Riend (prime)

Riend Ar'Fiernel Riend Ar'Fiernel, as rendered by MAZEIKISJ Race Sylvankind Class Rogue Profession Master Artisan Religion Church of Voln Affiliation(s) Landing Defense Irregulars, Elanthian Elegance, Rone Academy, Moonshine Manor, In-a-Word Pardon me. Disposition excruciatingly polite Demeanor sheepishly reserved Flaw hopeless idealist Greatest Strength gentle persistence Greatest Weakness shyness Hobbies Cobbling, Painting, Drawing, Baking. Likes Shoes, luxurious fabrics, tea, her home Dislikes being touched, alcohol, public displays of affection, loud noises Fears Not being in control of herself. Loyalties Her family, her people. Best Friend Seomanthe, Greganth, Karibeth Loved One Sir Bristenn Mires, Grishom Stone?)

Features

You see Riend Ar'Fiernel the Master Artisan.
She appears to be a Sylvankind.
She is tall in stature and has a lithesome, nimble build. She appears to be in the bloom of youth. She has expressive, malachite-flecked chestnut eyes and gardenia white skin. She has fine, textured hellebore black hair cropped to fall in tousled, sheared layers reaching just below her ears. She has an oval face, a gently sloped nose and slender shoulders. Though her features are predominantly Sylvan, subtleties in the shape of her face and the tilt of her eyes appear faintly Erithian.

Origin

Riend’s home lies deep within the southeast forests of Elanthia, nestled between the site of the once-great sylvan stronghold of Nevishrim and the winding cliffs of Barrett’s Gorge. The settlement was first established in the year 1343, though some of the older families whisper of an even earlier encampment near Ne’Yuscarl Point, the truth of which depends on which founding family’s tale you hear.

It was the wise and honorable sylvan mage, Illiweth Siergeth, who united the sylvankind of all the D'ahranal following the closing of Yuriquen. Seeking refuge from the turmoil that followed, they first made their way to the fringes of the Southron Wastes, gathering sylvans who had fled after the battle with Myrdanian. From there, they retraced the ancient paths that had once guided their people to the fabled Silver Veil.

The First Year

With so many people in their caravan, it took nearly a decade to reach the dense, shadowed forests nestled at the tail of the Dragonspine. Along the way, harsh conditions, constant peril, and the encroachment of sickness steadily wore them down. What had once been a vibrant caravan, brimming with tens of thousands, now struggled to count more than three thousand.

In the early spring of 1343, the sylvan settlement of Llythwere was finally established, a symbol of their resilience. A people once bound to the nomadic life now began to spread their roots, carving out a place to call home. Ambitious plans were drawn to create a modest, but unmistakably sylvan structure high within the strong, ancient trees of the forest—an embodiment of their people's deep connection to nature. But before the first log could be raised, foraging patrols were sent out to gather the necessary materials. None of them ever returned.

Whispers of fear began to thread through the people of Llythwere, the sense of unease growing with each passing day. Talk of moving north, closer to the relative safety of Ta’Illistim, started to circulate. The prospect of dealing with the often intrusive elves seemed the lesser evil compared to dying alone in an unforgiving wilderness. The fledgling council, still in its infancy and having only just been formed weeks prior, convened in desperate deliberation. After a fortnight of tense discussions, they reached the decision to remain in Llythwere, resolved to face the unknown rather than retreat.

But as time passed, a silent, invisible war was waged against the small settlement. There was no visible enemy, no discernible motive, yet sylvans of all ages—men, women, children—began to vanish in the dead of night. Each morning, the waking world was met with growing dread, as families and friends discovered that their loved ones had been taken without a trace. No one was safe. No one knew who—or what—was responsible.

It wasn’t until the fourth month of their settlement in Llythwere that the identity of their enemy was revealed: a band of rogue faendryl bandits. The long, treacherous journey had already weakened them, leaving the survivors malnourished and frail. Their numbers were decimated in a series of brutal raids, leaving fewer than five hundred sylvans alive. With so many of the Ne’Yuscarl gone and Illiweth Siergeth’s health rapidly declining, they no longer had the strength to call upon the powerful Nanrithowan wards that had once protected their people. They were left with only a handful of weapons to defend themselves against the relentless invaders.

Raiding continued throughout the spring, and by the heat of mid-summer, fewer than a hundred sylvans remained in Llythwere. Their supplies were dangerously low, unable to last through the coming winter, and without the ability to grow crops or the courage to venture into the perilous forest to forage, they found themselves on the brink of collapse. In a desperate bid for salvation, the council turned to Imaera and convened a commune that lasted nine days and nights.

On the morning of the ninth day, Imaera appeared before them. Her presence was both gentle and unsettling, and she spoke of a great sacrifice that must be made for the sylvans to survive. "Give up that which you hold dearest," she told them, "and in doing so, you will be saved from the threat that looms over you. Llythwere shall prosper for generations to come."

Her riddles left the council perplexed, and for days they pondered their meaning. Yet, no decision was reached, and the enlightenment they sought came too late. Three days after the commune, Illiweth Siergeth passed quietly in her sleep. The last known mage of Yuriquen, her death marked the end of any hope for drawing on the ancient arts or protecting their people with magic.

Despite their dwindling means, the sylvans held a somber memorial for their leader, honoring her in the foothills of the Dragonspine. Her passing was seen as an omen, a grim fulfillment of Imaera’s prophecy. The council urged their people to wait patiently for the promised prosperity, but as the cold winter approached and the cries of hungry children echoed through the settlement, the sylvans grew uneasy.

The Long Winter

By the beginning of the new year, the sylvans were desperate. Their food stores had dwindled to nothing, and they had resorted to stripping the bark from nearby trees in a desperate attempt to stave off starvation. Sickness and injury ravaged the survivors, threatening to extinguish the last remnants of their community.

The remaining members of the Ne’Yuscarl took to patrolling the forests in search of food and herbs. During one such trip, Gearith Tilweth was caught in a fierce blizzard, unable to find his way back home. The storm raged for days, and weak with hunger, Gearith became lost in the vast expanse of the forest, fearing for his life.

It is unclear how long he wandered through the storm, or how long he might have endured, had he not stumbled upon a small encampment. A group of people, unlike any Gearith had ever seen, greeted him with guarded kindness. Their stature was as towering as the giantkin he had glimpsed once in Barrett’s Gorge. Both males and females were completely bald on top of their heads, though their long, pale hair cascaded down to their waists. But what was most striking were their eyes—pale and slitted, like those of predators.

Too weak to be truly afraid, Gearith accepted their hospitality and fell asleep by their fire, too exhausted to resist. He awoke only once during the night, deliriously speaking of his people and their plight, before passing out again. The next morning, he did not wake. A quiet prayer was murmured over his body, and after a lengthy discussion, the strangers decided to return his body to Llythwere, curious about the sylvans he had spoken of.

When they arrived, the sylvans were wary. It had not been long since the faendryl attacks, and the thought of outsiders was unsettling. Their desire for peace and seclusion made them less than hospitable, especially after discovering their fallen kin among the strangers.

At first, communication was difficult and frustrating. The strangers, who called themselves the "erithi," spoke a language that was lyrical but utterly foreign to the sylvans. Though the erithi could understand fragments of the sylvan tongue, they preferred to respond in elven—an ancient language few sylvans still spoke, having distanced themselves from their elven cousins over millennia.

After some time, a strange but necessary compromise was reached. The two groups communicated through a mix of languages and crude drawings. The erithi offered the sylvans protection, supplies to see them through the winter, and assistance in rebuilding their homes. Though the offer seemed too good to be true, the sylvans had little choice. With no hope of surviving the winter on their own, they accepted.

Within a week, more erithi arrived in Llythwere, bearing food, medicine, and materials to help rebuild. Despite the lingering tension and the shadow of the bargain they had made, a tentative friendship began to form between the two peoples.

At Great Cost

By the time spring breathed new life into the forest, the sylvans had flourished. Their homes now stretched high into the tallest branches of the ancient trees, blending seamlessly with the verdant canopy. The once-fragile community had grown strong and well-fed, the harvests abundant and their spirits lifted. The conditions of their bargain with the erithi, once at the forefront of their minds, had faded into the background, overshadowed by the prosperity they now enjoyed. The two races coexisted in a harmony that seemed, for all intents and purposes, like a lasting peace.

But with the turn of the seasons came a quiet unease that settled over Llythwere like a heavy fog. As the anniversary of the erithians’ arrival drew near, the sylvans found themselves wondering: Would their new allies abandon them as the bargain’s true nature was revealed? Would the terms they had agreed to finally be made clear, and if so, what price would they have to pay?

The erithi met with the sylvan council, and after a year spent learning one another’s language, communication between the two groups was far clearer. There was no room left for misunderstanding. In exchange for the aid they had given the sylvans, the erithi sought something of great personal importance: they needed to expand their population and experiment with their genetics. Over the centuries, their ability to produce healthy offspring had diminished, and their clan faced the threat of extinction. To that end, they required one sylvan female from each generation to conceive a child with an erithi male.

The revelation was met with shock and horror. The sylvans recoiled at the demand, feeling betrayed by those they had come to view as benevolent benefactors. It was a horrific condition, one that seemed to defy the very principles of respect and equality. But the sylvans had no choice. Honor-bound by the agreement and with no other recourse, they reluctantly accepted the terms. The goodwill between the two races was deeply shaken, and the once-solid foundation of their alliance began to crack under the weight of the bargain.

The terms were written down and signed by both parties over the following days, each condition carefully outlined. The sylvan female chosen to fulfill the erithians' demand had to be between the ages of 300 and 350, considered to be her most fertile years according to erithian understanding. She would need to be in good health, to prevent the risk of transmitting any diseases to the male or child. Most crucially, she would need to be a virgin to ensure the paternity of the child, as the erithi had no interest in any uncertainties regarding the child’s lineage.

The process would unfold in Llythwere itself. The chosen female and the erithi male would be housed together during conception and throughout the pregnancy. If conception did not occur over the course of a year, another sylvan female would be selected to replace her. And once a child was born, the erithi would take the child, returning it to their clan to be raised as they saw fit. The mother would never see her child again. This, of all the conditions, was the one the erithi had reluctantly agreed to amend: every tenth generation, one female child would be allowed to remain with her sylvan mother. However, when the child reached adulthood, she would be required to be tithed to the erithi.

The sylvan council, torn with sorrow and horror, shared the terms with their people. Despite the heavy weight of this bargain, they saw no way around it. The council worked tirelessly to find a way to keep their bloodlines strong and pure, to lessen the burden placed upon their people. After much debate, they decided that each family would take turns offering one child every twelfth generation. How the child would be chosen was left to the discretion of each family.

Years passed, and tensions continued to rise between the two races. The erithi had expected offspring to result from the bargain, but nearly a decade passed without any success. Frustration mounted, and the erithi began accusing the sylvans of purposefully hindering conception, trying to circumvent the agreement. The sylvans, resolute in their intention to honor the bargain, sought to understand the cause of the problem. With little experience in such matters, the council was at a loss until one of their herbalists made a surprising revelation. He explained that he had once faced a similar issue when attempting to cross-breed the seeds of their silver veil trees with the local trees. The difference between the species was simply too great for them to produce viable offspring.

Relieved by this revelation, the sylvans approached the erithi with their findings. The erithi listened with approval and relief, and after a cryptic response about returning to their homes to find a solution, they promised to return. Without another word, the erithi left Llythwere, leaving the sylvans to ponder the future of their uneasy alliance.

A Less than Welcome Return

IIt took nearly a year for the erithi to return to the sylvan settlement with an answer to their problem. To the dismay and general horror of the people, they were informed that a ritual would be performed between the pledged male and the female. Their blood would be mixed, and they would be bonded together until a child was conceived. At birth, the bond would be severed, and the two would be allowed to part.

At the time, very little was understood of blood magic, but it has since been revealed as the basis of the tithe ritual the sylvans go through. Due to a heavy mistrust of magic in general, any sphere beyond the most common is not actively practiced. In general, a deep-seated distrust of blood magic is common among sylvans of Llythwere, stemming from this accord.

After a period of preparation, the ritual took place on the second full moon of the year. Outside of the couple, only the elders were allowed to attend, and therefore very little is known about the ritual. Rumors suggest that the couple share their blood and bind themselves together. Days later, the ritual was completed, and a child was conceived soon afterward. As promised, once born, the parents were no longer bonded, and the child was given over to the erithi to be raised. The sylvan was then allowed the freedom to choose her own path, no longer bound to the rules of the tithing.

For over thirty-seven hundred years, the tithing has been upheld by the sylvans, without fail. Throughout that time, they have thrived and built a true home for themselves. While they will never attain the golden age that was nurtured in Yuriquen, they have created a society that holds to the traditions of their people.

The Almost Uprising

Riend’s mother, Saoirce Ar’Fiernel, was a renowned mage among the people of Llythwere, one of the last students of Illiweth Siergeth. With her people protected and thriving, their numbers steadily increasing, she sought to improve upon the Nanrithowan they were strong enough to create. This included allowing the erithi to pass through the wards unharmed. Few knew she also held the power to stop it, and when it came time for her tithing, she pondered revoking it and casting the erithi out.

Considering the practice barbaric, she sought to end it altogether and gained support from others equally unsettled by the tithing. Unrest steadily grew into firm opposition as she gathered followers in her efforts. Had she not been persuaded, it is generally thought that the tithe would have ended and the prosperity found with the erithian aid would have ceased, leaving the sylvans in a state only marginally better than when the erithi found them.

Set on her path, it was her own grandmother who stepped in and attempted to sway her from it. “The tithe is not a punishment. It is a burden we bear proudly because in tithing we are honoring our people, our ancestors, and the covenant we made to protect ourselves,” she explained. “There is no honor greater than putting the needs of others above your own.” Her grandmother’s words resonated, and with the sliver of doubt it created, she found her opposition waning, replaced by a keen sense of duty she would eventually instill in her daughter.

Present Day Lythwere

When Riend was born, her mother’s heart swelled with both joy and sorrow. As the first female born in her line in ten generations, Saoirce was granted the rare privilege of keeping and raising her daughter. Yet, with this gift came an inescapable truth: Riend would be bound to the same fate Saoirce had endured—the tithe. With a heavy heart, Saoirce resigned herself to the inevitable path her daughter would follow, but vowed to give her a life of freedom she herself had never known.

Riend was raised as any sylvan child would be—taught to hunt with a bow, to hide among the trees, and to live in harmony with the forest. As she grew, her mother gave her a task: to journey westward, carrying knowledge to their people. It was both a gift and a burden. A chance to explore the world beyond the borders of Lythwere, to experience lands and cultures her people had never known. Riend embraced this rare opportunity, unaware that her travels would lead her into the very chains she sought to escape.

Her journey took her across Elanith, eventually leading her to the rugged town of Wehnimer’s Landing. There, surrounded by untamed wilderness, she fell in love with the land’s raw beauty and rustic charm.

With the world at her feet, Riend lived with a heart full of hope and wonder… unaware that her future had already been written, and the chains of her fate were fastened around her, unseen and unbroken.

Affiliations

Master of the Rogue Guild
Master of Voln

Member of Rone Academy

Officer of the Landing Defense Irregulars

Member of Moonshine Manor

Member of Elanthian Elegance

Artisan Skills

Master Cobbler
Master Fletcher
Master Painter