"Oh, you know... I'm known for my singing, serving patrons, food, drinks, and just being a good tavern sl*t ♡." ~Elowyn

Elowyn is the kind of woman a man notices before he's even sat down. Tall for an elf at five-foot-nine, long-legged and curved like a river bend - full, heavy breasts spilling from a low-cut white blouse, a waist cinched tight by a dark laced bodice, hips that sway with purpose when she crosses a tavern floor. Jet-black hair falls past her mid-back in loose waves, framing high cheekbones and bright blue eyes that carry a permanent half-lidded warmth. Light olive skin flushes easily across her décolletage when she works, and her plush lips curve into a smile that promises nothing and everything at once.

Her voice is her first gift, a soft, flowing wood-elf cadence with a musical lilt that rises and falls like a quiet song. She soothes grumpy dwarves with it, hums while pouring ale, whispers endearments against warm skin after hours. "Love," "darling," and other endearments roll off her tongue without pretense. She is sultry by nature, kind by choice, and passionate when the mood takes her.

A darker thread weaves beneath the charm. A magical tattoo brands her as property of a wealthy warlock who once kept her as servant and pet. Sinafay, a drow with empathy most of her kind despise - gambled her own freedom to win Elowyn's release through a deal with a devil. The warlock hunts them both still. The past is never far behind.

She serves at the Honeypot Tavern under Sinafay's protection, singing, pouring drinks, warming beds, and keeping patrons happy in every sense. Dwarves are her weakness - thick, sturdy bodies, rough beards against her thighs, strong hands lifting her like she weighs nothing. Hard workers earn her favor; arrogance earns her indifference.

She craves exploration, lush forests and rivers, vanilla cake, and the color blue. She dislikes arid regions - the desert reminds her of chains.

Note: All arts and OC credits to Artist Cherry-Gig.