other creative writing Eilauver's Something or Another

[Eilauver]

Thursday Music Playlist

Theme: Battle

 

 

Music plays a huge part of my writing. It helps me create characters, scenes, and so forth. Sporadically, I'll be putting up themes and other music related stuff because well it's cool. The artists that have created this music are awesome.

[Eilauver]

A man of few words he was at least to those who did not know him well and he to them. When he did speak, an air of superiority followed and arrogance. Not a redeeming quality for any being birth to the world of Yurrahm but the man did not care. He did not walk upon the lands trying to please anyone, this included the Scaruendia Queen, though, he held a level of respect for her, what she represented. Long before she ever lay claim to the throne, he served her now slain husband and the father before him. 

Through time he was able to see much and gain more even at the loss of the one he held dear to his black-stained heart. One he'd forsake his own children for just to have an ounce of her love, a kiss of her moist lips or perhaps a touch of her slender finger to trail along the deep-rooted scars upon his body. 

Crexing Duparda loved only one woman in his lifetime. Not the submissive wife forced to hang on his arm but a rare woman too fragile for Yurrahm due to her taint by a man he once called his best friend, almost brother. That man of carnage took what rightfully belonged to Crexing, her-the fragile woman, and tarnished the innocence she held.

It wounded him deeply to discover she had died giving birth to his bastard ex-best friend's child. He imagined that the child looked every bit like her also too fragile for the world. He only wished that the life Amaa brought into the world would have left with her leaving Laxion Fredericke, Crexing's once best friend, a most embittered man to know nothing he touched would survive no matter much he yearned it so. That is what Crex wanted for the legend of Scaruendia stories, Laxion Fredericke, to become a hated memory of the past but not all his thoughts were of a loathsome nature. At his weakest moment, Crex remembered when he and Laxion were mere children themselves, the latter adopted after a massacre took his family. Two sides of the same coin and into everything wrong Crex's mother told them not to be. These memories brought a fondness to Duparda, of what once was of what could never be. Rightfully so, if such a future had been possible, Crex would've married Amaa and any child she bore would be his while Laxion told the little ones about the adventures they had in their own youth. 

Unfortunately, fate could be cruel and the woman he loved basked in sin while he forced himself to procreate through a marriage considered arranged for the gain of social standing and money. His long dead wife gave him two sons, twins, brought into Yurrahm a week early, weak. Any man would be proud to have two boys to carry on the family name but not him. He had been away furthering his research for the Queen deemed her specialist in Tuner affairs abroad. A messenger had reached -Pragrim- the secret prison and base of operations upon Disnengaard land to tell him about his wife's early labor. He hadn't been pleased to say the least he considered it an interruption to his research and findings. Only when he had finished he went to her side and when he did the man had not a kind word to say upon seeing the tiny pair in their mother's arms. In fact, the man said nothing at all to his wife nor made an attempt to hold his children. His wife came to name the boys Lergand and Sands after her brothers who departed the world early in war. Crex did not care what they were named he held no emotional or physical attachment to them. He wondered in secret whether they were truly his, the two looked nothing like him and he would not blame his wife for seeking the comfort of another man after how he treated her. Their marriage was loveless. No matter how much she tried to make it work, he would never love her like he unremittingly felt to Amaa. His wife knew this and still tried in vain until she could no longer take his denial leaving him to be the sole parent to their children who sought approval from him in every way they could. Crex gave them credit it didn't matter however, he only ever wanted a child with Amaa and so the twins could never replace such a dream nor stand in the ranks. They still had a useful nature about them but Crex would not now or ever tell them he loved them.

He managed to run through his entire life. The memories and wants in a matter of minutes, it was odd to him. Thinking about the past, the present, and future. His mind worked paces ahead with him already planning his next move once back in Pragrim and when the one known as Aluxsa Fredericke was in his company.

Submitted to one knee pressed against the lovely crimson red carpet strung forward upon the brown marble floor tile of the throne room, his other knee bent outward in a striking pose. The legs they were attached to had great muscle in them, a thickness brought on by years of exercise and running and mountain climbing. They were covered now by clean gray slacks fitted into hiking boots. The upper body of Crex was ripped, muscular, and toned hidden by a sleeveless thick black turtleneck and a rolled sleeve gray trenchcoat having huge pockets on the sides. Crexing Duparda wasn't unattractive. He had rugged features and dark skin from having spent numerous hours in the sun. With an oblong face, the man rarely smiled. When he did, nowadays, it appeared sinister like an ulterior motive lie hid behind it which was the exact case. Cut short, his wavy black hair slicked black the bottom half was shaved down to the root, and a thick line of hair ran from his sideburns all the way around his face and chin. The thick eyebrows were the same, furrowed. Underneath them were slanted unkind brown eyes. His head was bowed, right hand tucked to his chin and the memories stabbing him like a cleaver to the gut. Since finding out the truth from the twins, he had been suffering. Knowing Amaa was dead and that she had a daughter. He longed to see that daughter for the fact anything of Amaa was precious and because the girl was special, his research would have a breakthrough. 

After his initial summoning from the Queen, he went back to Pragrim to send his children out for investigation of the mysterious red spectacle in the sky and how it got there. It was their discovery, Scaruendia's, of the ominous red rock they learned it held power beyond imagination. Found off the coast of Varerro, a seaside town in Scaruendia, they knew not what to make of the fist-sized ornament only that it drew beasts in a bloodlust after it.

Crex lead the investigation per the orders of the Queen. To their knowledge, no one knew of this rock and left to them no one would know. Their problems with Tuners stemmed from the usage of the element. Scaruendia wanted to prevent this so Crex, after a year, was able to harvest the rock into smaller pieces and experiment using Tuners and normal people by embedding the rock within them. In those normal, it acted as a gradual beserk agent. Heightened strength, aggression, and so forth. In Tuners, it counterattacked their elemental abilities thus proving a success for Scaruendia research. It slowed the Tuners's senses to an almost dangerous level of fatigue the longer the rock remained inside of them. To Crex, it appeared like a poison. Whatever the case, they could continue their genocide against the enemies of the Queen. Bit by bit, they found more of the strange rock and its abilities to power machines. 

It was a treasure and weapon at the same time. 

Even Crex found himself seduced by the power and when his children returned from Murena loosening their lips, he made the trek back to the homeland, thus his audience with Terak Silph-Damascua presently, to tell her all he knew. Most at least. Tall white pillars spiraled with lines of gold held the ceiling in place. It matched the pillars with gold winning as the dominant color in flashy intricate designs moving all the way to the hanging crystal candle-lit chandeliers spaced out between giving a glow throughout the warm room. Plain red velvet top cushion foot stools with fringed strings lined up around the pillars for guests to sit in and where Crex probably should have but he opted to kneel on the floor. Family pictures hung on the walls alongside previous rulers and honored knight soldiers. Above those hung two-tier candle holders burning away with the scent of the sea to anyone in the immediate area. At the front, where the Queen's golden-encrusted massive chair stood on velvet red steps, a thick curtain parted to a blue checkered inside. 

The Scaruendia Queen herself sat leaning on her left side with her powerful legs crossed upon one another. She wore clear strappy pumps with the pointed hills sharp enough to gouge out someone's eye. Her right foot did a backward forward motion. Her legs were exposed, hairless, and alabaster. She was in a tassel blue bottom that cut into her lower body. A long matching dress bottom hooked from the back flowing upon the seat of her throne. Her upper body fit perfectly into a black and blue flower corset with a short cloak on her shoulders where long almost white hair fell evenly, some pressed against her face. Atop her head was a jeweled crown and a satisfied look captured her beautiful face. "This is very interesting," She leaned forward pushing a finger under her chin. "Very interesting indeed," Tilting her head to the side, her hazel eyes looked at him, her informant. "So as we speak, your boys are on their way to Gereska to seek out this Tuner healer?"

Crex lifted his head. He nodded.
"Yes, my Queen."

Terak shook her head. "A Tuner able to heal more importantly the Mark she bears is not faded. Then there is this powerful Tuner man with long green hair as well as the rock."

"I believe there are many more rocks around Yurrahm as indicated by the one in the sky. If we manage to collect them all we could have a high source of power to use in our campaign against the Tuners. I'm still trying to find out exactly what it is but I won't know unless we have more shards." He watched her lower one leg to cross over the other, the sly woman was deep in thought.

"I am intrigued to know more about both these Tuners," Terak tapped her chin. "They sound nothing like the scum we've dealt with. On one hand, it can be a complication, on the other I plan to extract much use as I can against Disnengaard and Ambessence, though Disnengaard is already going smoothly. The young Prince seems to be away on some fool venture."

"You mean to look for him?"

"Maybe," Answered the Queen. "I was thinking more about the bigger game. Anyway, I want a report immediately once those children of yours return from Gereska, oh and Crexing, darling..."

"Yes, my Queen?" The man rose to his feet.

"The whole idea of having our aerial ships is to make certain we are cloaked as far as our enemies are concerned," She tilted her head catching his face darkening. "Now, what if they were to find out about our secret? Chaos could see the Daaka from afar near Murena. Imagine if others did too it would cause unnecessary drama for us don't you think?"

"Most certainly."

"Then tell those boys of yours to be discreet unless they want my wrath upon them and do not lie to me to say it wasn't them because only they would be so damn reckless." She shook her head once more.

[Eilauver]

Anhaern Sigurdsson against her better judgment looked over her shoulder at the open doorway of a place she before considered sacred; her room. With the reddish-orange flames licking at one another, they burst outward and consumed everything in their path.
She could hardly consider it her sanctuary anymore nor the castle, her home. In an instant, everything she knew had been shattered. Laid to ruin in the course of a foreboding night filled with unnecessary violence. No one in the capital expected such a cataclysmic event to take place least of she. What she cherished most could never return to how it once had been, not in her memories nor her dreams. 

Her heart, split in two emotionally, pounded in her chest quickly threatening to abandon her to death's cold embrace the more the stress of the situation piled itself upon her. She could hear it thudding in her ears along with the screams of victims and the smell of flesh burning. The young woman faintly wondered whether or not Rimedur's galdur had been enough to stop the repugnant foreign prince to send him straight away to the afterlife whereas in her weakened state she had not been strong enough to do so. Facing forward, the locks of long blonde hair bounced against the princess's shoulders and her back. Her eyes of a hazel color were understandably wide with fear at what the unknown would bring if they managed to survive. The way Rimedur held onto Anhaern's hand, she could feel his hardened palm squeezing onto hers with desperation. She knew he meant for her to live. 

The princess forced her aching legs to move when they wanted to do the opposite. She could feel the red liquid draining down the back of her legs and marking a stain on the lower length of her white sleeveless sleeping gown. 
A split second made the young woman shut her eyes. She remembered vividly waking to find herself thrown head first on her bed while the blue-eyed devil son of King Azzo Yeschant added his muscular weight on her. He had had his fun, Anhaern assumed, exploiting her in her groggy state where she finally awoke fully to discover her terrible plight and feel the pain of his attack. Had Rimedur not come, she knew the prince would have probably killed her.

Nonetheless, she felt raw. Disgustingly so, though it all pushed to the back of her mind as her feet ran along the now battered red carpet of the keep. Opening her eyes, she caught sight of her godfather's wild brown hair whipping behind him. His naked upper body was marked with the strange symbols of one known as a Conduit, keepers of Galdur-magic. Running was nothing new to him, he did it with ease and haste occasionally glancing over his shoulder at her. Anhaern assumed to make sure she was well. She wasn't. Neither mentally nor physically. Already had the side of her face begun to bruise and heavy purple welts stained her tan skin on the shoulder. Her tongue stretched out between her parched lips to wet them and speak in tune to the chaos erupting.

"Mother, Father," She spoke. Her bottom lip trembled. "We must go back for them, we have to!" She knew what his answer would be. He had said it in the room quickly and without any emotion because he had been unable to stop what happened to them. Her mother and father, the King and Queen of Nimesin, were presumed dead.
Rimedur shot her a perplexed expression, his lips were drawn in a thin line, and anger reflected in his copper-colored eyes. He was displeased with what came out of her mouth. She didn't care, the words repeated leaving her mouth. "We cannot leave them for the enemy to defile, I won't leave them!" It took everything in her not to break down, to not cry having not been there for her parents.

Abruptly, the elf ceased his frantic run. It was so sudden that the princess nearly ran into the back of him. In the great hall, where portraits of past Sigurdsson ancestors hung, Rimedur pried his hand from Anhaern's. He then joined his hands to cup her chin in them. Their eyes met. She stared at him finding all traces of anger had soon left his pupils. It brought her back to the times when they trained in the courtyard under the close watch of her father whereas everyone else would share laughter over noon tea. It brought a sense of normalcy in spite of how fleeting the moment might be. She trembled, her legs nearly gave out on her but the taller male soon latched an arm around her waist to keep her upright. Rimedur said nothing at first.

The eerie light of the moon cast a most haunting glow through the carved out window openings where even a fool could see the light of the fire and the smell of death outside. Precious time was not on their side but her father's close friend took what he could to explain what needed to be said. His head shook from side to side, that gorgeous wood brown hair stuttering along the inner groves of his broad shoulders.

"We will leave them," Anhaern nearly reacted violently until she saw the guilt in his eyes and how heavy the words must have felt when he spoke them. "We will not go back. With your life Nimesin remains. All of what has happened what will happen means nothing so as long as you live. Do you hear what I am telling you, Your Highness?" She heard what he told her it just felt strange. She wondered whether this was all just a horrid nightmare she could wake up from, that her parents were still very much alive and adoring one another while Rimedur's only worry was her improvement with weapons.

"Anhaern!" The elf thundered to get her full attention, his other hand had not left her chin. In fact, he used it to raise it so she could look nowhere else except his face and the seriousness in his eyes. "Anhaern Sigurdsson, do you hear me? You are by birthright, queen now. Your duty is to live, to honor the legacy of your parents and however long it takes, to reclaim what is rightfully yours!"

"Then,"She snapped. Hot tears betrayed her eyes rolling down her cheeks. "Why are we fleeing like some common gutter rats?! We should fight! I will fight for the honor of my people and my parents!"

"You honor them by living!" He yelled. "Do you think they would want such a young life cut short? I made them a promise to protect you. That is what I intend to do!"

"You cannot tell me what to do!"

Rimedur snorted in response, his hand left her chin and arm recoiled. He once more took her hand squeezing it tightly, something overhead distracted him. She attempted to follow his gaze but he jerked her in front of him protectively acting as her shield. Something disturbed him. Anhaern saw it written all over his face. He had the same look when he discovered her defilement at the hands of Werther Yeschant, the Vauknor prince. Close enough to touch him, Anhaern's hand slipped through Rimedur's to wipe the pesky water from her eyes. She needed to see better in spite of the elf blocking the way. She felt his body collide into hers or more like he used his to  push hers back. Stretching a bit to see what captured his attention, Anhaern frowned deeply.

The earlier Galdur attack served only to fuel the rage of the Vauknor prince who had seemingly followed them. Anhaern could see his bright blue orbs were glimmering and a glowering expression touched his face hidden behind the guise of black paint. The Prince raised his lips as if he knew something they did not, some secret. Across his upper body were tribal tattoos and spots of scorched flesh bubbling to a heated degree, it would not stop him only serve to leave him permanent scars. As big as his father, the prince's muscular body was a sight most would not want to contend with, Rimedur did so without hesitation.
The prince looked at them both, mainly her, the conquest he deemed himself justified to take. She hated him, she hated Vauknor, the whole lot of them actually.

The prince had in his hand the long candle once white now stained red from her blood. He kept it as some kind of trophy presumably to finish what he started and infuriate her all the while. Clutching Rimedur, Anhaern screamed.

"Damn you!"

Werther smiled, his sharp teeth revealed to the world. Anhaern's godfather already acted pushing into her body more to get her to move. "Go," He spoke roughly. When she didn't he barked at her. "I said go now!"

"Not without you!"

"You haven't a choice, I intend to buy you enough time." His words were whispered low enough that only they would be able to hear. He would not give her a choice or a chance at more defiance. Shoving his body into her hard, she stumbled tripping on the carpet and losing all balance with gravity taking her down. Looking up, she could see the symbols on the elf's body glowing and the tips of his fingers and knuckles smoking. He would attack once more and the look on the prince's face told Anhaern he did not care. "I said go!" Rimedur screamed. "I'll not tell you again!"

"Rimedur!"

"Go, damn you!"

She did not agree to this, not one bit. She only could see the side of his face because he wouldn't take his eyes off their mutual enemy. Anhaern shook her head. Doing as he asked, she picked herself up off the floor to run a best she could allowing the guilt to eat at her for being a coward. She wondered how she could ever be a queen when she could not protect those closest to her, her people. They risked their lives for her and what had she done other than run? It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

Her legs did not cooperate properly. They made her stumble with her feet tripping her up on the bloodstained carpet. Behind she could hear the most violent eruption of something, like an explosion. It was enough to send the heir thrown face forward against the floor.
The hall shook furiously with deep cracks slicing through the brick walls. It was so sudden. Crawling on the floor, she felt her stomach drop looking back to see bountiful flames laying root to where she had just come from, where Rimedur remained behind so she might escape preserving the Nimesin throne and the Sigurdsson legacy. Anhaern's mouth gaped open at the spectacle. One could not survive such odds or so she considered. Her lower lip shoom for the unknown fate of her godfather. Had this been the time he took out the Vauknor prince? She prayed he succeeded.

"Rimedur..." Pushing her hands to the floor, Anhaern lifted herself ignoring the pain exploding through her body. The heat began to smolder the keep hallway, staying further would only fill her lungs with the thick smoke choking her. The only idea coming to her mind was the stables to reach them and retrieve a horse in order to ride out into the night. A cowardice thing to do, she decided, yet no other choice was realistic that is if she wanted to survive. Giving the past one final look, the heir soldiered on keeping her emotions in check. Nearing the hallway end, she kept close to a window able to see the city below the keep, Thanruth, Nimesin's capital, burning. 
The spiral of smoke reached into the night sky where the full moon sat observing all yet doing nothing. 

The weather was chilly holding no traces of rain to come to wash away the fire plaguing land. The heir watched closely.  She saw her people running around like roaches fleeing to safety while the husky Vauknorians, tattooed and insane hunted them down mercilessly. Some managed to be cloaked by the protection of the Nimesin royal guard, but it was only a matter of time before they were cut down too.

She could not understand it.

It was as if Vauknor knew all of Nimesin's moves, their secrets. It was disconcerting to say the least. Abandoning the view, she turned to the hall going right and down the stairs where the sight of bodies of the servants greeted her. Piled on top of one another, the heir could not tell who was who because the heads were taken, at times the limbs too and soon she found the royal guard among the dead as well. What heads had been left were void of teeth and eyes, mouths were sewn shut and organs exposed right alongside emptied bowls. Anhaern would not get the images out of her head anytime soon as she stepped over the sea of carnage forcing the bile to be suppressed in her throat. They all deserved a proper burial not to be discarded and defiled like trash, these were her people. 

Hearing foreign footsteps, she threw herself among the bloody mess feeling the thick blood cake her gown and uncovered flesh. She steeled herself pretending to be of the dead laying face down.

"The princess," The footsteps came closer. They belonged to two males. "We must find the her."

She raised her head some. She saw that they were not of Vauknor but her own royal guard. A sigh of relief escaped her, she pulled herself up holding out her hand. This notion gathered their armored attention and under their dragon-like helmets, Nimesin's child could see their worry subside. As they rushed toward her, overhead a heavy body dropped off the side of the stairs striking one maimed corpse in the process. Horror reached the princesss's face as she saw the Vauknor prince, very much alive, kneeling head drawn down with that messy brown hair all in his face. He caught the two off guard by his presence, his flesh held deep burns worse than before yet this did not stop him. He rose quickly, threw his big bear of a body against one of them to stun them. Stealing his enemy's weapon, a rapier, Werther's bare hands enclosed around the blade harshly. It cut into his hardened hands drawing blood, a welcomed pleasure to him. In possession of the weapon, he took the handle firmly drove it under the owner's helmet catching him in the mouth where teeth broke being tossed at the back of his throat. His comrade tried to attack, but Werther used the dying man as a weapon shoving his body into him. Stunning the other, the prince spun around him locking a strong arm to choke him to death. The guard struggled.

"No!" Screamed Anhaern. She once more met his eyes as he choked the life out of the guard with the toothless one beneath their feet dead. She climbed up attempting to run. At this time the prince killed the other guard letting the body drop. He moved to catch the princess seizing her wrist to turn her around to face him. 

"We weren't finished, Anhaern," A heavy accent made her name sound strange when he said it. "You are my trophy, I will keep you."

"I am no man's trophy!" She spat at him. "You will never do what you did to me again, you bastard!"

"I beg to differ." He smirked. "I have a present for you." Still keeping a firm hand on her wrist, she felt his blood cake her palm. As he forced her to walk with him she eyed the rapier in the mouth of the guard, she was already planning to catch her enemy when the chance presented itself. Brought to the sea of bodies, the prince searched the carnage. 

"Where is it? Where is it, it rolled around here somewhere when I landed," His crystal eyes finally spotted what he needed. "There, my love." He wrapped his other hand around her neck making her look, she felt the touch of blood here too. A feeling of sickness reached her. She saw Rimedur's head. It had no eyes and the mouth had been forced wide open long after death. Her godfather, he had died for her. Werther kissed the side of her shocked face lovingly. He brought his lips to her ear whispering. 

"I cannot express my gratitude for the fight he gave me all so you might escape me. A Conduit. I'm quite pleased. I almost hated to kill him. Are you angry with me? Do I make you angry?"

She did not answer him.

He ran his nose inside her ear, along her face shaking her by the neck. "You are mine, you have just not yet accepted it."

He would never get the chance to do to her what he had with the candle, ever. She was not his, she never would be. It was by choice that she held relations with a man, not against her will. She was so angry. Heat prickled her skin. She wanted him dead, all of them. Taking the opportunity when he let her neck go, Anhaern touched the rapier handle. It took everything she could muster up to pry it out of the dead man's mouth and launch a strike in the unsuspecting prince's abdomen. He let out a partial grunt mixed with a laugh with the blade in him and his eyes on her. She had not been given a fair chance to ease into the aspect of war. If she had she would've been allowed to think better, to prepare. He was twice her size, for all purposes he could take her down but she woulf fight him every step of the way. Right now, she could only do a partial attack to buy herself enough time. Turning around, she ran from her enemy exploring the halls of the keep where bodies were in an  abundance. She kept moving descending stair after stair trying to put enough space between her and the madman.

The room doors were open. Inside the people of Vauknor tortured victims she could not hope to save. None noticed the princess running by as they were too busy painting the walls red with blood. It hurt her so much. She held her stomach. At the final descent of the stairs, she was at the lower level of the keep, the foyer. She could hear Rimedur's words ringing in her ears, with her life  Nimesin still had a chance. She had to survive somehow. 

The double doors to the outside were ajar, forced off the hinges. They gave way to the concrete walkway where schools of horses half-trotted, half stood. They were war horses decorated in dark tattoos and armor. Riders occupied them. These were not men of Nimesin, they were from Vauknor. With the moonlight and that of the flames burning, their skin radiated and the monstrous facial masks they dawned made them appear like exactly that, monsters. They blocked a direct exit out the front, though, as she sought a hiding space near a window where the dead resided, her attention drew on the animals without riders.

Rough footsteps galloped downstairs. Well alerted to them, Anhaern hid in another body pile closing her nose to the foul smell. It was the murderers and with them, they helped the prince. They spoke in a language she guessed native to their country and from the sound of it the prince would not let his kin help him with the rapier embedded in him. He shouted at them.

"How can you not see one little whore roaming about?" He argued with them. "She could not have gone far."

"We saw nothing."

"Of course you did not, you were too busy raping and murdering." Werther shook his head, he eyed the sword still inside him.

"Is all of this necessary?" A newcomer entered the keep. The princess cautiously lifted her head because she recognized the voice of the newcomer, a male. It was her long exiled uncle, Vamdon Sigurdsson. Suddenly, it all made sense. 

Werther rolled his eyes. "Sigurdsson, you should not be near me now. I'm not in the mood."

"A simple takeover," Vamdon replied swiftly. "Is there such a need to maim the bodies?"

"What would you have us do?"

"Nothing like this." 

"You obviously do not know the Vauknor method," The prince snorted. "We are animals. Now, get out of my way before I put you between my legs where you have a better purpose."

Vamdon Sigurdsson frowned deeply. "Take care how you talk to me. I'm not some commoner." Nor was he someone to be in consideration for the prince's deviant appetite.

"Oh, but you are," Werther smiled viciously. "You are mad because your brother ascended the throne instead of you. You need us more than we need you, remember that. Father may tolerate you but I don't have to. Make yourself useful, find your niece for she is my trophy."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The princess still lives. What keeps you from the throne is your brother's daughter, all you need to do is find her for me. Everything you want is at your fingertips."

[Eilauver]

Name: Keishara Ellarian
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown appears in early twenties.
Birthday: November Ninth
Clan: The Zdravilec. A mysterious race of seemingly peaceful elves born with the ability to wield galdur, magic, without a medium. They are known as conduits, beings able to pass their abilities along to others through a contract of sorts. It is a dangerous feature not many practice these days however.
Sexuality: Heterosexual

Homeland: Lashrael

The capital of Aluviirsaan land in the south.

Rank: Princess a title only a select few including herself know about. It is not something she favors.

Skills: Hand to hand combat taught by her instructors growing up and the use of weapons. Keishara is skilled in fencing opting to use the saber or épée as weapon choices when up close. She is quick to maneuver and dodge and duck. The Princess makes great use of blindsides and staggers for her enemies plus those larger than her, she will wear them down by the more time spent in battle.

The elven woman is capable of using two-handed swords, but they use a lot of stamina and take time to swing leaving herself open. She's on point with bows and arrows though not as good as most.

Physical Strengths: Quick on her feet, high stamina.

Physical Weaknesses: Muscle fatigue. 

Mental Strengths: Resilience. Does not give in even when she's tired, does what she says she will do and sets out to accomplish goals.

Mental Weaknesses: Worrying about things she can't control, fear of failure or more loss.

Height: Five Eight
Weight: One thirty two
Hair: Long and White
Eyes: Silver. Round.
Others: Has a fair skin tone

Personality: Can be feisty if threatened with control, compassionate, kind, protective, loyal, and affectionate.

Likes: Fruits, children, nature in general, a good drink, reading, running, males, dancing, music, art. Honesty, loyalty.

Dislikes: The idea of an arranged marriage, her adoptive father and his decisions for her welfare, sweets, arrogance, senseless violence, the one she is arranged to marry. Individuals knowing of her abilities and wanting them for themselves. Lying.

Motivations: Her freedom.

Fears: Being controlled. Having to marry against her will with little say of her own. 

Relationship Status: Betrothed to Prince Corym Sinaran of the Sicafei Kingdom.

Prince Corym is a halfling born from a human woman and a elven male. His birth is proof that the relations between humans and elves are not as hostile as they once were but moving in a positive direction at least in this kingdom. With the union between Corym and Keishara, both groups hope to move forward on a good note although Keishara is against the marriage solely for her freedom. Sicafei is located on a southern continent. Its capital is Zaos.

History: The road to happiness is not one that is easy nor will it ever be least of all for Keishara Ellarian. Her origins are somewhat of a scandal because her mother was of no royal background when she carried on an affair with one of the wayward princes of The Zdravilec throne. The lovers never married though for the sake of Keishara they were devoted to raising her together. When Keishara was a small child her father disappeared as he was about to ascend the throne as King in  the wake of his own father's death. With him missing his brother, Dannyd Ellarian-her uncle, became king and married her mother while officially adopting the young Keishara as his own. 

Dannyd Ellarian had a much different way of ruling than his father or what his brother intended before he disappeared. Though strict, he adored his people especially his family. When she was younger, Keishara loved him just as much as her biological father however the older she became the more they clashed as it seemed he controlled every aspect of her life. The final straw came when Dannyd arranged for Keishara to marry the prince of the Sicafei Kingdom against her knowledge, it was apparent that Dannyd and the Prince's father were in talks about the marriage for months even Keishara's mother didn't know. Though Keishara vehemently objected to the union, Dannyd told her she would marry whether she wanted to or not, that in a week she would make the arduous journey to Zaos. She had other plans though. The princess took off in the middle of the night leaving virtually no trace of herself. Frustrated, her uncle heeded the rumors of bounty hunters that could find or kill anyone for the right price. To find Keishara, Dannyd contacted the bounty hunters with money up front once she was discovered and the rest to take her to Zaos.

Meanwhile, Keishara managed to get Midwest as far as the neutral territory of Olyrnn.

It was here that she had planned on making a quiet life for herself where no one knew her unfortunately she encountered the bounty hunters after her and though giving a fight in the end she was captured with her fate in their hands by this point. As a prisoner, Keishara is still unwilling to merely stand around waiting to be carted off and has given her captors much trouble thus far.