Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

Liss Santraeger - El Dahyarifa

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Glowfire:

The journal cover is embroidered with colourful glass beads. Within the pages are writing in flowing, elegant shorthand. Should one somehow be able to decipher it, it would be composed of a few different languages which are not native.

On some pages there are sketches in ink or charcoal of scenery and people. Several loose papers are placed within, many of them sketches or watercolour paintings.


[Can be taken/stolen/confiscated/searched]

[Everything is written from the perspective of the character and does not reflect the views of the player.]

[El dahyarifa is an Alzhedo title for "the misplaced stranger"; a foreigner, someone who is obviously out of place in a certain setting.]

Glowfire:

[In Common]
These pages contain ink and colour by Dethliss 'Liss' Talaah Santraeger el Dahyarifa.

Should it be found, then please see it returned to its rightful owner.

In case of the demise of the owner with no signs of a return to life, then give it to the Mists - as with the remains of the owner.


[There is a painted coat of arms on the same page]

Glowfire:

It was some time since I put quill to paper to attempt to form my own thoughts rather than merely observations of the world around. This book the vistani were selling in Port-a-Lucine seems strangely fitting. Perhaps they can read my words with their dark vraja - though it is more likely they were just happy to earn some solars on yet another visitor won over by bright colours and the exotic. A dress, bracelets and shoes - you too can be a vistani and dance to find your way around in the Mists!

~*~

The Coywolf at least has found his place. No longer prowling restlessly. He has his pack and he will need it. How fitting his words to me were.

"A dawn prison is too great a price."

"It is selfish to ask you to stay for me. It is cunning to ask you to stay for your family. But I am the Coywolf."

I sometimes wonder if something was listening and opened the pathways - neither of us getting what we wished for. Though such a thought is foolish. It feels as if he was meant to find the pack he has, that he has found where he belongs - perhaps in a way even more than he ever has within his tribe. I fear to disturb his peace, his joy, his place. It is as if being caught out in the cold dark, looking in through a window and seeing the warm glow from the hearth, hands too frozen to open the door. It is not by his doing but I fear he would walk into the night rather than stay in the warmth.

~*~

"Thou hast been judged and been found wanting."

It will not be the first judgment nor the last. And I care little for the judgment of the entity. If the purity it seeks is the suffering I see in the Oathsworn then I will remain glad to not share of it. It was the cold shoulder afterwards. The feeling of being naughty and told to think in a corner, like a child. It was being lead to that thing with no word, no explanation. That which is tainted being cast aside.


[In clear Alzhedo lettering]
The Judge offers choice. The Righteous teach how to choose.

~*~

I wonder how long it will take them to realize I am gone. How long will they try to look for? What will they think happened..? It would not be for a few years at least before they would be truly concerned. Ink and colour would be all that remain as memory. Oh how I wish I could brush my fingers over some of those memories given form but they are gone and lost from my grasp. Perhaps the ... [blotted out word] ... she is right, that I should honour them here in ink and colour. If I were to forgot what they looked like or who they are - I am not sure I could forgive myself.

I thought of Coram while we sipped coffee on the lanceboard. Missing him is like a deep ache; we arrived together to the world - to Toril - and it has always been a comfort to know he is there, somewhere. He still is of course but now so far out of my reach. No letter will reach, no words sounding in the mind.

~*~

I dance and twirl around. Moving into strong arms, holding close. A soft touch, a deep hunger.

I said I would not and yet I did.

I am happy to gaze upon the moon together.

Even though the clouds will move and cast that which is bright into darkness.

Glowfire:

When the Repentant held out the lute as a form of apology I wanted to take it, take it and bash it right over his head. What is apology without words?

Even if my heart remains bitter the instrument's sound is sweet.

We have not shared words since I was addressed the once with the one sentence. And now, now all must be forgotten and forgiven, surely.

~*~

[The words are written out in clear Chondathan]
Loss

I stumble

On liquid ground

Realities made of sand

Doubt

~*~

I am not sure the Lecturer knew what he was doing. It makes more sense that he would not have known. It was his words that made me consider how to approach the matter after all.

Though what if he did.

There are no answers other than those I find. Left to stumble around, blindly.

For people who stand for light, they cloak themselves in darkness. Pulling it tightly.

~*~

I am many things.

I am not like Loredana the Brave.

How far would she go?

Further than I.

~*~

[The words are written out in clear Chondathan]
"The Light does not always shine clearly; sometimes it is sprinkled along the ground and one must figure which ray to follow."

~*~

[On the opposite side of the page a loose watercolour painting has been placed. It depicts a canary bird in flight [click]]

[Underneath it, on a page on the journal itself is a charcoal sketch of a boy's head with no face. The eyes gaping empty and dark. The nose a mess where one should have been. The mouth with visible teeth. Flesh still clinging to the bones. The outline is blurry, the charcoal strokes being faint in parts of the sketch as if to deliberately make the paper be seen through. Below the boy's head on the paper is a single clear word in Balok, "Mulţumesc". At the bottom of the page, to the right, words in Common are spelled out clearly, "I'm sorry" followed straight after by more letters clearly spelled out in Balok, "...cu plăcere..."]

Glowfire:

I used to be afraid of them.

I was told to be afraid.

The heavy blade swung down and I knew who I feared.

~*~

While I wept her face was cold, with focused anger.

"Do you think what I did to be dishonorable?"


To what lengths are we prepared to go for those we care for.

How far.

~*~

[There is an ink sketch of the upper body of a man in a Garda uniform, wearing an easily distinguished helmet shaped like a hawk. He holds a paper in one hand, showing it towards the viewer. A very vague feminine figure is sketched on it, in a guard stance. With his other hand and cloak, the man carefully shields the paper from rain. Despite the helmet rendering the man expressionless the stance and how carefully the paper is both held and shielded from the weather gives an indication of care and fondness.]

[A loose paper is painted in watercolours and depicts a man's upper body, styled in Garda uniform. A golden aster in his right hand, held out towards the viewer, stands out with its bright golden yellow and detail. The man appears to be in his late twenties with lighter brown hair and a chiseled face. There is a look in his hazel eyes which might suggest some good natured trickery. A pendant of the Morninglord hangs around his neck but the shine from it is duller than from the golden aster.]

[A rough charcoal sketch of a young woman in a Garda uniform looking down with excitement at an open book in her hands.]

[A charcoal sketch of a young wolf who is happily chasing after a herd of running deer.]

[Another rough charcoal sketch depicts two full figures of a male and female Garda. The man wears the outline of a distinctive hawk shaped helmet and is reaching out to flick the plume of the woman's helmet]

[A sketch in black ink shows a man clad in a dark and simple shirt and pants sitting on the floor in a relaxed manner, leaning back against a bench with his face turned towards a large window from which moonlight shines in from. The moonlight bathes the man's harsh facial features, softening them with shimmering silver ink. Silver ink is also painted into his hair. There is a faraway, dreamy look in his eyes as he gazes out the window. An open book is resting on a leg with an upturned cover with a hand lying over it in a disinterested manner. On the back of the sketch a few words are written: "You don't find the best things in life without risk."]

[A rough charcoal sketch depicts a Barovian woman in a simple dress leaning over a cauldron, stirring the liquid within with a ladle. A good-natured grin is present on her lips.]

[Two Garda are sketched roughly in charcoal with few details. It is however clear that one is female and the other male, both wearing hoods. The blurred out shapes appear to be huddled close together, holding hands.]

[A quick ink sketch shows a male Garda in a hawk-like helmet and wearing heavier armor. Some letters are written next to him, all different variations on grunts.]

[The loose watercolour painting depicts the head of a woman wearing a brown hood which she is reaching for with both hands, in the process of revealing tresses of auburn hair. Her skin is tanned and her face angular with large doe-brown eyes which are lit up in a small grin.]

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