Player: Michael
Character Name: Shndrykl (Shen-drae-kel) Aevenwood
Alias/Nickname: Drake
Race: Elsyven
Age/Date of Birth: 248
Apparent Age: 28
Sex: Female
Height: 5' 4”
Weight: 115 lbs.
Hair Color/Style: Shoulder-blade length, straight, black hair that's carefully trimmed over the shoulders. A rare color for such a fair people, but one befitting her conflicted personality. Bangs hang along either side of her face, carefully maintained with a small arch over her crown before they fall just above her chin.
Eyes: Radiant gold rings of her Elsyven heritage glimmer beneath the light.
Marks/Scars/Tattoos: N/A
Physical Appearance: Lithe in a word. Despite the rare coloring of her hair being black, Shndrykl is your average Elsyven: hourglass body, developed if humble B-sized breasts, gently chiseled facial features, and long pointy ears. At a relatively small five four in height she can easily be lost in a crowd of oversized Humans and just as easily shoved to the ground by the more brutish of their kind; on the other hand, given less confining spaces Shndrykl can easily out maneuver those same gargantuan figures with a grace most pine for.
Two dark, thin brows arch out from her brow over either eye, suspended over her straight, narrow nose. Her bright, golden eyes sit in line with the upper portion of where her ears meet her scalp over two gently defined cheekbones often lightly painted with pale tones. Above the rounded, small chin sits a set of full, butterfly lips that would be inviting if she bothered to spend her time seeking the attentions of men.
From her travels Shndrykl's greatest muscular strength lay in her legs, which could deliver a mean kick in a pinch. Upper body strength is limited more to lifting of small boxes or hefting her pack where ever she goes. Over all, fit, shapely, and more importantly glowing with the health of a young, adult Elsyven with naught a hair on her body save her head.
Occupation/Class: Sorcerer / Articifer
Magic/Magite: Ice, & Secondary: Lightning, Spirit, Light
Carried Possessions: * Carefully tailored backpack for traveling the many villages and towns over the last century. Purchased at a discounted rate for her contribution in struggles involving a small alliance of communities plagued by beasts and bandits. Allows Shndrykl to carry about a few books where ever she goes to remain prepared for whatever challenges await her on the road.
A jade amulet of a dragon hung above her cleavage, often visible through the cut of her top suspended by a simple black necklace. A small memento, found in the ruins of her home some time after stumbling upon her first mentor in the forests, to remind her of what was lost. * Several books of varying topics and importance. Often finding herself facing forgotten tongues or formidable foes Shndrykl likes to remain prepared. She has even written a few pages of her own from her travels in a personal journal.
Simple circlet of white gold that dips down over her nose to a point, its bands lost in the fine strands of black hair around the side and back of her head. A band of gold around both wrists, and a white gold serpent that wraps around her upper left arm three times with tiny, ruby eyes. Jewelry purchased of her own accord over the years.
Clothing and Armor: As a user of magite, Shndrykl wears lighter clothing and armor than a number of other more martial-prone sorts on the world. As a result her attire often tends to be more aesthetically attractive than utilitarian. More often than not she adopts a thin, silver, long-sleeve shirt that rests atop a layer of tight, form fitting black, padded cloth. The radiant material is cut low across the chest, however cleavage is hidden by the wrappings of the layer below by carefully securing her breasts from becoming a hindrance—it also happens to keep them out of sight with a much higher cut only slightly peeking at the pressed divide between either mound. The over-layer of silver also cuts away from the belly and wraps around to the small of the back to a point, leaving the black, padded material exposed beneath where it connects with her equally dark slacks. Atop her shoulders are recessed pads that curl up and out with a small peak at their ends that provide marginal protection, but are more decorative than not so Shndrykl's arms can remain free to move without impedance.
The upper and lower portions are cut across her waist by a light gray sash that dips down along the outside of her right leg where her dagger is often kept. White gold, small chains or decorative jewelry can be worn to accentuate her attire in more social circumstances, but in battle are often removed. Both feet are, likewise, protected by toughened, leather boots crafted by an Elsyven tailor met in a capital city only five years ago. The material slops up from behind the knee to a point in front, while the boots themselves are lightly ridged like that of a fresh, white silver leaf.
Weapons: Shndrykl carries an obsidian stave. It has no usual qualities, though the one she carries now is of exceptional, non-magic quality. The shaft of toughened wood has supported her travels and serves as a martial weapon when a fiend closes the gap between them; at times it also serves to provide a more memorable delivery system for a spell. An Elsyven dagger hangs off her right hip, strapped along her upper right thigh to keep it from bouncing wildly at fast gaits. The handle is curved and carved of fine, dark wood with thin traces of silver engraved into its polished surface. A sleek, bowed edge supplies elegant wielding of the instrument and is prized for its beauty by outsiders like most other Elsyven equipment.
Likes: Reptiles, birds, forests, reading, researching, studying, traveling, ale, music.
Dislikes: Dogs, apes, banquets, balls, nobles, mud, loitering.
Merits: Sharp, attentive, lively, sociable, self control, well traveled.
Flaws: Cool, neutral, dark, tempted, frank, obsessed.
Worst Fear: Deshiven.
Personality: Shndrykl's early life, in her budding years, was marked with loss. Loss of her home, her mentor, and then another mentor years later. In some respect she would blame a loss of innocence, as well, on a revile tome she packed over land and sea to its resting place in Runewatch last she was aware; the cursed object had whispered in her ear far too long not to stir certain thoughts or emotions. Her upbringing consisted of her fellow kin for the earliest of years, then a Human, and finally a mix of reptilian, beast, and Human in the later part of her young adult life before striking out on her own.
The first years set the foundation for her self control and the ability to remain calm in a world obsessed with doing things that very moment with little to no patience to wait out the storm. Her own people taught her the initial steps toward mastering magite, of self-control, and place in her surroundings and that of nature.
Such serenity was short lived, but not torn asunder with the razing of her home. The Wizard that later came upon her was measured, reserved, and aloof much like that of certain Elsyven and was not an abrupt change in environment. He did hold a great well of emotion most others of her kind did not, but often kept it in check out of wisdom and his own training in mastering the art of mystic energy. He continued her training in controlling her emotions and her body in order to become a great sorceress some day; furthered her path toward understanding magite, the raw power behind it, and even something of its interconnectedness with the rest of the world. He admitted what little Elsyven shared, or had been overheard, and written in books across the land had been something of interest to the aged Human in how connected they were with the energy flowing through all life.
The later years were both cleansing and tainted. Breaking away from seclusion from the rest of the world, Shndrykl found herself in the reclusive, but diverse country of Runewatch. The different races forced the young Elsyven to accept outsiders as more than fairy tale, myth, or strange beasts with little to no control over themselves in their short lives. Nevertheless, while she fostered a like for the Scathii she held little regard for the Bekhyar. The reptilian people held a close bond to the world around them and held a grace of their own that could even out class that of the Elsyven given their exotic physiology. Dwarves remain rare in her early age and though she knew some history of the blood between their kinds, and experience gruff partings by those she met on the road, Shndrykl holds little against the stout workers—in fact she prefers their ale to that of the more refined wines most expect a woman of the Elsyven to order.
Most importantly, however, before and during her stay in Runewatch was the tome. Shndrykl's time with it, carrying it from the northern continent down to the south, left her uneasy and even drawn to understanding the dark secrets that begged to be unleashed by verbally reading the spells within aloud. All that kept her from succumbing to the sweet sound was her training in a strong will; one of endurance and patient suffering. Being rid of the foul artifact was relieving, yet she could not part with the echoes of its presence. In the end, after her second mentor passed, the young woman set out to explore the world and learn what all her mentors before her hadn't said. Secrets, lore, lost histories no one was willing to impart or discuss out of fear of what black magic it might bring over them.
Shndrykl does not fear learning of the darker arts or of the dark face of society. Given the opportunity to observe those often shunned or reviled by society with impunity the Elsyven will gladly take it. She has put aside strict morality in favor of a more...inclusive philosophy. One that has no qualms with the loss of a few lives in order to further her aims. Nonetheless, Shndrykl's heart has not become corrupted with malice or hatred—though that could certain happen should her foot slip off the path—and she will help those in need when their perceived value exceeds that of the risks involved. A weak willed man slobbering over a succubus doesn't inspire any act of salvation on her part; but the rampage of a beast, demon or man, threatening to slaughter countless innocents, or threaten the security of an entire nation, will most assuredly garner her attention.
More importantly, however, is the search for artifacts, lost history, tomes, and other items of historical or mystical significance. Now for those Shndrykl gladly accepts any danger involved in exchange for acquiring objects of power or intellectual stimulus. Items few others have ever glimpsed or scarcely recalled, in particular, hold a dear place in her heart.
When not involved with dungeon crawling or life saving, however, the more experienced Shndrykl of recent years is happily engaged in the art of socialization with the many people of the land. She does, however, hold a bias in favor of being around the more comely of species—and the Scathii are comely, in her opinion—rather than those of more hairy natures. Again, she holds little ill will toward Dwarves, though making friends with them is often more trouble than it's worth when they don't reciprocate. Sometimes a hardy ale drinking contest can put aside their differences, but only just—a game she usually loses much to the enjoyment of the Dwarf. Sophistication is not beneath or above her, she simply finds little need to pretend to be pristine and perfect in the midst of strangers she doesn't know at functions she couldn't care less about at times when there were better things to do. Balancing that, however, is her training and upbringing that keeps her from losing all inhibition and joining the ranks of Human or Dwarf in all sorts of lewd acts.
History: Shndrykl grew up in a relatively small community of her kin; a peaceful existence in their humble, natural surroundings not far from many other “civilized” towns or settlements, but far enough not to find it frequently by outsiders often. The Elsyven there were accepting of the other races, as most of their kind is, even the more brutish of them though they expected even the savage sorts to behave while in their woods. Few incidents transpired between the surrounding, inhabited settlements and that of the Elsyven; all in all relations and trade remain steady if infrequent.
The young Elsyven, herself, grew up in a small family of four with a sister. While she seemed destined for the mystical, her younger sister seemed more inclined toward martial endeavors—the bow in particular. Their training often differed, though they found time to come together often and not lose track of the other in their small community. It was forty-five years of bliss.
A war party of Deshiven, however, saw fit to end that in one gruesome stroke. Their house had recently been under fire and a stroke of martial prowess and fortune would help them reclaim a bit of their standing among their people; who better to strike than the hated “rivals” and enemies living under the sun in the trees with poetry and hearth? The battle was fierce and lasted the night. Many casualties were suffered by the dark kin, but they persisted until the small community was overrun with those content to rend and silence any and all life in the village.
Amid the chaos Shndrykl made for the edge of the village, darting to and fro to escape a swung blade or the thud of an arrow. Stumbling at the periphery, not knowing who if anyone else was even still alive, two seeking to ensure no one survived the massacre charged in pursuit. It was only a desperate flare of blinding light to their sensitive orbs that allowed her to slip away into the darkness, hiding in the foliage until the sound of death and destruction had faded into history.
A day later she bolted through the trees, not even sure which way she'd gone, only certain that she couldn't linger any longer. The burnt husks of the village stood in the far distance, then, with no sound of anyone crying for help or seeking for lost loved ones. The young Elsyven was certain if there were any other survivors they, too, were scattered. Best if she sought safety and listened for word. Most importantly, however, was the safety.
Catching her breath against a tree Shndrykl was startled by the lone figure of a cloaked, old man strolling through the forest. Raw power snapped about her wildly, with little control, as she reared back from the intruder. This hitherto unknown man resolved to be a known wizard in the area. Reclusive by reputation, the man had been on a daily walk in the area surrounding his humble home in a nearby tower when here this young Elsyven prepared to wage mystic warfare.
Fortunately for her, however, the man was not as ill-tempered as he was aloof from the rest of society. After calming the young one down and offering to see to her mild wounds from the flight, Shndrykl followed the Human to his home cautiously, wary of any deceit or subterfuge. Being so young she'd never left the woods of her home, and interaction with outsiders had been limited to seeing them at a distance or overhearing them as they passed by.
Story told the gruff man offered the lost child a place to stay in exchange for keeping up his house. They also agreed to further her study in the art of magic; an easy arrangement to come by for the aging man who felt the Elsyven deserved better than to wander the countryside as a Wilder looking for some other community of her kind that may accept her, but not know what to do with her. Besides, the Wizard knew he wouldn't live forever and had no children of his own. While judiciously protective of his knowledge and tomes, it would do him little good once all the potions and spells in the world stopped granting him days or months more to his overall life expectancy.
A few years later, when she was around the age of fifty-three, Shndrykl stumbled upon one tome, in particular, that begged for her fingers to brush across its cover. Pulling the black book from its place high on the shelves, where it'd been tucked away from casual sight, she lay it down on the table and pulled upon the worn cover to reveal the dirty, stained pages within. The urge to read the strange inscription aloud began to well within her heart as she stared at the unknown tongue; an odd feeling of familiarity and even the knowledge to speak the language tickled at the edge of her mind.
The Wizard entered the room and, finding the Elsyven engrossed in the pages, swept across the room and snatched the pages from her grasp. In no uncertain terms he warned the fledgling of the dangers of reading anything in the book aloud. Should the spells be spoken they would unleash a terrible evil over the land the likes of which he would rather the young woman destroy the tower with them both still inside it before ever gracing those pages again. Perhaps a bit melodramatic in its exaggeration, but then what the fledgling Elsyven didn't know would only protect her from foolishly seeking to indulge in the twisted and corrupt aura seeping out from the old, weathered pages. The spells, however, were dangerous in their own right in the right hands.
Twelve years passed. The Wizard was growing older and he began to worry about his apprentice's well-being. Word had been sent to a friend in the city of Elderhaven in the reclusive nation-state of Runewatch that there might be a place for the young woman to continue her training in his passing. In the wake of this orchestration, however, a malevolent party descended on the tower to lay claim to the ancient, cursed tome that the Wizard had kept for many decades from the eyes and ears of those seeking forbidden power the likes of which would bring forth a scourge to an entire nation—regardless of whether that reputation happened not to be warranted for this particular artifact.
At the behest of her steward, the young Elsyven dashed into his study and packed several tomes into a sack, making sure to include the sought after text. With heavy heart she escaped from the tower by cunning use of her magite to descend the height away from the pursuers. The Wizard, however, had plans if ever such a thing should happen; one that he'd placed in Shndrykl's hand to set in motion as she departed. The chance of the greedy, twisted figures giving chase was diminished significantly as the tower went up in a blaze of glory consuming everything within to protect people from the magical artifacts, large or small, kept safe within his care.
It had been a long and tedious journey South for the young woman full of peril and prejudice. All the same she had made it to the city where another, young man stood waiting for her arrival. This would be the tome's new home, hidden away yet again out of reach. It also became Shndrykl's home for a time. Forty-three years to be precise.
On her one hundredth and eighth birthday the young Elsyven she departed. It had been a long time in coming. A long road to travel. Few of her kind lingered in the lands, and those who called this home were of strange sorts from her own. The travel with the cursed tome had also left its mark; the temptation of darkness, the trials of cruelty and malice... Loss. Evil dredged up by the foul aura bound about the tome's covers by a twisted soul years ago. The short lives of her mentors grew burdensome. Shndrykl sought to learn more from those whose lives would come and go and she would be none the wiser for it. What need was there to spend an entire life time with them? To suffer ailment and death? Then, again, there was that tome. She knew too well it would do only harm to read from it, so she left it in her wake; all the same its whispers had sparked in her the desire to learn more of things her mentors refused to teach her out of fear. She held no such fear and believed in a detached, controlled learning of things oft forgot.
It has been many years since leaving to seek her own path; sometimes that lead her assisting other adventurers in defending the weak, and others it was a dangerous delving into best-forgotten territory filled with evil beyond reckoning (at least that's what the Bards said afterwards upon a celebratory return, but Shndrykl was never one to correct a bard). Through all her adventures, most small with a few gold-vein large, the one thing that's kept her going is the next hunt; the next lost secret that might grant her a deeper insight into the very world itself—to understanding the desires and the hidden knowledge few speak of openly.