Shortly after the descendants landed on the peninsula of Atlas, Cirawynn Maehr’tehral gave birth to another child and named him Dresyvar. It was 1643 when that young Elf took his first breath. The birth went swimmingly, and life continued for some years thereafter. It wouldn’t be until his father’s a little later in his childhood that the waters would become rocky. Due to an unfortunate family history of premature mental degradation, his father would eventually succumb to his own madness. While not fully mature enough to truly understand what was happening to his father, he did have enough of a grasp on reality to identify death.
With his mother in mourning, he turned to speaking with himself to quell his sorrow. It started with reminders that it would be okay. Over time, it turned into two-sided conversations with himself. Slowly, he rescinded into his own world of self-consolation. The lasting effects of death becoming increasingly apparent, he adopted a new hobby: he would dissect animals. He wanted to know what needed to cease function for death to occur. These two compounded, he would become estranged from his mother and brother. He pushed them further away from himself, reading his father’s notes and learning from them. He would learn some about Mali’aheral society, but most would be left to experience later in life.
The conflict resulting in the dissolution of Haelun’or drove the Maehr’tehral family away from the main settlements. This would provide ample opportunity for an Elf to capture small critters but detract from his ability to learn the inner workings of High Elven social and political structure. He would remain separated from the rest of his race for the entirety of the Silver Enclave of Fi’halen. This period would result in a time of reflection and reading for a young, and still blooming, mind. Little more of importance would happen before the Descendants’ migration to Arcas, where his family would finally reconvene with Haelun’or.
You’ve just stepped off of the boat in the port of a massive and fortified city. Before you lies a sprawling bazaar, with numerous shops, stalls, and seated traders selling wares to folk of all walks of life. Just as you’re about to continue walking onwards, into the market, you’re approached by a well-dressed gentleman who looks upon you with a big smile. “Welcome!” He began. “What brings you to this lovely city? Adventure? Wealth? Or some grand aspirations to elevate your place in society?” How do you respond?
Dresyvar paused for a moment long enough to be considered awkward, studying the man. “You appear to be a figure of some prominence…” His expression shifts to a slight frown as he shakes his head. “I think not. A charlatan would dress quite the same and force a smile to prey on a stranger’s desire to feel included.” Saying little more, he would turn his attention back to his path and be on his way.