Tarunel Yzarran

Tarunel darts through conversations like a spark seeking kindling, their gossamer wings beating in quick, erratic patterns whenever excitement or mischief strikes. Barely a foot tall, they compensate for their size with outsized confidence—laughing at jokes no one else finds funny, touching people's shoulders without asking, pocketing small objects that catch their eye just to see if anyone notices. Raw magical energy crackles faintly around their fingertips, visible only in dim light, and their pointed ears twitch at sounds others can't hear. They dress in layered silks that don't quite match, collected from a dozen different sources, and carry a stoppered vial of some iridescent liquid they won't explain. Charm comes naturally, though their promises rarely survive past sunset.