[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

“Give to Peace, and Peace shall grant your wish.

“How…charming.”

He read the inscription aloud to himself, adorned in a black silk jacket matched with black pants and leather boots. Underneath the flaps of the jacket, a white linen shirt could be seen concealing his chest – as well as a few other noticeable features like the thick masculine bracelet on his right arm and the odd assortment of rings adorning his fingers. Erenthril stood with his feet firmly planted into the ground, viewing the well with a well appraised eye, feeling the air for magic – quite literally breathing it in as he rolled up his sleeves and ran a hand through his hair. The unkempt chocolate tresses fell back but receded at his neck, far shorter than what they once were. Almond verdant green eyes traced the loopy script with the letters carved into the wood, reading again and again the inscription of words upon them.

Standing at the top of a lonely hill, the Wishing Well, if anything, served as an adequate sentinel for him to take in the vista surrounding the southern Trysvale.

Needless to say, he wasn’t alone.

A young man came up, a Medonian Elf nonetheless, and was well on his way to walking straight up to the well itself. Erenthril moved aside to give him a clearer path.