The Elves of Grimwyrd are a lightly explored and therefore mysterious race. They have a direct tie to the magic of the world, and thus feel the pulse and heartbeat of it alongside their own. When turmoil and chaos ravage the lands, they feel it directly. Syviis Adjeon felt such a tremor in the weave; she saw the storm clouds building to the East, and heard the clarion call for justice amid the drums of war.
No greater champion of these people has stepped forward in this age. When the metal shriek of the dragons returned to the world, she was nearly first among the volunteers to crusade to Gorgoth and hunt out the threat. She marched with the retinue from the High Elder, a simple scout and bowyer, certainly destined for the back ranks of teamsters and camp followers in the Alliance march South. Little did she realize her fate was so twisted up in a new group of the most unlikely friends.
Syviis embarked from the Anhaern with a deep seated Curiosity and a need to provide for her close friends and allies (Chummy, Charitable). Raised by strictly traditional parents of the caste system, she had taken the Vow of the Dutysword, marking herself with the traditional blue facepaint and swearing to speak in only the Elven tongue. She bid them goodbye in a tear-free and quiet moment, understanding in her parents minds but not yet grown in hers. So young an elf, they knew, she had not known the chaos of the last age and the horrors of the Lords of Night. They prayed to the spirits “Keep her safe, keep her sheltered; may the Darkness not find her”
She set out with the Heroes of the South; a mysterious Scorned man, two secretive and loudly pejorative dwarves, and an alchemist of at least some magical power. What an odd troupe to send deep into the heart of enemy territory, but as the Spirits teach, a lone canny hunter can find hidden quarry. They set out in another quiet morning and quickly built rapport surrounding the mysterious bloody beastmen and the darkness clinging to their lands.
She nearly died then, in the horrible lands of pestilence and infection. Frigid howling winds around her, she was shattered by an axe-blow by a demonic beast; her first real touch of the Darkness.
But she was fierce, and she would not cower like some struck beast, licking her wounds. She cast off her self-imposed limitations, and with renewed purpose sought the enemy to which she could pin to a grave with arrows and thunderbolts.
Her magic grew and her soul blossomed in the wasteland; the Storm was her guide and her friend. It told her secrets of strength and the hidden charge of power around her in the very airs. When she reached the gates of the Dreugar keep, she felt the twisted heart of the place calling to her. Caged fury in the deep, sluggish beasts of elemental spirit in the air, a sickness spreading in the land itself among the bloodroot plants. She had her work cut out for her.
She nocked an arrow, and strode in with confidence.
Syviis mourned the loss of her friend, Falkirk; a victim of the Darkness and it’s creeping reach into the very soul of a man.
She lamented the infection of one of her kind, Deloth Ainur; her heart twisted up in the grip of the Lords of Night.
She witnessed countless horrors in the Dreugar keep. Chained elemental fury and the very earth itself bonded to servitude, powering the massive Ansible of Spirits above. Channeled energies forced up to a floating castle fortress in the sky, chaining it in place and powering unknown thaumaturgies and circles of power. Secrets of her history and magical knowledge spread through her and ever always her power grew. She was nearly lost to the Thaum, crystalized red dust that seemed to be physical magic taken form, an ingredient in the intoxicating BloodWine. The dreugar used it as fuel for artifice and weaponized it. To an elf, it was a deadly and powerful thing, absorbed by her aura readily and tapping her into the realm of magic like a live wire swinging the wind.
The Storm nearly overtook her.
She took it’s reins and forced it to obey.
In the raging heartlands of man, among the half burned Timberkeep and the reeking sweat of hundreds of pressing and screaming refugees of the Happening… Syviis drew within herself for a time. She never lost hope that the light of the world could be kept burning, but the Darkness crept to her there, in that mad world of drugged cultists, screaming furies and clashes with necromantic warlocks.
This was the time though, not for self-doubt nor recrimination, but for hope. Light. The noble power of the Storm rising up to meet the night and cast white lightning to the skies and rattle the black iron cages of her tormentors.
They met weird fates and weirder friends, but soldiered on. Purpose had found Syviis here, and gladly upheld the mantle.
The Darkness was a thing of untold multitudes of insidious flesh and sinewy intent. IT was the emissary of every foul and nefarious dark magic of the world; progenitor of evil incarnate, Infernal Master of the Mind-flayers and Demon Princes, and the Susurrus of Evil Secrets tainting the Elven furies and Lords of Night.
Syviis shot IT in the goddamn face, every chance she got.
Plague horrors of flesh and corruption? Blasted with holy fire and lightning
Dark warlocks sworn to pacts of humanity’s corruption? Arrows in all their soft parts
Exploding devastation of her entire world and it’s treasured lives? Death to the infedels
Syviis grew into the deadly accurate thunderbolt of the heavens; a cult of personality sprang up around her and she only bent her knee in humility to the renown. As the world desiccated before her eyes she stood with her friends and allies as a paragon of the virtue of Hope
Just one more day! One more try! One last thunderclap shout into the dark night!
And thats only part of her story
Nods in Elvish