Yearns

Grey elf who lost a wager to Mourns.

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Yearns_-_Grey_Elf.jpg

Even for a grey elf, Yearns has an even greater reputation for being aloof and arrogant. She has silvery grey hair and amber eyes, adorned by clothing of brown and silver with a cloak of a deep blueish hue. Her hardened grey skin is reminiscent of distant and cold stone.

Yearns regards every other race with disdain, even other elven races. She seems to only speak respectfully about other grey elves.

When dealing with the few who she might happen to respect, her disposition is very noble and honorable, doing everything to make sure a promise is kept or a common enemy is defeated. To most common folk, though, she resembles an arrogant knight.

However, if mutual respect ever did arise between her and a non grey elven race, it would be due to a profound shared affinity of the natural world and a shared sense of sagacity.

Though it might seem like grey elves aren’t the types to go adventuring, lone grey elves leaving their mountainous homes seeking adventure is not unheard of. They see themselves as champions of good and as such some will go out into the world to defeat any kind of evil lurking in the shadows. Even so, this does not mean that Yearns has let her arrogance and contempt for lesser races dissipate. This disdain is a driving force in her life, and seems to overshadow any good intentions that she once had in her more naive youth.

Approaching a somewhat old age at 241, she is left tainted by the foul state of the world and its “lesser” inhabitants, and of a particularly embittered encounter from a druid known as Mourns in a dingy tavern in Sabhail.

Grey elves aren’t known to have surnames, and perhaps it was this shared triviality between Yearns and Mourns which made their encounter a fated one.

Privy information sparked the curiosity, but their equally forlorn gaze harboured deeper thoughts worthy of discussion. Perhaps the driving force behind the feeling to converse was ineffable to them both.

Drinks and wise proverbs alike flowed freely, and before too long, a whimsical wager as well.

The stakes were high, but it would seem King Glim smiled favourably on the lone druid that day.

“The stink of the collected rivvin. How I despise them all!”, Yearns venomously spat.

“Take your win”, now glowering with a contemplative composure. “Destiny awaits you Mourns. Be free, and die an ugly death, and pray to whatever god that grips your soul that it isn’t by my hands”.

Mourns purses her lips, and even in this somewhat triumphant outcome, she could not help feel overcome by a disheartening melancholy.

“Had I not known
that I was dead
already
I would have mourned
my loss of life”

And with that, Mourns walked out.

Yearns

Ameshirel: A World Undone BenScerri dannyhesz