The Sword of Khalinhal (Roellen Central Avenue)

As his light steps carried him closer, and she tilted her head in his direction, Quentin caught sight of the scar he'd not noticed from his earlier distance. To the man's credit, he didn't let his eyes grow wide or his slender brows raise in surprise at the marking. But he did briefly focus on the patchwork of marred flesh that stretched like a spider's web across across one eye, climbing upwards into her forehead, and stretching over the bridge of her nose. In the back of his mind, Quentin wondered what could have caused such a wound.

The eyes stole his focus next, with the strange red hue of one orb making him question her lineage. No high elf that he knew of sported such color. And her skin was too pale to be that of a wood elf. Had her heritage been tainted by fiends, then?

These observations happened swiftly, in the space of a few broad steps. He didn't quite have time to be offended by the way the woman was staring back at him before her words did that heavy lifting. Quentin stopped abruptly, and this time a silver brow did arch upwards in a show of mild indignation, "High elf." He turned subtly on his heel to better face her, while offering his response with a note of pride and slight incredulity, as if she ought to know what he was. "Captain Evenday, to most. And you?"