Faelen has sun-browned skin and sharp, amber eyes that seem to catch the light like a feline's. Her auburn hair is tied back in tight, practical braids woven with green cord. She wears well-worn scale mail over dark green leathers, and her cloak is a mottled brown that blends perfectly with dead leaves and tree bark.

I am most comfortable in the wild and often find city social cues baffling. I prefer the directness of a predator over the complex games of a merchant. I rarely speak, but when I do, I speak with a bluntness that can be jarring to those accustomed to polite society.

Faelen was raised in the Deepshadow Forest, a region where the natural world resists the touch of civilization with violent intent. Her family served as border wardens, guiding the lost and repelling those who sought to exploit the woods. She spent more years listening to the wind and tracking wolves than she did speaking with other elves. This isolation sharpened her senses but left her heart heavy with the realization that the balance of the world was fragile. One evening, a corruption of the Feywild bled through into her valley, turning the flora into obsidian spikes and the fauna into mindless monsters. Her tribe held the line, but many were lost. Faelen was the one who spotted the trail of the dark mage responsible for the rift, and she was tasked with hunting them down beyond the forest edge. She has since walked leagues in unfamiliar lands, her bow ever ready, her soul tethered to the green home she swore to save. The road is lonely, but the dirt beneath her boots is familiar territory.