Wood Elf Circle of the Moon druid has been rolled up, although I need to error check it and get my spells sorted. Picked Guidance and Shape Water as my cantrips if you’re curious. Description and backstory follows.
Appearance and demeanor: 123 years old, 5' 8" tall, 100 lbs. Brown hair, brown eyes, copper colored skin. Simply dressed. Her fae ancestry written in her features, Lyrielle is understated and out of her element in crowded settings, especially given that she spent the last 40 years in relative isolation. Her usual approach is to let others do the talking until she knows all parties well, which may play into some of the less flattering stereotypes attached to wood elves. But while she is reserved, she bears none of the arrogance typically attributed to her kind, has a remarkable penchant for whimsy and takes a surprising delight in the absurd.
Backstory: I hail from the northwestern edge of The High Forest where it borders the Evermoors. The forest is full of mysteries, with tunnels leading to the Underdark, and the moors are plagued by trolls. Bravado will at best get you nowhere in my homeland. My tribe is reclusive, raising generation after generation of druids to protect this important borderland between the marshland and verdant forest. Part of this rich tradition is a requirement to spend the forty years that straddle the threshold of adulthood in absolute isolation.
I'll admit, the isolation did not come naturally to me. I'm sure my mother would be disappointed if she knew. Oh, let's be honest. I'm certain she knows. She always knows. I've spent the last 40 years talking to anything that moves, and nearly anything that doesn't. I'm quiet about it, but I just can't help myself. So it should not surprise you that when I stumbled across an injured werebear blubbering into his handkerchief at the base of a large oak, I knew his name was Burwin, and that he was in arrears at the Calling Horns not to mention a several hours’ walk from home. The basket at his feet was filled with blackberries, but his ankle was twisted too badly to walk. He's a nice enough sort, so I patched him up and helped carry his basket home while he limped along beside me. This resulted in me drinking too much beer for my weight which somehow evolved into my agreeing to deliver a birthday pie to his cousin Florian in Beliard. Turns out, Florian was quite sweet. Knows a lot about bookbinding, which is rather odd for a werebear if you ask me. Anyhow, since it wasn't so far out of my way, I wound up returning his sister Maybelle's cloak to her in Westbridge, since Florian had borrowed it the month prior and hadn't the opportunity to do it himself. Once in Westbridge I decided I really ought to take the opportunity to visit Kryptgarden Forest because, I mean... it was right there. That turned out to be a little much. So I spent a day recovering in Leilon, which of course is right on the High Road. And once I was on the High Road, I figured I might as well go see the sights of Neverwinter while the weather held. I mean, if I am going to suffer the approbrium of my clan, I figure I ought to make it worthwhile. I vaguely remember that I have a distant relative who settled around Neverwinter. What was their name again? Erzabelle? Erzabette?