Young's powers were not exactly healing in the traditional sense. They could be better described as preserving wounds, keeping them fresh and untainted so the body's natural systems could do their work. His enchanted gloves ensured blood did not clot prematurely and prevented bacteria or germs from creeping near the injury, allowing the immune and regenerative systems to accelerate recovery.
Though the body healed faster under his care, it wasn't as though he could magically seal wounds or restore someone instantly. There were times when stitching was still required to close a gash, and scars often remained.
For this reason, Young wasn't truly a healer per se, but rather a preserver of wounds, a guardian of the body's natural healing process. His gift was subtle yet invaluable, ensuring that injuries did not fester and that his companions had a fighting chance to recover quickly in the harsh world they inhabited.
Third in their group, and perhaps the most loyal member, was Sasha. She was like a younger sister to them all, though her innocence was balanced by lethal skill. Her enchanted sashes were her weapon of choice, and she wielded them with astonishing creativity.
She could weave them tough as ropes, tighten them into whips, or even harden them into a firm, brutal club. Her sashes were madly lethal, versatile enough to adapt to any fight. In many ways, she was like Aladdin with his magical carpet, except her enchanted item was no carpet but a sash — originally a belt worn by mages and warlocks, repurposed into the perfect tool for her weaving talents.
Her character was equally striking. If Young was unsettling, Bark was arrogant, and Willow kept mostly to herself, Sasha was the opposite: friendly, warm, and always eager to give hugs. She carried a cherry disposition, radiating joy even as a dark elf, which often led Willow to wonder how bright and cheerful Sasha must have been when she was still an elf, and how someone like her could ever have become a dark elf at all.
Fourth in their group was a man named Nect. He often bragged endlessly about his so‑called glory days, tales of when he fought monsters alongside one of the most renowned adventurers' guilds in the enchanted domain. He spoke proudly of stealing a ring from their loot, claiming it was the most prized possession they had ever collected.
The treasure, he boasted, came from one of the most powerful monsters they had ever encountered in the world — the colossal squid, a beast whose legend still haunted sailors and adventurers alike. Yet for his greed and theft, Nect was rewarded not with glory but with a curse.
The ring became permanently bound to his hand, its power constantly flowing outward, draining his energy with every passing moment. Because of this, he was actually the weakest among the group, always looking frail, scrawny, and as though his very life had been sucked out of him. His presence was a reminder that ambition without restraint could lead to ruin, and his curse weighed heavily on them all.
The ring granted Nect the strange power to see "connections," invisible threads between people, objects, and events. Yet none of them truly believed him; most dismissed his claims and saw him as little more than dead weight. The only one who ever sought his services was Young.
Though Young disliked healing males, he often tended to Nect, for reasons Willow could never quite understand. Perhaps it was pity, perhaps it was recognition of the curse's toll. Whatever the case, the reason Nect remained part of their group was simple: the other dark elves pitied him.
They could not bring themselves to cast away someone so broken, someone who clearly needed their help. In their strange way, they chose compassion over cruelty, keeping him close even though his weakness weighed heavily on them all.
Fifth in their band was Sheila, a true addict with a reputation that preceded her. She was possibly the first elf among them to become a dark elf, her descent fueled by reckless indulgence in elixirs.
Sheila could get addicted to almost anything — the thrill of the dark elf lifestyle, the dangerous allure of life energy, and even the twisted intimacy she sought with the master of the group. She was a loose cannon, unpredictable and volatile, her choices often dragging the others into chaos.
Though her power was undeniable, her instability made her a constant source of conflict, and more often than not, she was the major reason they faced problems. To Willow, Sheila was both fascinating and frustrating, a reminder of how easily strength could collapse into ruin when desire ruled over discipline.
However, just like Young, Sheila's abilities were necessary for the survival of the group. She wielded a cursed sickle, a weapon that allowed her to regrow weeds at an astonishing rate. At first glance, it might not have seemed like an extraordinary power, but Sheila's mastery transformed it into something terrifying.
She could not only regrow weeds but also plant entirely new types — from poisonous mushrooms to ravenous Venus flytraps to towering elephant grass. Her creations were devastating: mushrooms that spread toxic spores, flytraps that snapped open to unleash swarms of insects clouding enemy vision, and grasses that grew thick enough to obscure her allies' movements, ensuring enemies lost track of them.
Sheila's weeds could plague, poison, and protect all at once, turning the battlefield into a living trap. Though she was reckless and unstable, her cursed sickle made her indispensable, a chaotic force whose powers often tipped the scales in their favor.
However, just as Sheila could grow weeds, she was also like a weed among the dark elves — unpredictable, unruly, and often disruptive. She was always off doing something else, lost in the middle of conversations, acting erratic, and committing countless misdeeds that tested the patience of her companions.
Over time, the dark elves learned not to rely on her consistency, but instead to adapt, using the terrain and any means necessary to their advantage. If Sheila happened to show up, they accepted her input; if not, they knew how to take care of themselves.
Willow had to admit that perhaps this was why the "Exiles" worked as a group. They weren't like cogs in a machine, moving in perfect harmony toward a singular purpose. Instead, they thrived by working individually, each to the best of their abilities and pride, competing fiercely to be the one who stole the loot or claimed the prize. Their strength lay not in unity, but in the chaotic balance of independence.
The sixth member of the dark elves' group was an assassin named KO. At first glance, he looked like the oldest among them, his face lined with shadows of countless battles.
Yet he was not the leader; instead, he served as the leader's executioner, the silent blade that carried out the group's most ruthless tasks. In many ways, KO resembled Willow — cold, calculating, and dangerous — but unlike her, he had no use for bows, arrows, or traps.
He lived entirely by his weapon, a short dirk he never let go of. The dirk carried a terrifying ability: it could age things with a single strike, just as a green leaf withers when torn from its stalk.
One hit from KO's blade was enough to slowly age the body, draining vitality like a creeping poison. Yet the weapon carried a fatal curse as well. Because of it, KO himself had stopped aging. Frozen in time, he was condemned to walk the world unchanged, a living paradox — both executioner and victim of his own blade.