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A silhouette could be envisioned, blemishing the otherwise white, snowy purview. Standing on the seashore,
his fatigued regard perched upon the leaping horizon, where the sun had struck one of its luminous shards,
delineating a lambent ray on the surface.

The delicate breeze, a strange melange of warm air and particles of mist, caressed the side of his visage, as both
his eyes were coerced to a shut. Memories deluged his thoughts, and a smile was drawn onto his lips. Hardly did
he hanker these rememberings tenaciously.

Frown. His eyes constricted, and he shook his head.
"They're gone now, inutile to liven their memories." The elf thought to himself, lowering to seat on the beach.

His hand dunked into the snowy sand, and he snatched a handful of the ground, raising it to eyes-level as trickles
of time began sliding between his fingers. He observed silently, as life slipped away.

"The Sun rises, and cedes its throne to the Moon, who herself relinquishes the skies to the Sun once more.. We wake,
we sleep.. We live, with pain, joy, suffering, love. And we slumber once more."

And when the last grain fled from his grasp, he opened his eyes again staring to the horizon once more, where
countless ships have floated, where ships float, and ship will float.

Scratching, he began, as more ink was spilled on the parchment. Useless, rather, words had no effect. No magic. Like the
prey fleeing its marauder, his emotions would taunt him again, once the fluid dries out.

I wait, still.
The day, the Gods will bless me with a vision.
Vision of a sail, dancing upon the skyline.
Thin one, that assorts us from the skies.
I shall blink, and abnegate.
Deny, and a large breath will escape my soul.
When the warmth of your tender lines,
In my fluid arms, shall rest.
Ah, cruel, I say no more,
Wishing for a star, even more,
Bright you'll be, your unforgettable smile.
Sleepless, I'll be. Until then, be well.

A young human man wearing a slightly torn red robe, adored by a few yellow ornaments woven on passed by with a piece of paper in his hand, 2 maces in his belt, a staff and shovel on his back, mumbled softly to himself in an ancient tounge, fixating on the paper and the surroundings in turn, seeming to seek something.
His brows lifted when he picked up the elf in his sight, giving a short, somewhat thoughtfull frown before turning to this unexpected soul in his path.

Tucking the map away he walked towards this entity, tensening his muscules somewhat, though this was hardly visible due to the robe. His uncombed brown hair, hanging just past shoulder length and bearing the same colour of the eyes examining this elf.

A short moment more passed before he spoke with a plain tongue:
"Hello sir, quite out of the regular paths and crowded places, may I enquire on what you are doing here? There may be monsters around, or might soon be."

The man, seemingly in his early twenties having shifted his pose slightly, equipped with the tools of a treasure hunter, was now waiting for a reply.