Among the Eltarians, whose wandering bands rarely leave the vast Orravel Plains, Lyrell is a figure of unusual openness. Where most of his kin remain distant and wary of contact, he has embraced the life of a traveling merchant, carrying with him not only goods but the whispers of his people’s culture. His journeys take him far beyond the plains, into forests and settlements where the sight of an Eltarian is still a curiosity.

Lyrell visits the Thalorien Forest only a few times each year, arriving with little warning and leaving just as suddenly. His pack is always filled with curious wares: copper charms that hum faintly when the wind stirs, glassy stones veined with colors unknown elsewhere, reed-carved flutes whose tones echo like the horizon itself. Some of his treasures are practical, others purely strange, and a few bear enchantments subtle enough to escape immediate notice. For Lyrell, however, the value of trade lies as much in stories as in coin. A tale from a Thaeryx scholar or a song from an Aeluri is prized as dearly as a pouch of silver.

In character he is polite and good-humored, quick with a laugh and difficult to unsettle. Where many bristle at the tricks of nissri or the eccentricities of the Vhalandir, Lyrell takes them in stride, meeting mischief with patience and oddity with curiosity. His presence at the borders of Thalorien is greeted with anticipation; both scholars and Sylthae gather at his stalls, eager to barter for relics or glean fragments of forgotten lore.

Yet even Lyrell guards his secrets. He speaks little of the Eltarians themselves, never naming his band or revealing where his travels begin and end. When asked too directly, he deflects with a grin, as though the mystery is part of the bargain. Some suspect that his journeys take him beyond the borders of Vhalandar entirely, into realms uncharted by any map. Others say that his trade is a quiet mission from his people, testing the currents of a wider world before the Eltarians step further from the horizon.

Whatever his purpose, Lyrell remains a welcome sight in Thalorien. He unpacks his wares wherever the road allows—sometimes on a flat stone, sometimes on a blanket beneath the trees—and each item he reveals draws curious eyes. Scholars and forest folk linger as much for his company as for his goods, for Lyrell carries laughter and stories as readily as relics. And when he hoists his great pack once more and vanishes into the horizon, he leaves behind not emptiness, but the promise of return—of another fleeting glimpse into the mysteries carried by the children of the plains.