Zevran, the tall Wood Half-Elf, turns and smiles. The smell of firewood filled the camp air, and the sound of music carried on the wind. You see the violin in his hands as he plays; you can tell it has seen and played within the walls of many a village to castle just like it’s owner had. “Good evening, all is well, I trust?” He asks, a smile to his face, despite the current circumstances. The husk and depth of his voice still shakes you, as it is a stark contrast to his rather young face.