Sun Elf

Sun elves are the sky-people of the Dragon's Range: a scattered collection of mountain tribes who have looked upward for so long that their culture, their religion, and their biology have all grown wings. They are masters of the mountain thermals and the high-altitude winds, and their ancient history with Chromatic Dragons has given them both a deep reverence for dragonkind and fire running in their blood.

The Dragon Rider ritual is at the center of sun elf culture. When a young dragon and a sun elf form the bond, it is not merely a partnership but a sacred exchange: the mortal receives power and perspective, and the dragon gains access to the full weight of mortal emotion (grief, joy, terror, wonder) as material for their own spiritual growth. To perform this ritual outside sanctioned conditions is considered heresy. To have performed it correctly is to carry a piece of a dragon's soul alongside your own for the rest of your life.

The sun elf tribes believe their true capital is a flying mountain, lost to time. Scholars outside the Dragon's Range tend to dismiss this as myth. The sun elves do not dismiss it as anything. They are still looking for it.

Sun Elf Traits

Sun elf heroes have access to the following traits.

Signature Trait: Dragonfire Blood

The sacred bond with Chromatic Dragons runs through your blood, granting you resilience against the fire they breathe. You have fire immunity equal to your level.

Purchased Sun Elf Traits

You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits.

Burning Reprisal (1 Point)

The fire in your blood retaliates against those who draw it out. Whenever you take damage from a creature, you can use a triggered action to deal that creature fire damage equal to 1d10 + your level.

Dragon Bond (1 Point)

Your people's sacred history with Chromatic Dragons is written into your blood. You gain an edge on Intuition tests made to sense the emotions and motivations of dragons and dragon-adjacent creatures.

Scorching Strike (2 Points)

You have the following signature ability. Signature abilities can be used at will.

Scorching Strike

Chromatic fire erupts from your outstretched hands and scorches your foe.

Magic, Ranged, Strike	Main action
📏 Ranged 10	🎯 One creature

Power Roll + Might or Presence:

• ≤11: 2 + M or P fire damage
• 12-16: 5 + M or P fire damage; push 2
• 17+: 7 + M or P fire damage; push 3; M < STRONG, prone

Skyborn Grace (2 Points)

The open sky refuses to hold you. Whenever you make a saving throw, you succeed on a roll of 5 or higher.

Swift (1 Point)

You have speed 6.

Wings of Fire (2 Points)

You possess fire-infused wings powerful enough to take you airborne. While using your wings to fly, you can stay aloft for a number of rounds equal to your Might score (minimum 1 round) before you fall. While using your wings to fly at 3rd level or lower, you have damage weakness 5.

On Sun Elves

Two guards were down when Aerr stepped into the plaza.

The stone elf soldier sat the drake like he owned the district, spear across his lap, waiting for someone to care enough to stop him.

"A drake," he said. He gestured upward at the beast with an open hand, the way a seller at market might indicate a bruised piece of fruit. He looked up at the nearest shuttered window, where a pale face pressed against the gap. "Not a dragon. A glorified horse with scales. Take a good look, friends. A real dragon rider would have killed someone by now."

The soldier's expression didn't change. He nudged the drake forward.

Aerr put distance between them, letting the geometry work. He gathered heat in his palm and threw it. The first fireball clipped the drake's flank. The second went wide. The soldier was already moving, already reading the angle, and Aerr shifted back and threw again.

The spear feinted high.

Oh, Aerr thought, a beat too late.

The butt of the spear caught him across the ribs, and the world tilted. He stumbled, and the blade came through his left side before he had time to understand what was happening.

The pain was not the worst of it. The worst was the sound, low and wet, and the warmth spreading through the sash at his belt before he even looked down.

The soldier tried to pull back. Aerr's hand closed on the blade. The edge cut his palm. Not strategy. The body deciding.

His hair was rising. He could feel it without seeing it, the same way you feel a fever break, something releasing that had been held for too long. The tips were already heat, already light.

The soldier saw it before Aerr felt it fully. He took one step back, then stopped, held by the spear still lodged between them.

Then he let go of the shaft and ran.

The wings came out the way a fist opens. No ceremony. Two points of flame at his shoulder blades, and then they were there, full and burning, and the light they threw against the market stalls was the color of afternoon at altitude.

Aerr raised his free hand.

He breathed out.

The fire came with it, low and total, and when it passed, a quarter of the market was black.