This Elven female has silver hair and fair skin, which to the watchful eye takes a purplish tint in the right light
“If you ever see a Drow smile, it is because you are already dead.”
s your eyes move from face to face, they are locked in place as they fall upon the features of this Elven Woman. Her features are those of perfection, the physical manifestation of pure beauty. Her silver her flows delicately from her strong shoulders as she turns a innocent smile your way. Her icy blue eyes entrance you as you mark her primary weapon, an exotic Two Bladed Sword with curved blades like a scimitar, a deadly weapon in the right hands and obviously of Elven craft. As the light reflects off her skin the spell is broken, and you are flustered for a moment as you notice the shade of her fair skin, seemingly grey before reflects a subtle violet tinge.
That isn’t so odd, there are many different races of Elves throughout the world, and they are a creature of magic showing many variations. You tell yourself this as her reassuring smile puts you at ease allowing you to admire her graceful movements, honed by years of martial training, but something isn’t quite right and you know it. Thinking back to all you know of the Elven races you try and pick out the cause for your discomfort. Her looks are too perfect, her movements too controlled, and her hair… It is then that the blood drains from your face, and the white hair cascading down her shoulders sparks a thought in your mind, a whisper of a nameless fear. You have heard of hair like that before, and seen it in your nightmares. This is more than a Elf, this creature has the blood of Drow, the ever so rightly feared Dark Elf race. Denizens of the Underdark. This woman is half elf and half drow.
As your mouth unconsciously hangs agape, the mental cogs finally turning, she locks eyes with you, a disturbing sight indeed as her former innocence transforms. Her smile shifts ever so slightly. Her face is not one of evil, but a look born from the confidence of one who knows without the slightest hint of a doubt that they could kill you where you stood, easily and without regret or mercy. As her eyes pierce deep into your own, you find you are beginning to believe as well, believe that in this brief exchange, your life is firmly within her hands, to take or leave at her pleasure. When did she start fiddling with that knife in her hands? You give a slight nod her way and try to smile, anything to stop from shaking. She lets out a small laugh, the most beautiful laugh to ever touch your ears, and her smile returns once again to the bewitching innocent thing it was a moment ago as she sends a wink your way, returning her attention back to her previous conversation.
As you regain control of your limbs a look of shear exhaustion washes over your face, and at the end of those brief seconds, you honestly don’t know whether you just faced your most terrible fears, or if you just fell hopelessly in love. Probably both…
“Many of my enemies died of natural causes, for a sword to the back will quite naturally kill you.”
“Where in the Nine Hells did you ever get the notion I would fight fair? "
Faeryl has a very confident personality. She is extremely attractive and she uses it to her benefit. While she certainly likes being sought after, she looks down upon those who are so easily manipulated be her looks. She is intelligent and politically cunning. She is a master swordsman and uses a Two Bladed Scimitar to great effectiveness. Her style is based on speed and precision, whirling her double blade in a ferocious dance of death. She has a good heart and yearns to trust in others, but fears betrayal. This has made her cynical of others, leading to a sarcastic and condescending attitude. Her strength of will has led her to overcome any obstacle that has been thrown her way.
Faeryl Loretheon was born in an Elven village deep within the forest. Her mother was an Elven maiden with black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. Her father, a noble Drow Rogue by the name of Alkor Loretheon. The Elven maid fell quite in love with the Drow warrior despite the fact that such a relationship was forbidden. When she became with child, she fled to the nearest city, informing her kin that she was going to visit her half-elf step brother. She stayed with her step brother Faleon during the pregnancy. Faleon, an imperial ranger, was betrothed to a human woman.
When the child was born, the Elven woman knew she could not raise her among the Elves, for she had the silver hair of her father, and of her dark kin. Her skin was a light shade, not the black of drow, but the elves knew of the mothers infatuation with the drow and would not be fooled. She left the child at an orphanage, explaining that the child was from an exotic race of elves across the sea. She charged her step brother with watching over the child.
Faleon did watch over the child, but the life of a street orphan is never a pleasant one, especially for a young girl. Faeryl grew up in the dark allies of the city, learning that only strength could survive in a life where innocence must be stomped out. The girl had a soft heart, but it was hardened by a life on the streets. Even at a young age, she was more than capable of outmatching anyone who looked to bully or take advantage of her. Her reflexes and agility honed in a world of knives and shadows. When her own innate abilities could not save her, it seemed a certain Imperial Ranger was always around when she most needed aid.
As the young elf matured, she eventually learned of her innate Drow abilities. An imperial guard witnessed her create a globe of darkness over a would-be thief and he immediately arrested her, but Faleon stopped the man. “She is a Drow!” the guard yelled, drawing nervous glances from passing citizens. Faleon placed a dagger against the side of the guard’s neck “She is a child, i will take her and you will speak nothing of this to anyone, or my blade will find you while you sleep.”
Faleon took the girl into his home a raised her, despite the risk of being caught harboring one of Drow heritage. Faeryl had not lived on the streets from childhood by trusting people, but the ranger had always been kind to her and they had spoken many times before. Even so, the first morning her awoke her from the ever so deep sleep she found in her first real bed, she reacted putting a dagger against his throat. It took a long time for her to rein in those survival reflexes. Here was the first true home she ever had, and little did she know her adopted father was actually her uncle.
As she grew older, Faeryl grew beautiful and strong, her elven heritage molding her into an adult. Her adopted father educated her, teaching her history, reading, writing, and the basics of magic. He taught her how to survive in the wilderness, and about her ancestry, including the Drow and their dark ways. The lessons she enjoyed the most though, were the lessons in combat. She learned his favored combat style, Two Weapon Fighting. Ironically, this was also the chosen style of her Drow father.
“The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his back.”
“There have been many times in my life when I have felt helpless. It is perphaps the most acute pain a person can know, founded in frustration and ventless rage. "
While her uncle preferred sword and dagger, Faeryl took up the Double Bladed Scimitar, a difficult and elegant weapon. It became obvious that her skills where quickly surpassing those of her teacher, her powerful Drow heritage allowing her to accomplish extraordinary feats of combat. These were the happiest times of Faeryl’s life, peaceful and without a care. It didn’t last though…
Faeryl pulled her silver locks out of her face as she stepped through the market, her new violet dress trailing behind her. She was careful to step with her toes before her heel, as her father had taught her. Faleon might not really be her father, but he sure did treat her better than any other parents she had ever seen. That brought a smile to her soft face, as she wondered what other fathers had taught their little girl the dances of swordplay? Then again, who else would take in a young half-drow and raise her as his own. As she glided through the crowd, she made her way to the market. Many young men tripped over themselves and lost their tongue as she walked past them. That brought a blush to her fair cheeks. Males were such silly things, why allow themselves to become so easily compromised by nothing but her looks? Such a ridiculous vulnerability. Even as her logical mind picked the young men apart, she felt a small smile edge onto her face at the thought of them looking at her.
As she reached the market, Faeryl walked into the baker shop, the smell of warm sweets greeting her at the door.
“Hi Bran!” she said in her sweet voice, waiving to the boy behind the counter.
The boy immediately grew flustered with excitement and rushed to the counter “Hey Faeryl! You look lovely today”
Faeryl’s blush matched his as she giggled “Thank you Bran, i was actually wondering if i could buy a cake from you today? It’s my father’s birthday.”
“Why yes of course! That’ll be 2 silver.”
Faeryl lost her joyful expression and looked down at the floor, appearing quite distraught, for she had spent a great deal of time mastering these expressions.
“Oh… i’m sorry Bran i only have 1 silver today. I guess ill just get some more bread than.”
Bran looked to see his father was in the back, then leaned in and whispered “Thats all right, the cake is on me, a birthday present to your dad.”
Faeryl’s eyes sparkled in joy and she kissed the boy on the cheek, taking the cake.
Yes, Males were very easy to manipulate. Still, the blush was back.
Faeryl made her way out of town and down the road to the farm where she lived. What a great day! No doubt she would spar with her father later as well. As she approached the farm though, something was not right. There were five imperial horses outside. That wasn’t VERY odd, but Faeryl’s sixth sense, the warriors instinct, was screaming an alarm in her ears. She approached slowly, kneeling under the window frame just next to the still open door. Inside she heard a guardsmen yelling at her father, and in a voice that sounded somehow familiar.
“i won’t tell you!” her father roared
“Then you will be executed.”
Faeryl would hear no more of that. She charged through the door. “What is going on!”
“There she is! Surrender willingly DROW, and you may receive mercy.”
Now she knew, this was the guard who tried to arrest her all those years ago, seemed he had gotten himself a promotion sense then.
“Faeryl run!” then a guard hit the ranger with his sword pummel, rendering him unconscious.
Faeryl stood rigid, her eyes burning with lethal intent. The men approached slowly. Two were by her father with the officer, but the other two were coming her way. Her eyes darted left, seeing her Doubled Bladed Scimitar hanging over the fireplace.
The guards rushed her. Reacting on instinct, she threw the cake into the face of the man on the right, blocking his vision. The man on the left lunged forward meaning to impale her with his sword. She jumped left, dodging it by an inch, then grabbed his wrist with her left hand, pivoting the rest of her body to the right and making a full spin, bringing her behind him. Her arm used the momentum of the spin to land her dagger in the back of his neck, then she called upon the innate abilities of her Drow heritage and created a Globe of Darkness over the room. Switching to the infra-red spectrum, she saw them clearly by their heat radiations. She darted across the room, her Elven feet moving with unnatural speed. She reached her sword just in time, as the guard captain smashed an orb on the ground and her darkness was somehow dispelled.
The two rear guards charged her then with swords ready. She met the one on the left with a charge of her own. His sword came down with a strong overhand slash meant to cleave her skull. She brought the left side of her Double Sword up, blocking his slash and used the momentum to push his sword down and to the right, intercepting the second swordsman’s attack. She pivoted to the right again, meaning to bring the other end of her blade around and stab the first man in the back. He was ready through, and met her with the shield on his left arm. She had expected this block, for instead of hitting the shield in the center, she hooked her curved blade around the end of his shield. Wrenching her weapon back towards her, it brought the back end of her sword to bare just as she left a opening where his shield used to be. Her sword sliced easily across his throat. The second swordsman was back on her and she was able to bring the center hilt of her sword horizontal, meeting his blade. The man who had taken the cake shot had wiped the mess off his face and was aiming a crossbow her way, and the captain was also moving towards her, spear in hand. She kicked at the man in front of her, not meaning to hit but forcing him to jump back. Then, lining her self up with the crossbowman, she outlined the captain with harmless purple faerie fire. It did nothing, but distracted him from her next move as she presented herself to the bowman who fired.
He underestimated Drow reflexes though as she side-stepped the shot and the bolt took the distracted captain in the shoulder. She had to quickly bring up her blade to block the swordsman who was back at her again. She battered his sword high, then brought the back end of her sword in an upward slash, cutting him from naval to neck. She rushed the crossbowman now as he leveled for another shot. Bringing her sword up she lifted the crossbow out of his defense, then pivoted right, bringing the back end of her sword under her right armpit and stabbing him straight through his leather armor and into his chest. She left her blade in the mans chest as he fell and caught the crossbow as it came back down. The captain was holding a torch, but it seemed harmless. As she pulled the trigger, her warrior instinct screamed at her to stop, for only too late did she smell the oil, and see the pool of it on the floor… under her father.
She screamed out as the bolt took the captain between the eyes and the torch dropped to the floor, setting the house and her father ablaze. He had already been heavily beaten by the guards and was unconscious, bleeding from a head wound. The flames killed him in seconds. She ran over, trying to find a way to save him, but the flames were already engulfing the house. Tears streaming down her eyes, she grabbed her pack, as well as her adopted fathers bow and arrows, and took one last look back before pulling her sword from the guard’s chest and running from the house. She saddled her white horse, Arya, and rode fast, heading north. For the guards would soon be after her.
“Nothing burns in your heart like the emptiness of losing something, someone, before you truly have learned of its value.”
""My mentor used to tell me that if the road is easy, you’re likely going the wrong way.""
She was on the run for 8 days before they caught up to her. She was outnumbered 20 to 1, but just as she was surrounded, the guards came under attack by an unseen enemy, giving Faeryl the chance to lash out with her Double Scimitar. She unleashed all her rage and sadness into the fight, and the guards would regret the day the faced Faeryl Loretheon. Her blades were a swirling blur of destruction, a dance of death. The group of mercenaries that had jumped into the fray stayed at a distance, using ranged weapons and being entranced by the sheer skill and ferocity of this Elven swordsman. Especially their leader…
When the battle was done, they offered her a position in the band of outlaws. With no home, and nowhere to go, she didn’t look back. She quickly climbed up the ranks of the mercenary group, enhancing her fighting skill and teaching her the subtleties of strategy and politics. Where her charms failed, her cunning won out, and when that failed her blades did not. She eventual became the right hand woman of the operation.
“Come ahead if you will, but know that the next time you go down, you will not get back up.”
“Only those you trust can betray you.”
This too, did not last. Eventually the leader become concerned of her betrayal due to her popularity and ratted her out. The Empire sent their most elite warriors to take her down. When she was finally defeated, they offered her two choices. Either she could take a government job, or she could take the noose. She chose the job. She began working for the Empires elite black ops, known as the vanguard. There first mission, use her inside knowledge to take down the mercenaries.
Faeryl became an imperial agent, and one of the best at that. Her track record was perfect. She fell into a comfortable niche here, this is what she was good at. Deep inside though, she wanted more. She knew that this is not what would make her happy, but could she really let herself love something, or someone, just to lose it? Not yet at least. She had centuries to figure that out.
She worked as a member of the elite Vanguard for almost 60 years, making it the longest occupation she had ever undertaken. It was at this time, that the Capitol was receiving disturbing reports of record vampire sightings in a northern city. The Vanguard was sent to investigate. Faeryl, the leader of this particular team, also sent in for another caster to join the group, for they would need more arcane prowess to defeat such a deadly foe.