The Distant Shores
Arriving in Newlmarche on a merchant ship, he took up residence in the mostly-abandoned chapel and cemetery grounds when the moon proved to be as sparsely inhabited as he was told. The conversion of the chapel loft and much of the underground crypts into both living and working spaces was a project unfolding at the glacial pace only an Elf could be happy with. Indeed, Zophiel is one of the First-Born, a White Elf, and their kind is as ageless as any other though their connection to the aetherial environs of the Astral Sea has affected their nature in ways that perhaps they themselves do not fully understand.
Found almost slain after the buried militiamen spontaneously rose as undead horrors and assaulted the crypt, the brave Wean refugees and a Dracon scout saved his life by destroying the foul unliving. Some of the villagers immediately spawned rumors that he was a necromancer — and regardless of the innocence of his alchemical production of paut, the mere association with the undead is often more than enough to stir up dangerous sentiments in the panicky, ignorant populace. Not that the White Elves are especially known for their dark magics, but in a tight-knit rural community, the outsider always seems to catch the blame.
Most White Elves are all but obsessed with their mystical philosophy called The Way. Aliens see it as a religion, but the elves themselves never seem to tire of explaining that it is instead a personal journey to transcendent enlightenment… whatever that means. Zophiel himself has mentioned that he travels The Way as well, though with the extreme lifespans their kind exhibit, it is likely that he has experienced much else over the course of his memories besides. He wears the minimalist garb of a monk’s habit and apparently owns little here. What he is doing alone so far from the First-Born monastery fleets is anyone’s guess. Soft-spoken, knowledgeable and sensitive, there is still within his presence a nagging suggestion of insecurity or anxiety. He feels intense guilt for having been what he calls a “lure” for the undead to rise up, interpreting it as a profoundly embarrassing personal failure. In an effort to make amends, and perhaps to remove himself from the awkwardness and danger of being associated with rising undead, he has accepted the invitation to join the crew of the Last Hope.
If he can aid them in their mission to bring water to parched Newlmarche and transform it into a green garden world, he feels that would be a poetically appropriate apology for the incident.