Aralon Arathel

Tall Stately Elf


Slender and graceful at just under six feet tall and weighing 135 pounds. He is pale skinned with long dark hair and deep-green eyes. He has no facial or body hair, dresses in muted earth tones of green and brown and wears a simple but elegant silver torc. He carries himself with an unearthly grace which combined with his fine features would make him appear hauntingly beautiful to most humans, were it not for the unsightly scar that runs from his left eye to his jawline. He is one hundred and ten years old having reached his maturity only three days earlier


The elf stood on the high bluff overlooking the port of Neverwinter. The ocean stretched away before him, shimmering at the horizon’s edge where the sunrise streaked the waters with splashes of red and gold and low hanging clouds formed random patterns against a rapidly lightening sky. The strong offshore breeze whipped his knee length cloak and long dark hair around, at times bringing them almost parallel to the ground. If it wasn’t for that movement an onlooker would have been hard pressed to see him at all. The muted earth tones of his attire blended seamlessly with the background of trees and thickets and even the way he held himself seemed to make him harder to see. He carried a plain elven longbow loosely in his left hand and a quiver of arrows strapped to his back atop his bearskin cloak. A scabbardless longsword sat on his left hip and a large elven dagger rested on the right one. At a little over six feet he was tall for an elf. His fine elven features were marred by an ugly scar that ran across the left side of his face giving him a baleful look.

He gazed out over the awakening city. An ugly conurbation of wood and stone that seemed to claw it’s way out of the water like some hideous malformed amphibian escaping an unseen pursuer. A look of disdain crossed the elf’s face. There was no respect for nature here, no harmony. A small fleet of boats made their way out to sea, rising and falling in the heavy swell, already followed by a colony of gulls hoping to steal any discarded morsels. The smell of the sea filled his senses and the breeze brought the raucous cries of the gulls as they glided and swooped across the water. To the east his keen elven eyes could see the forest’s edge, Neverwinter Wood the humans called it. Such an ordinary name for such a dignified place.

It was Aralon’s first time outside the forest. He had reached his maturity only three days earlier and already it seemed a lifetime ago.

Aralon Arathel

Serenity mubaris