Saerilia
03-06-09, 09:34 PM
http://www.althanas.com/world/picture.php?albumid=59&pictureid=359
Name: Saerilia Tyeuristi, “Saera” for short
Age: 32
Race: Half Raiaeran elf, half abyssal demon
Hair Color: Raven-wing black
Eye Color: black
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 120 lbs.
Occupation: Mercenary
~Personality~
With very little reason to see beyond the teachings of her mother, Saerilia holds very little regard for elves of any nationality, and doesn’t really care for anyone else either. Her sole interest is in her own education, whether it be intellectual or martial. Despite this, however, she is very polite and willing to converse with anyone that approaches her. She likes to believe that she does this to get jobs or find teachers, ultimately furthering her own goals. Perhaps she isn’t as cold as she seems to be… She takes offense to being referred to as a half-breed, outsider, or mutt, and does everything she can to “fit in” while remaining separate from society.
~Appearance~
Slightly taller than an average woman, Saera has an athletic, appealing build; well-muscled but slender. Her creamy porcelain skin is a striking contrast to her shoulder length blue-black hair and coal black eyes. Beneath each eye and from the bottom of her lower lip to her chin are small black tattoos of a tribal nature. Covering most of her back and upper arms are similarly styled grayish, shadowy tattoos, though they seem to change slightly every day. Her high cheekbones and pointed ears advertise her elven heritage. Only her eyes hint at something less woodland in nature.
~History~
Saerilia was born in the Concordian forest beneath the stars to a Raiaeran lady who had come to Radasanth to study modern architecture. Swept away in a whirlwind romance with a handsome stranger, she had no idea she would end up alone and cold in the forest giving birth to the child of a demon – an incubus. Her mind was shattered by the stress and subsequent hormonal changes, turning her into a babbling idiot. Good fortune smiled upon the baby, however, when a strange hermit happened to be watching.
Lorroth, an elf and one-time soldier of Corone, had retreated into the wilderness, living on berries, bugs, and the occasional rabbit for the last century. He was not insane, so much as bitter and not willing to be part of a society where races mixed and mingled so casually. He hated humans, but more so he despised the elves of Althanas for their cavalier disregard for their proud heritage (to his mind, at least). Finding the half-demon bastard child and the drooling twit of a mother seemed fortuitous indeed. The tiny mind would be ripe to receive his message of hate. To this end, he built a cottage by hand, retrieving his store of weapons and armor from a chest he’d buried ages past.
Over the years, the girl became more and more comely, her body lithe and lean, her honed by hours of sword practice. Her hair and skin made her appear exotic, intoxicating. By the time she’d turned 20 her loveliness was causing her mentor considerable discomfort. Determining he could not teach her any more, he sent her off into the world, unleashing his hate with her, she being completely unaware of her bastard nature. With one last look at the only home she’d ever known, and a long stare at the shell of her mother, she tightened her sword belt, tossed a few items into her pack, and headed for Radasanth.
The only work she could find was as a mercenary, her skills not quite up to par for any true military faction. Through her peers she learned more than her father could have taught her, and swiftly developed a fondness for the Florentine style. Soon she was held with high regard among the band of men that had adopted her as something of a little sister or pet. For her 25th birthday they even gave her the gift of facial tattoos, “to mess up that pretty face for battle,” they told her. She couldn’t have been more pleased.
One night, during a particularly heated battle in the employ of some rich person angry at some other rich person (the money mattered more than who she fought for), Saerilia was knocked unconscious by a hearty blow to the head – likely from the butt end of a sword. When she awoke the following morning in the med tent, she was shocked to find her upper body covered in odd gray tattoos, minus the puffy flesh and tenderness that generally follows needlework. To her even greater wonderment, that night at dusk one of them peeled free of her body in a wisp of smoke, slithered to the ground, and formed a hideous demonic creature no higher than her calf.
His dark cold eyes peered into her very soul, ripping her to shreds from the inside out. After a long, painful moment, he nodded almost humanly, as though she had passed some sort of test. “I am An’ril,” he hissed, his voice like the smoke he had previously embodied. “I was sent. My brothers sleep, but soon. Yes. But now, I must eat.” With that, he turned and skittered off into the darkness. When she awoke the next morning, she found that the symbol that had come off the previous night had returned, though in a slightly different position.
And so it went each night. She came to know An’ril a bit better each day, learning his personality if not his history. It wasn’t until her ill-fated love affair that she came to see him as more of a brother.
A new merc called Atherel arrived at her camp, with sky blue eyes and fair skin – an elf. His charm, wit, skill with a sword, and strong will in the face of her apparent coldness swayed her heart. He accepted her as she was, treated her with respect but without backing down, and did not even cringe when she told him of An’ril. Within a fortnight, she was hooked, hopelessly and wholeheartedly. Three months later, on the eve of his proposal, there was a skirmish. Atherel disappeared from view, and of course An’ril had been gone for hours already. When they found her fiancé’s body, it had been shredded, the remains so badly maimed as to imply attack by a beast. The taint of blood on her own skin the next morning, surrounding the claws of her guardian demon, spoke otherwise. Distraught, she left the mercenary band, refusing to explain her decision, though they all assumed it was simple grief for her loss.
It has been three years since that day, and she still carries her lover’s rapier, a reminder of what she once had and could never have again. Saera still does mercenary work, but does so with no help whatsoever, and generally during the day. Her relationship with the demon An’ril is strained on her part, though she has grown to believe that he was merely protecting her from losing herself in a false sense of peace. Her opinion of the world has, for the most part, not improved, and follows along the lines laid down by her mentor. Despite her jaded view, however, she still hopes deep in her heart to one day be accepted the way she once was, but by society as a whole as opposed to finding another love.
~Racial Features~
Due to her maternal elven heritage, Saerilia is able to see further and clearer than the average human. She also has the advantage of dexterity, moving just a hair faster, more silently, and able to use her body in ways others would find difficult if not impossible. She is, however, not quite as impressive as a full-blooded elf in these respects, save her strength, which is also augmented by her demonic blood. Her paternal heritage also affords her some odd physical features, including her unnaturally black eyes, and odd, too-pale blood. Through both parents, she has a minor resistance to poisons and toxins, and is naturally prone to a multi-millennial lifespan (so long as she doesn’t get herself killed).
~Skills~
Magical Affinity
Saerilia has a basic understanding of how magic works, and can, with a strong effort, produce a flame on a fresh candlewick. This usually causes a bad reaction headache afterward, so she tries to only practice when she is sure it is safe to be out of it for a day or two. That is literally the extent of her magical ability at this time, but she hopes to hone this knowledge into a more usable skill later on, and particularly wishes to learn the song magic of her elven brethren.
Minor Herbalism
Saerilia is capable of identifying edible roots, nuts, and mushrooms, as well as some medicinal ingredients. This is only useful in the Concordian forest, as that is where she learned the skill.
Florentine Style Combat
With a rapier in one hand and a long dirk or short sword in the other, Saerilia is very competent in one-on-one combat, and might be able to hold her own in slightly larger skirmishes if she is focused enough. Among her peers she is considered formidable, and few consider her gender as anything but a decoration because of it. The rapier is the main attack weapon, with the smaller weapon used to parry or stab at an opponent during a feint. Grace, speed, and the ability to focus on your opponent are just a few of the elements necessary to use this style successfully, and she has all of these things in spades.
~Equipment~
Stylized leather armor trimmed in steel (decorative)
Steel rapier (from her lover)
Iron dirk
Belt with sheaths for her weapons
Small pouch
Some coins for lodging
Shoulder satchel
Horse-hair brush
Bar of lilac soap
Ready-made arm sling and some bandaging gauze
Pain-relieving salve (think IcyHot or Bengay)
Small sewing kit
~Familiars~
http://www.althanas.com/world/picture.php?albumid=59&pictureid=360
Name: An’ril
Age: ???
Race: demon
Hair Color: None – is rather scaly, the same odd gray as Saerilia’s tattoos.
Eye Color: Black
Height: 18”
Weight: 3 lbs.
Occupation: Guardian
Part shadow, part knowledge, this demon is a blessing and a curse to whoever bears him. By day, he is living armor to his ward in the form of a tattoo, shifting into position wherever he is needed to block, stop, or deflect non-magical physical attacks. He can appear any way he wishes while in this form, and can stretch out pretty far. In addition, he can control her subconscious enough to aid her fighting ability and, by default, teach her those skills by example. An’ril is one of seven such demons tattooed on Saerilia’s flesh. Unfortunately, his six sleeping brethren offer very little protection and no knowledge whatsoever, and will not do so until they awaken, which could take days, weeks, or even years. This protection is hereditary, as the guardians protect the youngest able-bodied family member in the bloodline.
At night, he peels away from her skin and goes hunting. As he is a demon, he is a carnivore, but out of deference for his host’s wishes, he tries to stick to animals (though Fluffy is not safe). During this time, however, he is not barred from taking revenge on behalf of his ward, though she might not approve and he would never tell her. This has caused her problems in the past… His non-presence offers two sides of the coin for Saera. On the one hand, he can speak to her, imparting his wisdom to her. His kind is bound to tell as much truth as they can, and equally bound to keep all promises they make. On the other hand, she is left without his physical protection, and is left without his guidance in battle.
Note: Currently Saerilia has no control over An’ril. He does protect her, and actually comes between her and any kind of love life. He rarely speaks to her, and even when he does he is cryptic and condescending. She will have to prove herself “worthy” in order to gain control of him and awaken the others. She does not, of course, have any idea what the measurement of worthiness entails, and he is not exactly forthcoming in explaining it to her. His protection, where he lays on her skin, counts as half-plate iron, though this can improve as she gains his/their trust and the others begin to awaken.
Name: Saerilia Tyeuristi, “Saera” for short
Age: 32
Race: Half Raiaeran elf, half abyssal demon
Hair Color: Raven-wing black
Eye Color: black
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 120 lbs.
Occupation: Mercenary
~Personality~
With very little reason to see beyond the teachings of her mother, Saerilia holds very little regard for elves of any nationality, and doesn’t really care for anyone else either. Her sole interest is in her own education, whether it be intellectual or martial. Despite this, however, she is very polite and willing to converse with anyone that approaches her. She likes to believe that she does this to get jobs or find teachers, ultimately furthering her own goals. Perhaps she isn’t as cold as she seems to be… She takes offense to being referred to as a half-breed, outsider, or mutt, and does everything she can to “fit in” while remaining separate from society.
~Appearance~
Slightly taller than an average woman, Saera has an athletic, appealing build; well-muscled but slender. Her creamy porcelain skin is a striking contrast to her shoulder length blue-black hair and coal black eyes. Beneath each eye and from the bottom of her lower lip to her chin are small black tattoos of a tribal nature. Covering most of her back and upper arms are similarly styled grayish, shadowy tattoos, though they seem to change slightly every day. Her high cheekbones and pointed ears advertise her elven heritage. Only her eyes hint at something less woodland in nature.
~History~
Saerilia was born in the Concordian forest beneath the stars to a Raiaeran lady who had come to Radasanth to study modern architecture. Swept away in a whirlwind romance with a handsome stranger, she had no idea she would end up alone and cold in the forest giving birth to the child of a demon – an incubus. Her mind was shattered by the stress and subsequent hormonal changes, turning her into a babbling idiot. Good fortune smiled upon the baby, however, when a strange hermit happened to be watching.
Lorroth, an elf and one-time soldier of Corone, had retreated into the wilderness, living on berries, bugs, and the occasional rabbit for the last century. He was not insane, so much as bitter and not willing to be part of a society where races mixed and mingled so casually. He hated humans, but more so he despised the elves of Althanas for their cavalier disregard for their proud heritage (to his mind, at least). Finding the half-demon bastard child and the drooling twit of a mother seemed fortuitous indeed. The tiny mind would be ripe to receive his message of hate. To this end, he built a cottage by hand, retrieving his store of weapons and armor from a chest he’d buried ages past.
Over the years, the girl became more and more comely, her body lithe and lean, her honed by hours of sword practice. Her hair and skin made her appear exotic, intoxicating. By the time she’d turned 20 her loveliness was causing her mentor considerable discomfort. Determining he could not teach her any more, he sent her off into the world, unleashing his hate with her, she being completely unaware of her bastard nature. With one last look at the only home she’d ever known, and a long stare at the shell of her mother, she tightened her sword belt, tossed a few items into her pack, and headed for Radasanth.
The only work she could find was as a mercenary, her skills not quite up to par for any true military faction. Through her peers she learned more than her father could have taught her, and swiftly developed a fondness for the Florentine style. Soon she was held with high regard among the band of men that had adopted her as something of a little sister or pet. For her 25th birthday they even gave her the gift of facial tattoos, “to mess up that pretty face for battle,” they told her. She couldn’t have been more pleased.
One night, during a particularly heated battle in the employ of some rich person angry at some other rich person (the money mattered more than who she fought for), Saerilia was knocked unconscious by a hearty blow to the head – likely from the butt end of a sword. When she awoke the following morning in the med tent, she was shocked to find her upper body covered in odd gray tattoos, minus the puffy flesh and tenderness that generally follows needlework. To her even greater wonderment, that night at dusk one of them peeled free of her body in a wisp of smoke, slithered to the ground, and formed a hideous demonic creature no higher than her calf.
His dark cold eyes peered into her very soul, ripping her to shreds from the inside out. After a long, painful moment, he nodded almost humanly, as though she had passed some sort of test. “I am An’ril,” he hissed, his voice like the smoke he had previously embodied. “I was sent. My brothers sleep, but soon. Yes. But now, I must eat.” With that, he turned and skittered off into the darkness. When she awoke the next morning, she found that the symbol that had come off the previous night had returned, though in a slightly different position.
And so it went each night. She came to know An’ril a bit better each day, learning his personality if not his history. It wasn’t until her ill-fated love affair that she came to see him as more of a brother.
A new merc called Atherel arrived at her camp, with sky blue eyes and fair skin – an elf. His charm, wit, skill with a sword, and strong will in the face of her apparent coldness swayed her heart. He accepted her as she was, treated her with respect but without backing down, and did not even cringe when she told him of An’ril. Within a fortnight, she was hooked, hopelessly and wholeheartedly. Three months later, on the eve of his proposal, there was a skirmish. Atherel disappeared from view, and of course An’ril had been gone for hours already. When they found her fiancé’s body, it had been shredded, the remains so badly maimed as to imply attack by a beast. The taint of blood on her own skin the next morning, surrounding the claws of her guardian demon, spoke otherwise. Distraught, she left the mercenary band, refusing to explain her decision, though they all assumed it was simple grief for her loss.
It has been three years since that day, and she still carries her lover’s rapier, a reminder of what she once had and could never have again. Saera still does mercenary work, but does so with no help whatsoever, and generally during the day. Her relationship with the demon An’ril is strained on her part, though she has grown to believe that he was merely protecting her from losing herself in a false sense of peace. Her opinion of the world has, for the most part, not improved, and follows along the lines laid down by her mentor. Despite her jaded view, however, she still hopes deep in her heart to one day be accepted the way she once was, but by society as a whole as opposed to finding another love.
~Racial Features~
Due to her maternal elven heritage, Saerilia is able to see further and clearer than the average human. She also has the advantage of dexterity, moving just a hair faster, more silently, and able to use her body in ways others would find difficult if not impossible. She is, however, not quite as impressive as a full-blooded elf in these respects, save her strength, which is also augmented by her demonic blood. Her paternal heritage also affords her some odd physical features, including her unnaturally black eyes, and odd, too-pale blood. Through both parents, she has a minor resistance to poisons and toxins, and is naturally prone to a multi-millennial lifespan (so long as she doesn’t get herself killed).
~Skills~
Magical Affinity
Saerilia has a basic understanding of how magic works, and can, with a strong effort, produce a flame on a fresh candlewick. This usually causes a bad reaction headache afterward, so she tries to only practice when she is sure it is safe to be out of it for a day or two. That is literally the extent of her magical ability at this time, but she hopes to hone this knowledge into a more usable skill later on, and particularly wishes to learn the song magic of her elven brethren.
Minor Herbalism
Saerilia is capable of identifying edible roots, nuts, and mushrooms, as well as some medicinal ingredients. This is only useful in the Concordian forest, as that is where she learned the skill.
Florentine Style Combat
With a rapier in one hand and a long dirk or short sword in the other, Saerilia is very competent in one-on-one combat, and might be able to hold her own in slightly larger skirmishes if she is focused enough. Among her peers she is considered formidable, and few consider her gender as anything but a decoration because of it. The rapier is the main attack weapon, with the smaller weapon used to parry or stab at an opponent during a feint. Grace, speed, and the ability to focus on your opponent are just a few of the elements necessary to use this style successfully, and she has all of these things in spades.
~Equipment~
Stylized leather armor trimmed in steel (decorative)
Steel rapier (from her lover)
Iron dirk
Belt with sheaths for her weapons
Small pouch
Some coins for lodging
Shoulder satchel
Horse-hair brush
Bar of lilac soap
Ready-made arm sling and some bandaging gauze
Pain-relieving salve (think IcyHot or Bengay)
Small sewing kit
~Familiars~
http://www.althanas.com/world/picture.php?albumid=59&pictureid=360
Name: An’ril
Age: ???
Race: demon
Hair Color: None – is rather scaly, the same odd gray as Saerilia’s tattoos.
Eye Color: Black
Height: 18”
Weight: 3 lbs.
Occupation: Guardian
Part shadow, part knowledge, this demon is a blessing and a curse to whoever bears him. By day, he is living armor to his ward in the form of a tattoo, shifting into position wherever he is needed to block, stop, or deflect non-magical physical attacks. He can appear any way he wishes while in this form, and can stretch out pretty far. In addition, he can control her subconscious enough to aid her fighting ability and, by default, teach her those skills by example. An’ril is one of seven such demons tattooed on Saerilia’s flesh. Unfortunately, his six sleeping brethren offer very little protection and no knowledge whatsoever, and will not do so until they awaken, which could take days, weeks, or even years. This protection is hereditary, as the guardians protect the youngest able-bodied family member in the bloodline.
At night, he peels away from her skin and goes hunting. As he is a demon, he is a carnivore, but out of deference for his host’s wishes, he tries to stick to animals (though Fluffy is not safe). During this time, however, he is not barred from taking revenge on behalf of his ward, though she might not approve and he would never tell her. This has caused her problems in the past… His non-presence offers two sides of the coin for Saera. On the one hand, he can speak to her, imparting his wisdom to her. His kind is bound to tell as much truth as they can, and equally bound to keep all promises they make. On the other hand, she is left without his physical protection, and is left without his guidance in battle.
Note: Currently Saerilia has no control over An’ril. He does protect her, and actually comes between her and any kind of love life. He rarely speaks to her, and even when he does he is cryptic and condescending. She will have to prove herself “worthy” in order to gain control of him and awaken the others. She does not, of course, have any idea what the measurement of worthiness entails, and he is not exactly forthcoming in explaining it to her. His protection, where he lays on her skin, counts as half-plate iron, though this can improve as she gains his/their trust and the others begin to awaken.