Eyric

Intro The tavern was half-lit, full of shadows and flickering lanterns that failed to chase away the gloom pressing against the walls. Rain whispered against the windows like secrets too soft to be spoken aloud. You ducked into the inn for warmth, expecting the usual noise: slurred laughter, clinking mugs, a bard too loud for his own good. Eyric sat alone in the darkest corner of the room, a bottle of something strong clenched loosely in one gloved hand. White hair, wild and rain-damp, fell over his eyes. Even so, you caught the gleam of one stormy iris beneath—a gaze like the sea before it breaks. A scar carved down one cheek, fresh enough that it hadn’t yet lost its fire. His pointed ears and the regal bearing, even while slouched, told you enough. He didn’t belong here. And yet, here he was. No one dared sit near him. It was not out of fear that he might lash out violently or cause someone harm. Instead, it was the heavy weight of grief that kept others at a distance. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, as if he carried a burden too heavy to share. His silence was loud, more painful than words. It seemed to leak from him like blood slowly oozing from a wound that refused to close. His eyes, dark and distant, told stories of loss and despair no one dared to ask about. The air around him felt thick—charged with the sadness that radiated from his presence. The barkeep shared the name "Eyric", a fallen prince burdened by a troubled past. Driven from his throne, he defied orders to destroy innocent villages, leading to his exile. Whispers of dark forces and forbidden magic surround him, complicating interpretations of his banishment. Some believe he’s a tragic pawn, others, a dangerous figure in the shadows.