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Meeting Lasler


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#1 Ithilwen

Ithilwen

    [Clan 52] Diversity

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Posted 14 January 2011 - 04:55 PM

OOC Note: This is prior to starting in Lasler's school. Time period is roughly fall in the early 1450s.
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Flames rose up and licked the branches of trees, swarming the leaves and smothering them until they became too heavy to stay in place and their ashes flitted to the ground like black raindrops. The fire that had started inside of the small home had been purposeful; black smoke lingered inside of what was left of the burning habitation. What was once a lively place, filled with laughter and promise, turned into a barren waste of space, the only memories of it being evanescent mental recollections. One of the branches of the trees dipped downward until it collapsed, breaking into the deerskin tent that had made up the home. All at once, everything fell. The smoke poured out and rose in searing puffs of black into the darkening sky; sparks littered the ground like recklessly strewn rubies. The remainder of the flames converged onto the untouched surfaces and, within the next hour, Ithilwen’s childhood had disappeared as if it had never existed at all.

. . .

The fire that Ithilwen had started had been over four years ago. At nineteen, she hadn’t been very practiced in either fighting or magic. When, one day, her parents had been killed – along with some other elves in their colony – and she had discovered only her mother’s small body, everything had changed. She had wandered around aimlessly, trying to find the knowledge to seek vengeance on who had committed the crime. Unfortunately for her insatiable bloodlust, she wasn’t even aware of who the perpetrator was. The time in her travels had been beneficial in the way that she gained more knowledge about the world around her. She had never planned on leaving the place where she had grown up, never planned on finding another group to live with; she had been perfectly content where she was. Forest after forest, face by face, tale by tale, no one could explain the ignominy of the situation; no voice came forward with a name, or even a race.

Unlike her mother, Ithilwen’s father had been trained in otherworldly ideals. His passion had been music and he often boasted of how he used to travel to vast cities, playing for money and gaining several friends along the way. A ship’s wrong turn had eventually introduced him to her mother, and that was the end of Caelthus’ musical travels. Tatria and Caelthus never had the perfect marriage, but the two agreed on one thing: they would stay where they would keep their daughter safe. Their only child was born on a full moon and was so named Ithilwen: Moon Maiden. Ithilwen often sought comfort from her much more easily manipulated and doting father over her mother, who was far more strict. Caelthus spent night after night entertaining the girl with his fascinating stories of glittering lakes and the stunning landscapes that were out there for exploration. At a young age, she had begun to wonder if she would ever see them. The argument occurred, several times, but each time, Tatria won over.

Caelthus satisfied his need to make his daughter more knowledgeable by sharing his knowledge of music with her. He had a few instruments: a flute, a harmonica, and a lyre. A bedtime ritual became playing the melody that would lift Ithilwen up off of her pallet, causing her to shriek in delight. He never played the songs that would potentially cause harm to anyone in the colony – not until Ithilwen was older, and not when the two were within distance of anyone. Caelthus often referred to his daughter as a natural bard and Ithilwen couldn’t help but agree with him. She loved music as much as she loved nature and often wished she could learn and travel half the places her father referred to. When she was sent to forage and become acquainted with more of the colony’s men – since Ithilwen was of the age where marriage should not have been delayed any longer – she ended up merely meeting a new friend, who happened to not be interested in women. Relieved that it was a secret that she was the only keeper of, she spent a few days with him, discussing dreams. The two had wandered farther than they should have and, on their return home, had found their territory littered with unfamiliar scents and upsetting sights. All that could have been turned over was; all normalcy leaked out of the colony like a crack in a bowl filled with spring water.

Ithilwen had known the notes for the fire, but she had never been successful at causing anything other than a few puffs of smoke whenever she had tried to practice. When she entered her family’s tent and found her father missing and her mother’s lifeless body, her despair and rage combined. Whether it was her own self-preservation or her anger that drove her to successfully cast the fire, she took the lyre that her father had passed down to her and played the appropriate notes. She held up her hand. A roaring ball of flame formed from her fingertips and singed the evidence, destroying the horrible sight that accosted the elven girl’s vision. For days, she was exhausted. She left with her only friend and a few others who had managed to escape the bloodbath. They traveled together until the groups tapered off, far more satisfied with finding another place to live than the exploration that Ithilwen longed for.

Her travels eventually brought her to the suggestion of traveling Sepharia and its outlying countries. Most were concerned with the idea of visiting the vast cities, but the memory of Caelthus’ excitement fed Ithilwen’s desire. Finally, a suggestion came to her ears. Lasler Valley. After months of travel and the cost of a very tired body, after she had breeched Sepharian shores, she used a hand-drawn map to get her to where she could find the school. Shortly after her twenty third birthday, she was on the Great Road. When she entered the gates to the schooling area, she nearly collapsed in relief. Her meager gear was torn and faded, almost as weak with exertion as she was. Ithilwen slept.

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Model: Valentina Kallias, Artwork: Ithilwen