Revania Rin`arie
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The Elf's little form is ethereal and dreamlike, the flawless manifestation of her name. From a foundling, she was the innocent allure of a seraph; endeared to the tyrant who claimed her for the simple mesmeric lilt of her nature. He found it to be decadent capture of Elvish prize; one of the breeder-women had borne her only to leave her toddling and crying in his sanctum. Such was the degenerate custom of the lowborn, the sacrificial offerings of infant-flesh. But she is one who grew to budding femininity and inquisitive, virtuous purity wrapped in the tutelage and airy, dulcet glitter of powerful civilization. Addicting, then, to have this one's vulnerable teacup chin pressed to a royal knee, the nearness of her countenance's naive adoration. Hedonistically he trained frail young hands in the art of archery, the deadly beauty of fairy-arrows. It was compellingly obsessive, too, to teach her the work of lutes and harps, to create a timid symphony of delicious sound from her divine aural melodies. Her very body, fragile essence, and preciously gentle spirit are now the dainty commodity of her province's highest Warlord, her hypnotic talents his wizard-magic to wield. Her lot is one of slavery, of possessive silver chains, obedient decorum, and powerful bonds. Her south-country Elf-kind are those bred to be property in subjugation. And her Myrken Wood errand is one most peculiar, and decidedly morbid. Reverie is small as a child, a creature the epitome of delicate, porcelain china-quality. A dreaming innocent of ether-potent mind beneath flouncing doll-curls of obsidian. Her dainty face mingles a cherubic roundness with the Elfin lines of elegance, so often demure and blushing; a dimpling rosebud mouth; long and sleek earpoints to further accentuate her heritage; birdlike bones supple in a petite build. Yet for all the artistic crafting of features, individually pert and exquisite, the sum of delicate parts creates a portrait face that is, at most, classically plain. Leave her willow-slender as one of the fae-blood, graceful in the Romanesque tunics she prefers, modest even in their slight length and gossamer appearance. The quiver of arrows beneath her velvet cape is alternately a bouquet of sharpened bolts and stunningly-bright wildflowers. For she will forever be that mix of springtime child-woman and wild captured female. Those who know her will become witness to tempestuous conversation either as fleeting and darting as a tiny stormcloud, or dulcet and maidenly as any creature of the ether. And perhaps they will come to know the drifting, pure spellwork of her silvery lullabies. She is like a tiny rabbit often huddled beyond searching glances, white fingers clutching to hemlines, tender smiles the companions of fearful pale-crystal eyes. Since she has taken residence in the upper rooms of the Broken Dagger, she is most often seen as the flitting specter-haunt of the corridor, a black-ringleted doll-statuette perched at the foot of the stairs, waiting.
In Amasynia- Her arrival in the company of one roguish Kaelum was enchantingly innocent at first glance. However, as with all things in time, the truth of the travelling elfling and her comrade is now being questioned, and answers remained locked on a timid tongue. - One so small is still one of bloodied hands. A most brutal and gruesome act of frightened passion was witnessed by demoness Lokelei, who for her threatening taunts and chaotic merriment received an elf-arrow lodged in her throat. This, however, created more problems than it solved. There's talk, now, of souls, and half-souls bonded together, of nightmares and shared pain. - Audmathus extracted young Reverie from the upstairs chamber she shares with adopted foster-sister Alli, to bring the surface-elf before his mistress, Faeryl. Left in the violent wake of the kidnapping were only childish storybooks strewn about and overturned furniture, elf-blood on pillowcases, and an arrow-point lodged into chamber-wall. |
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