The Altalar sat at his desk within the finance offices of one of the many Nelfin Kingdoms. His quill which carried ink at the tip raced across the pages as Fennor filled out chart upon chart, sheet upon sheet. This was the man's daily life within the city and soon he would part from such an occupation. Part from such a life. Not because of the life he lived, though because of war. Recently, the Regalian Empire led by Crown Prince Alexander made an attack upon the many kingdoms, beginning the Elven War of 302 A.C. He found himself at risk and wished to make a move so he may reside on the safer side of this conflict.
…
He had made plans. Various arrangements to secure his departure from the Nelfin states. A vessel at the harbor, manned by a trusted friend and his crew would carry Fennor, with a portion of the fortune he amassed over many years working in government would sail to the Archipelago. It was a risk. One he was surely willing to take.
…
It was the day. The day the ship would set sail and traverse the seas to Regalia. The 188 year old shuffled along the cobbles, approaching the harbor. He adorned a black coat of wool, something drastically different to his usual attire. The elder's lengthy hair which was in the process of greying was untamed, laying upon his back, strands of hair falling over his visage. He moved with as much speed he could muster, walking at a relatively hasty pace towards the ship which he would eat, drink, sleep, live in for the next weeks or so.
…
The vessel had set sail. His gaze fell upon the city. The life he was about to leave behind. The towering buildings or modest housing. The Alta-Altalar emitted a sigh, before his gaze returned to the horizon. He would not look back again. No. He simply looked to the future.
