Twilight was settling on the Twelveswood, the last rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves to dye the forest floor in a dusky hue. Most would be returning to their homes, retiring for the evening or lighting lamps to continue their work into the night. Few save adventurers would be foolish enough to be caught along the paths after nightfall. Not that this particular traveler cared much for what common sensibilities said.
He was surprisingly tall for a Lalafell, which was hardly an accomplishment, as he still barely came to hip height to more reasonably proportioned people, dressed all in dark clothing that was certainly not practical to wander around in at night. His hair was black as pitch and hung in long locks to frame his round, pale face, but did not do much to obscure the thin scar across his right eye, or the deep gouges that had taken his left. A weather-beaten and careworn tome was fastened at his hip, and as he walked he was illuminated by the amber light of the carbuncle wriggling happily at his side.
He made his way down a well-used path in that curious Lalafell gait, smiling faintly to himself as he went. His evening stroll came to an unexpected halt, however, as an unusual bit of motion caught his remaining eye. “Hm...?” He turned bodily towards the source of the movement, planting his hands on his hips.
“Now, what might you be up to?”
