Iaroth Virkana doesn't have a custom title currently.
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Quote: I'm for truth, no matter who tells it. I'm for justice, no matter who it's for or against.
Species/Custom Member Title: Elf
Gif Alignment: center
Sexuality: Bisexual, male preference
Relationship Status: Single
Birthplace: Ancient Ireland
Joined: 27-July 16
Last Seen: Sep 10 2016, 11:10 PM
Local Time: Aug 18 2017, 04:10 PM
13 posts (0 per day)
( 0.23% of total forum posts )
Jul 28 2016, 11:51 PM
The world was so much darker outside of his elven grove, which was considerable when he thought about it. He'd never felt at home there, but now that he could never return it was easy to miss at least some parts of it. He had few fond memories of his ancestral home, but those few stood out most t him now that he was thousands of miles from everything he knew. It was true, what they said. You never knew what you had until it was gone, even if you had very little to lose to begin with.
Turns out he'd had more to lose than he'd realize. Namely, his right eye.
A few weeks had seen to it that his skin had begun slowly knitting back together. He still couldn't look at himself in the mirror, and he made a point to keep the right side of his face turned away from people, both to protect his image and to keep them in his line of sight, but at least the ache was starting to ease, and he hadn't acquired any sort of infection to slow the process down. But gods, was it a hideous sight. Those that did get a good look at him tried not to after that, and he could hardly blame them, but it stoked that fire inside him that raged whenever he was insulted.
And why should he have to suffer this injustice? What had he done to deserve such a cruel fate?
The only comfort he found was that at least it hadn't been his left eye. He would no doubt have to relearn everything he'd taught himself about archery if he'd lost his left eye. Right handed, he kept his left side facing his target and therefore primarily used his left eye to aim, but he was having an awful time re-gauging depth. But it could have been worse. It could always be worse.
A moderately successful hunt brought him back to the inn he'd been occupying rather late that night, a few silvers richer after selling to the local butcher. It would buy him a warm meal and several drinks to put him to sleep, and he generally needed more than a few to knock him out nowadays. His thoughts often turned dark when he had no other distractions to occupy his attention, and it was harder for his mind to wander when it was dulled with alcohol.
As he entered the bar, his remaining eye took in the few still awake at this hour before he began heading toward the bar, but something caused him to do a double take. She was trying very hard not to be noticed, and he almost hadn't, but he recognized that woman. He'd know her face anywhere.
Knowing her situation, and not wanting to spook her before he had the opportunity to demand answers from her, he continued his trek to the bar, ordering up two mugs of dark ale and a hot meal to be sent to her table. Mugs in hand, he approached her where she sat, sitting in the chair opposite hers and sliding one of the ales across the table toward her.
"I know your face. I suppose you're no longer going by D'nore."