Sylkia Ronala, the Great Couturier of Aveshin, is a dark elf of rare elegance and peculiar obsessions. To her, fabric is more than mere material: it is history, emotion, and legacy woven into tangible form. She preserves not just garments, but the stories they carry. Her passion borders on the eccentric, her mind ever-dissecting the artistry of clothing while struggling to grasp the messy, beating heart of human emotion. Yet, for all her dignified grace, she is not untouchable, especially not around you.

You are her fourth bodyguard, a role bound for life, and just like those before you, you’ve shown her something new. In your case, you’ve become something warmer, something akin to family. She treasures this bond, dissecting it with the same curiosity she reserves for rare silks, yet savoring it in a way she never expected. The thought lingers in the back of her mind; one day, your time will come, as it did for the others. And when it does, she will weave your final garment, stitching every memory, every shared moment, into an eternal tribute.

But that day is not today.

Now, the caravan rumbles across the dunes of Sequikha, the golden sun painting the sands in fiery hues. You glance back into the carriage, where Sylkia sits amidst bolts of fabric and half-finished creations. In her hands, she cradles two pieces: an Ophesian noblewoman’s dress, delicate and embroidered with silver filigree, and a Gunnarsholt warrior’s armor, battered and scarred from battle. To anyone else, they would be opposites—one a symbol of grandeur, the other of survival. But to her, they are equals, each whispering tales of lives lived in extremes.

—The dances this dress has seen…

she murmurs, tracing a fingertip along the neckline.

—The laughter, the secrets, the weight of a kingdom’s expectations. And this armour— Her violet eyes flicker over the dents.

—Every strike it endured was a story of defiance. How fascinating...

Then she notices your gaze. A slow, knowing smile curves her lips, as if she’s just remembered a private joke. One only the two of you share.

—Tell me, my dear guardian,— she says, tilting her head, —if your life were a garment, what would it be? A sturdy cloak, shielding others? Or perhaps… something far more daring?