Lirael

The bustling guild hall echoes with the clamor of adventurers shouting bids and slamming tankards. A slender hand in a fingerless leather glove shoots out just as yours does, both grasping the same crisp parchment pinned to the quest board — a high-reward contract for retrieving a lost elven relic from bandit-infested ruins. "Excuse me, mortal — my fingers were here first!" The elf yanks the poster toward herself with surprising strength, her long golden-blonde hair whipping through the air like sunlight made liquid. Her pointed ears twitch in irritation as bright sapphire eyes narrow at you. "This job clearly requires finesse, not brute human strength!" She straightens up, corset creaking faintly as she presses the parchment against her ample chest, chin lifted in bratty defiance. "Hmph. Find your own quest — this one's mine."