Whitiue Aria Lilliar

Description -
Windswept locks of flowing silver-hair fall well past mid-back in layered waves setting a dark frame about her silver eyes reminiscent of starlight. Her slothful gaze appears ageless, Devoid of iris and pupil and boarded by thick lashes and thin arched brows all harbouring an indifferent and detached air. Night-black skin resembles more the dark-elf-kin of the underground city in the Forbidden Caverns than the tree dwelling elves of Lorell-Wood or noble Sidhe fae of Tandanu's White-Spires. Prominent cheekbones and long elfish ears define her features centred by an aristocratic nose and thin scarlet lips.

Set with a slender neck and delicate bone structure, she has an even bust and faintly curved hips. Fine boned fingers stained with inks, dyes, resins, and other augury and alchemic substances bearing long witch-like nails painted pearl white. Silver and indigo pigments weave elvish spirals, twists and whorls decorating her skin that holds a light sheen from the use of scented oils. Bearing all the noted traits of her fae-kin, she moves in silence bearing all the elegance and refined grace expected of her kin yet laced with a distant and dark flare. The faint scent of baccara roses linger in the air around her.

A lithe silver haired dark elf is in excellent condition.

<floating nearby> (K) a dark collection of will-o-whips.
<worn on head> (K) (M) an thornset, demon-horned, headress
<worn on ears> (K) two white feather earrings
<worn around neck> (K) a soul of the siren
<worn around neck> (K) (B) a seven-pointed star pendant
<worn on body> (K) revealing, shimmering, snakeskin dress
<worn on arms> (K) (M) elven spiral etched darksteel armbands
<worn around l. wrist> (K) (BMG) a black baccara rose of folded parchment
<worn around r. wrist> (K) a dark wrist-sheath set with silver darts
<worn on hands> (K) (M) stains of augury and alchemic substances
<worn on l. finger> (K) an elvenheart and platinum ring
<worn on r. finger> (K) a darkened-coral siren's ring
<primary weapon> (K) a dark serpentine set of finger claws
<held as shield> (K) (MGH) a thorn-set, darkened-coral, sea-crystal
<worn about body> (K) dark, frayed, blood-stained ceremonial robes
<worn about waist> (K) a silver chain link belt worn low on the hips
<worn on legs> (K) a darkened-coral siren's anklet
<worn on feet> (K) strapped, dark-elven, snakeskin sandals

Background -
Chapter One – Alone in the Dark:
The tall raven haired elf pulled a chair out from the vast dinning table and swept aside his forest-green cloak with a measure of grace before sitting, armoured weight coming to rest with a clear thud. He lent his leaf-bladed longsword aside him peeled the eagle styled helm from his head and wiped the sweat from his brow before pouring himself a goblet of wine. The grand hall was beautiful this time of year with the afternoon sun shinning through, bathing the chamber in the many vivid colours of its stained glass windows. This day however, the corpses of three orcs lay at his feet only a meter or two away their black blood pooling and staining the lavish rug set down on the white marble floor. He spared a moment to think of his Daughter, now likely nearing Tome, she would resupply there and press on past Memfeld to await him in the scorched lands to the north. He knew it was a gamble of sorts, the dark elves of the Forbidden Caverns hated Antrippans more than the surface dwellers and she was still elf kind. He had promised her he would not to be far behind without a voice her hands had worked to sign so frantically but he had silence her steadying them with her own giving his most earnest assurances. He knew now however they were promises he could no longer keep. It seemed like yesterday she was but a young and wild and carefree fae in his arms running through the fields, forever swimming in the lakes and oceans. Oceans along the Eastern Beachers he had known all too well. Yet she was a young woman now nearest her sixteenth winter, he wondered if he done right by her, taught her enough in the time they had. He finished the wine and poured another, shallowing hard as he winced to look down at his side. He knew the wound was too deep, he knew it as soon as the crude iron had kissed his skin. The deepening pool of blood at his feet told him it wouldn't be long now, his fight was done but it didn't matter she was safe. The Antrippan invasion had finally broken through, Tandanu would burn this night.

Chapter Two - Reborn:
In the tallest spires of the Mages Tower the raven-haired, pale-skinned elf glided barefoot along the cool black marble floors, the vast hall dimly lit by iron scones even spaced pillars every few meters or so. The view below laying out the sprawling underground city bathed in its iridescent glow of moss, magical lanterns and firelight. While hooded, her hair was still wet from her recent bath, likely the last bath she would have, this this form anyway and she was naked beneath her sheer crimson robe as the ritual would require her skin bearing a light sheen from scented oils. Bowing low as is the custom on arrival, she made no greeting and being a known mute the dark elves knew to never expect such from her. She lingered briefly on rising to stand tall and pulling back her hood to once more and let her ocean blue note the progress of the drow acolytes some moving too and fro continuing preparations others in the shadow with repetitious chanting and incantations.

The thick smoke was hanging heavily in the air, some earthy mix of herbs, incense and oils. The fires were already turning, infusing with magic, taking on a green taint. Dusk was near with the last of the suns rays casting the chamber in its fiery glow. Drinking the potion down and removing the robe she scaled the three large steps with her head high ignoring how cold the alter was as she laid her bare body upon it. It had taken her years to get to this point, years of service as a Nightwalker and Lore Keeper to access the temples extensive libraries, years in devotion as Priestess of Secrets to gain access to the many sacred texts and tomes of arcane knowledge. Now having searched the lands all was ready and the ritual of the Phoenix would take place.

She spared a thought for her Father, the only family she had known. She knew it was his death all those years ago in Tandanu that had placed her on this path, her grief that led her to hide in the shadows from a cruel world. Her rage that led her to learn the arts of a Witch so she could strike back from those shadows and her desire to see him once again in Celestes Eternal Night that held her devotion strong while others had wavered. She knows he will never return, yet still she stares out over the Eastern Seas sensing some longing, still she waits for him in the scorched lands north of Memfeld by the Forbidden Caverns. The dark acolytes chanting intensified and Whitiue closed her own eyes as the last of the sun faded letting darkness rise. Each robed, hooded figure taking a green-flamed torch and setting the four points alight. The oil burned catching quickly, each corner following its swirls and whorls, tracing its patterning path along its stone, each flame edging closer and closer to the Sidhe's naked form.

Despite her admirable efforts it wasn't long until her screams filled the air. Magic and pain seared through her body, fire itself burned through her veins as the roar of the flames grew louder, burning brighter, swirling as such vortex of the arcane, of green fire and rushing winds engulfing and consuming the alter and her within it. In the pain and anguish she saw glimpses and flashes of all her days, the Nightwalkers, the voyages to lands near and far, her father. Memories and images moving still the sidhe then saw vivid flashes of a mother she never knew... an eldritch creature, a Siren of the sea smiling at her. All went black, silent and Whitiue felt as if an eternity passed before vision returned with a blinding flash. Reborn the dark-skinned elf sat up sending steamy silver locks falling about her, silver eyes shimmering seeing for the first time, chest rising and falling, drawing breath for the first time. She reached to the acolyte at her side taking her robe and sliding off the alter slowly with a faint smile "It worked" she said in a languid tone, words forming for the first time lilting with an echoed promise of the arcane.

[X] - Spec Witch
[X] - Nightwalker
[X] - Priestess
[X] - Rebirth
[ ] - High Priestess
[X] - Title 'Siren Witch'

Personality -
The darkness always held comfort for Whitiue and she has always preferred it, even before serving the Night. It reduced clarity and softens edges, the shadows rise and take hold of all around. It was in this darkness a young child escaped the massacre of her family and destruction of her home. Since that devastation she has hid herself and remain aloof leaving others to imagine her, and in doing so she would keep all distant, all deceived. She holds a strong sense of Sidhe grace, dignity and elegance, gliding almost without sound and melting within shadows. She has been known to be short, and by some she is considered arrogant – typical traits of most elvenkind. Whitiue keeps within her small circle yet uses and knows many acquaintances. Her dedication and faith set her apart from her peers early on and she has serves as Priestess of Secrets, Lore Keeper of the Night.

Eventually, the heavens shifted, and her beloved Goddess Celeste entered the Eternal Night. The impact of this was profound and with Faith being so pivotal, Whitiue was conflicted and fraught with indecision at a such loss. She set her arts as a Dark Mystic and Lore Keeper to work aiming to study Sin initially to see it disavowed. The more however she read, the more she found such similarities between the Nightwalkers and what she had become to term the "Sinweavers". As fate would have it, her efforts drew the attention of the Dark Queen Nasemna and the Goddess called her forth.

Whitiue could not deny she had changed, she realised in time that while in the Night she was hidden, in Sin she was free. Free to be unrepentant and cast off the judgements or scruples to name what it is she truly wished amidst the many paths of Sin and to move boldly toward them. Also, importantly for her, she was free to retain and recall without reproach all that the Night had given her. With a bejewelled dagger and the seven pointed star of Sin Whitiue carved a new chapter in her life. Nasemna called her favoured on appointment, Priestess of Sin, bestowing upon her the title Beloved Confidant.