A flash of green moves in the periphery of your vision, so sudden is this shifting of color that your mind barely registers its presence. Yet those precious seconds wasted trying to identify its origin are already up, as suddenly the green blur coalesces seemingly right in front of you; as if it was there the whole time. A hooded figure crowds your vision in an instant, there is a flash of steel quicker than you can scream, a hideous lance of pain, and the nauseous sound of blood gurgling in your throat fills your ears. Even as your body slips into its death throes, and your bloodshot eyes flicker up to your killer, you see only a masked visage, an emerald eye giving you a coy wink, and all too soon, you see no more…
And so it is the way for many enemies that are marked for death by Iriel, their final moments one of pain and confusion, a cloaked Aelf seemingly appearing out of thin air to deliver them Avelorn’s fury personally. So skilled is she in her acts of subterfuge and infiltration that whole battles have been won without even a single arrow being launched. The foe already surrendering as they turn to find their leaders lifeless bodies punctured with pinpoint wounds and choking on virulent poisons. Iriel’s work as an Assassin is infamous, and whilst many other races of Order may turn their nose at such brutal acts of warfare, to the Aelves the art of assassination is one of great honor. To take one life to save hundreds is one any Aelf would complete with relish, preserving a greater peace at the striking vengeance of their silver steel.
Iriel cuts a fierce and intimidating figure on the battlefield, poisons and Vineleaf arrows cover her lithe form, and often, her hood is raised, and her face covered in a mask of darkest night. The only sign of her features both friend and foe alike witness is her piercing emerald eyes, which seem to not just stare at them, but through them as well. For many in Avelorn, it gives them the immensely uncomfortable feeling that the Aelf is sizing up their stance, weak points, joins in their armor, and other exploitable attributes.
Yet all these parlor tricks are of course not her true nature. Contrary to her outward appearance and supposed demeanor; Iriel possesses an adventurous spirit and is wonderfully cheerful to close friends and kindred alike. Whilst her task as an assassin is a macabre one, this does not seem to bother her in the slightest, and she can often be found constantly telling jokes and giggling loudly amongst the other Aelves. Iriel’s role requires her to be separated from Avelorn for perhaps weeks or months at a time as she scouts faraway lands and hidden paths. Yet if the isolation bothers her, she does not show it, her return journeys are normally met with immediately going to the nearest Tavern, reveling Aelves both old and young in glorious tales of adventure from her many travels. How she slew the wild Beastmen of Kerin Tar with a single arrow, or saved an entire village with nothing but an empty tankard and a broken blade. Such stories and songs are long, and fanciful in the extreme, yet whether they are true or not hardly matters. For all laugh with delight as Iriel proudly leaps onto cluttered bar stools in heroic reenactment, spilling Thrumbleberry wine in her excited haste as she clumsily swings the bottle like a makeshift sword.
Despite her table manners, and rambunctious levels of storytelling aside, Iriel knows her deadly skills are one of utmost importance. When the sounds of war do call, the Aelf will never hesitate to answer, donning her cloak and vicious armaments to sow a swift death upon all who would threaten Avelorn.
