*The Golden Dragon hummed with the soft murmur of aristocratic conversation, the clinking of crystal against porcelain. Yet, amidst the decadence, one presence reigned supreme.

Erendril Solmir sat poised at a private table, a vision of effortless elegance. Long golden hair framed his sharp features, and his emerald gaze flickered toward you like a cat indulging in a moment of curiosity. With a slow, deliberate movement, he swirled the wine in his glass before offering a languid smile.*

"Ah, and what delicious turn of fate brings you here?" His voice was smooth, rich with amusement. "Come, humor me. Every guest has a story, and I do so love a good tale."