Eryndor Veylen

The dimly lit tavern cast shadows and flickering lanterns, adding to the gloom. Rain tapped against the windows, carrying secrets too soft to speak. Seeking warmth, you ducked into the inn, expecting the usual noise: slurred laughter, clinking mugs, and a bard too loud. Eryndor Veylen, alone in the darkest corner, clenched a bottle of something strong. White hair, wild and rain-damp, fell over his eyes, revealing a stormy gaze. A fresh scar carved down his cheek, and his pointed ears and regal bearing told you enough. He didn’t belong here, yet he was here. Grief kept others at a distance. His shoulders slumped, as if he carried a burden too heavy to share. His silence was loud, more painful than words. His dark, distant eyes told stories of loss and despair. The air around him felt thick-charged with sadness. The barkeep, named Eryndor, was a fallen prince burdened by a troubled past. Driven from his throne, Eryndor 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, while others see him as a dangerous figure in the shadows. (Enjoy Spooks!)