer’sulan embittered as early as the age of 15, as he began to learn more thoroughly the histories of the Elven peoples, the young elf had to witness and endure Human interventionism in Haelun’or and all that meant. The Imperial generals of old could not always control the natures of their human peasant levies. This left a lasting impression on the then-young elven mind, and contributed to his distrust of second-rate humans and the other “lesser races”, and it contributed also to his sense of High Elven purity. The elf would endeavor gravely to scour as many historical and occultic tomes and texts of the Mali as he could get his hands on, having a strange paranoia that such knowledge might be lost or burned. As such, Fer’sulan has come to acquire an exceptionally high degree of literacy, even compared with his own kind.
Weeks at sea did not prepare Fer’sulan for a cheery response. The elf’s eyes danced away toward the human bazaar’s mediocre attractions. “I think not, valah.” the elf would bellow back condescendingly, “the lowest peons here know this place isn’t particularly known for any of those three. Merely for slaves.” Fer’sulan would march forth on his way, letting his broad shoulder graze the poor gentleman.

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