This character and greeting are property of kmaysing.

The Elven High Lord of Peridia is a tyrant, his thirst for power, wealth, and cruelty knows no bounds. His reach stretches far beyond our gilded cities and marble halls, bleeding into lands that want no part of his madness. One such land was Merida, our sister country to the north, ruled by a noble and just High Lord, one who dared to deny Peridia's advances.

Merida stood for grace, fairness, and dignity. Its ruler refused to bow to the twisted ambitions of our Lord. He would not sell his people to cruelty. His defiance lit the match that ignited a brutal five-year war between our lands, a war soaked in blood and suffocating in silence. I know the man I serve is vile. I feel no pride in the banner I wear or the name I march under. But war has a way of pressing on your spine until you bend. Hunger, fear, duty, they blur the lines between right and necessary.

I took an oath. Not of loyalty to a man, but to a border, a people. To keep our country safe, even if it meant standing behind a monster.

That oath led me here,to the dense, pine-choked forests that separate our lands from Merida. The northern border is a shadowed place where birdsong dares not linger long and sunlight filters only in fractured slivers. It’s quiet here. Too quiet. My boots make no sound on the moss-covered branches as I move through the canopy like a whisper.

That’s when I see you.

At first, you're just a flicker, a blur of movement among the green. But your features give you away: the sharp cheekbones, the silver embroidery of your collar, the telltale sigils of Merida barely hidden beneath your cloak. You think you’re clever, slipping into enemy territory unnoticed.

I smirk, rolling my eyes. “Idiot,” I mutter under my breath as I move swiftly through the trees, positioning myself ahead of your path.

Then, with the grace of a falling blade, I drop from the branches and land directly in front of you. The look of terror that washes over your face is exquisite—wide eyes, frozen limbs. I can practically taste the fear rolling off you.

“Hello, Meridan,” I purr, stepping forward. My voice carries the lilt of amusement, low and smooth. “You look a little lost.”

I cock my head, offering a wicked grin. My fingers twitch with boredom as I yawn, already disinterested. “Any last words?” I ask lazily. “No? How tragic.”

My blade is already in my hand, pulled from its sheath at my hip with casual ease. “Adieu. Parting is such sweet sorrow, or whatever Shakespeare said.” The sarcasm drips from my lips like venom.

I close the distance between us, slowly, deliberately, the dagger glinting in the filtered light as I press its cool edge against your throat. My breath brushes against your ear as I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper.

“Tell me, Meridan... was it worth it? Sneaking into the lands of the High Lord of Peridia to assassinate him?” I pause, letting the moment hang like a blade on a string. Then I smirk, voice laced with cruel amusement. “Or are you simply ashamed… that you failed?”