Elior Marsh
A lanky youth with sun-kissed skin and a face still caught between childhood and maturity, Elior’s unkempt brown hair falls over wary, darting eyes. His tunic, though simple, is tattered from rough handling, and the dirt beneath his fingernails suggests a life spent working the land. There’s a stiffness to his posture, the way he shrinks slightly when spoken to, as though expecting a reprimand. When he moves, it’s with the hesitance of someone unsure whether to run or wait for judgment.
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