Description
Copper-colored hair, streaked with dull gold from years beneath the sun,
falls in waves around her bronze-darkened face. Light freckles dust her high
cheekbones while slight wrinkles spread from the corner of firm lips, doing
little to soften her harsh countenance. Eyes of vivid emerald, sharp and
calculating, miss little in their cold scrutiny, faint crows feet at the
corners hinting at years of watchful observation. A proud, slightly curved
nose, its upturned tilt hinting at disdain, adds to her imposing presence.
Lean and wiry in build, she moves with precise efficiency, every step
measured. Her slender fingers, ink stained and bearing the calluses of
repetitive work, often touch a well-kept leather book, ever at her side. A
presence of quiet inevitability clings to her, like a debt come due.
Role
The Sounds of Order
Added Fri Jan 31 10:58:36 2025 at level 2:
My earliest memories come down to two simple sounds, the metallic clink of
coins and the soft scritch of quill to parchment. Even before I understood
their meaning, I knew their rhythm: the measured pauses of calculation, the
gentle sighs of frustration when sums refused to align, the occasional sharp
tap of a finger against the desk when a figure needed checking. My fathers
work as a tax collector for Udgaard was a song of order and consequence,
which I absorbed before I ever learned my numbers.
Id sit by his desk, watching as he ran inked fingers down the neat columns
of his well-worn ledgers, reviewing debts, payments and the names attached.
Some paid their dues without complaint. Others needed persuasion, subtle at
times, overt at others. I watched as he collected taxes with the same
patience he used when tallying accounts. A mans reluctance to pay did not
change the fact that he owed, and my father had little tolerance for those
who thought otherwise.
Even then, I understood that money was more than just currency. It was
obligation, power, leverage. A name in my fathers book was more than ink
on a page, it was a promise, a weight upon their shoulders. The purpose of it
all, to align society to a common goal, imposing order to the world around
us. Taxes werent only to line the pockets of the rich. They kept the city
running, the clean water of the fountains, the roads the commerce traversed
and security that walls and guards provide. None of those paid for
themselves. Someone had to maintain this order and my father did so through
the collection of taxes.
How the Coins Turn
Added Fri Jan 31 12:59:51 2025 at level 5:
By the time I was old enough to reach the tabletop without a stool, father
had me doing sums in his ledger. Something I liked to do in my youth was to
mentally attach imaginary people to the numbers in the ledger. I would learn,
however, that while numbers behaved, people did not. Some folk saw me as
harmless, the tax collectors little shadow. They would smile, amused by a
small girl following father wherever he went and even slip me sweets as if
that might soften the ink in the books. I always took the sweets, but the
numbers did not change.
Not everyone was so foolish. Some just got angry. One man, a pig farmer with
the stink to match, once shouted so hard at father that flecks of spit landed
in my hair. I glared at him and said if he could afford that much ale on his
breath, he could afford his taxes. Father smirked and said I was not wrong,
motioning for the guards to apprehend the man. The guards later seized his
pigs as payment for his debt to the city. Meanwhile, I often saw the man in
the city center sweeping debris, repaying his insult against his betters. I
felt immense pride at the proper order of things being made possible through
fathers work.
The work was simple, predictable, until the day it was not. The pig farmer
had never forgotten his humiliation. That much became clear when he stepped
from the alley, reeking of filth and resentment, gripping a rusted blade in
his shaking hand. Father barely had time to gasp before the knife found its
mark. The coward ran, but debts always come due. The guards caught him before
dawn, and by sunset, he swung from the gallows, swaying like a pig on a
butchers hook. In silence, I watched. He had defied the order of things and
paid the proper price.
When the dust settled, the city came to collect the ledger books to hand over
to the deputy clerk. The work would continue, but not by the hands of my
family. A child could not be left idle, so the next morning, mother brought
me to the Dark Temple and set me to work at her side. If I could not collect
debts, I would assist in the work of a healer acolyte. Without ceremony or
discussion, I traded ink and parchment for bandages and prayers. The
arithmetic was different, but the principle remained the same.
Of Herbs and Prayers
Added Fri Jan 31 20:15:52 2025 at level 10:
Under the strict guidance of my mothers hand, I learned the ways of
healing. What herbs to use with what conditions, which bandages to apply to
which wounds. This led into hours of memorizing prayers and the names of and
spheres of influence of the varied Gods of Thera. All to keep the populace of
the city able to do their tasks, for a price. Here was familiar territory.
Like my father, the Temple kept ledgers and required fees for the services
they offered. Minor supplications were reasonable enough that the common folk
would come for them, while the more complicated rites and procedures were of
great cost so only the elite were able to afford.
The rich could get what they wanted, even the healing of a prized goat,
bloated from stolen grain, could be had if you had the coin here. Absurd, but
true, and not without some quiet snickers from the younger acolytes behind
one's back. All the same, nobles and commoners alike bowed in reverence to
the elder priestesses, even more so than they had to my father. This would be
mine as well in good time.
As years passed, I grew into my own woman, shedding the shadow of my mother's
presence. Confidence bloomed like a well tended vine, rooted in my skill and
sharp mind. No longer just an acolyte's daughter, I commanded respect through
competence and an unwavering gaze. My hands, once clumsy with cloth and
herbs, moved with assured precision. Even my supplications to the Gods began
to be answered, allowing me to work miracles. Coin was flowing into the
Temple coffers and the reason was me.
Time went on and my mother aged, her vigor fading while mine burned brighter.
She eventually passed, leaving me alone. No longer tethered, I stood alone,
unshaken, certain the world owed me more than dim halls and whispered
prayers. The temple's walls, once vast, now stifled me. I sought a canvas
worthy of my talents, a place where my brilliance could ignite more than
candles in shadowed alcoves. A chance meeting with the Empress would set my
sights upon the Divine Sect of the Empire, grand, sprawling, ripe with
opportunity. There, I believed, my worth would not just be recognized, but
revered.
The path forward left one lingering question, that of a patron deity. I am to
be a healer in the Empire, I must have a patron that will grant me boons to
my prayers. They must be in line with my own desires and most worthy deities.
I know from my studies of the various Gods of Thera that there could only be
one. Lord Rillan, patron God of the Empire and lord of societal structure,
laws and civilization itself. I must seek Him out and gain His favor.
By Oath and Blood
Added Fri Feb 14 19:27:02 2025 at level 38:
The moment I knelt before the Imperial Palace, I understood that I was no
longer merely Lysara of Udgaard. Bound by my oath, I became something
greater, marked by the will of the Empire, elevated beyond those who merely
served. The Empress herself took my vow, her presence as immovable as the
walls that safeguard civilization. I had thought myself prepared, but the
weight of that moment pressed deeper than I had anticipated. It was not fear,
nor hesitation, but the quiet certainty that I had stepped onto a path from
which there would be no turning back. My heart, my soul, my life for the
Empire.
Even as one of the Bloodoathed, there were those who sought my favor. Gifts
were given freely, though I knew them for what they were, investments in the
one who would channel Lord Rillans blessings to heal and protect them. I
accepted what was owed, collecting tithes in exchange for the healing I
provided. The Empire had no shortage of enemies, and I did my duty, defending
Order and striking down those who opposed it.
The Empress took notice. She favored my deeds, raising me first as a Divine
Voice of the Divine Sect, then as an Imperial Acolyte. She even hinted that
should I continue as I have, I will rise further still.
A Taste of Divinity
Added Sun Feb 16 06:13:36 2025 at level 40:
Kneeling within the Grand Palace of Lord Rillan, I knew I had found my place.
A tether between the mortal and the divine, bound to the structure, laws and
order that form the foundation of His will. Opulence and power coalesced
around me, not as mere wealth, but as the manifestation of civilization
itself.
We spoke, my Lord and I, His voice carrying the weight of undeniable
authority. I laid forth my intentions, my plans to spread His word among the
people while ensuring coin flowed into His Empire. He was pleased with my
ambition, and in that moment, He granted me a mote of His power, a fragment
of divinity woven into my being.
Before He departed, He left me with three tasks. First, to record my exploits
as they align with the tenets of His will. Second, to spread word of His
greatness and benevolence. Third, to never hesitate. The second and third I
have taken to heart, woven into my every action. The first, I will see
completed soon.
Glory to Lord Rillan and His magnificent Empire
PK Wins
Feb 10, 2025|Lv 30|The Spire of the Blood Tribunal|Sreowah vs 1: [30] Lysara (100%, slash)
Feb 13, 2025|Lv 36|The Fields of Balator|Sreowah vs 2: [36] Lysara (28%, crush), [27] Dhaetrai (71%)
Feb 16, 2025|Lv 40|The Imperial Lands|Huk vs 2: [40] Lysara (81%, flaming bite), [38] Dhaetrai (18%)
Feb 27, 2025|Lv 50|Fortress of Light|Yasdal vs 2: [51] Skauzyn (92%, corrosive slice), [50] Lysara (7%)