Faelynwë

Biographical information

Birthplace Astoria Born Died Age 29 Home Nowhere Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Nyárë Elves Sub-Race Gender Female Height 6ft Mass Depends on books in possession at time of unlawful weighing Hair color Caramel, bronzes and golds Eye color Purple ringed with gold Skin color Pale

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Gleemaiden Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Caliane Rune Created on Avatar Artwork By Rokii

The Night of a Thousand Tears

The first to fall were the Nyárë.

Nobody knows why it was they that The Emperor turned his gaze to first. As a peaceful, scholarly race they would have been the easiest to defeat even if they had managed to gather some amount of soldiers to meet his forces on the field of battle. The sensible option would have been to curb the might of Avelin. Some say it was because in their libraries of glass the elves held the key to the Emperors demise. Others claim a jealousy of the heart cause by the Queen herself who had declined the offer of his hand.

The city of Astoria had stood no chance.

They came in the dead of night under a sky filled with unnatural darkness that dampened the elves magic. Soldiers slipped from their ships and swept through the city with blade and fire. As the elves tried to flee the city they found archers waiting to pick them off. Those who were caught in the city itself were dragged through the streets to the large market square where feasts and celebrations had once occurred. It was here the Queen and King were brought still in their nightclothes to bear witness to the massacre of their people. The legends claim the Queen shed a tear for every one of her people who were put to the blade that night, their bodies piled high and left as carrion for the birds.

Without the magic that kept their glass towers strong the soldiers brought them down with battering rams and siege towers. The books they had protected for thousands of years set aflame. All that remained of the once great city when the sun rose was ash and broken glass.

It is said that even today, the sand storms that come here are blown from across the narrow sea and are all that remain of that once great city.

Known fondly in the Common Tongue as the Storyteller Folk or Librarian Elves, the Nyárë were once a peaceful and scholarly subspecies of elves. Their unique magic made them the ideal custodians of knowledge which they housed in the great city of Astoria; the City of Libraries.

Their magic at a base levels looks similar to Lexiconicy, but there are certain differences that make this elven race unique. From a young age these elves can bring to life the written word. If young in age or weak in magic, they must be touching the book from which they wish to conjure. The more powerful of their kind can conjure merely by remembering lines of literature though often these might appear watery or akin to illusions rather than being solid.

Books carry a lingering energy from the person who has last read them and it is that energy which allows the elves to bring to life the written word. It is only old or popular works that these elves can conjure from or - very rarely - a little known book that has had such a profound impact upon a reader it has been left with a large amount of residue the elves can manipulate and conjure.

As such, it is usually the last readers interpretation of the book that gets conjured. It common that when conjuring the same exact object from two versions of the same book that the objects will in fact vary as every readers imagination renders the written word differently.

Some rare elves also have the gift of being a 'Scribe'. Scribes have the ability to imbue their writing with the same energy readers leave behind in books. This means that freshly written words can have the same power behind them as books of a thousand years.

Like most elves, the Nyárë are tall and ethereal in their beauty. What is their most telling feature, however, is their purple eyes ringed in gold. The eyes might vary on shade but are unnervingly the same even when the elves have mated with other species.

She had squandered the gift of life her mother had given her with her last few breaths of life. Drunk and pissed it all away. She was Nothing.

She was No-one.

The records claimed her dead along with the rest of her people and that was where she was happy to stay. It was what she should have been. The Princess who might have surpassed even her talented parents nothing more than Ash and Sand. Like her mother and father. Like Keelie. Or at least she willed it so.

But the Gods had other plans.