Nîda: Character Sketch

      Today’s snippet is a character sketch I wrote about my new PC in Mark’s new (Good) Pathfinder Campaign.
      Be forewarned, there are mature themes and naughty language below.
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Name: Celenîdaneth “Nîda” Loshenthenniel
(seh-lah-NEE-dah-neth lohs-hehn-thehn-EE-el)
Age: 90?
DoB: Aroden 19th
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 125 lbs.
Hair: Unknown
Eye: Left – Green; Right-Blue
Features: Pale, clear skin. Odd-colored eyes. Very delicate features.
Build: Slight, willowy, elven.
Clothes: White garments, accented with silver. Her head is swathed in a distinct draconic-shaped wimple, completely covering her head from forehead to nape. A leather bodice over long-sleeved linen tunic is paired with matching trousers and knee-high boots. She carries an enameled staff bearing the head of a silver dragon. Silvered starbursts – as if Iomedae’s sigil turned from gold – adorn her gear and garments.
Hobbies: Singing, barristry, dirty jokes in foreign languages, demon-hunting.

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Original Image from http://selenada.deviantart.com/art/Crystal-Queen-131216789
Original Image from http://selenada.deviantart.com/art/Crystal-Queen-131216789

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      Generations of Loshentheniel children were born and raised in the Estrovian Forest. Their people were peaceful druids and rangers, rarely venturing into the world at large. They were content.
      Then the Worldwound opened in the west. Soon afterward, in a fit of rage, some extremists amongst one of the villages called the ancient Curse of the Winterthorn down upon an unfortunate trespasser. The spate of senseless killings by the Herne and its abhorrent offspring sent the Loshenthenniel clan (and many others) fleeing their ancestral home.
      Celenîdaneth was the youngest child in her immediate family, a mere child of ten years, when the Loshenthenniels gathered their worldly belongings and headed west, to the large city of Kenabres, where they could book passage on a riverboat and make their way down the West Sellen all the way to Iadara, the capital of Kyonin.
      Kenabres was in the throes of what would be known as the First Mendevian Crusade, though it neared its close, and the city was packed to the seams with foreigners. Celenîdaneth’s ears rejoiced to hear all of the strange accents and alien languages, her eyes delighted to watch the native dances of half-a-hundred countries when people celebrated a victory. The smell of new food and the strains of new music, the sounds of steel clashing and magic whirling. It was all so majestic to the child – she could hardly sleep at night, when her parents used their druidic powers to bar the Innroom doors and windows, for anticipation of another day in the riotous city.
      Paladins in gleaming suits of plate and mail, Sorcerers with glowing auras, Priests and Inquisitors and laborers and commons folk and prostitutes – Celenîdaneth reveled in the days spent waiting for their ship’s return. She and her father’s eldest sister, a venerable, childless spinster called Morgwendaneliel, who was as enchanted as the child by this urban tapestry, made daily sojourns into the various districts of Kenabres. It was a constant adventure and both silently wished that their boat would be much delayed.
      One afternoon, Morgwendaneliel and Celenîdaneth visited Old Kenabres, the innermost district, to tour the great temple, Saint Clydwell’s Square, and the Kite. They were in particular luck that day, for after a brief sabbatical during which she was rumored to be recuperating from a corrupting wound, the city’s guardian had returned and her order, The Silver Legion, was celebrating in the plaza.
      Terendelev herself appeared amongst the white-clad warriors. She emanated a brilliant aura unlike anything either elf had ever seen. Majestic does not even begin to describe the impression she left on the pair; they were mesmerized by the dragon and the spectacle of her people. The Silver Legion was primarily made-up of Paladins, but they accepted those like-minded Clerics, Arcanists, Rogues, and Rangers. The worthiest applicants were selected and initiated into the Legion; they donned garbs of white and silver, carried silvery enameled dragon-headed staves, and bore the sigil of Iomedae rendered in silver or mithril rather than gold.
      When Lord Ludovico, the leader of the Legion and the highest ranking Paladin, spoke to the gathered crowd, young Celenîdaneth felt as if he was talking directly to her. Empassioned phrases, calling the ardent followers of Iomedae and Terendelev to strike hard against the evil both in the city and boiling from the Worldwound, calling to action those who would not see Kenabres fall, quoting tenets of faith and articles of the Legion’s charter, speaking of valor and glory and duty and righteousness.
      For a girl who had never felt at home in the forest, Lord Ludovico’s words came as a siren’s song. She was recruited then and there, in her heart and in her very soul.
      Unfortunately, her parents were reluctant to give their youngest child over to a city on the brink of such chaos and evil. Will you not long for the forest, all your days? Will you not come to abhor the filth of a human city, as we do? Will you not wish for all the world that you had joined your clan in our true ancestral home? They had asked. How can a girl alone survive to earn her acceptance in this mundane order? Surely not, Celenîdaneth, surely you cannot remain here. No.
      When all hope seemed lost, for the ship had arrived in port and would depart the following day, the most remarkable thing happened – Morgwendaneliel stepped to her brother and said in no uncertain terms that she would be remaining in Kenabres, to follow her life-long dream of studying the arcane amongst the great libraries of the world, and that her niece would be remaining at her side as companion and fellow scholar.
      The lady, who had always seemed so old and frail to Celenîdaneth, was as a pillar of iron as she awaited her brother’s reaction. He did not say a word and consulted with his wife with naught but his eyes. Then they both nodded.
      The next day, when Celenîdaneth and Morgwendaneliel saw the family off, they stood at the docks with their meagre baggage, a purse of silver and gold coins that made up the bulk of the family’s so-called wealth, and held each other’s hand. Their plan was to present themselves to the Silver Legion, in time, but for now – both must find a master to teach them the arcane ways so that they could become worthy.
      No less perilous than a long river voyage, their adventure was just beginning…

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Signed, Josie
Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me

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