Description
A slender young elf is before you, her delicate form strangely devoid of colo
She stands an unusually modest height for an elf, barely topping five feet. S
has the fine-boned and delicate features common to her race, ears tapering to
subtle points, and thin lips frequently pursed in a bow of contemplation. Her
hair is an almost translucent white, flowing about at shoulder length in fine
wisps. Her eyes are similarly colorless, their grey irises doing nothing to
hide the spark of wonder in her pupils... or the echoes of a timeless weight.
Role
Ancient history + sphere
Added Mon Dec 16 04:12:55 2019 at level 1:
In a bygone age, a fearsome Lich Lady rose to power. A contemporary of the
Elven Lich still prowling about his Vaults, she burned brighter for a time...
and then faded into utter obscurity.
Illyria, in her first incarnation, was a beautiful and noble daughter to a
powerful High Elven clan. She was a gifted student of the magical arts, and
rapidly rose to mastery... and then over the centuries, grandmastery. She was
naturally gifted, brilliant, and had the full resources of an ancient elven
clan at her disposal -- including the finest tutors, the most powerful tomes,
and a literal army to shepherd her explorations and research ventures.
As Illyria advanced to middle-age, and as even her elven form started to show
the wear of centuries, she found herself struggling with the the most profound
force of all: Time. She began to lose her beauty, her strength, and even her
role. She was no longer the prodigy-child, no longer the future of the clan,
-- now she was expected to BE one of the tutors.
These subtle losses: one wrinkle at a time, one favor at a time... started to
rankle her soul like drips of acid. In a fit of pique one day, after stumbling
over a sleeping Cooshee, she WRENCHED with her powers and drew its vitality
into her. She immediately felt the flush of youth, and scrambled to a mirror to
see a healthy glow that had been absent for centuries. This Fateful accident
started her down a path of secretly studying Necromancy.
Long years, and centuries, passed with Illyria keeping her studies secret. Each
carefully earned power coming at a cost. Each trip to study at the ley-nexus
keeping her away from family, from duty. Over years and centuries the act of
keeping her secrets, and putting so much of herself into them, she lost
relationships. She lost connection, and loyalty, and love.
Then one fateful day, when she was off hidden in the depths of her secret
necromatic workroom across the vale, she lost her Clan. An ignorant and
superstitious barbarian tribe blamed their two-headed goat birth on the magics
of the neighboring elves. They knew they could not match the might of the clan,
and used foul treachery - poisoning the meat delivered for a feast - as a
prelude to a night of fire and sword.
When Illyria returned from her study trip ... she found her ties broken. Her
reason for secrecy, gone. And she found a simmering rage and motivation in her
heart, finally pushing her past the last few wisps of moral qualms that had
followed her from childhood. On that night, Illyria's true mastery of the dark
began.
It was a few short years, and several thousand murdered humans fed to her
Necromancy, later that Illyria Became as a Lich. In doing so, she foolishly
thought she had completed her goal of conquering Time, of becoming Eternal. But
in so doing, she lost the life, vitality, and beauty that had been her driving
force.
She raged briefly, then withdrew to the crumbling wreck of her workroom.
Rebirth and loss
Added Mon Dec 16 04:13:39 2019 at level 1:
After centuries of stasis in her workroom, Illyria had ample opportunity to
consider her life. She thought deeply on each sacrifice, on each step, on each
nudge down every slippery slope.
She thought deeply on Magic itself, on the profound mastery she had achieved in
traditional means, and the subtle brilliance that had carried over to the
necromatic arts.
She thought deeply on the blatant narcissism that had driven her, when she was
flesh, blood, and hormones. She thought deeply on each memory, each happiness,
each soul that passed in and out of her life. She considered each loss, and saw
clearly how it shaped her, how it drove her, and how even the darkest successes
were propelled.
She saw clearly that her happiest time was her youth, when she was learning.
When she was growing. When there was still wonder to be discovered.
In a flash of inspiration, some seven and a half centuries into playing
introspective statue and collecting dust, Illyria recalled a scrap of a tome
from the desert tribes, that spoke of both mummification and abstraction. She
thought that if such novice powers could accomplish abstraction, what could she
do with the fullness of her knowledge and eons of power?
In a flash, she was up and flying as a wraith towards the desert. In a mere
month of darkness and horror she had broken the tribes, bound their
Conservator, and learned all the paltry scraps of knowledge that existed.
Sixteen and a half centuries of research later, she felt she had built
sufficiently on the concept, and was ready to execute her Ritual of Rebirth.
She intentionally forced all the details of her knowledge of magic into the
ritual. She forced the details of politics, of nobility. Of power, and war. She
intended to emerge, truly, a youth to re-experience the wonders, to
re-experience the losses, and hopefully to forge for herself a different and
happier path.
Of course, the Ritual did not work as intended. Oh, it did... but the power
required was some fourteen thousand years worth of both the ley-line she had
bound to it, and her own mana regeneration.
For fourteen thousand years she was bound to a ritual circle, mindlessly
channeling power. Unable to stop. Unable to finish.
Four AGES passed before the ritual completed.
Illyria was born anew. Mortal. Elf. Ignorant of the details of magic, of clan,
of power. She had intentionally left some general knowledge, to give herself a
head starts... but no specifics, to allow for the discovery and wonder.
She needn't have bothered. Four AGES had passed, Thera was totally reshaped.
Magic itself was totally different. The GODS were different. The LAND was
different. Even her home vale bore no resemblance to that of her childhood.
Illyria is haunted by the scars from that Ritual. She is haunted by the weight
on her soul from her past deeds. But she has indeed been given a fresh start. A
wonder, to journey, to love, and to lose.
Journey starts, behavior, personality, guild, etc.
Added Mon Dec 16 04:15:25 2019 at level 1:
The first, and most wondrous discovery Illyria made was massive trade-route
from the Elven vales to the cosmopolitan city of Galadon.
In search of new wonders, she hitched a ride to Galadon and got to enjoy the
first of several thousand berry pies from the baker there. Such a novel
concept! It had not existed in her time.
In the Adventurer's Academy, she discovered entire new Schools of Magic:
Shapeshifting, and Conjuration. The other planes were known in her time, if not
a fully mature school of magic, but shapeshifting was utterly new. She was
fascinated, and dived right in.
In behavior and demeanor, Illyria will try to present herself as the young
elf she appears to be. This world is new to her, and there is so much to learn.
She will occasionally slip and refer to an ancient legend, but has vowed that
no mortal will know the secrets of her past.
She intends to live a better life this time. To have her journey, and her
losses, shape her into a better person. She is chaotic in a free spirit sort
of way, utterly unwilling to be bound by convention. Not expectations, not even
the rules of polite conversation. And absolutely certainly not the silly laws
of ephemeral gnats or petty tyrants.
She retains an abiding hatred for ignorant barbarians, and an unnatural
aversion to those foolish mortals who putter about in ancient tombs studying
the dark arts. Most of them wouldn't even qualify as an apprentice in her day,
and she well knows the horrors that could reach through such feebly guarded
conduits -- from the negative plane, from the shadow planes, or even the hells
and the abyss.
Violet Woodlands and and extermination
Added Tue Dec 17 01:01:51 2019 at level 11:
This fine evening Illyria spent several hours in the cozy Shapeshfiter's guild
of Galadon, mastering a few cantrips. At one point the Guildmaster exchanged
some polite conversation with her, and a few tidbits at her probing about the
wonders of Shapeshifting magic.
The Guildmaster DID CONFIRM (how exciting) that it was possible to become a
Pseudodragon! Illyria was quite passionate when asked about what she would
focus her shifting on: Obviously, AIR. To FLY! Wonders. Such wonders in this
new land.
When Illyria had mastered the few cantrips she targeted she headed out to
explore the Violet Woodlands, prompted by a note from the elf surveyor on the
docks. What she found was fascinating... a new form of telluric current,
ancient woodlands, runes even she wasn't familiar with.
She rapidly set to exploring, hardly noticing as gibbering after gibberling
pounced upon her to be gored to death.
Partway through her exploration an Arial named Clodok turned up in the woods,
walked right up to her, and hideously mispronounced, ''qpurr hajqp'.
Truly shameful. Had she mangled such a simple cantrip in her youth her tutors
would have lost their minds. Of course, had they recognized that specific one
as the chilling touch of the Necromancer, she likely would have been exiled
centuries before the rest of her story took place.
Regardless, with a dark irony of observing such a hideously incompetent
necromatic apprentice mangle such a simple spell on HER... she promptly gored
him to death with her amazing new shapeshifting abilities! The horns weren't
exactly ... adding much to her appearance, but the sheer bliss of her first
shapeshifting has utterly trumped that.
As she continued her exploration in the Violet Woodlands, still unable to
locate that silly elfling's surveying lens, she reflected on the battle. It
was, truly, a bit of a rush to fight up close and personal. It was more to
shape her body. But there was a bit of dark satisfaction that a young
Necromancer was ended before plaguing the lands. Not that the one in question
was competent enough to draw thousands of souls into a ritual, but still, the
premise remains.
Should she consider making a bit of a career of stamping out the silly novices
dabbling around the edges of the Profane?
Turkey!
Added Tue Dec 17 15:29:07 2019 at level 19:
Illyria has been quite active, exploring the lands. Quests from Simon and
Olgakar have sent her all across the lands. A quest from Denardyn lead her to
the intruigiing telluric mysteries of the Violet Woodlands.
A choice word from a traveler suggested she would enjoy Khardrath's Planar
Sanctum... and that was true!
She has been frustrated by her utter ineptness with the simplest cantrips
taught by her new guild, and has resolved to study them intensely. If something
is worth doing, it's worth doing well!
Illyriia did discover the first of the forms her magic would allow her to take:
the turkey.
... not exactly the most glamorous. And it can't exactly fly. But it has wings!
It's a start.
She immediately focused on becoming confident in her new magic, and her new
form. Resolving to build a solid foundation to build to even greater heights as
a shapeshifter!
Not longer an apprentice...
Added Thu Dec 19 23:49:15 2019 at level 29:
Illyria has been working hard, to master the fundamentals that the guildmaster
has taught her. She even, despite her ancient standards, considers her
competency fair-to-middling.
She has mastered the basic cantrips, and the foundational spells and abilities
of this wondrous new magic of Shapeshifting. She has learned, and become
confident with, the forms of the Parrot and the Panther.
She has explore more of the lands, fully probing every nook and cranny of
several more areas after her wonderous start in the Violet Woodlands.
She has also been the victim of utterly random violence. Some fire giant
warrior hunted her up, deep in the Elemental Planes, and bashed her silly while
she was learning how to cast Word of Recall properly.
Really?
She could understand, to a degree, the pathetic excuse for a necromancy
apprentice. Souls have value in that study.
But the giant?
He didn't even bother to rob her.
It was pure, mindless, violence without cause or benefit.
Illyria is finding herself GREATLY annoyed with the low moral character that
seems so pervasive in the modern world.
She is also horrified at the sheer numbers of undead roaming about, and the -
literally a dozen - students of necromancy she has seen.
She is beginning to think that her vow to herself to live a good life, and to
do better means that she should do something about it.
... something violent.
But not rip their souls out! No, no. Claw their faces off with her lovely new
area of study!
Studies in the Lyceum / a poem of import
Added Fri Dec 20 12:32:38 2019 at level 30:
During her studies in the Lyceum, Illyria came across a poem that spoke to
to her. Capturing it here, as the sentiment does guide her attitudes and
behavior in this new take at life.
Oh the Places! - An Adventurer's Travels
-----------------------------------------
Oh the places I have been!
Oh the things that I have seen!
Up into the highest peaks,
down into the deepest deeps.
Across deserts both wide and dry,
though forests dark where evil lies.
Oh the places I have been,
from the time when I was green!
I sailed on ships that traveled far.
I saw a mage who tended bar.
There's always somewhere new to go,
and what will happen? Who can know?
Oh the places we will see?
Adventure waits, come now with me!
Secrets lie round ever bend,
death and danger are your friends!
Every day is something grand!
Off we go, just take my hand!
The Loss of a Dream, the Fortress, and the clumsy flip of a coin
Added Tue Dec 24 13:49:14 2019 at level 40:
Illyria has grown much, advancing her mastery in the guild of Shapeshifting.
She has explored MANY of the lands, hurling her mortal coil to bloody ruin.
Her dream of learning the secrets of the elven race's Pseudodragon ... came to
a crashing end. In an in-inadvertent stumble, her magics warped and she took on
the form of the Shikra. 272 years old, and multiple journeys around the world
to earn the Pseudodragon, and her dream was dashed in a clumsy stumble. JUST as
she was emerging hale and hearty from the depths of Thar-Acacia, finally
convinced that she had impressed the Guildmaster and Gods enough to learn the
dragon.
The Loss of her dream shook her, and for a moment a cold, old, anger arose from
her ancient past. For a moment Illyria was balanced on a needle point between
the wonders of this fresh new life, and the cold, empty rage of her past. In
the end she was able to find a truth, and to grow from the Loss. Her
perspective had become warped in the almost mindless tunneled pursuit of a
PSEUDOdragon. The wonders of shapeshifting, and the idea of a DRAGON, had
caused her to burn more than 30% of this miracle second chance. And for what? A
PSEUDOdragon that would VERY soon over taken by even more advanced
shapeshifting?
In other less momentous news, Illyria has joined forces with the Fortress.
They're a quaint group, but have good hearts and are quite focused on "doing
something about it (see role 6.)
On the Yuletide Illyria flipped a coin with Morius. She, quite clumsily, threw
'the moon' and was burdened with an even more comprehensive CLUMSY flaw. How
ironically appropriate given her earlier stumble! She is darkly amused at this
new, comprehensive clumsiness and is working hard on controlling it, a bit, to
ensure that as she faceplants from a curtsey at least she'll knock the wine out
of a pompous jerk's hands and onto his shirt!
Time brings Change
Added Sun Jan 12 00:33:45 2020 at level 51:
But less than you would think. Years have passed, and in those years Illyria
has bounced around the Fortress, giggling, roaring, and bringing joy to the
faces of the grim warriors of the Light.
... but they are so, so stuffy.
Her original purpose in joining the Fortress was to do something about the
ridiculous Darkness that covered the land. But in that doing, it seems, she
came right back to a path of bloodshed and death.
She was never a perfect fit. And in doing something ... she lost her way. She
has spent years flying around, pecking at the wicked. But who was she really
killing? Orcs, and imperials. Thugs and petty tyrants. Not a dark conjurer
stetting Hell loose. Not even a Necromancer, that could threaten whole swathes
of villages.
She has spent YEARS dealing violence to thugs... and not exploring the wonders
of these lands. In some ways it almost feels as if she is starting to lose the
innocence she sacrificed so much to regain.
Of particular interest today, while pecking at an Imperial, Illyria ended up
afoul of the Tribunal's laws.
And was shocked to find that the Fortress was so self-righteous that there was
a RULE against breaking the Tribunal laws. She had an intense debate with the
Marshall, and then the Captain... and the net of everything was that the
ephemeral idiocies of the social contract from a group of people whose
ancestors weren't even living in huts in her day had to be respected. Huh?
After an intense conversation with Elra the Mourner, she has decided that it is
past time, far past Time, for her to lose her place in the Fortress. To lose
those ties, and the brethren. The grim path of the hall of the Maran ... would
just further pull her away from the wonders that drove her to rebirth herself.
Illyria Valerian, Lost Soul
Added Tue Jan 14 00:54:17 2020 at level 51:
Well, Illyria pulled the trigger. When she next saw one of the Leaders of the
Fortress - Grunter, at Antaluvion's lecture - she told him that it was Time
that she go her own way: that the Loss would be for the best, both for her and
for the Fortress. She was thoughtful in her approach and conversation, drawing
forward questions without engaging in debate. She was careful to ensure a
positive, and wistful departure that her Loss have an impact on some of those
stuffy Maran.
In the first few days she found some habits hard to break. Still patrolling the
skies, still swooping down on an Orc. But slowly she started to spend less time
looking for muggers and thugs, and more just enjoying the wonder of the wind
beneath her wings. She CAN FLY! Never in fifteen thousand years did she imagine
that possibility.
In a few moments of introspection she was alarmed to see just how much of this
miracle second chance she has wasted. More than half the vitality in her shell
was gone, mostly - thankfully - spent exploring the wonders of the land. But
years and years she Lost to random scraps on the eastern road.
When her mind returned to a bit of balance, and she had a better appreciation
for some of her Lost innocence, she returned to the Cathedral of Loss, and
sought out the Child.
He astutely pointed out that while she was wandering aimlessly, and while she
had Lost her way.... that really is the only way to find stuff that nobody else
has.
He laughed at her, when she mourned the loss of companions, and brought into
sharp focus that at the moment she is free, with endless possibilities. He did
proceed to not-so-subtly push her towards the mages of chaos. His words were a
different slant echoing the earlier words of Elra the Mourner that resonated
profoundly with Illyria: about a group that delight in discovery, in novelty,
in the ever changing maelstrom of life. To let go of responsibility, and
delight in the flesh you wear.
The conversation took a few turns, but ended when the Child tasked Illyria with
Get someone lost. He then suggested a possible path: Maybe others in the
Fortress need to be asking themselves questions. Doesn't matter where they end
up, just make someone feel a little lost.
It's not normally Illyria's nature to be so prescribed, but on reflection the
taint of order she observed in the Fortress is immediate, and topical. The
warriors of the light were paralyzed by the laws of a Tribunal... frequently
run by the darkest of undead lords. There is an internal conflict there, and an
opportunity to both get someone Lost and to help both them and perhaps even the
Fortress grow from it.
For her it was never a question, and never a conflict. From her earliest
reawakening she was resolved to live free: never bound by rules, custom, and
least of all the ephemeral laws society.
Being Named Lost Soul has been good for her. Blessed are the Lost.
PK Wins
Dec 17, 2019|Lv 11|The Violet Woodland|Clodok vs 1: [11] Illyria (100%, impaling)
Dec 27, 2019|Lv 51|Hamsah Mu'tazz|Darlof vs 2: [51] Illyria (69%, claw), [51] Qyayad (30%)
Dec 27, 2019|Lv 51|The Eastern Road|Tegerek vs 2: [51] Illyria (81%, KB), [51] Antaluvion (18%)
Dec 27, 2019|Lv 51|The Eastern Road|Darlof vs 2: [51] Illyria (45%), [51] Antaluvion (54%, pillar of lightning)
Dec 27, 2019|Lv 51|The Northern Mountains|Sylvari vs 3: [51] Ellainaraya (61%, bleeding artery), [51] Illyria (21%), [51] Antaluvion (17%)
Dec 27, 2019|Lv 51|Fortress of Light|Tegerek vs 2: [51] Ellainaraya (51%, parting blow), [51] Illyria (48%)
Dec 28, 2019|Lv 51|The Tower of Trothon|Narra vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, claw)
Dec 29, 2019|Lv 51|The Eastern Road|Sylvari vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, claw)
Dec 30, 2019|Lv 51|Balator|Arlyssa vs 4: [51] Terpilans (6%), [51] Ysforgul (66%, venomous slash), [51] Illyria (1%), [50] Zirrix (25%)
Jan 6, 2020 |Lv 51|Grinning Skull Village|Dhrak vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, KB)
Jan 6, 2020 |Lv 51|Caravans of the Jhaana|Noma vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, claw)
Jan 6, 2020 |Lv 51|The North Road|Baena vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, KB)
Jan 10, 2020|Lv 51|The Eastern Road|Baena vs 2: [51] Siphani (7%), [51] Illyria (92%, claw)
Jan 10, 2020|Lv 51|Amaranthian Forest|Baena vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, claw)
Jan 11, 2020|Lv 51|BattleRager Village|Baena vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, claw)
Jan 11, 2020|Lv 51|The Eastern Road|Ysforgul vs 3: [51] Illyria (47%), [51] Siphani (26%, KB), [51] Ellainaraya (26%)
Jan 13, 2020|Lv 51|The Dragon Sea|Baena vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, claw)
Jan 17, 2020|Lv 51|The Ruins of Ostalagiah|Baena vs 1: [51] Illyria (100%, KB)
Jan 25, 2020|Lv 51|Galadon|Mahle vs 2: [46] Rakkor (14%, stinging lash), [51] Illyria (85%)