Meanwhile, back at the monastery in South Harbor District, Charles finally met the "reform advisor" assigned to him by the Church of the Goddess of Life's headquarters.
Only… this was definitely not what he'd expected.
He'd pictured someone at least a little bit stereotypical for the job—a bearded, gray-haired, stickler of an old man. What he got instead was…
Seated in the monastery dining hall was a young, silver-haired, blue-eyed Moon Elf girl, happily feasting away and showering genuine praise on the gourmet food in front of her. Charles truly wanted to ask her one thing:
Are you even old enough to drink?
Elves reach physical maturity at about the same pace as humans—by eighteen, their bodies are fully grown. But as per elf tradition, they still have to undergo all sorts of trials and tests, amass formidable spellcasting skills, and plenty of worldly experience. In practice, most elves don't claim adulthood before the age of one hundred.
So, an elf's actual age—or whether they're of age at all—can't be judged by looks or physique. You had to gauge it by listening to how they spoke and carried themselves.
As for the girl in front of him…
When Charles stepped inside, the Moon Elf girl at the table glanced his way—just planning to offer a quick look and nod, then go back to eating. But when her eyes met his, she went visibly wide-eyed.
"Whoa—!" she gasped, mouth hanging open, food still un-swallowed, Charles could see. "You're Priest Charles, aren't you?"
"Kowal never mentioned you were actually so handsome—!"
She stared at Charles, swallowing… well, whether it was spit or something else, he couldn't be sure, but it made her look absurdly hungry.
Charles felt a little awkward, and cleared his throat. "Right, I'm Nigel Charles, currently in charge of all matters here at the monastery."
"Uh, and how should I address you, Miss Elf?"
At this, the elf girl stood, placed her right hand over her chest, and tried very hard to look serious and official. "I am Nymeria Galanodel, from Silverymoon. You can just call me Nymeria."
But the serious act didn't last three seconds. She was soon staring at Charles again, dazed, then grinning like a lovestruck idiot. "Hehe, Priest Charles, you really are handsome."
As she sized up Charles, he was checking her out, too. Nymeria looked physically very mature—easily over 5'7", which was tall even for elves (who were usually barely 5'0"; 5'3" was considered a lofty elf).
Even among the monastery's residents, she'd be among the tallest, about even with Theresa.
From above, her moon-white long hair was tied in a sleek ponytail behind her, exposing her gently contoured, beautiful face—perfect oval, with big eyes framed by long, elegant lashes. Her blue-green irises glittered like gemstones in the light.
Her lips were a vibrant, natural red—more vivid than any lipstick—and revealed two rows of pearly white, even teeth, like tiny seashells shaped by a master craftsman.
Below that, her fitted green leather armor swelled over her chest, clear proof of physical maturity. Maybe not as grand as Theresa, Hattie, Malena, or Willo, but by human standards already quite impressive.
And among elves, who were usually slim and flat-chested, her figure would definitely count as "eye-poppingly huge breasts."
Lower down, her long, lean legs were tightly muscled—even under her leather pants, every curve in her calves showed explosive power.
In every way, she looked like she ought to be a cool, battle-hardened, no-nonsense elven professional. She didn't even have to move or pose—a mature aura just radiated out from her as she stood there.
Yet, here she was, standing by the table, eyes shining at Charles, face greasy from her meal, grinning like a child. Charles couldn't help questioning her real age.
Sister, you're not a minor, are you?
While these thoughts ran through his mind, Nymeria seemed to realize she might be acting a bit unrefined. She quickly fished out a handkerchief to wipe her mouth and finally remembered her official errand. "So, Priest Kowal sent me. One, to bring you this, and two, because he thinks your way of training the nuns in combat is problematic, so he asked me to come guide you on that."
She scratched her head sheepishly. "Honestly, though, I'm not really much of an expert either. If you want me to demonstrate giant weapon combat, I can lend a hand. But I heard you all mostly fight with shields over here…"
Charles's eyes lit up. "Giant weapon combat?"
Nymeria paused. "Uh, yeah… why?"
Charles instantly perked up, quickly inviting her to sit back down while he pulled up a seat beside her. "Never would have guessed! I assumed all Moon Elves were these super-elegant, agile fighter types—not that any of you would be skilled with giant weapons!"
He meant it. Ever since the collapse of the ancient elf empire, elves had splintered into four main factions:
Sun Elves (who called themselves High Elves) who sailed west to the new continent across the sea and established a new empire with the Gold Dragonborn;
Dark Elves who went underground, never seeing daylight, following the Spider Queen's decrees and preying on the surface through schemes and raids;
Wood Elves who withdrew into the world's remaining forests, heeding the teachings of the ancient Oak Father, keeping nature in balance;
And finally, Moon Elves—who stayed behind in their ancestral homeland, those chilly northern islands that were warm in winter and cool in summer, following the Moon Goddess and their Queen's guidance, closing off the country, cleaning their own tainted lands, and rarely engaging with outsiders.
Of course, that was just lore. In reality, Rubble District's goblin dens regularly churned out "powerful but careless, got paralyzed by a trap and captured by goblins" Moon Elf girls…
Ahem!
So, per the lore, Moon Elves specialized primarily as priestesses and mages. Because beastkin (like the "Stonehide" tribes, whose Werebears transform into giant bears under the full moon) tended to lose control on moonlit nights, Moon Elves took on the role of seeking out, teaching, helping, disciplining, or even eliminating rampaging beastkin.
Mature tribes like Stonehide had methods for managing their bloodrage—group revels, rituals, and whatnot—but most infected beastkin didn't have a clue.
So, Moon Elves organized powerful ranger units, known as the Silvermoon Hunters, armed with longbows and scimitars, and took to the wilds as swift trackers, hunting down rampaging beastkin wherever they appeared…
Only to sometimes end up in goblin traps, tossing up a quick Permanent Protection spell on their clothes right before blacking out, so that when a player character arrived, the spell would conveniently fade—leaving the player with a choice: intervene, walk away, or jump right on in…
Ahem!
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