Maylan (prime)

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Maylan with her beloved Chinchilla, by Stormyrain's player
Maylan, by Abrimel's player

Land Pirate Maylan, the Wench is an Aelotoi Master Healer of the Mrae'ni clan. Having no knowledge of her parents or lineage, she has chosen not to adopt a surname. She is a current citizen of Wehnimer's Landing, and resides in a small cottage along the Coastal Cliffs. Maylan is a frequent visitor to Icemule Trace, and sleeps in the White Haven library when she is in town.

On Being Maylan

Somewhere inside my head lives a little drunk bug named Maylan. I've grown very fond of her over the years, and I play her as a way to dabble in debauchery and reckless behavior without having to face any real-world consequences. I enjoy playing her to varying degrees of childlike and confused to sharp and observant depending upon my mood and her current state of lucidity and sobriety. Maylan at her core is impulsive and flighty, but ultimately kind.

I call her a Land Pirate. If you ever want a headache, ask her what it means. No, she's not a bandit or a highwayman. I personally see the title as an oxymoron, which seems to suit her personality.

Maylan was born on the 21st day of Koaratos in the year 5082 as a slave in a kiramon mining camp. During this time she studied the healing arts under her dymerano (meaning male teacher or mentor in the Aelotoi language). I imagine him as a kindly grandfather figure, who sadly died when she was 12 years old. While Maylan can't seem to remember his face or name, she has recorded his teachings and continues to hone her healing practice. Maylan also can't seem to remember her parents, nor whatever fate befell them. For this reason, she has chosen to forego taking a surname.

Maylan was liberated at age 20 during the mass exodus through the rift that appeared near Ta'Illistim. After liberation she spent some time travelling across Elanthia before settling in Wehnimer's Landing, where she currently resides. The down to earth and gritty nature of this frontier town is the perfect setting for her.

Maylan is currently in a loveless marriage with Grypto, an elderly half-krolvin of unknown origins. Why? Because I thought it was funny. But do not fret for Maylan. Where romantic love escapes her, especially in her endless quest to win the heart of Sleepy, she has found unconditional love and companionship with her beloved obese drunken chinchilla friend.

Spiritually, Maylan believes in a higher cosmic power where the stars and celestial entities form a sort of collective unconscious that governs the laws of nature. While she recognizes the power of the Arkati, she views them as part of the spiritual world that make up the essence of her spirit magics. In this light she views them favorably, but does not worship them.

Above all, Maylan is known for her drinking. In my mind it makes sense to play her as maladapted, given the collective tragic background of the Aelotoi race. I imagine if you could pin a modern term on her, you'd say she has PTSD. Despite her bleak upbringing and substance abuse issues, Maylan thoroughly enjoys her freedom and has found a community that embraces and accepts her - flaws and all - in Wehnimer's Landing.

And finally, we come to the pegleg. What was originally a gift from a buddy has become a central element to her character. Even with her master healing capabilities she seems unable to regenerate her left leg. I imagine this happened after a particularly reckless humorism experiment. In reality her pegleg is simply a nod to my father who lost his leg in a mountain climbing accident several years ago.


  • Former Lightweaver of House White Haven of Icemule Trace and current member.
  • Formerly employed as a mop girl in Goblyn's Pie Shop, prior to its tragic demise.

Primary Field of Study

The primary humors (blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm) are a source of immense power. Maylan weaves the power of the humors together or separately in a delicate dance that forms her healing magic. This power can be directed to repair and heal flesh, or it can be reversed to break and sunder a corporeal form. Maylan feels in her element when dealing with blood and gore, and has a general fascination with anatomy. While this may sound gruesome, she prefers to hone her magic for healing purposes while utilizing its destructive powers only in self-defense and combat scenarios.

Maylan believes that blood is the most powerful of the humors. However, she is wildly inept in her attempts to wield blood magic in isolation from the other corporeal elements. Her attempts to harness this power for divination or other purposes will not be met with any successful outcome, although she may attempt to claim otherwise.

Further information on her healing craft can be found in Maylan's essay, A Study of the Corporeal Elements.

Notable Activities

  • Throughout 5120 Maylan focused her efforts on getting members of the Hand of the Arkati as drunk as possible by planning several parties, events, and gatherings for the group.
  • In 5119 Maylan ran a disastrous Mayoral Campaign for Wehnimer's Landing. The campaign ended in her forced resignation after several failed attempts to burn down Moot Hall, and one successful attempt to burn down Goblyn's Pie Shop.
  • In 5118, Goblyn requested Maylan's help in conducting wing-grafting research. As Maylan believes her wings hold no purpose but to remind her of enslavement, and being a practiced empath who is used to losing limbs, she agreed to let Goblyn slice them off to use as a sample. Much to Maylan's annoyance and chagrin, her wings grew back in their current stunted form.
  • Throughout 5116 and 5117, Maylan made several failed assassination attempts on the blue child Rodnay, as she believes him to be a malevolently evil Ithzir who will eventually destroy the town of Wehnimer's Landing. Maylan was pardoned for her crimes by Mayor Cruxophim, possibly due to her otherwise lawful track record and good intentions. As a condition to her pardon, Maylan has agreed to make no more attempts to harm Rodnay.
  • Despite her strong fear of and aversion to the mental magics, Maylan has entered the tutelage of Dirra in an effort to learn the mental defensive techniques necessary to protect herself from forces such as and Raznel and Rodnay. In late 5119 she was able to utilize these teachings in the final fight against the witch, which ending in Raznel's death.
  • Maylan has conducted several successful community fundraisers, including a relief fund for Talador and a welfare fund for the residents of Shanty Town during the war with Chaston's forces. She is currently engaged in efforts to build a Community Garden in the Shanty Town district, and to construct an underground bunker for residents of Wehnimer's Landing.
  • Maylan is a purveyor of merrymaking, and has hosted several community events on behalf of White Haven such as: the Annual Fisticuffs Tournament, Drunken Icecapades, the Polar Plunge, and the Eve of the Reunion Tour.
  • Maylan has the very odd habit of dragging discarded junk from the Town Square Center of Wehnimer's Landing to the town's well. It is seemingly a somewhat obsessive habit, though she claims it is simply "her collection".
  • Maylan served as the Shanty Town Advisor to Mayor Cruxophim of Wehnimer's Landing in 5117.

Maylan's Recurring Nightmares


I reach into my mouth and grasp a worm. I begin pulling, its milky white body glides up and out of my throat. Finally the long form emerges and I frantically toss it away. I feel maggots in my gut, and I wonder briefly if my meat is rotten. The worm is behind me and I don't want to look. I turn anyway. Its mouth end gapes and pulses, hungry to return. I abide it.


I find myself in a circular corridor. The walls are decorated with mounted steed heads. Their eyes follow me as I walk. I continue on for some time until I find a door. I open the door to see a stairwell, descending down into darkness. I smell sulfur and I feel sick. I dread what lies at the bottom. I close the door and continue on, in the same looping corridor as before. I feel the space gradually tighten. The air is heavier, and the space feels smaller. The steed heads now display exposed shoulders and chests. I arrive at the same door as before, but I do not enter. I continue along in this loop as the space grows smaller, and the steeds grow more prominent. On and on I push forward. Eventually I am forced to crawl. The horse carcasses are no longer mounted, simply strewn about. I crawl over exposed bellies, heads, arms, until I reach the same door. The door is so tiny now that I open it with pinched fingers and peer through it, my eyeball pressed to the door-frame. I see darkness, sense heat, feel dread. On and on I crawl as the space gradually closes in on me and the carcasses consume me. A never-ending loop of terror.

Ode to Chubbs

The following is a poem written Chlomaki's player, re-posted here with his permission:

Thunder roared and shook the ground

people glancing all around

but nothing untoward was near-

the scene was safe, the coast was clear

and the Mayor then arrived.

People gathered in a cluster

all around the Mayor to muster

they waited, all, with baited breath

to hear her tales of wrath and death

where only she survived.

She spoke on things of great import

of one and another different sort:

of plots and interesting news

from the west gate to the mews

and hail, well met, fellow

And as she thus regaled the crowd

a silence settled like a shroud

for there came a terror swaggerin',

a drunken beast unstead'ly staggerin',

and gnashing teeth of yellow.. someone the Mayor calls a friend?

Is this, then, doom? Is it the end?

Was this some unknown assassin,

come, it's fangs on flesh to fasten?

No, it was.. a bunny?

There, on the ground, no savage killa-

Rather, simply a chinchilla,

that seemed to have been at the whiskey

or the rum, which made it frisky

Quoth Lylia, though: Not Funny.

The little hairball hissed and yowled,

and the Mayor glared, and growled,

"Make your pet be more compliant,

because, as is, rude and defiant,

I WILL step on it's head."

The owner found her words confusing-

she thought the bunny was amusing,

Lylia stared, and then amended,

"Leave your rat-thing unattended,

and I will make it dead."

The owner snatched the bunny back,

and stuffed it straight into it's sack

in what was just a nick of time

'ere Lylia stomped it into slime,

with her boots so very fine.

Thus was a ugly scene averted,

though the Mayor then asserted,

"I find it, though, to be a waste,

for suddenly, I crave a taste

of dark Chinchilla Wine."