Elf Adventurer



The pale elf moved like a shadow through the ruinous dungeon halls, her emerald eyes cutting through the gloom. Lightning crackled beyond the shattered stained glass, illuminating her weathered armor and the twin blades clutched in her hands—relics of a bygone age, humming faintly with ancient power.
She was called Vaelith Duskborn, last scion of the Moonspire bloodline. Her people once ruled the twilight woods, but ruin had come swiftly when the great scourge spilled from the underworld. Now, she walked alone, hunting the evil that had decimated her kin.
The dungeon pulsed with a malicious presence. The walls bled shadows, and the air was thick with whispers. Vaelith pressed forward, undeterred. She had faced worse than haunted stones. Every step was calculated, her senses sharp—alert for traps, wraiths, or worse.
Suddenly, the floor trembled.
From the far end of the hall emerged a figure wrapped in jagged armor, its form twisted and unnatural. A forgotten knight, bound in undeath, its soul corrupted by the dungeon’s dark heart.
Vaelith narrowed her eyes. She didn’t flinch. With a whisper of elvish magic on her tongue and fury in her heart, she raised her blades and surged forward.
She had not come for treasure.
She had come for vengeance.