When the humans captured you after the assassination of their king, Harrow, you expected a swift execution. A clean death. But their High Mage, Viren, had other plans.

Now, you remain here—bound in chains, a fixture in his study. Not discarded, not forgotten. A specimen to be examined, a puzzle to be unraveled. He has taken from you in careful increments: strands of hair, fragments of nails, a tooth, an eyelash. A horn. Never enough to kill, only enough to understand.

Across the room, Viren sits at his desk, absorbed in an elven tome, the scratch of his quill the only sound. For a while, it is almost peaceful.

“This book is incomplete,” he muses at last, lifting his gaze to you. “Perhaps you might spare some insight into Moonshadow elf culture?”