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Author Topic: Irid al'menie - Quaelhoihrim - Anything honourable that gets her money  (Read 4267 times)
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Irid alMenie
Wolf-Lady
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Gender: Female
Posts: 1178


Elf, Quaelhoirhim


« on: December 17, 2007, 10:41:53 PM »

And here it is, my rewrite of my very first Santharian character! Disclaimer: the event happening to her in her history has been approved by the Administrators (Thank you, Kali, Vesk and Mina!) *dances*

14-04-2007: bringing her up for some alterations to her history. Got the OK from Pikel so moving her back down ^.^


Name: Irid al'Menie
Gender: Female
Age: 315
Race: Elf
Tribe: Quaelhoirhim
Occupation: Anything that will put some coin in her pouch, so long as it is honourable.
Title: Wolf-lady

Appearance:
Height: 1 ped, 2 fores, 2 palmspans and 5 nailsbreadths
Hair colour: Black
Eye colour: Golden
Physical appearance: Irid is not very tall for an elf, although she still easily exceeds many humans in height. Much like her tribesmen, she has a slender built. Her face is slightly elongated, with high cheekbones and a thin nose. Her eyes are the most noticeable feature in her face – they are yellow, bordering on gold. They are eyes like a wolf's. Though there is usually a friendly warmth in them, they have the look of a wild animal about them, which is rather strange to see in the elf's face. They are framed by long black lashes. A shimmering wave of black hair, which she usually wears loose, or at most tied in a tail, falls down to below her shoulders. She can make it up elaborately, but doesn't usually bother. Her ears are pointed, a rather normal feature for her race. One of them, the right one, has a small golden ring pierced into the tip.

Though her tribe usually has a sort of glow about them, a light that they draw from the surrounding nature, Irid has lost this feature. She looks more down-to-earth than other Quaelhoirhim elves, somehow. Her skin is softly tanned, olive in colour.

Her lips are not exactly full, but not very thin either, covering a row of white teeth. They are usually curled up in a half-smile, as if she is witnessing something amusing at that moment. She used to hold her head high, conscious of her own worth. Lately, however, she has started looking down more often, almost as if trying to hide the glint of her golden eyes. When she catches herself doing this, she looks up again, though she will soon cast her eyes down again.

Her neck is long and slender, fitting nicely with her elongated face. It arches down to rounded, slender shoulders. Both her arms and legs are relatively muscled, though they do not look as if she has consciously trained them. Dexterous hands are often fidgetting, usually with strands of hair, their fingernails long but well-kept. Her legs are long and straight, well capable of running for several strals without tiring very much. They end in small, graceful feet.

Clothes: Her outfit of choice when travelling is a well-fitting, sognastheen tunic with long sleeves, embroidered with oak leaves. Under this she wears pants that are a vontromarine colour, which could be called either blue, green or grey, depending on who described it. Over this, she wears a simple black cloak. Her feet are shod in comfortable leather boots. The only jewellery she wears when in this outfit, except for the golden ring in her right ear, is a simple, small golden ring on her pink. The outfit is completed by a belt from which hang the sheaths for her daggers, as well as a pouch for money.

When she stays in one place for a longer time, she will sometimes change her favourite tunic for her blue dress, mostly when the former needs washing. The spilk dress is long and flowing, with long wide (and slightly impractical) sleeves. The skirt and sleeves are uderza blue, while the bodice is more of a xazure colour. It is accompanied by an intricate brooch, also depicting oak leaves and some acorns. With it goes a choker of blue cotton velvet, with in the middle a small gold plate, very finely engraved with the same oak leaf pattern. When she's wearing the other clothes, she keeps the dress and jewellery carefully stored in a bag.

Personality: Irid used to be open and outgoing, ready to make friends with everyone she liked the look of. She would often stick her nose in someone else's business, because she 'happened to overhear' something, a habit that on the part of the other party led to annoyance as often as to friendship. First impressions played an important role in her dealings with others, and she rarely stepped away from them – if she did not like a person from the first moment, chances were high she would never like them.

This, however, has drastically changed recently. When she meets someone, she will defer her judgement until she has got to know the person. As a result, she attaches herself far less frequently, but much more deeply than she did before. This attitude of waiting before forming a judgement is applied in all situations she is in.

The changes that she has gone through have made her uncertain and self-conscious, two feelings she has not known before. She never knows if she will react normally to a situation, or if the instincts of the wolf will take over. The fact that she does not really know what happened, or how it happened to her, doesn't help. It might be easier for her to make her peace with it if she knew. The uncertainty has made her less open than she used to be; she will not start talking quite so easily.

Her love of nature, which was great already, was intensified by what happened. It gave her a much deeper understanding of what it is like to be a part of nature – even more than she was as an elf. She will stand up to everyone who she sees wantonly destroying nature, be it cutting down trees without reason or mistreating animals.

Irid has grown much more wary of large groups of people. An inn filled with people sitting down is bearable, though hardly calming. A busy street, or any moving crowd where people keep bumping into each other, will have her snarling like a trapped wolf, trying to find the fastest way out.

Whenever she is under a lot of stress, or is agitated for some reason, the instincts of the wolf will take over much more easily. This has led her to keeping a tight rein on her feelings, something she was not used to doing. She tries to avoid stressful situations, and when she can't avoid them, she is very much concentrated on keeping control – which does not always work.

Strengths:
-The merging of Irid's essence with that of the wolf has changed her in subtle ways. She has an enhanced sense of hearing and smell. Aside from this, she has inherited a sort of sixth sense, warning her of danger – an ability which many animals have.
-The event has also enhanced her constitution, making her capable of running for a few strals without growing noticeably tired.
-She is a pretty good shot with the bow, having studied and practiced with this weapon for well on a century and a half. However, she has left the bow  behind, and has not practiced with it in at least a century, making her ability somewhat rusty.
-She is quite adept with the two long daggers that her parents gave her. She keeps them with her all the time and tries to practice with them every day. She relies on them for her defense as well.
-She used to be pretty secure in her knowledge of what her own worth was. There is still a large part of that left, and despite her self-doubt, she will not let herself be pushed around.

Weaknesses:
-The conflict between her former self and her new 'essence' or 'soul' has proven to be a difficult one. She is always fighting herself, because what her mind tells her she should do, and what she actually does, are often different. It has led to self-doubt and insecurity.
-The insecurity is often a cause for not making a decision, because she never knows if the wolf instincts will take over. When she needs to react quickly, a moment of indecision can mean a major loss of advantage on her part. On the other hand, this is often a moment when the instincts do take over, which may not always be the best course of action, leading to more self-doubt and hesitation. It is a vicious circle.
-In a situation where she is fighting, it is also possible for the instincts to take over, because she just cannot devote all her energy and attention to keeping them under control. When they do, she often unconsciously uses her daggers as claws, a usage they are not meant for. To lookers-on, it seems just like a very strange or clumsy move, which could make her lose the fight.
-Other stressful situations are similar to a fight. She will either concentrate on the situation, which makes it easier for the instincts to surface, or she will give her energy to keeping the instincts under control, in which case she can't concentrate on finding a solution for the situation.
-Most of the time, the instincts take over for only a few moments. There are times, however, that they take over for a longer time, a period she never remembers afterwards. She is told that during those times she acts very strangely – much like a wolf would.

History:
For a long time, Irid al'Menie led a pretty normal life. She was born in Elving and grew up there with the other elves. She never really had contact with other races, or even other tribes, except by looking from afar at the delegates that were allowed into the city. Together with her friends, she assessed them much as any girl in her puberty would, be she human or elf. When they were not assessing, they were learning the things they would need to know later, often in very subtle ways.

Somewhere around the time that she turned 50, she decided that she was becoming too old for whispering and giggling with a few girls. One by one, her friends came around as well – some sooner, some later. They remained lively, open and joyful, but they were slowly growing up, becoming more mature as time passed. Around this time, she chose to become a hunter for her profession. She studied the use of the bow intently, as in-depth as is her race's wont. She practiced daily, until she was nearing (though not quite yet equalling) her teachers' level. Then she went out to hunt. At times, she was given guard duty of the city, but more often she could be found practicing her chosen profession.

When she turned 100, her parents gave her a special brooch with a complicated design of oak leaves and acorns. It immediately became her favourite design, and she had it, or a variation of it, embroidered on her clothing.

She was about 164 when a delegation of humans came to Elving. One of the party was Lance, an elderly knight there on his lord's business. At first, she was no more interested in the party than she had been in any delegation for the past century. However, as it turned out, Lance was an avid hunter, and he had specifically asked to speak with some of the Quaelhoirhim hunters. Willing to humour him, she went to see him, not expecting much from the exchange. However, they got along very well. The conversation started with hunting, but did not stay there. Over the next few days, she got to know his life story. He had married early, loved his wife very much but she died after a few years. Devastated from this blow, he had devoted the rest of his life to the service of his lord. When he left, she said goodbye to him, glad to have made a friend – even though she knew that she would never see him again. Since then, she was much more interested in the people who came to Elving.

For her 200th birthday, she was given two long daggers, as a means of defending herself aside from the bow. It took a while for her to get used to them, but in the end they became her favourite weapon. Not long after, she started feeling restless. She spent much of her time talking with delegates – some of another race, some just of another tribe. When she was 246 years old, she decided that the restless feeling was due to a desire to see the world, as some members of her tribe had. Now was the right time for it, she thought. She was still young, and she wanted to meet more people than just the delegates.

She said goodbye to her parents and her friends, and left, only lightly packed. She left her bow with her parents, taking only the daggers for her defense. In the years that followed, she travelled – at times alone, more often with one or more companions. She would help people who were on some sort of quest. Her help was often a result of her putting her nose in their business. She made many friends this way, though she never looked for them after the 'quest' was over. The friendships were not quite that strong.

One day, as she happened to be travelling alone, she heard a whining in the underbrush next to the road. Investigating the sound, she found a wolf pup, looking up at her with golden eyes. It seemed to be starving, it was so thin. The elf tried to find its mother, but could not. It seemed the pup had walked quite a distance on its own, perhaps in search of its mother, or looking for food. Irid, feeling for the small thing, took care of it and nursed it back to health. She named it Wolf, feeling that it didn't need a much more complicated name than that. Wolf grew up to be a beautiful Mithral wolf, silver-furred and golden-eyed. He was a loyal animal, defending her whenever he could, though he kept his wolfish instincts. She did not try to make him suppress them, thinking that a wild animal should be allowed to remain wild. Still, she was glad of the company.

A few years later – Irid was now 306 years old – something happened which drastically changed the elf. She had been travelling alone, together with Wolf, when she was attacked by bandits. She managed to drive them off, but fell unconscious from loss of blood, from the wounds that she'd received during the fight. Wolf had been wounded as well, but remained conscious. He went to sleep next to Irid's limp form.

At this moment, Shintel happened upon them. Shintel had been a grey druid, but had recently become a black druid, trying to control sentient beings. Reasoning that an unconscious elf would pose less of a problem than a conscious one, he opened his mind to her, trying to establish a link with her essence. While he was doing this, Wolf woke up. Perceiving the druid to be a threat, he growled once in warning and then attacked. Shintel's first reaction was to open a link to the animal, much as he would have done when he was still a grey druid – forgetting that he'd opened a link with Irid's mind already. Unable to maintain both while under attack, he withdrew his own mind. Somehow, without intending it to happen, though, he melted Irid's essence with Wolf's. He never knew this, as he fled for the wolf's onslaught.

Wolf sadly did not survive what happened. He died with his muzzle on Irid's shoulder. This is where she found him when she regained consciousness. Assuming that he had succumbed to the wounds given to him by the bandits, she buried him, sad that he was gone but glad for the company he had provided her with for the last sixteen years. It was not until after she travelled on, looking for somewhere to rest and treat her wounds, that she noticed she had changed. She could smell things and precisely name what it was that she smelled. Even when several smells at the same time reached her, she could effectively name each of them. She also found that her hearing, good as it had been, had been enhanced.

Not much later, she also discovered the other ways in which she had been changed. The first time she looked into a mirror, she was startled by the change to her eyes – where before they had been brown, they were now the same golden colour as Wolf's. There were times when she would decide to do one thing, but her body did something else, something distinctly wolf-like. She didn't (and doesn't) really realise this, but depended on others to hear how she acted. She did not understand what had happened, she could only trace it back to the time when she had been unconscious, the day Wolf had died. It must have had something to do with him, she knew, but what? It is a question that has kept her busy for the past few years, ever since the event.

Her main purpose for travelling now, rather than meeting and helping people, is to find an answer to that question. She knows that there is but a small chance that she will ever find it, but she has to try nevertheless.

She went back to her parents only once, about a year after the event. They were both old elves now, and soon after gave their spirits back to Ava. They left her some money, which she has not used much of during her travels, so she still has most of her inheritance left, stored away safely so that she  can use it when she needs it.

Weapons: Two long, identical daggers, used for her defense mainly. The blades are about a fore long, the handles simple and serviceable. They each have a sheath that hangs from her belt, decorated with the oak leaf pattern.


(With a big thank you to Bjorn for letting me use it ^.^)

Belongings: In a backpack, Irid keeps her dress and jewellery, as well as some food for travelling, a waterbag and a tinderbox. Her money she keeps in a pouch on her belt.
« Last Edit: January 22, 2009, 04:26:47 PM by Simonne Miller » Logged

Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus.
Irid al'Menie
Vesk Lyricahl
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Human, Eyelian


« Reply #1 on: December 19, 2007, 03:27:14 AM »

First approval. ;)
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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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High Elf, Kaýrrhem


« Reply #2 on: December 19, 2007, 06:52:03 AM »

Well done hun! I loved how you explained it! :)
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Insanity is only a perception made by those who have yet to attain its greatness. While those of us who have already stepped inside its bounds find bliss in our utter madness.
Nai'r en'Lina ar'Kaimel
Simonne Miller
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« Reply #3 on: April 15, 2008, 04:28:09 AM »

I'm going to add some things to her history in connection with the story I'm creating; nothing major, i'm just making sure that she will be able to pay the adventurers ;)
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Simonne Miller
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« Reply #4 on: April 15, 2008, 04:34:44 AM »

Ok, done. It's just a small paragraph that's added at the very end of her history, about her parents dying. I'd appreciate it if one of my colleagues could take a look at it and approve me again ^.^
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Simonne Miller
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Human, Caltharian


« Reply #5 on: January 22, 2009, 04:23:03 PM »

Bringing her up just for a second to add in a picture of one of her daggers...
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Youth is a gift of nature, but old age is a work of art
Simonne Miller
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