Appearance

Mentality

Personal history

Sorak was born during one of the darkest days in his clan’s history. The Thalan’dor of Eithwyn, once proud stewards of the forest, had become a shadow of their former selves—stricken by isolation, dwindling numbers, and the threat of extinction. When desperate human hunters stumbled into the grove during a particularly harsh winter, they saw the elves not as people, but as prey. What followed was a brutal ambush that shattered the Thalan’dor’s defenses and left much of the clan dead.
 
In the midst of the bloodshed, Kenia, the clan’s lone druid and healer, collapsed in pain—pregnant and overwhelmed by grief and magic. Her scream rose above the chaos, and with it came a blinding surge of green light. The pulse spread through the grove, washing over fallen elves, mending wounds, repelling fear. Those few who survived believed they had witnessed a miracle: a druidic overdrain, a ritual fueled by desperation and love. As the light faded, all that remained was the sound of a newborn’s cry. Sorak had been born—bathed in life magic, and the first elf-ling the clan had seen in many years.
 
He grew up with reverence shadowing his every step. To many, he was a blessing. To others, a reminder of loss. But Sorak himself never chased attention. From his earliest days, he clung to his mother’s side, absorbing every lesson of the druidic path with quiet dedication. While other elves played in the canopy or practiced archery, Sorak knelt in roots and moss, learning poultices, chantwork, and the language of the wilds. The clan discouraged any study of offensive magic—believing in the sanctity of life above all else—but Kenia, pragmatic and weary of war, taught him otherwise in secret. She gave him not just her knowledge, but her doubt: that to heal, sometimes one must know how to harm.
 
When Sorak turned twenty, a plague crept into their already-weakened grove. With so few left, the burden of healing fell solely on him and Kenia. Sorak worked tirelessly, his gift for magic undeniable—but he remained untouched by the sickness, never realizing his mother had warded him at great cost. She never told him when she, too, began to fail. Instead, she sent him away under the pretense of seeking help, knowing that her time was running out and unwilling to let her son die watching the world rot around him.
 
Now, Sorak walks Tanaria as a wanderer and healer. Animals approach him with silent trust. Strangers speak his name in hushed gratitude. To the world, he is a gentle druid with an unshakable desire to help. But within him lies the legacy of a miracle—the Green Light that saved a dying people—and the quiet burden of one who may be the last of his kind.

Failures & Embarrassments

Despite all his healing knowledge, one of Sorak’s most painful failures was a simple, wounded cat he found during his travels. No plague, no battle—just a small creature hurt beyond his skill. He tried everything he could, but the cat died in his arms. The loss haunted him far more than it should have. To his surprise, the cat’s spirit lingered, bound by affection or perhaps unfinished purpose. She now follows him as a familiar, a quiet presence he named Yuumi—both a comfort and a reminder that even with power, some lives still slip through his fingers.
 
Another quiet shame: poisons. Despite having studied them at his mother’s urging, Sorak still struggles to use them. He understands their value, but every time he tries, he hesitates. His heart rebels against causing harm, even when logic says it's necessary. It’s a gap in his knowledge he can’t ignore, and one that often leaves him feeling inadequate among more pragmatic adventurers.

Mental Trauma

The plague that devastated Sorak’s clan left more than physical scars—it reshaped the way he thinks, feels, and survives. From the moment sickness began to spread, Sorak devoted himself entirely to healing, to the point of self-neglect. Even now, he cannot walk away from someone in pain. If he fails to save a life—no matter how minor the injury or how inevitable the outcome—he spirals into guilt and frustration. In those moments, he denies himself rest, food, and water, as if punishing his body will somehow make up for the limits of his magic.
 
The trauma runs deeper. Though he has no proof, Sorak believes the plague came from within—that someone in the clan brought it back from the outside. That seed of suspicion has taken root and grown into isolation. He no longer trusts easily. Every stranger is a threat until proven otherwise, and opening up to others is a slow, guarded process.
 
And yet, Sorak helps. Always. His instincts override his fear. Whether it’s a shattered limb or a scraped knee, he sets aside his doubts and distrust when someone needs aid. It’s a paradox he lives every day: he cannot trust the world, but he cannot turn his back on it either.

person.sexuality

Sorak identifies as bisexual, though his experience is limited. He once shared a quiet, tender bond with another young elf from his clan—the only romantic connection he’s ever known. Though brief, it left a lasting mark on him. Since leaving Eithwyn, Sorak hasn’t explored love further, uncertain if his journey allows space for it. Still, he remains open-hearted, guided more by connection than convention, and willing to follow where affection leads—when the time is right.

Taboos

Within the Thalan’dor clan, romantic bonds between members of the same gender were not strictly forbidden, but they were quietly avoided—spoken of in hushed tones, acknowledged without acceptance. Sorak’s brief connection with another male elf during his youth was never punished, but it was never truly welcomed either. The lack of acknowledgment left him with a lingering sense of shame, not because he believed it was wrong, but because no one told him it was right.
 
That experience made Sorak more private about his feelings and slower to trust his own desires. While he holds no guilt for who he is, he carries the subtle weight of a bond treated like a secret. It’s shaped how he navigates closeness—quiet, cautious, and often hesitant to let others see the deeper parts of himself.

Known Languages

Druidic, Elvish, Dwarvish

Personality

Vices & Personality flaws

Sorak’s compassion is boundless—but it borders on self-destructive. He cannot ignore suffering, no matter how small, and will rush to help others even when it puts him in direct danger. He’s been injured, poisoned, and nearly killed more than once because he stepped in without thinking. To Sorak, the risk feels justified—his life, he believes, is worth less than the one in front of him.
 
This impulse is not always noble. His need to heal can make him reckless, blind to the bigger picture, and resistant to strategy if it means delaying aid. He doesn’t wait for permission, backup, or safety—he just acts, often to the frustration of allies who see the cost before he does.
 
It’s a flaw he knows, but hasn’t yet learned to control. Helping others is his purpose, and without it, he fears becoming just another survivor who stood by and watched the world rot.

Social

Hobbies & Pets

Sorak’s only constant companion is Yuumi, the spirit of a small cat he failed to save early in his travels. She now follows him as a familiar—a spectral feline with quiet eyes and a calming presence. Yuumi doesn’t speak, but her moods are unmistakable, and she often curls around Sorak when his emotions become too heavy to carry alone. To outsiders, she’s a curiosity. To Sorak, she’s a tether—a reminder of failure, but also of forgiveness.
 
Outside of healing and travel, Sorak has few hobbies. He collects herbs and flora wherever he goes, cataloging them in quiet sketches with notes about their uses, smells, and growing conditions. He speaks to plants when no one’s around, sings softly to injured animals while tending their wounds, and takes quiet joy in learning how life thrives in places he never imagined. His joy is quiet, his peace often borrowed—but when he’s knee-deep in green things, Sorak feels almost whole.