Riend (prime): Difference between revisions
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{{characterprofile |
{{characterprofile |
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|name=Riend Ar'Fiernel |
|name=Riend Ar'Fiernel |
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|image=[[File: |
|image=[[File:Riend_Ar%27Fiernal_SF.png|300px|thumb|center|Portrait of Riend Ar'Fiernel<br>Artwork created by uploader using MidJourney]] |
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|race=Sylvankind |
|race=Sylvankind |
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|class=[[Rogue]] |
|class=[[Rogue]] |
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|profession= [[ |
|profession= [[Artisan]] |
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|religion=[[Church of Voln]] |
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|affiliations=[[Landing Defense Irregulars]], [[Elanthian Elegance]], [[Rone Academy]], [[Moonshine Manor]], |
|affiliations=[[Landing Defense Irregulars]], [[Elanthian Elegance]], [[Rone Academy]], [[Moonshine Manor]], |
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|disposition=Excruciatingly polite |
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|word=''Pardon me.'' |
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|demeanor=Sheepishly reserved |
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|disposition=excruciatingly polite |
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|demeanor=sheepishly reserved |
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|ptrait= |
|ptrait= |
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|strait= |
|strait= |
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|flaw= |
|flaw=Naivete |
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|strength= |
|strength=Persistence |
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|weakness= |
|weakness=Shyness |
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|habits= |
|habits= |
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|hobbies= Cobbling, Painting, Drawing, Baking. |
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|soft= |
|soft= |
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|dislikes= Non-consensual touch |
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|likes=Shoes, luxurious fabrics, tea, her home |
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|fears=Not being in control of herself |
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|dislikes= being touched, alcohol, public displays of affection, loud noises |
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|loyalties= |
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|fears=Not being in control of herself. |
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|friend= Seomanthe, Greganth, Karibeth, Kippe |
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|loyalties= Her family, her people. |
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|friend= Seomanthe, Greganth, Karibeth, Bristenn, Imrys, Kippe |
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|spouse= |
|spouse= |
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|loved= |
|loved=Jaired |
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|instance=Prime <!--- REQUIRED: This will auto-categorize in the proper instance category---> |
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|instance= Prime |
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|color=black|background-color=|border-color=}} |
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|town= Solhaven |
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|town2= Wehnimer's Landing |
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}} |
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==Riend Ar'Fiernel== |
==Riend Ar'Fiernel== |
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"I wanted to dissolve into the floor, mixing myself with the hard stone. A stone had a single purpose: to be. No complicated promises, no worries and no feelings." |
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==Features== |
==Features== |
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You see Riend Ar'Fiernel the Master Artisan.<br /> |
You see Riend Ar'Fiernel the Master Artisan.<br /> |
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She appears to be a Sylvankind.<br /> |
She appears to be a Sylvankind.<br /> |
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She is tall in stature and has a lithesome, nimble build. She appears to be in the bloom of youth. She has expressive, chestnut-haloed malachite green eyes and gardenia white skin. She has fine, textured hellebore black hair worn swept up in a blossom-like style of many petals pinned in the center with an eleven-pointed silver star barrette. She has an oval face, a |
She is tall in stature and has a lithesome, nimble build. She appears to be in the bloom of youth. She has expressive, chestnut-haloed malachite green eyes and gardenia white skin. She has fine, textured hellebore black hair worn swept up in a blossom-like style of many petals pinned in the center with an eleven-pointed silver star barrette. She has an oval face, a gently sloped nose and gracefully pointed ears that complement her high cheekbones. Though her features are predominantly sylvan, subtleties in the shape of her face and the tilt of her eyes appear faintly erithian. |
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==Origin== |
==Origin== |
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Riend’s home lies deep within the |
Riend’s home, Llythwere, lies deep within the southeastern forests of Elanthia, nestled between the site of the once-great sylvan stronghold of Nevishrim and the winding cliffs of Barrett’s Gorge. Established in 2874, the settlement’s origins may reach even further back, according to the older families who whisper of an earlier encampment near Ne’Yuscarl Point. The truth, they say, depends entirely on which founding family’s tale you hear. |
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It was the wise and honorable sylvan mage, Illiweth Siergeth, who united the sylvankind of all the D'ahranal following the closing of Yuriqen. 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 Silver Veil.<br /> |
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===The First Year=== |
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With so many in their caravan, it took nearly a decade to traverse the harsh, unyielding terrain to the dense, shadowed forests cradled at the base of the Dragonspine. Along the way, relentless conditions, constant peril, and the creeping shadow of sickness took their toll. What had once been a thriving caravan of tens of thousands dwindled to barely three thousand weary survivors. |
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In the early spring of 2701, the sylvans established the settlement of Llythwere, a fragile yet defiant symbol of their resilience. A people long bound to a nomadic existence finally began to root themselves, carving out a home amidst the towering, ancient trees. Plans were drawn for a modest but unmistakably sylvan haven high within the forest canopy, a tribute to their deep connection with nature. But before construction could begin, foraging patrols were dispatched to gather essential materials. None returned. |
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Fear seeped into the fledgling settlement like a slow poison. Whispers of abandoning Llythwere and seeking refuge in Ta’Illistim gained momentum, the prospect of enduring the elves’ overbearing presence deemed preferable to facing a mysterious and lethal unknown. The newly formed sylvan council convened, their deliberations fraught with desperation. After two tense weeks, they resolved to stay, choosing to confront the encroaching darkness rather than retreat. |
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But as the days stretched into weeks, an invisible menace began to plague the settlement. There was no sign of an enemy, no clues left behind, only the chilling fact that sylvans were disappearing. Men, women, and children vanished without warning, taken in the dead of night. Each morning brought fresh grief as families awoke to discover empty beds and loved ones gone. No one was safe. No one understood what hunted them. |
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It wasn’t until the fourth month that the truth was finally revealed: a ruthless band of rogue Faendryl had targeted Llythwere. Weak from their arduous journey, the sylvans were no match for the relentless raiders. Malnourished and poorly armed, they suffered devastating losses as the Faendryl struck again and again. By the end of the brutal assaults, fewer than five hundred sylvans remained. |
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The situation grew increasingly dire. The Ne’Yuscarl, their stalwart protectors, were nearly wiped out, and Illiweth Siergeth, their last great mage, was gravely ill. The once-powerful Nanrithowan wards that had shielded their people were now beyond their reach, their magic fading with no one left to sustain it. Armed with only a handful of weapons and dwindling resolve, the sylvans faced annihilation. |
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The raids persisted through the spring, and by midsummer, Llythwere was on the brink of collapse. Fewer than a hundred sylvans remained, their supplies nearly gone. They could not farm, dared not forage in the dangerous woods, and faced the looming specter of a deadly winter. Desperate, the council turned to the goddess Imaera, convening a nine-day and nine-night commune to plead for salvation. |
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On the final morning, Imaera appeared before them. Her presence was both ethereal and unnerving, her voice echoing with the weight of divine power. "Sacrifice that which you hold most dear," she intoned, "and your people will endure. Llythwere shall prosper for generations to come." |
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Her cryptic words left the council in turmoil. They debated endlessly, searching for the meaning of her riddle, but no consensus was reached. Their indecision proved costly. Three days after the commune ended, Illiweth Siergeth passed quietly in her sleep. As the last mage of Yuriqen, her death marked the end of their hope to wield ancient magic or fortify their defenses. |
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The sylvans mourned her passing with a solemn ceremony in the foothills of the Dragonspine. Her death was seen as a grim fulfillment of Imaera’s prophecy, a harbinger of the sacrifice she had foretold. The council urged the people to endure and to trust in the goddess’s promise of prosperity. But as the chill of winter crept into the forest and the cries of hungry children echoed through the settlement, doubt began to fester among the survivors. |
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===The Long Winter=== |
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By the dawn of the new year, the sylvans were teetering on the brink of ruin. Their food stores had long since been depleted, forcing them to strip bark from the surrounding trees in a desperate attempt to stave off starvation. Sickness and injury swept through the settlement like an unrelenting tide, threatening to extinguish what little remained of their once-proud community. |
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The few surviving members of the Ne’Yuscarl patrolled the forests daily, hunting for anything that might sustain their people. During one such mission, Gearith Tilweth was caught in the grip of a fierce blizzard. Disoriented and weak with hunger, he lost his way in the endless expanse of snow-covered woods, the howling wind drowning his calls for help. |
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The storm raged on for days, and Gearith’s strength began to wane. Just as hope seemed to slip beyond his grasp, he stumbled into a small encampment hidden deep within the forest. There, a group of people unlike any he had ever encountered greeted him with wary kindness. |
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They were striking figures, their towering stature reminiscent of the giantkin Gearith had glimpsed once in Barrett’s Gorge. Both men and women were bald at the crowns of their heads, but long, pale hair flowed down their backs like silken cascades. Their eyes, however, were what truly set them apart. Pale and slitted, gleaming with a predatory sharpness. |
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Too weak to feel fear, Gearith accepted their hospitality and collapsed by their fire, exhausted beyond resistance. He awoke briefly during the night, feverish and muttering incoherently about his people and their plight before succumbing once more to unconsciousness. When dawn broke, Gearith did not wake. |
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The strangers, who called themselves the "erithi," murmured a solemn prayer over his lifeless form. After a lengthy deliberation, they resolved to return his body to Llythwere, their curiosity piqued by the sylvans he had spoken of in his delirium. |
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When the erithi arrived at the settlement, the sylvans met them with suspicion and fear. Memories of the Faendryl raids were still raw, and the sight of outsiders, especially ones so otherworldly, stirred unease among the survivors. The discovery of Gearith’s lifeless body only deepened their mistrust. |
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Communication proved to be a daunting barrier. The erithi spoke in a lilting, lyrical language unfamiliar to the sylvans. While they seemed to understand fragments of the sylvan tongue, they responded primarily in elven, an ancient language that few sylvans of Llythwere still spoke, having distanced themselves from their elven kin over the centuries. |
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Through a halting blend of broken languages, gestures, and crude drawings, the two groups eventually found a fragile understanding. The erithi offered the sylvans something unimaginable: protection, supplies to last the winter, and aid in rebuilding their shattered homes. Though the offer seemed almost too generous, the sylvans had no choice. Survival outweighed suspicion, and they reluctantly accepted. |
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Within a week, more erithi arrived at Llythwere. They came bearing food, medicine, and sturdy materials for construction. Despite the lingering tension, a tentative bond began to form between the two peoples. The sylvans, long accustomed to isolation, found themselves reliant on the erithi’s aid, their once impenetrable walls of mistrust slowly beginning to crack. |
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Though the shadow of the sylvans' recent trials hung heavily over Llythwere, a faint glimmer of hope began to stir. For the first time in months, the sylvans dared to believe they might endure the winter, and perhaps even rebuild the life they had lost. |
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===At Great Cost=== |
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By the time spring breathed new life into the forest, the sylvans had thrived. Their homes stretched high into the ancient trees, blending seamlessly with the verdant canopy. The once-fragile settlement had grown strong and self-sufficient, with abundant harvests lifting their spirits. The conditions of their bargain with the erithi, once a source of constant worry, had faded into the background, overshadowed by their newfound prosperity. The two races coexisted in a harmony that seemed, for a time, like a lasting peace. |
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Yet, as the seasons turned, an uneasy tension settled over Llythwere like a mist. As the anniversary of the erithi’s arrival approached, the sylvans found themselves wondering: Would their benefactors reveal the full extent of the bargain? And if so, what price would they demand for their aid? |
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When the erithi returned, they met with the sylvan council. A year of shared language lessons had bridged the gap between their two cultures, leaving little room for misunderstanding. The erithi revealed the true cost of their assistance: they sought to expand their dwindling population. Over centuries, their ability to produce healthy offspring had declined, threatening their survival. To preserve their lineage, they sought to mix the two races by requiring a sylvan be tithed every fifty years. |
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The revelation was met with shock and horror. The sylvans, who had come to view the erithi as benevolent allies, recoiled at this demand. It felt like a betrayal, a condition that defied the very principles of equality and respect. But honor-bound by their agreement and without any other options, the sylvans reluctantly accepted. The goodwill between the two races fractured under the weight of this grim bargain. |
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Tensions simmered as years passed. Despite the agreement, nearly a decade went by without any children being conceived. The erithi grew frustrated, accusing the sylvans of sabotage, while the sylvans insisted they were honoring the bargain. Desperate for answers, the sylvan council sought advice from their herbalists. One elder recalled a failed attempt to cross-pollinate silver veil trees with local species; the genetic differences were too great to produce viable seeds. |
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The sylvans brought their findings to the erithi, who listened with quiet intensity. After a cryptic acknowledgment, the erithi announced they would return with a solution. Without another word, they departed, leaving the sylvans to wonder about the future of their fragile alliance.<br /> |
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It was the wise and honorable sylvan mage Illiweth Siergeth who gathered the scattered survivors of the D'ahranal, left homeless and adrift after the closing of Yuriqen. Seeking refuge from the turmoil that followed, they journeyed first to the fringes of the Southron Wastes, gathering others who had fled or still longed to return to their lost homeland. Carrying word of what had befallen their kin, they sought to turn back any who might attempt the perilous journey home. Bound by kinship and strengthened by safety in numbers, they set out in search of a new refuge, following the ancient paths that had once led their people to the Silver Veil.<br /> |
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===A Less than Welcome Return=== |
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== Where the Lost Took Root == |
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It 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 spell would be performed between the pledged male and female. Their blood would be combined within the arcane circle, and through the spell’s completion, their essences would intertwine, ensuring conception. The bond formed during the ritual would remain until the child’s birth, at which point it would be severed, and the two participants would be allowed to part. |
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The sylvans’ journey to the southeastern forests of Elanthia lasted nearly a decade. Harsh terrain, unrelenting weather, and sickness claimed many along the way, reducing a caravan of thousands to only a few hundred weary survivors. In the early spring of 2871, they reached the shadowed forests at the base of the Dragonspine and founded the settlement of Llythwere. Their first shelters were little more than makeshift huts of branches and hides, built from what they could scavenge. Supplies were always scarce, and each day was a struggle to find enough food, water, and firewood to survive. |
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Their hope did not last. Foraging patrols sent to gather supplies never returned. Fear gripped the settlement, and whispers of abandoning Llythwere spread. It soon became clear they were being hunted. A ruthless band of rogue Faendryl struck again and again, taking lives in the dead of night. By the end of the raids, barely one hundred sylvans remained. |
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At the time, very little was understood of blood magic, but it has since been revealed as the foundation of the tithe ritual practiced in the tithing. Due to a deep mistrust of magic beyond the most common spheres, such as elemental or healing magic, anything more arcane, particularly blood magic, is viewed with suspicion among the sylvans of Llythwere. This distrust stems from the very origins of the tithing accord. |
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Winter descended, bringing famine, sickness, and despair. Their warriors were nearly gone, and their last great mage lay dying. They could not farm, dared not hunt, and their meager stores were nearly gone. Each day brought the sound of hunger and grief. When the erithi appeared, strangers of an otherworldly kind, their offer of protection, food, and shelter seemed almost impossible to believe. Suspicion warred with desperation, but the choice was no choice at all. The sylvans accepted. |
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After a period of preparation, the ritual was conducted under the light of the second full moon of the year. Only the elders were permitted to witness the event, leaving much of its exact nature shrouded in mystery. What is known, however, is that the couple’s blood was symbolically combined in an intricate spell, forging a magical connection between them. Over the following days, the spell completed its purpose, and a child was conceived. As promised, once the child was born, the bond was dissolved. The erithi took the child to raise, and the sylvan mother was granted freedom to choose her own path, unbound by the rules of the tithing. |
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For a year the alliance flourished, and Llythwere began to recover. Then the erithi named their price. Every fifty years, a sylvan would be tithed, bound to them in a ritual of blood magic. The accord was not entered lightly, but the sylvans remembered too well the starvation and slaughter they had endured. Faced with the possibility of returning to that state, they agreed. The first ritual was witnessed only by the elders, its details kept secret, but its outcome ensured the pact would hold for generations. |
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For over thirty-seven hundred years, the tithing ritual has been upheld by the sylvans without fail. In that time, they have flourished, building a true home for themselves. While they may never reclaim the golden age nurtured in Yuriqen, they have forged a society rooted in the traditions of their people.<br /> |
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As time passed, Saoirce Ar’Fiernel, a gifted mage and Riend’s mother, rose to prominence in Llythwere. She saw the tithing as barbaric and considered severing the erithi’s access to the settlement. Her skill with the wards that protected their home gave her the means to do so. Quiet dissent began to gather around her, and for a time it seemed the centuries-old accord might break. |
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===The Almost Uprising=== |
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Riend’s mother, Saoirce Ar’Fiernel, was a celebrated mage of Llythwere and one of the last pupils of the revered Illiweth Siergeth. With the sylvans thriving under her guidance and their numbers steadily increasing, Saoirce sought to enhance the Nanrithowan, the protective wards that shielded their settlement. Her innovations even allowed the erithi to pass through the wards unscathed, a privilege she alone had the power to revoke. When her time for tithing arrived, she considered doing just that, using her magic to sever the bond and banish the erithi from their lands. |
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It was Saoirce’s grandmother who intervened, reminding her that the tithe had safeguarded their people when they were at their weakest. She urged her to see it not as a punishment but as a duty, a sacrifice made to ensure survival and honor the covenant with their allies. Saoirce had been raised to believe in that duty, having been a tithe herself, and the words stirred memories of the pride and purpose her own mother had instilled in her. In time, her defiance softened, and she set aside her rebellion, choosing instead to pass down that same belief in sacrifice and the needs of the many to her daughter. |
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Saoirce viewed the practice of tithing as barbaric and began to rally others who shared her unease. Her resolve sparked unrest within the community, and what began as quiet dissent grew into organized opposition. Many feared her rebellion would bring an end to the tithing and, with it, the prosperity the sylvans had gained through their alliance with the erithi. Without the support of their benefactors, some believed the sylvans would fall back into hardship. |
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Over the centuries, Llythwere thrived. As their numbers grew and their needs expanded, they began to build upward, weaving their homes into the great trees that had once sheltered their first camp. The city that emerged did not rival the splendor of Yuriqen, yet it was a quiet, graceful place, its walkways and dwellings shaped to live in harmony with the forest. Bathed in dappled light and the whisper of leaves, Llythwere became a testament to survival, resilience, and the enduring bond between its people and the land.<br /> |
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As Saoirce’s conviction deepened, it was her grandmother who stepped forward to intervene. The elder spoke to her with measured wisdom. “The tithe is not a punishment,” she said. “It is a burden we bear with pride, for in fulfilling it, we honor our people, our ancestors, and the covenant that safeguards our future. There is no greater honor than placing the needs of others above your own.” |
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== The Path Set Before Her == |
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Her grandmother’s words struck a chord, planting a seed of doubt in Saoirce’s heart. That doubt slowly grew, tempering her defiance and rekindling a sense of duty. In time, she abandoned her rebellion, dedicating herself instead to instilling that same sense of purpose in her daughter.<br /> |
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[[File:Ariend3colors.jpg|thumb|Riend as rendered by [[User:MAZEIKISJ |MAZEIKISJ]]|left]] |
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When Riend was born, her mother’s heart filled with both joy and sorrow. By tradition, she should have been protected from the tithe, for Saoirce herself had already been given and returned. Yet Riend was the first female born in Llythwere in three generations, and the shortage of daughters left the council with no other choice. She was chosen for the fate her mother had endured, and with that knowledge, Saoirce vowed her daughter would know freedom, however brief, and taste a life she herself had been denied. |
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Riend’s early years followed the path of any sylvan child in appearance alone. She learned to track with a light step, to string a bow with quiet precision, and to hear the language of wind through the leaves. Yet where others had laughter among the branches, Riend had silence. She was kept apart, her world narrowed to a quiet corner of the forest under the careful watch of appointed elders. Days passed with little more than measured lessons and long stretches of solitude. She did not grow up among the easy chatter of friends or the shared mischief of youth, and the rhythms of companionship were foreign to her. Words came rarely, and when they did, they were offered in hushed tones. She learned to speak softly, not from gentleness, but because there was no one to listen. |
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===Present Day Llythwere=== |
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Saoirce saw how solitude and the shadow of the tithe pressed on her daughter. Wanting to give her more than a life spent waiting, she entrusted Riend with a task. She was to travel westward, carrying word of Llythwere and its open gates to any sylvan who wished to come make their home among its people. Outwardly, it was a mission of welcome and kinship, but in truth it was a chance for Riend to walk beyond the familiar boughs of her home before the tithe claimed her. |
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When Riend was born, her mother’s heart swelled with both joy and sorrow. As the first female born in her line in three 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. |
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Her journey took her west past the Dragonspine, moving from forest to forest, meeting scattered sylvans and guiding them home. In time, her steps carried her to the small town of Wehnimer’s Landing, where she would learn that not every freedom brought joy, and some paths, once taken, could never be walked again. |
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Riend was raised as any sylvan child might be. She was taught to track with a light step, to hunt with a bow strung with quiet precision, and to listen to the language of wind through the trees. But where others had laughter among branches and voices echoing through the canopy, Riend had silence. The similarities to the upbringing of others ended there. She was kept apart, her world narrowed to a quiet corner of the forest and the careful watch of a few appointed elders. Lessons came in fragments, offered in measured tones, and companionship was rare enough to feel like something imagined. She learned to speak softly, not out of gentleness, but because there was no one to answer back. |
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== The Weight of Another Soul == |
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Her mother had seen how solitude and the weight of the tithe pressed against her daughter, and so she gave Riend a task. She was to journey westward, carrying knowledge meant for their people. It was offered as both purpose and possibility, a chance to step beyond the familiar paths of Llythwere and into lands few from her village had walked. Riend accepted the charge with quiet resolve, not yet knowing that what she saw as freedom would slowly bend into something else. The road she followed did not just carry her away from home. It carried her deeper into a silence of another kind, one she had not been taught to navigate. |
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In the early 5110s, Riend was drawn into a nightmare. Grishom Stone, a rogue blood mage, sought to create an urnon golem capable of bringing the demon Althedeus into the world. To power it, he hunted and murdered women who resembled his former lover, Madelyne, using them as both punishment and sacrifice for a betrayal that had driven him to madness. |
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One night in Wehnimer’s Landing, Riend heard a voice that chilled her to the bone. Weak, frightened, and pleading for help, it pulled her through the streets until it surged into her. It was Madelyne’s restless and vengeful spirit, and that moment marked the beginning of a torment Riend could never have imagined. |
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=== Possession === |
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During the early years of the 5110s, Riend found herself caught in the heart of a horror. Grishom Stone, a rogue blood mage, was consumed by a twisted ambition. He sought to build an urnon golem powerful enough to bring the demon Althedeus into the world. To power it, he hunted women who resembled Madelyne, his former lover, murdering them as both punishment and sacrifice. Madelyne’s betrayal had driven him to madness, and in his obsession, he made others pay for her choices. |
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The possession broke her slowly. It did not strike her down in an instant but wore her away piece by piece. Fevered nights blurred into waking hallucinations so vivid she could no longer tell memory from reality. Sores marked her skin and refused to heal. Her limbs grew too weak to carry her far, and her voice often failed her entirely. The pain was constant, but the spiritual torment was worse. Madelyne clawed through her thoughts, whispering the dying screams of Stone’s victims until they became her own. Every night brought another echo, another memory that was not hers, and always the same demand: that Riend destroy him. |
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One night in Wehnimer’s Landing, Riend heard a voice that chilled her to the bone. Weak, frightened, and calling for help, it drew her through the streets until it surged into her. Madelyne's spirit, restless and vengeful, possessed her completely. That was the beginning of a torment unlike anything Riend had ever known. |
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When Stone first approached her, he seemed unaware she knew what he was. He offered help, promising to free her from the spirit’s grip. His attention, and her striking resemblance to Madelyne, made her valuable to him. Others noticed. They saw how he looked at her, how she occupied a space no one else could. She was asked to remain near him, to watch and gather what she could. It was not given to her as a trap but as a quiet sacrifice. She agreed, not from trust, but from a belief that she could help bring an end to him. |
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What followed was a steady unraveling. The spirit clawed through her mind and body, driving her into fevers and visions. Her skin grew pallid and broke out in sores. Her strength failed. Worse still, her sense of self began to slip. Madelyne haunted her nights with the memories of Stone’s victims, women who had died screaming, and forced Riend to relive their final moments again and again. Through it all, Madelyne demanded that Riend destroy him. |
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The danger lay not only in the pain, but in the doubt. Somewhere beneath the madness, she began to feel drawn to the man who had orchestrated her suffering. Stone could be charming, attentive, even gentle. There were moments when he smiled without cruelty, when he listened without judgment. In those rare times, she could not tell whether the warmth she felt belonged to her, Stone's own manipulations of her mind, or the fractured love Madelyne had once held for him, still clinging to her mind like a stain that could not be washed away. |
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She tried |
She tried to redeem him more than once. She wanted to believe there was something in him untouched by ruin, that he could be persuaded to turn away from what he had become. Even as Madelyne twisted her from within and Stone bent her from without, she held tightly to the belief that humanity could be reclaimed. It was not faith. It was desperation. |
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Eventually, |
Eventually, he spoke of a ritual that would sever her bond with Madelyne’s spirit. He painted it as a mercy, a kindness, a clean end to years of torment. Riend agreed, desperate for relief. But the ritual was not what he promised. Instead of releasing her, it transferred Madelyne’s spirit into his urnon golem, binding her to his monstrous creation and leaving Riend broken in its aftermath. |
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Time passed. The golem was destroyed |
Time passed. The golem was destroyed, the demon’s influence faded, and Stone was captured, his power weakened. From his cell, he sent for her with an unusual request: a pair of shoes. She delivered them in person. In the stillness of the prison cell, they spoke with a quiet normalcy that was almost unsettling. There was no magic, no threats, only two people hollowed by what they had endured. She asked him to stop, to let it end. He claimed to care for her. She could not believe him, and she could not trust herself. |
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He escaped, as he always did. Soon, letters began to arrive. They came without warning, sealed with care and signed with the same words each time: “Yours, always, Grishom.” She never replied, but she read every one. In the quiet hours before dawn, she could not say whether part of her still hoped he might change, or feared that he never could. |
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She begged him to choose a different path. She urged him to find peace. But he would not. Even as he confessed that he had come to care for her, Riend was left uncertain whether that mattered. She could not tell if any of it had ever been real. |
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For a time, Riend believed Madelyne was truly gone. But the spirit was not destroyed. A fragment had splintered off and lodged within her, feeding on everything she tried to bury. It grew stronger with each unspoken fear and every moment she tried to forget. Madelyne waited, patient and watchful, ready to surface whenever Riend allowed herself to feel too deeply. |
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He escaped, as he always did. From time to time, letters began to arrive, bearing no return address. Each was signed the same way. “Yours, always, Grishom.” |
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In order to survive, to protect those she cared for and unable to know how dangerous Madelyne could still become, Riend learned to close herself off. She buried the joy alongside the pain, the longing alongside the fear. Every feeling became a weakness, a door that could be forced open. She locked them all, until nothing remained but a quiet shell of the woman she might have been. It was the only way she knew to keep the darkness inside her from breaking free. |
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Riend never responded. But she read every one. And in the quiet that followed, she could not say with certainty which part of her still hoped he would change and which part feared he never would. |
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== The Price of Survival == |
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==Affiliations== |
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[[File:Riend watercolor AI.png|thumb|Portrait of Riend Ar'Fiernel Artwork created by uploader using MidJourney]] |
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Master of the Rogue Guild <br /> |
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When Riend returned to Llythwere, she came not as the dutiful daughter destined for the tithe, but as something worn and withered by years of torment. She told her people what had happened beyond the forest, speaking of the possession, the slow breaking down of her body and mind, and the lingering presence of Madelyne’s spirit that had never truly left her. She asked for the sanctuary and healing her home had once freely offered. The council listened in silence, their faces a mask of judgment she could not read. |
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Master of Voln |
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Saoirce was gone by then, her voice absent from the chamber where her daughter’s fate was decided. No advocate rose to speak for her, no elder who had watched her grow up an awkward, isolated thing took pity on her. When the council delivered their verdict, it was without hesitation. She was unclean. Unfit. Unworthy of the tithe. What had been done to her, though no fault of her own, had tainted her in their eyes. Worse still, her ruin placed all of Llythwere at risk. Without her, there was no other daughter to tithe when the time came, and the breaking of the accord could mean the end of their fragile peace. |
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Member of Rone Academy |
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The verdict was final. She was cast out, told she could not remain among them. The paths she had once walked as a child were closed to her, the voices she had once longed to hear fell silent. There was no farewell, no parting gift, only the forest itself standing between her and the life she had tried to return to. She left as she had once entered the wider world, alone, carrying only what she could bear, the weight of her people’s rejection pressing heavier than the years of pain that had brought her there. |
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Officer of the Landing Defense Irregulars |
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Her purpose stripped away, Riend found herself without direction. The duty she had been raised to fulfill was gone, and with it, the anchor that had shaped her entire life. She could neither return to what she had been nor see the shape of what she might become. In the emptiness that remained, she stood suspended between past and future, unable to move forward. |
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Member of Moonshine Manor |
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== Vignettes == |
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Member of Elanthian Elegance<br /> |
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[[Riend (prime)/Vignette: Nothing Harmless|Nothing Harmless]] |
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[[Riend (prime)/Vignette: The World He Promised|The World He Promised]] |
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[[Riend (prime)/Vignettes: Different|Different]] |
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==Artisan Skills== |
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Master Cobbler <br /> |
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Master Fletcher <br /> |
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Master Painter <br /> |
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''New -'' [[Riend (prime)/The River Between us|The River Between us]] |
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==Links== |
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Latest revision as of 12:55, 22 November 2025
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Riend Ar'Fiernel
"I wanted to dissolve into the floor, mixing myself with the hard stone. A stone had a single purpose: to be. No complicated promises, no worries and no feelings."
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, chestnut-haloed malachite green eyes and gardenia white skin. She has fine, textured hellebore black hair worn swept up in a blossom-like style of many petals pinned in the center with an eleven-pointed silver star barrette. She has an oval face, a gently sloped nose and gracefully pointed ears that complement her high cheekbones. 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, Llythwere, lies deep within the southeastern forests of Elanthia, nestled between the site of the once-great sylvan stronghold of Nevishrim and the winding cliffs of Barrett’s Gorge. Established in 2874, the settlement’s origins may reach even further back, according to the older families who whisper of an earlier encampment near Ne’Yuscarl Point. The truth, they say, depends entirely on which founding family’s tale you hear.
It was the wise and honorable sylvan mage Illiweth Siergeth who gathered the scattered survivors of the D'ahranal, left homeless and adrift after the closing of Yuriqen. Seeking refuge from the turmoil that followed, they journeyed first to the fringes of the Southron Wastes, gathering others who had fled or still longed to return to their lost homeland. Carrying word of what had befallen their kin, they sought to turn back any who might attempt the perilous journey home. Bound by kinship and strengthened by safety in numbers, they set out in search of a new refuge, following the ancient paths that had once led their people to the Silver Veil.
Where the Lost Took Root
The sylvans’ journey to the southeastern forests of Elanthia lasted nearly a decade. Harsh terrain, unrelenting weather, and sickness claimed many along the way, reducing a caravan of thousands to only a few hundred weary survivors. In the early spring of 2871, they reached the shadowed forests at the base of the Dragonspine and founded the settlement of Llythwere. Their first shelters were little more than makeshift huts of branches and hides, built from what they could scavenge. Supplies were always scarce, and each day was a struggle to find enough food, water, and firewood to survive.
Their hope did not last. Foraging patrols sent to gather supplies never returned. Fear gripped the settlement, and whispers of abandoning Llythwere spread. It soon became clear they were being hunted. A ruthless band of rogue Faendryl struck again and again, taking lives in the dead of night. By the end of the raids, barely one hundred sylvans remained.
Winter descended, bringing famine, sickness, and despair. Their warriors were nearly gone, and their last great mage lay dying. They could not farm, dared not hunt, and their meager stores were nearly gone. Each day brought the sound of hunger and grief. When the erithi appeared, strangers of an otherworldly kind, their offer of protection, food, and shelter seemed almost impossible to believe. Suspicion warred with desperation, but the choice was no choice at all. The sylvans accepted.
For a year the alliance flourished, and Llythwere began to recover. Then the erithi named their price. Every fifty years, a sylvan would be tithed, bound to them in a ritual of blood magic. The accord was not entered lightly, but the sylvans remembered too well the starvation and slaughter they had endured. Faced with the possibility of returning to that state, they agreed. The first ritual was witnessed only by the elders, its details kept secret, but its outcome ensured the pact would hold for generations.
As time passed, Saoirce Ar’Fiernel, a gifted mage and Riend’s mother, rose to prominence in Llythwere. She saw the tithing as barbaric and considered severing the erithi’s access to the settlement. Her skill with the wards that protected their home gave her the means to do so. Quiet dissent began to gather around her, and for a time it seemed the centuries-old accord might break.
It was Saoirce’s grandmother who intervened, reminding her that the tithe had safeguarded their people when they were at their weakest. She urged her to see it not as a punishment but as a duty, a sacrifice made to ensure survival and honor the covenant with their allies. Saoirce had been raised to believe in that duty, having been a tithe herself, and the words stirred memories of the pride and purpose her own mother had instilled in her. In time, her defiance softened, and she set aside her rebellion, choosing instead to pass down that same belief in sacrifice and the needs of the many to her daughter.
Over the centuries, Llythwere thrived. As their numbers grew and their needs expanded, they began to build upward, weaving their homes into the great trees that had once sheltered their first camp. The city that emerged did not rival the splendor of Yuriqen, yet it was a quiet, graceful place, its walkways and dwellings shaped to live in harmony with the forest. Bathed in dappled light and the whisper of leaves, Llythwere became a testament to survival, resilience, and the enduring bond between its people and the land.
The Path Set Before Her
When Riend was born, her mother’s heart filled with both joy and sorrow. By tradition, she should have been protected from the tithe, for Saoirce herself had already been given and returned. Yet Riend was the first female born in Llythwere in three generations, and the shortage of daughters left the council with no other choice. She was chosen for the fate her mother had endured, and with that knowledge, Saoirce vowed her daughter would know freedom, however brief, and taste a life she herself had been denied.
Riend’s early years followed the path of any sylvan child in appearance alone. She learned to track with a light step, to string a bow with quiet precision, and to hear the language of wind through the leaves. Yet where others had laughter among the branches, Riend had silence. She was kept apart, her world narrowed to a quiet corner of the forest under the careful watch of appointed elders. Days passed with little more than measured lessons and long stretches of solitude. She did not grow up among the easy chatter of friends or the shared mischief of youth, and the rhythms of companionship were foreign to her. Words came rarely, and when they did, they were offered in hushed tones. She learned to speak softly, not from gentleness, but because there was no one to listen.
Saoirce saw how solitude and the shadow of the tithe pressed on her daughter. Wanting to give her more than a life spent waiting, she entrusted Riend with a task. She was to travel westward, carrying word of Llythwere and its open gates to any sylvan who wished to come make their home among its people. Outwardly, it was a mission of welcome and kinship, but in truth it was a chance for Riend to walk beyond the familiar boughs of her home before the tithe claimed her.
Her journey took her west past the Dragonspine, moving from forest to forest, meeting scattered sylvans and guiding them home. In time, her steps carried her to the small town of Wehnimer’s Landing, where she would learn that not every freedom brought joy, and some paths, once taken, could never be walked again.
The Weight of Another Soul
In the early 5110s, Riend was drawn into a nightmare. Grishom Stone, a rogue blood mage, sought to create an urnon golem capable of bringing the demon Althedeus into the world. To power it, he hunted and murdered women who resembled his former lover, Madelyne, using them as both punishment and sacrifice for a betrayal that had driven him to madness.
One night in Wehnimer’s Landing, Riend heard a voice that chilled her to the bone. Weak, frightened, and pleading for help, it pulled her through the streets until it surged into her. It was Madelyne’s restless and vengeful spirit, and that moment marked the beginning of a torment Riend could never have imagined.
The possession broke her slowly. It did not strike her down in an instant but wore her away piece by piece. Fevered nights blurred into waking hallucinations so vivid she could no longer tell memory from reality. Sores marked her skin and refused to heal. Her limbs grew too weak to carry her far, and her voice often failed her entirely. The pain was constant, but the spiritual torment was worse. Madelyne clawed through her thoughts, whispering the dying screams of Stone’s victims until they became her own. Every night brought another echo, another memory that was not hers, and always the same demand: that Riend destroy him.
When Stone first approached her, he seemed unaware she knew what he was. He offered help, promising to free her from the spirit’s grip. His attention, and her striking resemblance to Madelyne, made her valuable to him. Others noticed. They saw how he looked at her, how she occupied a space no one else could. She was asked to remain near him, to watch and gather what she could. It was not given to her as a trap but as a quiet sacrifice. She agreed, not from trust, but from a belief that she could help bring an end to him.
The danger lay not only in the pain, but in the doubt. Somewhere beneath the madness, she began to feel drawn to the man who had orchestrated her suffering. Stone could be charming, attentive, even gentle. There were moments when he smiled without cruelty, when he listened without judgment. In those rare times, she could not tell whether the warmth she felt belonged to her, Stone's own manipulations of her mind, or the fractured love Madelyne had once held for him, still clinging to her mind like a stain that could not be washed away.
She tried to redeem him more than once. She wanted to believe there was something in him untouched by ruin, that he could be persuaded to turn away from what he had become. Even as Madelyne twisted her from within and Stone bent her from without, she held tightly to the belief that humanity could be reclaimed. It was not faith. It was desperation.
Eventually, he spoke of a ritual that would sever her bond with Madelyne’s spirit. He painted it as a mercy, a kindness, a clean end to years of torment. Riend agreed, desperate for relief. But the ritual was not what he promised. Instead of releasing her, it transferred Madelyne’s spirit into his urnon golem, binding her to his monstrous creation and leaving Riend broken in its aftermath.
Time passed. The golem was destroyed, the demon’s influence faded, and Stone was captured, his power weakened. From his cell, he sent for her with an unusual request: a pair of shoes. She delivered them in person. In the stillness of the prison cell, they spoke with a quiet normalcy that was almost unsettling. There was no magic, no threats, only two people hollowed by what they had endured. She asked him to stop, to let it end. He claimed to care for her. She could not believe him, and she could not trust herself.
He escaped, as he always did. Soon, letters began to arrive. They came without warning, sealed with care and signed with the same words each time: “Yours, always, Grishom.” She never replied, but she read every one. In the quiet hours before dawn, she could not say whether part of her still hoped he might change, or feared that he never could.
For a time, Riend believed Madelyne was truly gone. But the spirit was not destroyed. A fragment had splintered off and lodged within her, feeding on everything she tried to bury. It grew stronger with each unspoken fear and every moment she tried to forget. Madelyne waited, patient and watchful, ready to surface whenever Riend allowed herself to feel too deeply.
In order to survive, to protect those she cared for and unable to know how dangerous Madelyne could still become, Riend learned to close herself off. She buried the joy alongside the pain, the longing alongside the fear. Every feeling became a weakness, a door that could be forced open. She locked them all, until nothing remained but a quiet shell of the woman she might have been. It was the only way she knew to keep the darkness inside her from breaking free.
The Price of Survival
When Riend returned to Llythwere, she came not as the dutiful daughter destined for the tithe, but as something worn and withered by years of torment. She told her people what had happened beyond the forest, speaking of the possession, the slow breaking down of her body and mind, and the lingering presence of Madelyne’s spirit that had never truly left her. She asked for the sanctuary and healing her home had once freely offered. The council listened in silence, their faces a mask of judgment she could not read.
Saoirce was gone by then, her voice absent from the chamber where her daughter’s fate was decided. No advocate rose to speak for her, no elder who had watched her grow up an awkward, isolated thing took pity on her. When the council delivered their verdict, it was without hesitation. She was unclean. Unfit. Unworthy of the tithe. What had been done to her, though no fault of her own, had tainted her in their eyes. Worse still, her ruin placed all of Llythwere at risk. Without her, there was no other daughter to tithe when the time came, and the breaking of the accord could mean the end of their fragile peace.
The verdict was final. She was cast out, told she could not remain among them. The paths she had once walked as a child were closed to her, the voices she had once longed to hear fell silent. There was no farewell, no parting gift, only the forest itself standing between her and the life she had tried to return to. She left as she had once entered the wider world, alone, carrying only what she could bear, the weight of her people’s rejection pressing heavier than the years of pain that had brought her there.
Her purpose stripped away, Riend found herself without direction. The duty she had been raised to fulfill was gone, and with it, the anchor that had shaped her entire life. She could neither return to what she had been nor see the shape of what she might become. In the emptiness that remained, she stood suspended between past and future, unable to move forward.
Vignettes
New - The River Between us