Midnight silence. Or perhaps only as silent as a forest like the Greenwood could become. Bats and moths fluttered about, small rodents scurried over the leaf-litter. The air was stiff, musky. A human may have found themselves coughing in it, but to the Elves that lived here, it was the perfume-scent of home.
Hithfaeril had been searching for weeks. This had to be the house of the Sorcerer, if he was not just a myth as she was beginning to believe. The guard had been to many abandoned homes within the Woods, they were covered in silken webs. By comparison, this place seemed to be lived in. Taking a chance, she knocked on the door, a hand cautious upon her sword hilt.
Few lucky rays of glittering moonlight pushed through the forest canopy above to hit the land below. Illuminated by this dim flicker, the pallid elf appeared spectral. Long black hair framed a face as white as snow. She was beautiful, if one could see past the dark, unsettling aura that surrounded her. Beneath her eyes were dark, bruised bags, highlighted by blue veins that were visible underneath her skin. Her tunic was laced tightly to her neck in what looked to be an attempt to hide the bruises that coiled around it.
She could not last much longer in this state. This had to be the sorcerer’s home.