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Author Topic: Elysia  (Read 7603 times)
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Elysia
Priestess
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Gender: Female
Posts: 59


Half-elf Diorye’oleal / Erpheronian


« on: December 27, 2005, 02:50:22 PM »

Name: Elysia (known as Elysia the Blessed to the priests of Queprur)
Gender: Female
Age: 51 (appears 22)
Race: Half-elf
Tribes: Diorye’oleal/Erpheronian
Occupation: Cleric of Queprur
Title: Priestess

Description: With the grace associated with one of her heritage, Elysia stands on the cusp of death, seemingly only moments away from uniting with her mistress. Pallid skin gauntly stretches over her emaciated frame, emphasizing her high cheek bones. Eyes possessing the hue of pale ice glare out upon the world with a cold slow burning anger, appearing large and expressive in comparison to her gaunt countenance. Untamed, crimson locks flow to her waist, reminiscent of a blazing wildfire in hue. Long bangs occasionally obscure her icy stare, only to be briskly tucked behind an ear. As her ears are only slightly pointed, often it is her height that reveals her elven heritage to strangers. Standing half a fore beneath two peds, she towers over most women and even some men.

Those not frightened by her appearance perceive an exotic beauty in her every movement. Thick eyelashes frame her azure eyes, and for a moment one might believe that by batting her eyelashes she flirts with them. Never does the fires of desire burn within her eyes as they remain eternally dead, seemingly without emotion. Her rosy lips may curl into a slight smile, yet one can only wonder as to what could make such a woman smile. Perhaps she is laughing at the ironies of life or finding pleasure in the misery of others. Only one thing is certain: her smile remains as expressionless as her unforgiving eyes. Even more disturbing than her smile is the hollow sound emerging from her lips as she laughs. If the dead could laugh, then one would not be surprised to hear similar sounds from their rotting mouths. Instead of instilling mirth in those around her, such a laugh pervades the very bones of those listening, seeming to convey a fear not easily dispelled.

As one’s gaze leaves the chiseled features of her face, assuming that it is not captivated by her enchanting eyes, one would see a slender neck extending from bare shoulders. Curving across half her throat and white with age is a slender scar, only noticeable when one is close to the half elf. Clasped about her fair throat is a black cloak, held there by a simple silver clasp as it descends to the top of her boots. Often she will wrap the cloak around her slender frame, protecting herself from the elements. Pale blue eyes glare from within the cowl of its hood as a few crimson tresses fall across her face. With not a stitch to cover her delicate shoulders, more traditional women view her apparel as demeaning and provocative. The round collar of her black dress fits snugly around her torso as it stretches over her firm breasts, low enough to reveal pale cleavage. Sleeves appearing more transparent than the rest of the dress sheathe her arms, flaring at the wrists as her slender fingers emerge from the fabric. Despite the dress being tight around the hips, displaying each seductive curve, a thin silver belt is clasped around her waist. Descending to her knees with a slit up one side extending to a point a palmspan beneath her waist, the skirt of the dress is quite provocative with a glimpse of her curvaceous hips and silky thighs offered with each stride. Black leather boots extend slightly beyond her ankles, slightly worn from years of pacing the stone floors of the High Temple of Queprur.

Personality: As a priestess of Queprur, Elysia has learned to be indifferent to the sufferings of other mortals. She cares naught for their sufferings nor their jubilations. The only exception to such indifference is when she finds humor in the misery of others, as her sense of humor is incredibly twisted. With her lips curling into a faint smile, she will watch as others injure themselves through their mishaps, relishing in their pain. Even more humorous is the emotional distress of others, often she will laugh aloud at such, her laugh being hollow and mirthless.  

She knows nothing of the art of flirtation and will not even realize it when a man is flirting with her. Often she will unknowingly tease men by leaning forward to reveal pale cleavage or by showing more leg than is demure as she sits. The stares of men often lustfully follow her backside as she walks, taking note of each seductive sway of her hips, yet such stares only puzzle her and neither insult nor flatter her as they might other women.

Elysia does not fear death as many mortals do, knowing she will reunite with her mistress upon her death. Nor does she seek to end her life prematurely as she would better serve Queprur as a living cleric than she would a spirit. However, she does fear the agony of a painful death as she is aware that her body is exceptionally frail. She attempts to avoid physical confrontations whenever possible as she lacks the strength to properly defend herself. Only when a man attempts to take that which she will not freely give, her virginity, will she fight, lashing out with tooth and nail much as her mother did decades ago.

All mortals are equal in her eyes, just as they are equal in death. Race, gender, nor class matter to her as all will feel the embrace of her mistress regardless of their heritage. With disdain she looks upon the few nobles foolish enough to attempt to bribe a priestess for a few more years upon this world, for in death material possessions do not matter. Only dark elves truly fascinate her as she seeks to learn of their way of life and thus learn about herself and her heritage. Oddly enough, she does not hate the entire race and instead focuses her hatred upon the one individual responsible for her unholy conception.

Religion: As a faithful cleric of Queprur, her loyalty belongs only to her mistress. The belief in the other eleven gods exists within her, yet it is the Iron Mistress to whom she has devoted her life. Devoutly she believes that death is the ultimate achievement of order, a belief reaffirmed by her experiences with other mortals. Others may consider Queprur to be dark and unforgiving, yet she believes that the gift of death is an act of mercy, one that should be appreciated by those not worthy of her mistress’s touch. Uttering the notion that the Goddess of Death is a servant of Coor, the Shadow Himself, is unwise in the presence of the half elf as the chaos of Coor is the antithesis of the balance maintained by the deaths of mortals and the order her mistress seeks to instill upon the world. Nor does she believe that her mistress dwells in the twisted Netherworlds, believing instead that death is eternally present in the world of Caelereth.

Clerical Abilities: Rumors persist of Elysia being a necromancer. Never would she even attempt to grant life to the dead as only the Goddess herself may decry that someone return from the grave though it is beyond the ken of any mortal to comprehend the motives of the divine. To attempt such a heinous act would be to risk the wrath of her mistress.

Her abilities, bestowed upon her by Queprur, do pertain to the deceased. She is not nearly as skilled as the aged priests who have dedicated their entire lives to the Goddess, yet she is quite skilled for someone with her age and heritage. Often someone will die in a violent manner or pass from this world without expressing their emotions to those they loved, and these restless spirits roam the world of Caelereth, perceivable only to the gifted such as Elysia. They appear much as they did in life, the only difference being that they now appear faded and one can even see through them. The wounds with which they died are evident upon their ethereal forms, and sometimes a spirit of the deceased will indeed be a grisly sight. Peace is unattainable to them until the circumstances of their deaths are resolved, whether by the demise of a murderer or by speaking to those left behind. The common man has nothing to fear from such spirits, yet those close to death may be possessed by them, a message rising from the lips of the dying from beyond the grave. As she is close to Queprur, Elysia is also vulnerable to possession yet decades of training have bestowed upon her the skills with which to defend her corporal body. Despite the risk of losing her body to the undead, she will often allow the more benevolent among them to possess her for only a moment, long enough to speak the words they dared not to say during their lives. Without any recollection of the possession other than the vague knowledge that someone else spoke through her lips, she is dependent upon those around her to reveal the nature of the message.

Not only does she possess the knowledge to welcome a spirit within her body, she has been trained to cast chaotic spirits or even demons out of others. With a strength granted from their very insanity, such spirits can possess anyone. Exorcism is not a practice she takes lightly, as it is often the cleric that is possessed by the fleeing apparition. The battle that entails exists on the spiritual level with only the slightest of physical signs to reveal that all is not well. Tales abound of clerics wreaking havoc upon those around them, surprising everyone as they realize too late the outcome of the exorcism.

With meditation Elysia is able to free her spirit from its corporal form, to walk upon this world as a spirit, passing through objects and people equally. As with any prayer to her mistress, an attempt to separate her spirit from its corporal form is as likely to fail as it is to succeed. Only with the slightest chill does someone notice her passing through them, a shiver felt both physically and spiritually. As a spirit, she has only to focus her mind upon her desired destination, arriving instantly. Other spirits are seen with more clarity, as though they possessed living bodies, as the people that are truly alive and the world they live in seems to fade, appearing as wisps of smoke only half seen. Every word spoken by the living seems as nothing more than whispers whereas the wails of the dead echo in her ears. As she is absent from her body, it is nothing more than an empty shell, at the mercy of anyone intent upon harming her. This ability is used solely for the obtainment of knowledge, scouting ahead, spying on others, or communicating with other clerics of Queprur. In truth, it is only other gifted such as herself that would be able to perceive her ethereal form.

Those only days away from dying possess an aura of death, a dark mist surrounding them, perceivable only by clerics of Queprur. With such an ability Elysia is aware of someone’s imminent death even before they are, aware that her mistress will soon claim another soul. As the hour of death approaches, the mist darkens, swirling around the limbs of its victim as though it were truly alive. Anything as mundane as herbs cannot save them and only by divine intervention will they live.

Weapons: Sheathed upon her hip within a black scabbard opposite the slit in her skirt is a dagger, its silver hilt wrapped in black leather. With its short blade, it is not particularly suited for combat nor would she ever use it in such a manner. The dagger is sacred to her, being tied into her faith in Queprur, and it is only used to end the lives of those already dying. Some quail at the sight of such a blade, believing it to be part of a dark ritual, yet her intentions are entirely pure, bestowing the mercy of death upon those suffering from various ailments.

Strengths
Clerical Magic- As a cleric of Queprur, she possesses abilities that allow her to obtain knowledge beyond that of the common mortal. By communing with the dead, she learns of past events, the more recent ones being the easiest to discern. Even without spirits nearby to aid her, she is able to separate her spirit from its corporal form and travel to any place within the world of Caelereth in an instant, learning of events that are occurring several strals away. With her spirit she is also able to communicate with other clerics of Queprur, ensuring that she is aware of the current news in any town so long as a fellow cleric dwells there. Lesser demons have reason to fear her as she possesses the knowledge and skill to cast them out of their hosts.

Vision- As a half elf, her vision surpasses that of an ordinary human. She is able to perceive someone approaching long before a human would notice them. Her vision is especially perceptive at night as she requires only the slightest light to see in the dark, the light of the stars is usually sufficient.

Appearance- With her fiery locks, she is not recognizable as the ill begotten offspring of a dark elf. Indeed, only by noticing her slightly pointed ears and exceptional height for a female will one realize her elven heritage, yet her appearance is such that she could be the daughter of a wood elf.

Education- As she was raised within a temple, she has been properly educated. By studying the holy mantras she learned to read and write. Indeed, her writing is fair enough that she often aided the priests in the copying of the mantras into new books for newly raised clerics.

Indifference- Her indifference toward the affairs of other mortals ensures that she cannot be taken advantage of emotionally, as she would never even consider being infatuated with a man. Nor can she be duped into pursuing a foolish quest as she truly does not care about the sufferings of others nor material possessions.

Weaknesses
Clerical Magic- As with any magic, the use of her abilities tires her, the extent of her weariness depending upon how much she has exerted herself and whether or not she slept well the night before. The knowledge she obtains from the dead is often difficult to decipher as their memories of their former life fade, leaving gaps in what they do remember. As her spirit leaves her body, it is vulnerable to any wishing to harm her as it becomes corpse like in its lack of movement, only her shallow breaths reveal that she yet lives. The exorcism of any demon is not easily accomplished, and often she becomes its next victim, forcing her to struggle with it on a spiritual level for control of her body.

Weakness- Even for a female half elf she is weak and frail, not even able to wield a weapon heavier than a dagger. Her bones are prone to breaking, and it is with great care that she avoids falling as even a fall of only a few fores is enough to injure her. With great care she avoids physical confrontations, as they will most likely result in her injury. Not all confrontations can be avoided as there are those that would use her body for their foul deeds, and it is then that she must rely upon others to save her. She does not lack the will to defend herself against a rapist but instead lacks the strength to do so successfully.

Naivete- Having spent her entire life within the temple, her only experience with men consists of her days spent among the priests. Never has she been around men who would perceive her beauty as an object of lust, and she is truly unaware of the motives behind their lustful stares. Nor does she realize the dangers associated with a beautiful woman traveling alone and will walk into the foulest tavern, not understanding the nature of its patrons.

Reputation- Within the city of Nyermersys she has a reputation of being an abomination as she is known as Elysia the Cursed to its citizens. Those old enough to remember the night of her birth pass the tale onto younger generations. Never will she be welcome within the city except within the temple itself.

Apparent Insanity- As she is often visited by restless spirits and even allows them to speak through her lips, Elysia appears insane to anyone unfamiliar to her unique talents. None care to speak to a woman whose very sanity is doubted. Men with less noble intentions perceive her as easy prey, unable to resist their unwanted advances.

Indifference- Her cool indifference ensures that she will never truly befriend someone and any kindness displayed toward them is for her own reasons and not because she cares for them. With such an indifference, it is often that she has only the dead as company.

History: Only the constant strike of rain drops upon the cobbled streets disturbed the silence of the night. Seemingly an eternity later, the spluttering of torches could be heard as footsteps pounded upon bare stone. Not without purpose did one visit the High Temple of Queprur at night. With bestial snarls and malicious glares, none could mistake this group as those visiting their loved ones now gone from this world. Nor did they bring offerings to the goddess, though they were not empty handed. A stretcher fashioned from blankets and planks of wood was held by several of the men, their faces turned away from the gore and blood that had once been a woman, one of their own, wife to one of the local merchants. Worse even than the corpse was the baby lying in a pool of her mother’s blood, painted crimson despite the constant rain. Eerily the child remained silent, and only by noticing her tiny chest heaving with each breath did they know that she yet lived.

The tale of her conception was whispered among the townsfolk, believed by all to be true. As Kyra bathed in a local stream, washing her gorgeous fiery locks, she was set upon a figure dressed in black with cold blue eyes glaring at her from beneath his hood. She had indeed been lucky to find such a secluded stream away from the lustful gazes of men or so she thought. With tooth and nail she defended herself, tearing his robes to shreds as the water swirled around their struggling bodies. Even as they fought, he laughed, a hollow sound deprived of mirth. He towered over her, easily exceeding her height by a fore, and used his greater strength to subdue the object of his lust. With another bone chilling laugh he tossed her nude body over his shoulder, not seeming to notice the futile kicking of her shapely legs. In less than a moment, his body was pinning hers to the rocky ground of the riverbank, using her to sate his unholy lust. Her screams only excited him and did not bring the aid she so needed. In her desperation, she prayed to each of the gods, imploring them for aid, yet they stirred not as his foul seed corrupted her body. Once sated, he no longer cared whether she lived or died and left her prone seemingly lifeless body to be found by her own people. Indeed, she was found and restored to health as her body began to quicken with the child she carried. With desperation she clung to the belief that it was her husband’s child and did not abort the pregnancy. Such hope was soon proved to be false as her very body was torn asunder by the birth of an unholy child.

Moonlight gleamed upon cold steel as it was pressed against the child’s throat as the group stood in the graveyard. Upon the blessed soil they would spill her blood, trusting to Queprur to protect them from her demonic soul. The mother lay upon the ground appearing serene despite being drenched in blood and rain. Each townsman gathered round, yet only one man could hold the dagger, only one man could prove that he had the courage to kill the abomination. To the eldest and supposedly wisest of them this task fell, his hair white with age yet the fever of zealotry burned within his ancient gaze. Slowly the knife cut, mingling the child’s blood with that of her mother. In a flash of lightning a figure could be seen, standing aloof from them with his dark eyes alight with rage. As he approached the crowd slowly backed away, leaving the one man standing alone, the dagger in his hand seemingly forgotten as it fell from his hand.

“Give me the child and bury your dead. The dead do not deserve such disgrace.” The words of the priest were spoken quietly yet a sense of power emanated from his very presence.

“I give this demon to Death and not her servant. Halt me not for my actions are holy.” Without fear the old man spoke, not fearing death as he knew the end of his life to be near.

“It is not for you nor any mortal to decide whom Death shall take. The Iron Mistress takes whom she pleases without concern for mortal affairs.” The gaze of the priest seemed to soften as if he pitied the man standing before him. “It is well that you do not fear your own death, yet the embrace of the mistress looms near even so. You will die this very night without a single wound upon your body.” He stepped forward, arms outstretched to receive the child. “It is unwise to contend with the gods or their servants. This child is blessed by Queprur and must not be harmed.”

The old man had not lived so long without learning to recognize wisdom when it reached his ears, reluctantly handing the child to the priest. He feared not for himself but for the generations yet to come, those that would know the child as an abomination and half breed. Silently, he rejoined his fellows, aiding them as they swiftly dug a grave, none wishing to linger there longer than necessary. For a few moments the priest watched, cradling the child in his arms. As the woman, mother to the abomination, was laid to rest the priest turned his back and proceeded toward the temple. A scream echoed off the walls as the old man slipped into the grave, his aged heart bursting in its fright as he stared into the dead eyes of a corpse. For the first time that night, truly the first time in her short life, the child laughed.

The sun rose and set on many days as the years passed, the child growing as she was raised in the temple itself. Whereas other girls played with dolls and raced along the city streets, Elysia frolicked among tombstones and statues of demons, fearing neither the dead nor demons. With a mischievous glint shining within azure eyes, she would climb the statue of Ghelgath, Demon Lord of Ice, using the pale marble spikes, meant to resemble shards of ice, protruding from the statue as handholds. Fear was unknown to her, yet she soon experienced hatred, not understanding it as the mind of a child cannot comprehend the darkest of emotions. Visitors of the graveyard, come to bestow flowers upon the graves of their loved ones, would cower at the sight of her, some even daring to curse at her as they called her Elysia the Cursed, glancing about first to ensure that no priest was nearby. With tears streaking her fair cheeks, she would run to her room, a simple room intended for apprentices and not befitting a young girl, curling up on her pallet as she wept. Only Wes, the priest to whom she owed her life, showed any compassion for the girl, raising her as he would a daughter. He would sit with her as she cried, gently stroking her hair as he asked what had upset her. Vainly he tried to explain the hatred men feel for anything they do not understand, telling her that she was blessed by Queprur and not cursed, yet it was years later before she finally understood.

At the age of sixteen, her apprenticeship began. It was her desire nay her destiny to become a priestess of Queprur, to be a cleric as Wes was. She loved him as dearly as she would her own father, if she were ever to meet him or even become aware of his identity. Questions about her father were deftly avoided by Wes as he swiftly sought to change the subject, not wanting the knowledge of whom her father truly was to corrupt this fair child. The tales of her birth told upon the streets of Nyermersys were known to him, only one reason of several why the child was not allowed to leave the temple. As an apprentice, her duties were those of a servant as often as they were actual classes, as only by learning discipline may one become close to the Goddess. Her sojourns within the graveyard became something more as she learned to perceive the ethereal forms of the restless dead. Each night she would listen to their despairing wails as they were echoed within her own soul, their sorrow akin to her own. Never would she know the life of a normal girl, and it was that realization that drove her to study with a grim determination that both surprised and pleased her teachers. Her relationships to other apprentices and even to her teachers were nonexistent, as she cared naught for the emotions of others. No matter how emotionless she became, the bond between her and Wes was ever strong, and only he knew the toll her determination was taking upon her once free spirit.

After twenty years, the day she would become a priestess approached. Others had already ascended beyond their apprenticeships as Elysia seemed to learn slower yet much more in depth than the other apprentices. In truth, her elven heritage was responsible for this though she was yet unaware that she was anything but human. At midnight within the Shrine of Queprur, surrounded by graves, she stood as the priests gathered around her. None truly know the details of the ascension ceremony wherein the apprentice eternally binds herself to the service of Queprur, and Elysia herself will not speak of it. After hours had passed, she emerged from the shrine a full priestess, now garbed in all black instead of the white dress of an apprentice. Elegantly she passed through the gathered priests and entered the temple as a respected priestess instead of an abomination.

For fifteen more years she remained among the priests, performing the duties and everyday rituals associated with worshiping Queprur. The populace of Nyermersys yet feared her for her heritage, yet none dared to express their anger and hatred against one favored by Queprur, fearing the wrath of the Goddess. Nor did Elysia express her disdain of the living, performing her duties with an indifferent silence. As a priestess of Queprur, her only concern was the deceased and their care, the concerns of the living meant nothing to her. Her indifference was absolute as the deaths of mortals could not affect her, or so she believed. She was first among the clerics to see the dark aura surrounding Wes, indicating that his death was near. At the age of eighty four, he was well aware of his limited mortality and welcomed the embrace of his Goddess. Despite her upbringing as a cleric, Elysia wept for the only man kind enough to show her compassion, crying as she had not since her youth. Queprur claimed him in the middle of the night as the half elf slept in a nearby chair. None other than Elysia wept for him, and contempt over such a display of sorrow was evident in the eyes of each priest as they ceremoniously carried the corpse to the graveyard, the body shrouded in the finest black silk. As in her childhood, no one cared to console her, and she remained long after the others had left, her tears falling to the freshly turned soil of his grave. The tears continued for hours, seemingly having been built up within her over the decades. As if the tears themselves summoned him, she found herself gazing upon the ethereal form of her mentor, in the same way she perceived the restless dead of the graveyard.

“Weep not for me, child. I am with the Iron Mistress now and know bliss beyond that of my days among the living.” The spirit moved to stand beside her as his flowing robes seemed to rustle with the slightest sound, akin to that of golden leaves falling to the forest floor in autumn.

“Only those with issues yet unresolved walk upon this world as spirits, unable to pass beyond for they remain entangled in the threads of their former life. Tell me, Wes, what is it that holds you here? You died in your sleep as the aged often do and have none to blame for your death.” Her tears had ceased as she spoke with the dead, her teachings having reaffirmed themselves within her mind. As a priestess, she was accustomed to speaking with the dead and was not frightened as many would have been.

“As you say, I was not murdered nor do I bear any living now any ill will. It is you that should resent me, as I have never told you the truth of your birth, knowledge you deserve to have. Speak not until I have finished, for the tale is best said as quickly as possible.” Tears did not return to her eyes as he spoke of the tales told by the populace of Nyermersys so many years ago, as she listened with a determination akin to that which drove her during her years as an apprentice. As a spirit his knowledge exceeded that of any mortal and was subtly different in how he knew such things. Even so, he knew only that her true father was a dark elf, one whose atrocious crimes against humanity were enough to make even the stoutest warrior blanch with fear. After what seemed to be an eternity, the spirit finally fell silent as he awaited the reaction of his most favored pupil.

“I do not fear death nor should any mortal. With only my ceremonial dagger, I will seek this dark elf, if only to look upon the face of my sire.” Without another word she stalked out of the graveyard, not turning back as the spirit of her mentor dissipated as if it were a fine mist. Only taking time to gather her few possessions from her room, she passed through the gate of the temple as she left the only home she had ever known, seeking the elf that had condemned her to this life of solitude.

Belongings: Within the leather pack worn upon her back, borrowed from an apprentice, are her few material possessions.
- Several black dresses, all identical.
- A small amount of silver.
- Ink and parchment.
- Book of holy mantras bound in worn leather.

Edited by: Elysia the Blessed at: 2/8/06 10:32 pm
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Takashi Logan
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« Reply #1 on: December 28, 2005, 12:37:22 AM »

A very nice character description. However, the abilities you mention fall into the realm of clerical magic, or something of the sort. Clerical Magic is very very shaky at the momment. Even the Magic-type people over at the Dev board are perplexed by it.

Probably not the best of ideas to be able to kill someone with a touch as the power would be percieved as GOD-like.
You'd probably never get it past the ! posticon.

If you need help with the age, there is an Elven Age Calculator Located on the Restrictions Thread, at the top of the forum.

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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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« Reply #2 on: December 28, 2005, 12:42:22 AM »

We shall have Talia come by and have a look at your CD dear. She is the one currently in charge of the clerical magic on the Dev. board and knows more about it than most anyone. I do not know when she will be here but we shall certainly  have her stop by if possible. :)  

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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
Elysia
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« Reply #3 on: December 28, 2005, 04:29:22 PM »

@Takashi: I know her abilities are clerical, since she happens to be a cleric! Clerical magic is not fully developed nor is it as shaky as you say. She is not the first cleric to be written nor is she the first cleric of Queprur.

As to her ability to kill the dying with her touch, it is not godlike since few characters will be dying when she meets them! Anyway, I'd already removed that ability since a dirk could kill as quickly and be more dramatic. I resent the fact that you of all people tell me that I will not be approved. You yourself do not possess an approved CD unless I am mistaken and I doubt that I am.

@Kalina: Of course Talia will stop by! She is the one I'd really like to discuss Elysia's abilities with.;)

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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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« Reply #4 on: December 29, 2005, 04:36:22 AM »

I did a quick look through of the stuff other than the clerical stuff and everything looks ok. Can't wait to see it all finished ^.^

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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
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« Reply #5 on: December 29, 2005, 06:20:22 AM »

:clap Yay, another cleric! I am praying to mine and all the other gods that you don't have as hard a time with yours as I did mine.:lol  

Darkness is not the opposite of light, but the absence of it.

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Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
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« Reply #6 on: December 30, 2005, 06:53:22 AM »

Why doesn't anybody send me a mail, ezboard or normal or bell ring me when a cleric is on the way! *sigh*
Will look at it a soon as possible!

Edit:

I just skimmed over her clerical abilities only - and I like them! I have not given a single thought to what Queprur's priests could be able to do, but these seem to me good ideas. They might not be able to ban more than lesser demons (at least not as a playable char), but that should not be a problem. But there are not too many demons around anyway. Could you not come up with some more ideas about what they are able to do?

Clerical magic has my approval, this strength is not difficult to balance, for she has no real advantages from it.

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

Edited by: Talia Sturmwind  at: 12/29/05 23:02
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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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« Reply #7 on: December 30, 2005, 07:55:22 AM »

Sorry Talia...Do we need to make a special thread for you in the Admin forum????  

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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
Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
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« Reply #8 on: December 30, 2005, 08:52:22 AM »

No, just a quick ezmail note  with the name of the char!  - when I'm not showing up anyway, but there are times even I am busy elsewhere!

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

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Elysia
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Half-elf Diorye’oleal / Erpheronian


« Reply #9 on: December 30, 2005, 06:08:22 PM »

*gasps*

You like my ideas?! Yay! I have more ideas about what a cleric of Queprur can do and will add them to my CD as they enter my head. By the way, this is not my first attempt at a cleric as I am also Yasmin Merin. I've stopped writing her for the moment since I wanted a less than wholesome character. Hehe, I guess I'm trying to butter up an admin with how much I love clerics and their gods!:devilish  

Edit: I've added two new abilities, and I hope they meet with your approval. The separating her spirit from her body one is simply a creation of my imagination as it seems logical (to me) that she would be able to do so if she can cast spirits out of others. The healing ability is one I'll probably rarely role play, but it would explain how the clerics of Queprur were able to cure the plague in Nymersys. Her kiss of life is her own twist to the ability, other clerics may just simply place their hands upon the diseased.

Edited by: Elysia the Blessed at: 12/31/05 6:33
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Elysia
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« Reply #10 on: January 02, 2006, 07:41:23 PM »

I've started on her history and have added another clerical ability. You'll learn not to ask me for more ideas!:lol  

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Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
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« Reply #11 on: January 04, 2006, 09:49:23 AM »

Elysia, your CD is marvelous so far. You are an excellent writer - I had to look up several words I didn't know! (Now I know them, lol)

 




Name: Elysia
Gender: Female
Age: undecided
Race: Half-elf
Tribes: Diorye’oleal/Erpheronian
Occupation: Cleric of Queprur
Title: undecided

Description: With the grace associated with one of her heritage, Elysia stands on the cusp of death, seemingly only moments away from uniting with her mistress. Pallid skin gauntly stretches over her emaciated frame, emphasizing her high cheek bones. Eyes possessing the hue of pale ice glare out upon the world with a cold slow burning anger, appearing large and expressive in comparison to her gaunt countenance. Untamed, crimson locks flow to her waist, reminiscent of a blazing wildfire in hue. Long bangs occasionally obscure her icy stare, only to be briskly tucked behind an ear. As her ears are only slightly pointed, often it is her height that reveals her elven heritage to strangers.

Those not frightened by her appearance perceive an exotic beauty in her every movement. Thick eyelashes frame her azure eyes, and for a moment one might believe that by batting her eyelashes she flirts with them. Never does the fires of desire burn within her eyes as they remain eternally dead, seemingly without emotion. Her rosy lips may curl into a slight smile, yet one can only wonder as to what could make such a woman smile. Perhaps she is laughing at the ironies of life or finding pleasure in the misery of others. Only one thing is certain: her smile remains as expressionless as her unforgiving eyes. Even more disturbing than her smile is the hollow sound emerging from her lips as she laughs. If the dead could laugh, then one would not be surprised to hear similar sounds from their rotting mouths. Instead of instilling mirth in those around her, such a laugh pervades the very bones of those listening, seeming to convey a fear not easily dispelled.

As one’s gaze leaves the chiseled features of her face, assuming that it is not captivated by her enchanting eyes, one would see a slender neck extending from bare shoulders. Curving across half her throat and white with age is a slender scar, only noticeable when one is close to the half elf. With not a stitch to cover her delicate shoulders, more traditional women view her apparel as demeaning and provocative. The round collar of her black dress fits snugly around her torso as it stretches over her firm breasts, low enough to reveal pale cleavage. Sleeves appearing more transparent than the rest of the dress sheathe her arms, flaring at the wrists as her slender fingers emerge from the fabric. Despite the dress being tight around the hips, displaying each seductive curve, a thin silver belt is clasped around her waist. Descending to her knees with a slit up one side extending to a point a palmspan beneath her waist, the skirt of the dress is quite provocative with a glimpse of her curvaceous hips and silky thighs offered with each stride. Black leather boots extend slightly beyond her ankles, slightly worn from years of wandering.

A lovely de*****ion, but how do silky tighs go with long years of wandering?  

Religion: As a faithful cleric of Queprur, her loyalty belongs only to her mistress. The belief in the other eleven gods exists within her, yet it is the Iron Mistress to whom she has devoted her life. Devoutly she believes that death is the ultimate achievement of order, a belief reaffirmed by her experiences with other mortals. Others may consider Queprur to be dark and unforgiving, yet she believes that the gift of death is an act of mercy, one that should be appreciated by those not worthy of her mistress’s touch. Uttering the notion that the Goddess of Death is a servant of Coor, the Shadow Himself, is unwise in the presence of the half elf as the chaos of Coor is the antithesis of the balance maintained by the deaths of mortals and the order her mistress seeks to instill upon the world. Nor does she believe that her mistress dwells in the twisted Netherworlds, believing instead that death is eternally present in the world of Caelereth.

Clerical Abilities: Rumors persist of Elysia being a necromancer. Never would she even attempt to grant life to the dead as only the Goddess herself may decry that someone return from the grave though it is beyond the ken of any mortal to comprehend the motives of the divine. To attempt such a heinous act would be to risk the wrath of her mistress.

Her abilities, bestowed upon her by Queprur, do pertain to the deceased. Often someone will die in a violent manner or pass from this world without expressing their emotions to those they loved, and it is these restless spirits that roam the world of Caelereth, perceivable only to the gifted such as Elysia. Peace is unattainable to them until the circumstances of their deaths are resolved, whether by the demise of a murderer or by speaking to those left behind. The common man has nothing to fear from such spirits, yet those close to death may be possessed by them, a message rising from the lips of the dying from beyond the grave. As she is close to Queprur, Elysia is also vulnerable to possession yet decades of training have bestowed upon her the skills with which to defend her corporal body. Despite the risk of losing her body to the undead, she will often allow the more benevolent among them to possess her for only a moment, long enough to speak the words they dared not to say during their lives. Without any recollection of the possession other than the vague knowledge that someone else spoke through her lips, she is dependent upon those around her to reveal the nature of the message.

Not only does she possess the knowledge to welcome a spirit within her body, she has been trained to cast chaotic spirits or even demons out of others. With a strength granted from their very insanity, such spirits can possess anyone. Exorcism is not a practice she takes lightly, as it is often the cleric that is possessed by the fleeing apparition. The battle that entails exists on the spiritual level with only the slightest of physical signs to reveal that all is not well. Tales abound of clerics wreaking havoc upon those around them, surprising everyone as they realize too late the outcome of the exorcism.

With meditation Elysia is able to free her spirit from its corporal form, to walk upon this world as a spirit, passing through objects and people equally. Only with the slightest chill does someone notice her passing through them, a shiver felt both physically and spiritually. As a spirit, she has only to focus her mind upon her desired destination, arriving instantly. Other spirits are seen with more clarity as living people and the world they live in seems to fade, appearing as wisps of smoke only half seen. Every word spoken by the living seems as nothing more than whispers whereas the wails of the dead echo in her ears. As she is absent from her body, it is nothing more than an empty shell, at the mercy of anyone intent upon harming her. This ability is used solely for the obtainment of knowledge, scouting ahead, spying on others, or communicating with other clerics of Queprur. In truth, it is only other gifted such as herself that would be able to perceive her ethereal form.

I like this idea as well, though itmight give you as a char too much strength. maybe you add, that as with any prayer(=meditation) your success is not granted. So, though you are quite able to do it most times, you may fail as well.

As a cleric of Queprur, Elysia does not fear death and rarely seeks to free others from its embrace. Only when visited by a vision from her mistress will she attempt to heal someone, bringing them back from the brink of death. Her healing could not compare to that of clerics of Nehtor, as it is only plagues and similar ailments that she is able to heal as they are commonly bestowed upon the population by Queprur. With nothing more than a gentle kiss upon the lips of the dying, she takes their illness into herself, welcoming the disease as she would death itself. Elysia is only resilient to such ailments, a resilience granted unto her by her mistress, and not immune, so it is often her own life she risks when healing someone.
 This seems a bit unrealistic, but keep it, but mention somehow, that the healing is not immediate, but that it is like a turning point, the ill persons get better from this point on (at least most of them). (I don‘t want to have a miracle here with every kiss)

Those only days away from dying possess an aura of death, a dark mist surrounding them, perceivable only by clerics of Queprur. With such an ability Elysia is aware of someone’s imminent death even before they are, aware that her mistress will soon claim another soul. As the hour of death approaches, the mist darkens, swirling around the limbs of its victim as though it were truly alive. Anything as mundane as herbs cannot save them and only by divine intervention will they live.

I need to copy /paste all this to not to forget it! :lol  

Weapons: The silver hilt of a moonblade rests upon her hip, wrapped in black leather to allow for a better grip. Worn upon her left hip opposite the slit in her dress, the black scabbard of the moonblade is supported by her silver belt. When drawn, the slightly curving blade seems to reflect the light of the sun, appearing magnificent as it is wielded by its mistress. One should not doubt its deadliness as its one edge is incredibly sharp.

Elysia seems to only have one weapon, or at least the casual observer would believe so, yet she has a dirk hidden in her right boot. With its short blade, it is not particularly suited for combat nor would she ever use it in such a manner. The dirk is sacred to her, being tied into her faith in Queprur, and it is only used to end the lives of those already dying. Some quail at the sight of such a blade, believing it to be part of a dark ritual, yet her intentions are entirely pure, bestowing the mercy of death upon those suffering from various ailments.

Fighting Style: As her strength could not possibly compare to that of a male, she wields the moonblade in both hands. Years of experience have taught her to use her opponent’s strength against him, avoiding blows whenever possible as her foe becomes tired from his efforts. With grace she delivers a few well-timed blows of her own, striking at vital parts of the body. Whereas this method is effective against swordsmen and other warriors wielding close combat weapons, it is inferior when facing a foe skilled in the art of ranged weapons. In such a situation Elysia is forced to rely upon luck as she dodges.

History: Only the constant strike of rain drops upon the cobbled streets disturbed the silence of the night. Seemingly an eternity later, the spluttering of torches could be heard as footsteps pounded upon bare stone. Not without purpose did one visit the High Temple of Queprur at night, for tales of the living dead had spread like wildfire through the populace. With bestial snarls and malicious glares, none could mistake this group as those visiting their loved ones now gone from this world. Nor did they bring offerings to the goddess, though they were not empty handed. A stretcher fashioned from blankets and planks of wood was held by several of the men, their faces turned away from the gore and blood that had once been a woman, one of their own, wife to one of the local merchants. Worse even than the corpse was the baby lying in a pool of her mother’s blood, painted crimson despite the constant rain. Eerily the child remained silent, and only by noticing her tiny chest heaving with each breath did they know that she yet lived.

The tale of her conception was whispered among the townsfolk, believed by all to be true. As Kaywen bathed in a local stream, washing her gorgeous fiery locks, she was set upon a figure dressed in black with cold blue eyes glaring at her from beneath his hood. She had indeed been lucky to find such a secluded stream away from the lustful gazes of men or so she thought. With tooth and nail she defended herself, tearing his robes to shreds as the water swirled around their struggling bodies. Even as they fought, he laughed, a hollow sound deprived of mirth. He towered over her, easily exceeding her height by a fore, and used his greater strength to subdue the object of his lust. With another bone chilling laugh he tossed her nude body over his shoulder, not seeming to notice the futile kicking of her shapely legs. In less than a moment, his body was pinning hers to the rocky ground of the riverbank, using her to sate his unholy lust. Her screams only excited him and did not bring the aid she so needed. In her desperation, she prayed to each of the gods, imploring them for aid, yet they stirred not as his foul seed corrupted her body. Once sated, he no longer cared whether she lived or died and left her prone seemingly lifeless body to be found by her own people. Indeed, she was found and restored to health as her body began to quicken with the child she carried. With desperation she clung to the belief that it was her husband’s child and did not abort the pregnancy. Such hope was soon proved to be false as her very body was torn asunder by the birth of an unholy child.

Moonlight gleamed upon cold steel as it was pressed against the child’s throat as the group stood in the graveyard. Upon the blessed soil they would spill her blood, trusting to Queprur to protect them from her demonic soul. The mother lay upon the ground appearing serene despite the blood still pouring from her lifeless corpse. Each townsman gathered round, yet only one man could hold the dagger, only one man could prove that he had the courage to kill the abomination. To the eldest and supposedly wisest of them this task fell, his hair white with age yet the fever of zealotry burned within his ancient gaze. Slowly the knife cut, mingling the child’s blood with that of her mother. In a flash of lightning a figure could be seen, standing aloof from them with his dark eyes alight with rage. As he approached the crowd slowly backed away, leaving the one man standing alone, the dagger in his hand seemingly forgotten as it fell from his hand.

“Give me the child and bury your dead. The dead do not deserve such disgrace.” The words of the priest were spoken quietly yet a sense of power emanated from his very presence.

“I give this demon to Death and not her servant. Halt me not for my actions are holy.” Without fear the old man spoke, not fearing death as he knew the end of his life to be near.

“It is not for you nor any mortal to decide whom Death shall take. The Iron Mistress takes whom she pleases without concern for mortal affairs.” The gaze of the priest seemed to soften as if he pitied the man standing before him. “It is well that you do not fear your own death, yet the embrace of the mistress looms near even so. You will die this very night without a single wound upon your body.” He stepped forward, arms outstretched to receive the child. “It is unwise to contend with the gods or their servants. This child is blessed by Queprur and must not be harmed.”

The old man had not lived so long without learning to recognize wisdom when it reached his ears, reluctantly handing the child to the priest. He feared not for himself but for the generations yet to come, those that would know the child as an abomination and half breed. Silently, he rejoined his fellows, aiding them as they swiftly dug a grave, none wishing to linger there longer than necessary. For a few moments the priest watched, cradling the child in his arms. As the woman, mother to the abomination, was laid to rest the priest turned his back and proceeded toward the temple. A scream echoed off the walls as the old man slipped into the grave, his aged heart bursting in its fright as he stared into the dead eyes of a corpse. For the first time that night, truly the first time in her short life, the child laughed.

Edited by: Elysia the Blessed

Ok, I'm waiting for the rest of the history! And for strengths and weaknesses. Apprenticeship should not be a problem!

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

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« Reply #12 on: February 01, 2006, 07:03:23 AM »

I believe I answered all the comments of your last uri check (the one lost in the reset) in my latest edit. It has been a while since I read that uri check, so forgive me if I've forgotten anything. One comment I remember from the uri check is not answered in the CD, as I will answer it here. You commented on her studying the tasks of the priests in the years after she became a priestess.
Quote:
It depends on the race and the individuum, but at least twelve years are needed in every case, six years for the apprenticeship, six years for studying the tasks of the priests itself, most clerics demand more.
Quoted from what you have so far on clerics. That was my source on mentioning that she studied the tasks of the priests after becoming a priestess. If this is now incorrect, then I'll edit the CD.;)

I've also added another weakness, as you stated that she may still be too strong. I believe her to be balanced now, please tell me if you think otherwise.;)  

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Elysia
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« Reply #13 on: February 05, 2006, 04:44:23 PM »

bump:hammer  

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Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
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« Reply #14 on: February 05, 2006, 06:13:23 PM »

I'm here!

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

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