Gryphon
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Contents
Paint the Dawn Red
She lifts her head slowly to regard those around her, pupiless eyes as dark as the Abyss itself gaze around the room, settling on each of the patrons of the bar for a mere moment. Her crimson hair falls down across her dark gaze, obscuring her wicked eyes from any prying gazes. High cheek-bones betray her High-Elven heritage, as do the slender, pointed ears peeking from the blood red tresses. Numerous rings and studs line her ears, a small chain connecting two of the rings upon her left ear.
Impressive artwork covers her shoulders, extending down to just above the elbow, and slightly onto the sides of her breasts, stopping just before her abs. The networking of ink depicts a war scene involving fell-drakes, demons, and undead. Sinister weapons of all manner are wielded by the participants in the mural upon her body. Demonic runes are hidden well amongst the chaos of the ink. She makes no move the hide the tattooing, on the contrary seeming to be rather fond of it. She does however make a very concerted effort to cover her back. Should her clothing be removed, it is clear that severe torture has settled into her past. The skin of her back is severely scarred by what appear to be whip lashes.
Toned muscle is visible beneath the lightly tanned flesh. Her lithe body akin to that of an acrobat, her chest smaller. Her hands bare the callouses of harsh training, the palms rough and often times opened raw. Gryphon is never seen without at least one blade upon her person, usually the hunting knife strapped to her thigh.
Her tone is soft, coupled with a thick elvish accent causes her to possess a rather lilting voice.
Personality
Behind the exotic beauty of the elven woman lays a vitriolic lass with the temper of a maddened cobra. Often time seen alone, she is not much of one for socialization, much preferring to watch the interaction of the "Edanae". Her social skills are awkward at best, tending to react violently to situations regarding her demonic heritage. While her eyes are the only betrayal of this ancestry, she does well to keep this knowledge hidden from others, even those she trusts.
Gryphon nurses a deep hatred for all things demonic. This comes from the loathing of her bloodline, coupled with a scarring incident from her past. She enjoys a stiff drink, never turning down an offered flagon. This Tel'quessir can be as serene as a lazy river and chaotic as the rapids in the blink of an eye. Untrusting and often viewed at jumpy, she is not easily embarrassed, or easy to open up.
She is often outspoken, perhaps even offensive at times though fiercely loyal to those she holds dear. Those people, however, are few and far between...
Equipment
While out and about, Gryphon is usually garbed in her assassin's gear. A skintight, black suit. The suit is molded to her lithe body, allowing her perfect freedom of movement. Around her slender hips she wears a belt, the buckle a finely crafted skull baring crimson eye sockets. Her lower legs and feet are encased in a thick, though lightweight metal. The massive greaves appear to be clunky, though Gryphon is able to move silently, and unhindered in these boots, proving that they are obviously enchanted. The greaves bare a thick joint at the knee, capped with small studs, filed into a dull point. No male would dare antagonize a woman with those knees.
Upon her shoulders is slung a finely crafted, leather strap baring the ornate scabbards of her blades. The scabbards are of the deepest jet hue, inscribed with crimson elvish runes, the runes an ancient elvish song.
Upon her hands, Gryphon wears a sturdy pair of leather gauntlets, fraught with short, though sharp spikes. Each knuckle carries a spine as well. one would do well to stay from a swing of her arm when gloved in the gauntlets.
Gryphon carries dual blades, crafted of the finest elven steel. Both seem to be tuned exactly to her body.
Dawn's Harvester
The blade of her right hand, the edge of the blade baring a fine serration. A wicked looking piece of steel, Harvester is slightly shorter than the left-hand blade. Harvester's hilt bares a faceted ruby. The grip of the blade is wrapped in a crimson cloth, a simply silvery chain draped around the hilt. The blade is the deepest shade of obsidian, the serrated edge a deep blood-hue. Upon the flat edge of the blade, in elvish runes, an inscription is carved elegantly:
"Aith heleg nín i goth gostatha, Nin cíniel na nguruthos hon ess nín istatha. Or sereg."
The enemy will fear my point of ice, When he sees me, in fear of death, he will know my name. The Blood Dawn."
Death's Lasting Breath
The blade of Gryphon's left hand, a bit longer than Harvester. the blade is smooth as silk, and quite reflective. The blade bares a crimson sheen, though the blade itself is black. A slender blade, Death is certainly a lovely weapon, quite the contrary to Harvester. A faceted obsidian gem is embedded in the leather-bound hilt. A malicious talon adorns the bottom of the grip of the blade. Adorning the hilt, Death bares the elvish inscription,
"Gûd daedheloth."
"Foe of the great-fear."
Abilities
While the Elves are typically a race of higher abilities, Gryphon's are on a different level entirely. Her infernal blood offers her heightened reflexes, greater speed, and agility than her pureblood kin. Gryphon is able to withstand much more of a beating, having a greater resilience to attacks, and moves that would break her pureblood kin (Such as leaping from the top of a building). Her blood also offers her the benefit of regeneration. Like most demon-blooded, Gryphon is able to recover from most debilitating injuries in a matter of hours. However, her regeneration is slower, and she is unable to recover from lethal injuries (Such as severed limbs)caused by blood loss, due to the dilution of the Infernal genes.
Gryphon is incredibly skilled with the dual blades, her swordplay looking more like an intricate dance than anything else. Her body moves in perfect harmony with her blades, the swords becoming an extension of herself as she moves. Due to the speed of the blades, a crimson wake can often be seen in the path of the blades.
As Gryphon has aged, her Infernal blood has begun to show in her abilities as well. Becoming a bit of a spellblade, she is able to summon five crimson sigils to aid her in her battles, each sigil radiating a powerful, and deadly arcane energy. She is still perfecting her spellblade powers. There are several other abilities she tends to keep quiet of. When in a pinch, Gryphon is able to summon an ebon void, much of the damage absorbed into the Infernal rift. She is also able to call upon her heritage, possessing the ability to manifest dark energy and hurl it at her foes, this energy also carries a change to fear her opponents. Recently she has developed a much more potent variant of this dangerous power. Manifesting a dark energy, she is able to crumple her enemies, their bodies wilting as though killed from within, the darkness spreading over the corpses.
With the combination of her deadly skills with her blades, and the wicked spells of her heritage, Gryphon is armed to the teeth. She is not someone to be trifled with.
The Mark of the Demon and the Sign of the Blood Rose
The Power of Hatred
Fy'ren sneered at the woman upon his doorstep, "How dare you bring that into my home...", the elven tongue sharp as he spoke. The cloaked female figure held a bundle close to her bosom, the hood pulled low over her face. "She is yours, mela, I cannot keep her, and I shant leave her to the wolves." Fy'ren's blue orbs moving to the dark bundle at the woman's chest. "Had I known, it would not be a problem, but you have saddled me with a grim future, Lania. You have been untruthful." The woman shook her head, the hood shifting back in the pale moonlight revealing a pale, elven face. Slitted, crimson orbs turned up to the elven male. "She shows no signs, mela...please, I beg you."
Fy'ren looked to the pale woman. Lania had been his lover for many years, she had been the perfect mate. They had often spoke of bonding, creating the unbreakable oath to remain with each other until their lives ended, the true mark of love within the Elven race. But such never came to pass. Lania became with child, and Fy'ren could not have been happier. As the pregnancy carried on, Lania's belly swelled as did Fy'ren's pride at the thought of becoming a father. His station was rising, the emissary to Neverwinter was aging and Fy'ren was slotted to take his place. Fy'ren had everything he could wish. Or so he thought.
So close now, Lania was heavy with child as she made her way through the hallway of the home she shared with her love, her hand upon her stomach. She winced, stopping in the doorway, grasping the frame. Fy'ren looked up from his parchments, a look of concern upon his face. "Mela? Is everything alright?" He pushed his chair out, standing slowly. Lania lifted her head, her once brilliant emerald orbs a malicious crimson, the pupils slitted. She opened her mouth, gasping as a contraction ripped through her frame. Fy'ren stepped a pace back, gazing upon the dual set of demonic fangs within his lover's mouth. "Lania..." Fy'ren's voice came quietly as he moved away from his straining lover, a look of horror upon his face, followed by disdain. Lania's now claws dug into the doorframe, "Fy'ren...please, it is not what it appears. And this child comes now." He shook his dark head. "Get out succubus...you have tainted my home...and my bed," he growled at the pained woman. "You are not Edhellen, and I am -ashamed- to think that I placed my trust in you. What else have you lied about?! DEMON REMOVE YOURSELF AND YOUR HELLSPAWN FROM MY HOME!" Fy'ren shouted, the glyphs upon his wrists flaring with the magicks flowing through his veins.
She could do nothing but leave. She feared for the life of her child, his child and she would not let him make such a mistake as to kill their child, born of the purest of love. The birth had been hard, Lania's labor was long and arduous as she lay in a clearing of the forest, propped against a rotting log. She could go nowhere else, lest she be treated with the same hatred Fy'ren has shown her. After many long hours, finally. The cries of a newborn child echoed in the wood. Lania, bathed in sweat reached down, taking the child in her grasp. A girl, a beautiful baby girl. She was perfect, she showed no signs of the demonic heritage that flowed through Lania's veins. She could not help but smile to her new daughter, cooing to the infant softly, rocking the babe back and forth as the dawn broke.
She nursed the child in the wood for several weeks, the birth, and the lack of shelter sapping her strength. Lania knew the birth had taken a monumental toll upon her body. She was weakening, and her child, Vierna, would not survive without shelter. There was nowhere else to take the babe, but to Fy'ren. Perhaps he would see that Vierna was normal, that she possessed no traits as her mother had acquired during her pregnancy.
"She shows no signs, mela...please, I beg you," a single tear ran down her pale cheek as she looked to her once lover. Fy'ren's gaze like ice as he looked to his daughter, the child's emerald eyes peering up at him. "Mela...please...take her and you shall never hear from me again. You may purge me from your thoughts, I only ask you to keep your child, Vierna."
Fy'ren ran a hand back through his dark mane before offering his hands out for the babe. "Do not seek your daughter, demon. You are dead to her, and to me. Get out." With that, Lania pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead, and with teary eyes, handed her to Fy'ren. Part of the elven man wished to kill the child before she even had the chance to exhibit traits as her mother had, after all, she still shared the blood. But in Fy'ren's heart, Vierna was still his daughter. The child he had longed for. Fy'ren passed a look to his former lover before turning back into his home, shutting the door, and with it, Lania out of his life.
He bestowed a proper Elvish name upon his daughter, and never spoke of Lania again. Vierna Savari Aldarana Ty'Hal.
Vierna was an active toddler, her hair a stunning shade of crimson with a gentle wave. Fy'ren's heart was crushed, but try as he could, he could not love his daughter. Each time he looked to the child he saw Lania's face, her demonic features. He knew that it was more than likely that his daughter would, in time, exhibit the same features. Though for now, her bright green eyes were filled with wonder at the narrow world of Fy'ren's home.
It was not long before Fy'ren was promoted to the position of ambassador, causing him to be gone from home for weeks, if not months at a time. With Fy'ren's new station came servants and a nanny for Vierna to care for her when Fy'ren was called away. Young Vierna could scarcely understand why "Ada" left her alone with an unloving nanny so often. But even when Ada was home, he showed no compassion to the young girl, merely tolerating her presence. While he held no love for the little girl, Fy'ren still tutored the girl, as it would have been worse to possess a child no smarter than a stump.
By adolescence it was clear that Vierna would exhibit her mother's beauty. The child was smart, and strong, and incredibly quick, prompting Fy'ren to acquire a suitable tutor for her. With the aid of several tutors, Vierna grew into a mature young woman. Her tutors all praised the young woman highly, she was sharp of tongue, and stubborn, incredibly stubborn. Of all of her tutors, the Weapon's Master Ba'vare was her favorite. Ba'vare had praised his pupil to Fy'ren, she was incredibly skilled with a blade, even at such a young age, she merely lacked the proper teaching. Years passed and Vierna blossomed. Fy'ren's heart had begun to soften over the years, seeing that his only daughter seemed to have passed the demonic heritage. Her emerald eyes as bright as ever.
Slowly, Fy'ren began to take more of an interest in his daughter. He could no longer deny that she was talented, she could already more than hold her own against the best Weapon's Master in the city, and she was merely forty seven summers old. However, one day while whilst sparring upon a dummy, Vierna became frustrated with a move she could not seem to grasp. In her frustration she hurled the blade at the dummy, a sheath of shadow coating the blade, her vision going to dark for a moment. The blade sliced clean through the dummy's head, the area where the blade had hit a sickly dark color. Fy'ren walked in to see his daughter hunched, clutching her face, the blade and the severed dummy a ways away. As he reached Vierna, she picked her head up shaking her head, looking to him. "Ada...I am sorry I have disturbed you." Fy'ren's eyes went wide, the color draining from his face. It had come true..
Vierna's eyes had lost all color, the pupil's lost to the darkness. She seemed to have no trouble seeing, nor had she noticed that anything had changed. Fy'ren stormed from the training room, locking himself in his study with a slam of the door, leaving Vierna a lone in the training room, utterly confused. From that moment on, Fy'ren returned to being the distant father, he dismissed her tutors, forbidding her to leave the confines of their home.
As the weeks past, Vierna developed an increasing disdain for her father, he would not allow her out in public, keeping her locked within the house. She could do naught but study and train, though eventually that was not enough. She began to slip from the house unbeknown to Fy'ren, her wanderlust taking hold. It was not long before the woman found herself sparring for money. Of course the ring was all underground, these types of games forbidden by the laws of the city. Vierna swiftly rose to the top, defeating all who stood before her, though never killing an opponent. She always returned home, stowing her blades and gear carefully so Fy'ren would never know.
It was not long before Vierna was approached with a proposition after one of her victories. So skilled with a blade, the proposer offered a large sum of money to her should she be able to complete a small task for him. "You see, there is a rather pesky thorn in the side of the city. The secretary to the ambassador is corrupt. He has been dealing in the dark arts and plans to bring this city to its knees." She had known her father's secretary since childhood, the elf was stuffy and ill tempered, and she could easily see how he could be dabbling in the black magicks. Having a contempt for her father, Vierna agreed to complete the man's task. She would make him hurt for the neglect he had shown her, for seemingly no reason at all.
She watched her father's secretary closely from the shadows for many days, assessing his habits. He spent most of his time in Fy'ren's home for business, alone. A perfect opportunity. Her father was still gone often, and therefore would not notice that anything was amiss as Vierna skulked through the torchlit hallway of the estate. The secretary was up late this night, as he was every sixth day of the fortnight. He would be alone in the study, the mountains of documents practically drowning the slender elf. She had thought of dressing in her battle attire, but upon a second thought, she had deemed it unnecessary. A hooded figure was sure to raise an alarm should she be spotted, but her normal presence was sure to go unnoticed by the handful of guards that roamed the estate. Vierna moved silently towards the study, a long and slender dirk concealed against her left thigh beneath her flowing gown.
She bowed her head to the guard as she passed him in the hallway, concealing her eyes from him as she had with everyone. The sentry made no move, no suspicions raised as he followed her with his eyes, remaining silent. Vierna pushed open the large oaken doors, slipping through the slender opening only to shut it again, the secretary looking up from his mound of parchments, a frown staining his sharp features. "What do you want, girl? Return to your chambers, I am busy." He turned his gaze back to the desk, the ever present scowl on his face.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Heru. But I have taken an interest into Ada's profession, and I wish to learn." Her tone soft, timid. She had mastered the part of the innocent daughter. The secretary merely grunted, "Perhaps another time, child. My work is far too important to be letting a little girl interfere and burn up my precious time with foolish inquiries." He did not look up from the parchment, instead dipping the feathered quill into the inkwell before him and scribbling something quickly across the page.
Vierna's eye twitched. She was no foolish girl. Nor would she tolerate being referred to, or treated as one. She had run over this very scenario in her head a thousand times, she was prepared. Her footsteps made no noise as she approached the large, varnished desk, the scritching of the quill upon the parchment the only sound in the study. The secretary did not look up, continuing to scribe away as she moved closer, her hand drawing her skirt up slowly and grasping the hilt of the dirk which lay beneath. At the shift of her skirt, the secretary looked up to see the stunning young woman merely hiking her dress up. He arched a brow high. Any higher and it may very well have floated up and away. A nasty little grin made its way across his hawk-like face as he set the quill down, watching her breasts as she leaned over, yanking the dirk free from the strap at her thigh. With stunning quickness she pointed the tip of the blade to his neck, her expression turning from the naive girl to a hardened warrior. He lifted his eyes from her bosom, the color draining from his face as he felt the tip of the blade nick against his pale flesh.
"You did not truly think that your presence would go unnoticed, demon?" she sneered at him, pressing the blade more firmly to the vein of his neck. The secretary opened his mouth, his voice merely a squeak, "Demon? A-are you mad!?" Vierna studied the older elf, from this close proximity she could not see any indication that he was, even in the slightest, demonic. This gave her pause. Had her informant been wrong? Unease flooded her entire being. The thought of killing another elf left a sour taste in her mouth, and a sickness in her stomach.
The secretary was no fool and took the young woman's moment of pause to react. Words of power rolled off his tongue, his body glowing a blue hue for a moment. His casting pulled Vierna from her musing, she snarled and drew the blade across the elf's throat. But no blood came. The blade glanced off an unseen shield caused by his spell, not even marring the flesh. Stunned, Vierna backpedaled. SHIT! She had waited too long, and her opportunity had vanished, and now she was at the disadvantage. She could barely even cast the simplest of cantrips, let alone stand toe to toe with a full mage. She drew her dirk up to bare, sliding back into a warrior's stance, but the older elf had already delved his hand into the ingredients pouch at his hip, tossing a pinch of black powder into the air and reciting the arcane words. Vierna felt her body go rigid, the dirk falling from her hand. She fell to the floor, her body twitching as the magicks ran through her veins, rendering her helpless.
The secretary let out a shaky breath before bellowing, his voice cracking a bit, like a child in puberty, "GUARD!" Vierna watched as the guards thundered through the oaken doors, her ears failing her, bathing her in silence. Time seemed to blur as they hauled the woman to her feet, confiscating the fallen blade. She watched the secretary, through hazy eyes, speaking to the house guard as she was carried from the study. Her vision finally failed her as she drifted off into unconciousness.
