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Post by sandcastles on Feb 19, 2011 18:04:40 GMT -5
A sun elf. Sharp green eyes. Long pale golden blonde hair. Thin facial features. In her late 14th decade. At 5'5" Tiheirimae has a slender, graceful build that easily betrays her elven nature. Her gaze is cold, seeming both judgmental and haughty. She is never seen smiling. Her demeanor may often seem hostile or bitter for her voice is as sharp as her ever present glare.
Despite the fact that elves typically do not permanently mark their flesh, a delicately etched black tattoo under her right eye depicts a cracked arrow shaft sheltering a teardrop.
If bare, one can see that her biceps are encircled with tattoos of delicate humanoid footprints.
She favors charcoal black clothing highlighted with reds and wears a cloak that matches a drow's piwafwe, its mantle and hood white, seemingly in imitation of the dark elves hair. From a distance one without sharp eyes might even mistake her for one of the dark elves until her faintly bronze tinted skin becomes apparent. Her hood is always kept up, though rarely made to hide her features, during the day it is pulled down to shelter her eyes. In light she squints deeply, as if better accustomed to the dark. At her hip rests a wicked rapier and a curved, cruel dagger, along with a plain buckler of dark metal.
 ___________________________________________ Anyone with sufficient lore on elven deities may recognize the symbol on her face - though as a minor power of the elven patheon few may know of it.
It is the symbol of Shevarash; The Black Archer; Elven deity of loss, vengeance and hatred of the drow. Those that recognize the symbol may realize this as the cause for Mae's cold demeanor - those sworn to the black archer vow to never smile, to never know joy, until the day the dark elves and their vile gods are smote to ruin.
___________________________________________ Once Mae was beautiful, a flutist of some note, within her quiet village in the Ardeep forest. The coming of the Dhaerow and the ruination of her home stripped her of her heart and music. When a Haunted of Shevarash came to her bedside, where she grieved without end, her torment was finally arrested. In the years of training that followed her bitterly boiling rage slowly overtook her beauty, leaving her a gaunt, glowering remnant of her once radiant self. |
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Post by sandcastles on Feb 21, 2011 9:29:04 GMT -5
Cold green eyes surveyed the dark passage. Though she hadn't hoped, there was always the chance, and a vague notion of disappointment twinged at the back of her mind. The cave was shallow, host to a pack of humanoids, as had proven the case for many of the tunnels she had thus far found. The hunter stalked out of the passage and pulled her hood low as sunlight lanced painfully at her eyes.
The underrealms were not so easily found. She would find them however. And then she would join the front lines of the war. After having trained for so many years in the upperdark itself she found herself strangely longing for the dark cavernous expanse. Perhaps it was the promise that those dark roads offered. The promise of vengeance.
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Post by sandcastles on Feb 22, 2011 19:02:40 GMT -5
Upon small hill that sheltered the entrance to a shallow cave she stood with her back arched, head thrown back. The white hood that kept her guarded from light had fallen away and let her long mass of silken pale blonde hair tumble free. In each hand, held out at her sides, she clutched half of a broken arrow. Fierce green eyes shut as molten rage shifted her features from a cold set to one of completely dedicated malice. The scream she unleashed was as icicles made of hatred, searing the ears and hearts of those who could hear it. It was a scream that promised no mercy. A scream that promised retribution. A scream that yearned for vengeance. The slender woman held that bitter outcry for a long lingering time, until her lack of breath brought it to an abrupt end. She fell to her knees, panting.
Quietly her lips moved as she prayed. For she had found the first clew. The first sign that her coming was made in good faith. The holes she had been guided to were small. Yet from them came gibberlings. The underrealm was near. Now it was only a matter to find out if she could make her way into it. Into the depths. To join the front line of the war.
Standing once more she rebound the snapped arrow with a short red cord and tucked it back into her belt. Drawing her hood up she stalked off the hill, stepping without pause over the small humanoid bodies she had ruined so she could take her place over the cave. No entrance to the upperdark that, but the symbolism was what counted.
She set to returning to the human village not to far away. She'd found allies there. Not the same that she was used to. They didn't seem to cling to the strict traditions she had been raised to, nor did they truly understand her devotion. Yet they would fight beside her, and she could learn from them. The glibberlings had brought back memories of temple and training, thirty years passed in the maw of the dark tunnels, with those also dedicated to the war. It occurred to her that her journey here, away from there, had left her lonely. Her cousins, brothers, sisters, rarely understood those of her faith, and often she went alone in her trek. Yet now she had at least some solace against the pain that ate her heart and the promise that steeled her against joy. For at least there was some company to be had and she would not battle alone. Not yet, anyways.
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Post by sandcastles on Feb 23, 2011 19:41:37 GMT -5
Always questioning. Always demanding. Always fools before the war.
They flung their judgment at her feet. They spoke half truths from willing ignorance. It was disappointing behavior to see coming from her cousins, distant as they may be. Few knew of the ways of the haunted. Few, even amongst kin, knew of the church of Shevarash. Those that did often had only the faintest, often misguided notions. The ways of the faithful were of course, so greatly removed from the ways of the people, that it was to be expected, in a sense. Yet still, their venom brewed from misplaced belief, stung when they spat it at her. That they would claim to know, and then still demean, was beyond insult. It was not the way of the people to demean the chosen path of another. Yet they would believe their ignorant assumptions gave them the right to slander her road.
Yet she resolved in the back of her mind, that ignorance could only be cleansed by communication. Unfortunately such was not her strong point. Words long ago lost their color when falling from her lips. Once lyrical soft, her tone now ever bitter cold, seemed unable to offer light phrase and gentle teaching. Her patience was also thin and with a lack of tolerance it seemed her tongue was prone to cutting with scathing remark rather than tutoring wisdom. She would try still though. She had plenty of time. Time at least, until she found the ways into the deep.
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Post by sandcastles on Feb 24, 2011 15:41:19 GMT -5
She tasted bitter failure.
She masked her torment behind a veil of distaste. Departing to escape the presence of a human was far more simple to present to her kin. Truly though as she slipped off into the trees, it was her own incompetence that drove her to be alone. She had trained, and she had come to confidence. Yet in a moment she was rapidly proven to be a fool. Prideful, and inept more still because of it. Her training had become soft, accepting magic and using potions, taking away the hard edge that was required to remain steadfast.
Deep in the woods she knelt alone before a tree and braced her forearm against the bark, leaning in to let her brow rest against her arm. The ache in her bones was keen. A steady reminder of how near she had come to utter failure. She could not dare fall so soon. Not when she was so close. A battle with Deurgar had promised her that the Dhaerow must be near. Yet falling before grumman filth was a curt reminder that she had so much to learn before she could face the traitors. She had sworn vengeance. She could not die before bringing ruin to Dhaerow. Yet it had almost been so.
In the dark as tears rolled down her cheek she promised not to fail again. She swore to her fate, without joy, a pledge, that only the traitors would strip her of her life. She would fight them, battle them, until the end of her days. It would be their treachery alone that would destroy her. And if they did not, she would live until the day Shevarash himself smiled once more.
She rose again and stalked through the trees, attentive to the threats around. Promise made she wouldn't fall pray to the wicked beasts that dwelt around her.
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