Post by Kono Slaker on Jan 3, 2007 22:59:19 GMT -5
Name: Siel Sahodri. Leithena Sielyra Onyxfiere was her given name; Sahodri is an older and lesser-known name for Onyxfiere House.
Age: 214, but she appears to be about twenty-four or twenty-five.
Gender: Female
Hair/Eye Color: Midnight black/Green-gold
Height: 6’1’’
Weight: 132 pounds
Town of Origin: Osilon
Weapon of Choice: Although Siel is also skilled in archery and unarmed combat, by far her preferred weapons are her twin longswords. She has studied for two centuries with two elven mentors in the craft, until she could best them almost as often as they bested her. She is more than a match for most humans, and for many elves and a few Riders as well. Her swiftness, reflexes, and agility have been well-honed, although she does not quite have the fluid, incredible grace of most of her kin. Her considerable strength also makes her a formidable warrior; when she is angered, her fists can be as lethal as her blades.
Magic Experience: Siel’s father was half elf and half human, and she is three-quarters elven. Because of this weakness in her blood, she does not have the innate skill in spellweaving that most elves possess. Her ability with gramarye is very small; she only casts spells in the extremity, healing or battle magic. Using the energy and concentration needed to overcome her lack of training and ability gives her excruciating headaches and leaves her feeling exhausted and weak. She does have enough mental sensitivity to shield her mind and sense when powerful consciousnesses are near, however. When she was younger she was not trained in gramarye as the others of her House were, for they thought it would be a pointless waste to expend so much time on a disappointing part-blood. Although she is fluent in the ancient language and her bonding as a Rider has increased her ability somewhat, she needs a patient mentor and thorough training before she can be called a magician.
Languages: As an elf, the ancient language is her native tongue, but she is also fluent in the human language.
Description: Siel has an aura about her, one stemming not only from her beauty but also from the anger, the darkness, the sorrow in her eyes. It shows in the wariness behind her strong figure, in the way she seeks the silence and the shadow. Hers is not a blissful life, nor a restful memory.
She is tall, and slender as all elves are, but she has a stronger form and a touch more muscle than most, from her human heritage. Her waist is narrow, her hips slim, her body shapely, but her stomach is lean and hard and her long legs are powerful with muscle. She is a capable warrior, and although she does not possess the lithe, delicate air of many of her kin she has her own sort of deeper, stronger grace, the grace of hard battle.
Her face as well as form is very beautiful, again a beauty more deep than delicate. Her jawline is strong but her lips are full and soft, her cheekbones are high and her nose is straight-bridged. Her eyes, beneath angled brows, are piercing, framed with long dark lashes. Her eyes are green-gold, brilliant as jewels. Their shade varies from a deep emerald green to a pure gold, with the light and with her mood. When she is exhausted they can shift to nearly black, and when she is in pain or fever they take on a pale golden hue. Her skin is lightly tanned, setting off the color of her eyes. Her night-black hair is fairly long, falling to the small of her back, thick and soft. Most of the time she has it up, in a braid or a loose bun with many cascading strands.
Siel wears dark armor, beneath it a tight tunic and breeches in sheer but durable black cloth. Her armor is lightweight and form fitting, the curving, elegant plates placed so that they will not interfere with her movement at all. In order to achieve complete flexibility, however, there are many gaps—the plates only cover about half of her body surface, so she is still vulnerable to attack. The metal of the armor has been turned black through adept crafting and magic, glossy as polished jet, and in the darkness green threads glimmer, so that in bright sunlight it seems made of emerald. An overlay of gold filigree that intertwines throughout the armor traces graceful shapes. Her armor is a metalworker’s masterpiece, beautiful but very functional.
Her swords compliment her armor, for their hilts are made of jet and twined with gold filigree as well, and a perfect round emerald shines in each pommel. They are heavy swords but Siel wields them as though they weigh nothing. The blades are long and broad, edges always sharp and silvery steel always shining, for they are elven swords and unbreakable. She wears them crossed on her back, in dark sheaths edged with gold and tiny emeralds, hilts ready at her shoulders.
Besides her swords and her armor Siel has a few other things that she always carries with her. Bound to the sheath of her left sword is a black cloth bag, in which is a set of panpipes. They are crafted of gleaming silver for a pure sound, and she keeps them polished and clean. Little reliefs and decorations grace the pipes, trees and forest spirits and leaping woodland creatures. The pipes are well used, tribute to Siel’s love of music, and often in her traveling does she put them absently to her lips, unconsciously creating new melodies from other songs or bringing old ones up from the depths of her memory.
At the top of her right scabbard, a sheath carries a slender knife, one with a blade engraved with spiky script and a black hilt set with a single topaz. On her right forefinger is a ring of dark metal, the band two twining strands with four spines protruding from them like thorns. In the spikes of the setting is a dark violet stone, light gleaming in its heart as though it were some ill-omened eye. Siel always carries a long silk ribbon with her, dark russet-colored with bright golden embroidery, wound about her wrist or used to tie up her hair. Her belongings hold a certain mystery about them, but Siel seems far from ready to share their stories.
Siel’s exceptional skill with her swords is her main talent, but she holds a few others as well. She is a good archer, as an elf, more in her ability to use a powerful longbow with ease than any particularly impeccable aim. She carries a bow and quiver with her, strapped onto Aenyx’s saddle, but always prefers to use her swords in battle. Her strength and speed make her a formidable unarmed fighter as well. Besides the talents of the battlefield, Siel has a beautiful, compelling voice like most elves, mid-range soprano, and she has a gift for singing as well as playing the pipes.
Siel has had few relationships with elves and humans in the eighty years since she left Du Weldenvarden; her dragon Aenyx has been the one being keeping her from complete loneliness and withdrawal. It follows that she has a very reserved and silent personality, often interpreted as cold or impassive. But that is far from true, for Siel is very much driven by her emotions, particularly her volatile and almost draconic temper. Keeping her anger in check is a profound sense of despair in life, a bitter chill that can keep even her raging fire at bay. She often suffers from depression, and the frequent nightmares of her past and current fears do not help matters.
Her unrelenting willpower and underlying determination to prove herself keeps her strong despite her deep sorrow, and beneath all of that she has a surprising desire for friendship and an wry sense of humor. Nothing startles her more than her own happiness; she often envies those who can still laugh, despite the war and darkness in the land.
Dragon Name: Aenyx, or Nyx.
Dragon Gender: Female
Dragon Color: At first glance Nyx’s scales seem black, but as light hits them tiny threads of color spring up within each scale, fires like those within a a black opal. Her shadowy form takes on a blue and violet tint at night, amber and gold in the morning. Sometimes these colors shift with strong emotion, but Nyx has no idea how to change them consciously.
Dragon Age: 7 months.
Dragon Description: Nyx is large for her age, with about twice the mass of a horse, not including her wings. She is a strong, solid dragon, much like her Rider, but the lines of her body also hold an elegant grace. Her spines are pure black, as are her claws, although her teeth are pale silver. Her great wings are boned with velvet black, but their translucent membrane is opalescent like her scales, dark but laced with shimmering fires. Her eyes are deep violet-blue, the bones of her face narrow and refined. Her saddle is made of black leather, with many saddlebags and straps, embroidered around the edges with silvery-colored thread.
Nyx is very thoughtful, and quite emotional for her race. Although her usual air is one of calm and serenity, she is subject to deep flights of emotion and feeling as expressive as those of a human, and possesses a sense of poetry and a desire for beauty to rival those of an elven artist. Following that, she is a little vain about her own appearance and takes great pains to keep her scales shining. She is very wise, although most of the time she keeps her wisdom and inner thoughts to herself. She has a pure heart but her only example of life is the shadowy and hopeless one of Siel’s, so too often her thoughts turn dark and she seeks solace in solitude. Nyx and Siel spend more time wandering apart from each other than most Riders and dragons, mainly because of their shared desire to be alone to dwell on mysteries.
In battle, however, Nyx bears down with blazing fury on the enemy, completely unlike her normal thoughtfulness. She is a force to be reckoned with, and has on more than one occasion unconsciously unleashed dragon magic. Like all dragons, she is strongly protective of her Rider and will do her best to comfort and defend her.
Past: Much of Siel’s past is in shadow, one that Siel seems very reluctant to lift. She speaks very little of her history, and pain can be seen in her eyes when she thinks of it. The most she has ever spoken about what she has left behind comes in the delirium of waking from her nightmares, in those pleas those who are no longer there.
She said a few things of her own volition, however, to those rare people who gain her trust. She cannot remember why exactly she left Du Weldenvarden, but only a sense that she needed to flee, and the memory of racing across country with blood trickling down her back and staining her hands, nearly insane with fear. She can remember well her first century or so of life, spent in Osilon in the estates of Onyxfiere House. That House has a vague reputation among the elves for darkness and madness, and her childhood could not have been a happy one. Her half-elf father seems to have been a comforting figure in her life, but the way she speaks of him seems to indicate that he is now dead.
All that is really, truly known is that about eighty years ago she came into the southern lands, a wanderer, combating evil as she met it and trying to find some purpose or sense of self in the new landscapes that she found. Those few who met her and really saw her were of the opinion that she would soon succumb to suicide. But then something happened, began with a sleepless vision and ended with an eternal friendship...
Introduction: The green-grey sea stretched out to the horizon, white-flecked waves washing over the pale sands below. Dark monolithic stones jutted up from the shore and the sea, fragments of the bluffs above. The sky was grey, rolling clouds shrouding the pale wraith of the sun, occasional beams of light brushing the roiling waves below. The grassy land shadowed by the Spine in the east fell away in dark grey stone to the beach, twice a man’s height below. At the precipice, where a few trees stretched upwards, someone was sitting.
She had dark hair, bound loosely back with strands cascading over her shoulders, and wore black armor decorated in shining lines of gold. Where the sun hit her armor threads of green light shimmered, like onyx and emerald intertwined. Two great swords were strapped to her back, the hilts of emerald, gold, and jet matching her armor. Her face was slightly tanned but currently very pale, exhaustion plain in her face, dulling the shine of her gold-flecked green eyes.
Siel Sahodri gazed blindly out at the merging of clouds and sea. She had not slept well at all for the past several nights; every time she closed her eyes a nightmare rose up at her, blood and the stench of fear...she did not wish to sleep, and so she did not. The sea wind ruffled through her hair and she shivered numbly, bones aching. Even the sound of the tide and the welcoming beauty of the sea could not put to rest that dark dream lurking at the back of her tired mind.
A seabird called overhead, and she found her eyelids sliding shut. She could not resist it, and vainly hoped that exhaustion could counteract the rise of the nightmare...and then there were no bloodstained shadows before her, but something completely different was happening...
She was sinking into the earth, into the bluffs on which she sat. Stone rose up to swallow her, and the grey sky disappeared. Darkness slid away and she was standing on grey water-worn rock, the roar of the tide loud in her ears, echoing through chambers. She was in a cavern, rippling water glittering before her between columns of rock and smooth passages. In the wide flat stream before her there were strange things protruding from the water, huge curving white bones...
There was barely time to register what she was seeing before the vision disappeared abruptly and she was back atop the cliffs, palms thrust hastily out to keep herself from falling over the edge. “What was that?” she whispered incredulously. “A cavern...beneath the cliffs?” Some of her tiredness gone, she got to her feet and found a path down the bluffs by way of tumbled boulders. Stepping onto the wet sand, she noted the tide—lower than she had seen it before. She vaguely remembered a fisherman she had met saying something about record low tides, when she bought some bread from him for a coin.
She came beneath the spot where she had been sitting. More salt-stained rock...but there was a shadow, a crack there, one that would have normally been shielded by the sea. Driven by a strange longing deeper than curiosity, she squeezed through the crack in the rock and found herself in a wave-sculpted passage, the sea knee-deep at the tide’s ebb. Siel sloshed through the water, nearly slipping on the smooth rocks on the bottom but catching herself, until she found another dark opening in the rock that led upwards. Here there was only a few inches of water, and higher, rougher walls. Somewhere there was an opening that let in the watery sunlight, which reflected off the water and the polished rock beneath the high-tide mark.
She walked across this cavern, careful to avoid the shadows beneath the water that spoke of pits. A scattering of silver shapes flitted past, fish on their way back out into the ocean. In the far cave wall were a number of gaping openings, doorways worn by the water, rippling lights dancing over the ceilings beyond. Somehow Siel knew precisely which one to take, and climbed up into a damp but unflooded passage. Her boots echoed strangely against the smooth walls, and within her uneasiness and anticipation spiraled up as she quickened her pace.
A brighter light shone at the end of the passage, and she stepped out and into a pool of sunlight. She stood on a flat ledge above a glittering expanse of water, the arched ceiling faraway and pierced with many jagged holes letting in the light. Siel stared down into the water before her, and her heart leapt in her throat.
They were a dragon’s bones, no doubt of that, for the wingbones stretched out and scattered by the current and the narrow skull on the outstretched neck were unmistakable. The bones, bleached white, were huge, the ribcage towering well above Siel’s height. And then she saw, off behind the dragon’s bones, a smaller skeleton with an unmistakably human skull. The grave of a dragon and Rider...
Questions rising in her mind, she leapt down from the stone height into the water, which was about at her knees. Something pulled her forward, a longing as acute as pain. Her breaths grew sharper as she waded, nearly running, over to the skeleton, droplets and ripples from her passage glittering in the sun. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she plunged both hands into the water near the dragon’s outspread claws—and came up with a dragon’s egg.
It was hard as granite and smooth as polished obsidian, nearly the size of her head and black as night. Her breath caught in awe, for as the sun hit its dark surface threads of light and fire, green and amber and violet and indigo, rose up shimmering. She stood there for a long time, droplets of water trickling over her fingers, the egg held up before her wide green-gold eyes.
Her exhaustion came slowly back, and she became aware that she was soaking and freezing cold. Shivering, she tucked the egg beneath her arm and sloshed over to the opposite side of the stream, where a stone height rose higher and higher—she vaguely realized it would be good to be high up when the tide came back in. She struggled up the rock, climbing with one hand, and finally reached the peak, where a small flat space lay nestled against the curving cavern wall.
Siel carefully set the egg down, then half-collapsed into the hollow, wincing as her armor bit into her side. She slowly lay down, body curled around the egg, and between one moment and the next she was fast asleep. Whether because she was too exhausted to dream or because finding the egg had given her some peace, no nightmares came. She slumbered on as the wind whistled through the cavern chambers, one hand resting on the egg.
When she awoke, the light coming through the gaps in the ceiling was fuzzy and grey. She groaned as she sat up, her body feeling like a collection of aches and cramps from sleeping in her armor. Looking down, she saw that the sea had risen halfway up the cavern walls—the height where she sat was the only visible rock, and the dragon’s bones were covered, vague pale shapes below the water. Judging from the light it was dawn; she had slept almost an entire day.
She carefully stood up and stretched out her muscles, the sat back down with her legs crossed, regarding the black opalescent egg before her. Why had she found the thing? And what was she going to do with it? The days of the Riders were over, weren’t they? The Empire, the Varden, those who warred now, they would have done anything to gain such a precious thing for their side. But she didn’t care about that. She would probably just leave it in the caverns, for someone else to find—but why had she found it? Why would fate set such a thing into motion, if the egg was not meant to hatch for her? That was an interesting thought. “A dragon,” she said aloud, tasting the word. She did not know so much about dragons anymore, although in Osilon one of her friends had been a Rider. “We’ll see,” she said firmly, and the words echoed across the cavern.
She sat back, feeling much better for sleeping, and pulled out her silvery-gold pipes and put them to her lips. The sapphires at their mouths glittered in the reflection of the water as she began to play, a pure, deep song about the sea. The melody echoed off the cavern walls, across the water, the sound eerie and enchanting. Siel lost herself in the song, eyes closing as her fingers slid up and down the pipes and the music was born of her breath.
Suddenly a loud crack and a squeak interrupted the song. Her eyes snapped open, pipes frozen at her mouth, the echoes of the last deep note reverberating. Slowly, incredulously, her gaze slid down to the black egg before her. It was shivering, cracks spreading down its side. A plaintive chirp sounded and the egg rocked harder. Siel quickly reached out and pulled it away from the edge of the rock. As she withdrew her hand, the egg shattered and two violet-blue eyes gazed yearningly up at her.
“D*mn!” Siel gasped as she stared down at the tiny dragon before her. “I didn’t really expect...” She trailed off. It was a beautiful, perfect creature, with dark scales and dark wings. Pearly, green, and blue threads in each scale gave a shimmering cast to its hide from the reflection off the water. It arched its neck and shook its fine-featured head, spreading its wings, dripping with egg fluid. A violet tongue flickered out of its muzzle and it turned its delicate limbs to wash itself like a cat.
Siel watched the dragon for some time, speechless. What did this mean, that she had a dragon...that she was a Rider? She took a deep breath, then stretched out her hand. The dragon watched her calmly, as her fingers brushed its black-opal scales and she shuddered violently. She closed her eyes as icy agony flooded her veins. By the will of fate, let it be...that never again will I be so completely alone.
(This is an unfinished application with 0/3 accepted)
Age: 214, but she appears to be about twenty-four or twenty-five.
Gender: Female
Hair/Eye Color: Midnight black/Green-gold
Height: 6’1’’
Weight: 132 pounds
Town of Origin: Osilon
Weapon of Choice: Although Siel is also skilled in archery and unarmed combat, by far her preferred weapons are her twin longswords. She has studied for two centuries with two elven mentors in the craft, until she could best them almost as often as they bested her. She is more than a match for most humans, and for many elves and a few Riders as well. Her swiftness, reflexes, and agility have been well-honed, although she does not quite have the fluid, incredible grace of most of her kin. Her considerable strength also makes her a formidable warrior; when she is angered, her fists can be as lethal as her blades.
Magic Experience: Siel’s father was half elf and half human, and she is three-quarters elven. Because of this weakness in her blood, she does not have the innate skill in spellweaving that most elves possess. Her ability with gramarye is very small; she only casts spells in the extremity, healing or battle magic. Using the energy and concentration needed to overcome her lack of training and ability gives her excruciating headaches and leaves her feeling exhausted and weak. She does have enough mental sensitivity to shield her mind and sense when powerful consciousnesses are near, however. When she was younger she was not trained in gramarye as the others of her House were, for they thought it would be a pointless waste to expend so much time on a disappointing part-blood. Although she is fluent in the ancient language and her bonding as a Rider has increased her ability somewhat, she needs a patient mentor and thorough training before she can be called a magician.
Languages: As an elf, the ancient language is her native tongue, but she is also fluent in the human language.
Description: Siel has an aura about her, one stemming not only from her beauty but also from the anger, the darkness, the sorrow in her eyes. It shows in the wariness behind her strong figure, in the way she seeks the silence and the shadow. Hers is not a blissful life, nor a restful memory.
She is tall, and slender as all elves are, but she has a stronger form and a touch more muscle than most, from her human heritage. Her waist is narrow, her hips slim, her body shapely, but her stomach is lean and hard and her long legs are powerful with muscle. She is a capable warrior, and although she does not possess the lithe, delicate air of many of her kin she has her own sort of deeper, stronger grace, the grace of hard battle.
Her face as well as form is very beautiful, again a beauty more deep than delicate. Her jawline is strong but her lips are full and soft, her cheekbones are high and her nose is straight-bridged. Her eyes, beneath angled brows, are piercing, framed with long dark lashes. Her eyes are green-gold, brilliant as jewels. Their shade varies from a deep emerald green to a pure gold, with the light and with her mood. When she is exhausted they can shift to nearly black, and when she is in pain or fever they take on a pale golden hue. Her skin is lightly tanned, setting off the color of her eyes. Her night-black hair is fairly long, falling to the small of her back, thick and soft. Most of the time she has it up, in a braid or a loose bun with many cascading strands.
Siel wears dark armor, beneath it a tight tunic and breeches in sheer but durable black cloth. Her armor is lightweight and form fitting, the curving, elegant plates placed so that they will not interfere with her movement at all. In order to achieve complete flexibility, however, there are many gaps—the plates only cover about half of her body surface, so she is still vulnerable to attack. The metal of the armor has been turned black through adept crafting and magic, glossy as polished jet, and in the darkness green threads glimmer, so that in bright sunlight it seems made of emerald. An overlay of gold filigree that intertwines throughout the armor traces graceful shapes. Her armor is a metalworker’s masterpiece, beautiful but very functional.
Her swords compliment her armor, for their hilts are made of jet and twined with gold filigree as well, and a perfect round emerald shines in each pommel. They are heavy swords but Siel wields them as though they weigh nothing. The blades are long and broad, edges always sharp and silvery steel always shining, for they are elven swords and unbreakable. She wears them crossed on her back, in dark sheaths edged with gold and tiny emeralds, hilts ready at her shoulders.
Besides her swords and her armor Siel has a few other things that she always carries with her. Bound to the sheath of her left sword is a black cloth bag, in which is a set of panpipes. They are crafted of gleaming silver for a pure sound, and she keeps them polished and clean. Little reliefs and decorations grace the pipes, trees and forest spirits and leaping woodland creatures. The pipes are well used, tribute to Siel’s love of music, and often in her traveling does she put them absently to her lips, unconsciously creating new melodies from other songs or bringing old ones up from the depths of her memory.
At the top of her right scabbard, a sheath carries a slender knife, one with a blade engraved with spiky script and a black hilt set with a single topaz. On her right forefinger is a ring of dark metal, the band two twining strands with four spines protruding from them like thorns. In the spikes of the setting is a dark violet stone, light gleaming in its heart as though it were some ill-omened eye. Siel always carries a long silk ribbon with her, dark russet-colored with bright golden embroidery, wound about her wrist or used to tie up her hair. Her belongings hold a certain mystery about them, but Siel seems far from ready to share their stories.
Siel’s exceptional skill with her swords is her main talent, but she holds a few others as well. She is a good archer, as an elf, more in her ability to use a powerful longbow with ease than any particularly impeccable aim. She carries a bow and quiver with her, strapped onto Aenyx’s saddle, but always prefers to use her swords in battle. Her strength and speed make her a formidable unarmed fighter as well. Besides the talents of the battlefield, Siel has a beautiful, compelling voice like most elves, mid-range soprano, and she has a gift for singing as well as playing the pipes.
Siel has had few relationships with elves and humans in the eighty years since she left Du Weldenvarden; her dragon Aenyx has been the one being keeping her from complete loneliness and withdrawal. It follows that she has a very reserved and silent personality, often interpreted as cold or impassive. But that is far from true, for Siel is very much driven by her emotions, particularly her volatile and almost draconic temper. Keeping her anger in check is a profound sense of despair in life, a bitter chill that can keep even her raging fire at bay. She often suffers from depression, and the frequent nightmares of her past and current fears do not help matters.
Her unrelenting willpower and underlying determination to prove herself keeps her strong despite her deep sorrow, and beneath all of that she has a surprising desire for friendship and an wry sense of humor. Nothing startles her more than her own happiness; she often envies those who can still laugh, despite the war and darkness in the land.
Dragon Name: Aenyx, or Nyx.
Dragon Gender: Female
Dragon Color: At first glance Nyx’s scales seem black, but as light hits them tiny threads of color spring up within each scale, fires like those within a a black opal. Her shadowy form takes on a blue and violet tint at night, amber and gold in the morning. Sometimes these colors shift with strong emotion, but Nyx has no idea how to change them consciously.
Dragon Age: 7 months.
Dragon Description: Nyx is large for her age, with about twice the mass of a horse, not including her wings. She is a strong, solid dragon, much like her Rider, but the lines of her body also hold an elegant grace. Her spines are pure black, as are her claws, although her teeth are pale silver. Her great wings are boned with velvet black, but their translucent membrane is opalescent like her scales, dark but laced with shimmering fires. Her eyes are deep violet-blue, the bones of her face narrow and refined. Her saddle is made of black leather, with many saddlebags and straps, embroidered around the edges with silvery-colored thread.
Nyx is very thoughtful, and quite emotional for her race. Although her usual air is one of calm and serenity, she is subject to deep flights of emotion and feeling as expressive as those of a human, and possesses a sense of poetry and a desire for beauty to rival those of an elven artist. Following that, she is a little vain about her own appearance and takes great pains to keep her scales shining. She is very wise, although most of the time she keeps her wisdom and inner thoughts to herself. She has a pure heart but her only example of life is the shadowy and hopeless one of Siel’s, so too often her thoughts turn dark and she seeks solace in solitude. Nyx and Siel spend more time wandering apart from each other than most Riders and dragons, mainly because of their shared desire to be alone to dwell on mysteries.
In battle, however, Nyx bears down with blazing fury on the enemy, completely unlike her normal thoughtfulness. She is a force to be reckoned with, and has on more than one occasion unconsciously unleashed dragon magic. Like all dragons, she is strongly protective of her Rider and will do her best to comfort and defend her.
Past: Much of Siel’s past is in shadow, one that Siel seems very reluctant to lift. She speaks very little of her history, and pain can be seen in her eyes when she thinks of it. The most she has ever spoken about what she has left behind comes in the delirium of waking from her nightmares, in those pleas those who are no longer there.
She said a few things of her own volition, however, to those rare people who gain her trust. She cannot remember why exactly she left Du Weldenvarden, but only a sense that she needed to flee, and the memory of racing across country with blood trickling down her back and staining her hands, nearly insane with fear. She can remember well her first century or so of life, spent in Osilon in the estates of Onyxfiere House. That House has a vague reputation among the elves for darkness and madness, and her childhood could not have been a happy one. Her half-elf father seems to have been a comforting figure in her life, but the way she speaks of him seems to indicate that he is now dead.
All that is really, truly known is that about eighty years ago she came into the southern lands, a wanderer, combating evil as she met it and trying to find some purpose or sense of self in the new landscapes that she found. Those few who met her and really saw her were of the opinion that she would soon succumb to suicide. But then something happened, began with a sleepless vision and ended with an eternal friendship...
Introduction: The green-grey sea stretched out to the horizon, white-flecked waves washing over the pale sands below. Dark monolithic stones jutted up from the shore and the sea, fragments of the bluffs above. The sky was grey, rolling clouds shrouding the pale wraith of the sun, occasional beams of light brushing the roiling waves below. The grassy land shadowed by the Spine in the east fell away in dark grey stone to the beach, twice a man’s height below. At the precipice, where a few trees stretched upwards, someone was sitting.
She had dark hair, bound loosely back with strands cascading over her shoulders, and wore black armor decorated in shining lines of gold. Where the sun hit her armor threads of green light shimmered, like onyx and emerald intertwined. Two great swords were strapped to her back, the hilts of emerald, gold, and jet matching her armor. Her face was slightly tanned but currently very pale, exhaustion plain in her face, dulling the shine of her gold-flecked green eyes.
Siel Sahodri gazed blindly out at the merging of clouds and sea. She had not slept well at all for the past several nights; every time she closed her eyes a nightmare rose up at her, blood and the stench of fear...she did not wish to sleep, and so she did not. The sea wind ruffled through her hair and she shivered numbly, bones aching. Even the sound of the tide and the welcoming beauty of the sea could not put to rest that dark dream lurking at the back of her tired mind.
A seabird called overhead, and she found her eyelids sliding shut. She could not resist it, and vainly hoped that exhaustion could counteract the rise of the nightmare...and then there were no bloodstained shadows before her, but something completely different was happening...
She was sinking into the earth, into the bluffs on which she sat. Stone rose up to swallow her, and the grey sky disappeared. Darkness slid away and she was standing on grey water-worn rock, the roar of the tide loud in her ears, echoing through chambers. She was in a cavern, rippling water glittering before her between columns of rock and smooth passages. In the wide flat stream before her there were strange things protruding from the water, huge curving white bones...
There was barely time to register what she was seeing before the vision disappeared abruptly and she was back atop the cliffs, palms thrust hastily out to keep herself from falling over the edge. “What was that?” she whispered incredulously. “A cavern...beneath the cliffs?” Some of her tiredness gone, she got to her feet and found a path down the bluffs by way of tumbled boulders. Stepping onto the wet sand, she noted the tide—lower than she had seen it before. She vaguely remembered a fisherman she had met saying something about record low tides, when she bought some bread from him for a coin.
She came beneath the spot where she had been sitting. More salt-stained rock...but there was a shadow, a crack there, one that would have normally been shielded by the sea. Driven by a strange longing deeper than curiosity, she squeezed through the crack in the rock and found herself in a wave-sculpted passage, the sea knee-deep at the tide’s ebb. Siel sloshed through the water, nearly slipping on the smooth rocks on the bottom but catching herself, until she found another dark opening in the rock that led upwards. Here there was only a few inches of water, and higher, rougher walls. Somewhere there was an opening that let in the watery sunlight, which reflected off the water and the polished rock beneath the high-tide mark.
She walked across this cavern, careful to avoid the shadows beneath the water that spoke of pits. A scattering of silver shapes flitted past, fish on their way back out into the ocean. In the far cave wall were a number of gaping openings, doorways worn by the water, rippling lights dancing over the ceilings beyond. Somehow Siel knew precisely which one to take, and climbed up into a damp but unflooded passage. Her boots echoed strangely against the smooth walls, and within her uneasiness and anticipation spiraled up as she quickened her pace.
A brighter light shone at the end of the passage, and she stepped out and into a pool of sunlight. She stood on a flat ledge above a glittering expanse of water, the arched ceiling faraway and pierced with many jagged holes letting in the light. Siel stared down into the water before her, and her heart leapt in her throat.
They were a dragon’s bones, no doubt of that, for the wingbones stretched out and scattered by the current and the narrow skull on the outstretched neck were unmistakable. The bones, bleached white, were huge, the ribcage towering well above Siel’s height. And then she saw, off behind the dragon’s bones, a smaller skeleton with an unmistakably human skull. The grave of a dragon and Rider...
Questions rising in her mind, she leapt down from the stone height into the water, which was about at her knees. Something pulled her forward, a longing as acute as pain. Her breaths grew sharper as she waded, nearly running, over to the skeleton, droplets and ripples from her passage glittering in the sun. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she plunged both hands into the water near the dragon’s outspread claws—and came up with a dragon’s egg.
It was hard as granite and smooth as polished obsidian, nearly the size of her head and black as night. Her breath caught in awe, for as the sun hit its dark surface threads of light and fire, green and amber and violet and indigo, rose up shimmering. She stood there for a long time, droplets of water trickling over her fingers, the egg held up before her wide green-gold eyes.
Her exhaustion came slowly back, and she became aware that she was soaking and freezing cold. Shivering, she tucked the egg beneath her arm and sloshed over to the opposite side of the stream, where a stone height rose higher and higher—she vaguely realized it would be good to be high up when the tide came back in. She struggled up the rock, climbing with one hand, and finally reached the peak, where a small flat space lay nestled against the curving cavern wall.
Siel carefully set the egg down, then half-collapsed into the hollow, wincing as her armor bit into her side. She slowly lay down, body curled around the egg, and between one moment and the next she was fast asleep. Whether because she was too exhausted to dream or because finding the egg had given her some peace, no nightmares came. She slumbered on as the wind whistled through the cavern chambers, one hand resting on the egg.
When she awoke, the light coming through the gaps in the ceiling was fuzzy and grey. She groaned as she sat up, her body feeling like a collection of aches and cramps from sleeping in her armor. Looking down, she saw that the sea had risen halfway up the cavern walls—the height where she sat was the only visible rock, and the dragon’s bones were covered, vague pale shapes below the water. Judging from the light it was dawn; she had slept almost an entire day.
She carefully stood up and stretched out her muscles, the sat back down with her legs crossed, regarding the black opalescent egg before her. Why had she found the thing? And what was she going to do with it? The days of the Riders were over, weren’t they? The Empire, the Varden, those who warred now, they would have done anything to gain such a precious thing for their side. But she didn’t care about that. She would probably just leave it in the caverns, for someone else to find—but why had she found it? Why would fate set such a thing into motion, if the egg was not meant to hatch for her? That was an interesting thought. “A dragon,” she said aloud, tasting the word. She did not know so much about dragons anymore, although in Osilon one of her friends had been a Rider. “We’ll see,” she said firmly, and the words echoed across the cavern.
She sat back, feeling much better for sleeping, and pulled out her silvery-gold pipes and put them to her lips. The sapphires at their mouths glittered in the reflection of the water as she began to play, a pure, deep song about the sea. The melody echoed off the cavern walls, across the water, the sound eerie and enchanting. Siel lost herself in the song, eyes closing as her fingers slid up and down the pipes and the music was born of her breath.
Suddenly a loud crack and a squeak interrupted the song. Her eyes snapped open, pipes frozen at her mouth, the echoes of the last deep note reverberating. Slowly, incredulously, her gaze slid down to the black egg before her. It was shivering, cracks spreading down its side. A plaintive chirp sounded and the egg rocked harder. Siel quickly reached out and pulled it away from the edge of the rock. As she withdrew her hand, the egg shattered and two violet-blue eyes gazed yearningly up at her.
“D*mn!” Siel gasped as she stared down at the tiny dragon before her. “I didn’t really expect...” She trailed off. It was a beautiful, perfect creature, with dark scales and dark wings. Pearly, green, and blue threads in each scale gave a shimmering cast to its hide from the reflection off the water. It arched its neck and shook its fine-featured head, spreading its wings, dripping with egg fluid. A violet tongue flickered out of its muzzle and it turned its delicate limbs to wash itself like a cat.
Siel watched the dragon for some time, speechless. What did this mean, that she had a dragon...that she was a Rider? She took a deep breath, then stretched out her hand. The dragon watched her calmly, as her fingers brushed its black-opal scales and she shuddered violently. She closed her eyes as icy agony flooded her veins. By the will of fate, let it be...that never again will I be so completely alone.
(This is an unfinished application with 0/3 accepted)
