Erysa

Information

Player: Ronin

Character Full Name: Erysa Keybrook

Character In-Game Name: Erysa

Nickname(s): Erie

Association(s): Farstriders (loosely)

Race: Sin'dorei

Class: Hunter

Age: 133

Sex: Female

Hair: Lush Red

Eyes: Fel Green, with a wide, youthful almond shape

Weight: 117 lbs.

Height: 5'6"

Appearance

Due to her tendency to travel and her penchant for getting into rough situations, she generally dons warm, well crafted leathers. Knowing the importance of steel-hard protection in really dangerous situations, though, she's not adverse to suiting up in mail armors if necessary. In most other settings, however, she'll simply wear what's both comfortable and effective, not wasting much (well, not -too- much) energy on trying to get that 'perfect look'.

Other: She has her ears pierced in a few places, there being an equal chance of finding rings or studs in the holes as not. The outer edge of one of her eyebrows has a fading scar through it, telling of there being a piercing there, too, at some point. She has no tattoos on her deeply tanned skin, but some measure of scar tissue. Said scars appear well healed, but relatively recently attained, no mark on her being more than a few years old, at most.

Personality

Alignment:Chaotic Good

Coming off a bit rough around the edges, Erysa seems to play the part of tom boy. Her demeanor tends to seem a bit boorish to others of her kind, as if she were not as cultured as she should be. In truth, she ends up slacking off with the effort most Sin'dorei put into etiquette and appearing sophisticated, having once chosen to dedicate all of her concentration to battling her people's addiction (a symptom she still has a little trouble with, Sunwell or no), and has since simply been struggling to drop the bad habit. That said, and despite her other failings, Erysa does her best to speak and act with intelligence, if not eloquence.

She's the sort of girl that acts like she has boundless energy, whatever the validity of such thoughts. Her actions, and even the way she holds herself, screams of wanderlust, a constant desire to be going new places and doing new things. She doesn't suffer from flippancy, believing quite stoically in forwarding her people's place in this world, and seeks to do so whenever she can (even if it ends up being in an awkwardly roundabout way).

All in all, Erysa's managed to gain a reputation for dependability, and for good reason. She understands her responsibilities, and loathes to let those that believe in her down. To such an effect, she's also gained the additional reputation for working herself to the bone, an futile effort usually forcing her attempts to end in failure (though, of course, such instances are purely circumstantial!).

History

Erysa Keybrook. Not the most common of High Elven names, true, but the girl never thought much on that. She was an only child coming up, but that wasn't too uncommon for her kind, what with their longevity. Besides, it left room for her parents to dote on her more. Both her father and mother were devout worshipers of the Light, a trait that rubbed off on the young elf, and her father had a side of dabbling lightly in the arcane.

Her parents made a good fair, and the family was never left wanting (though, in such a tightly knit community, few were). Erysa attended school regularly, and she did well enough. Better than her wandering attention span would have originally allowed, in fact, thanks to her father's little hobby. She would delight in the rewards she got for a good job done in class, her father casting small incantations of enchantments of lights and other "grand" spectacles.

The girl aged, and while the pretty lights and mystical creations no longer motivated her as they did in her youth, they helped set her toward her future. She never lost her love for magic, and when she came of age, she sought to begin an apprenticeship at the local magical schools. She had at first considered moving to Dalaran to study, but just couldn't bare with separating from her people's beloved Silvermoon, or her relatively simple life.

Things had gone as they do, and while she was no up-and-coming Archmage (she still had a great deal of difficulty remaining focused on her work, and the intricate, complicated art form that is Arcana is more mentally demanding than most trades), she proceeded at an acceptable pace. She proved to have persistence, if nothing else.

That dark day was looming just over the horizon, however, and Quel'dorei everywhere were affected. Erysa was no exception.

The Scourge came.

The High Elven girl had been with her parents when they hit the city. Word, of course, had come telling of how the gate had fallen, and that the undead were ruining the majestic elven lands of Eversong. Until she heard the first terrified shriek, Erysa hadn't believed it possible for mighty Silvermoon to be breached, and even after, that it would fall. She fled with her family, of course, but in her heart, she truly believed her people would push the rotting hoards back.

The soul-tearing experience of losing the Sunwell was a rather stunning shock to the young Quel'dorei, and thanks to never knowing any manner of real physical exertion of strain in her life, the pain that came with it was nearly overwhelming. In the weeks that followed, she found she preferred even that agony to the withdrawal that began to eat her and her parents alive.

She had been a mage, if a relatively ineffectual one. The lack of magical sustenance was all but unbearable. Every morning she awoke, it was to thoughts of simply killing herself to be spared the pain. She kept coming up with petty excuses not to, deep down still hungering for life, and more often than not it was to keep taking care of her mother and father. She found it odd that they seemed to be dwindling much faster than she. She had needed magic more than they, so shouldn't she fade first? Perhaps it was her youth, or in fact because of her magical aptitude, but she carried on even when they, inside, gave up.

The underlining insanity of Kael'thas and his representative Rommath's plan to use twisted Arcane- and Fel-based energy to substitute the lost Sunwell was totally lost on the young Erysa, so desperately did she want the pain to stop. Her parents were weakening greatly both physically and mentally by now, too, and she worried they wouldn't last much longer. Choosing what she thought was best for all of them (as far as one could consider it 'thinking' at that point), she eagerly gave herself to all the mad plans. Anything, ANYTHING, to stop the agony...

When salvation came, Erysa only felt the sheer bliss of pain's release for a matter of moments. Then the sickening realization that comes with returning sanity struck her. At that point, all the intricacies were beyond her, but the base was clear. She, a Light-worshiping, good Quel'dorei, had not only just sold her own soul, but those of her parents, too. True, they didn't care what their salvation meant, but that only drove the pain deeper.

For years thereafter, Erysa gave in to the addiction, if for no other reason than trying to go without any supplement was totally unbearable. Her emotional misery was only compounded every time she tried to practice the Arcane arts, the feelings of sheer elation now replaced with repulsive sickness as the tainted magic energies coursed through her plentifully with each spell cast. Worse of all was how her father took to it. His skills in magery, ever before just a pastime, began to soar as he fed eagerly on the new power sources.

Both Father and Daughter sought to use their powers to aid in the reconstruction of the city, once that began. Her father proved an impressive and adept aid in the process, where as Erysa's ever unreliable attention span only worsened, causing her to express her abilities in ever weaker ways. Life at 'home' (the shabby assortment of materials they had managed to magically assemble into a makeshift building) grew almost disastrously unbearable. Erysa's mother was but a shell of her former self, a ghost trying to live life as it was before the Scourge. Her father, made pompous by his excelling powers and more wicked by the taint in him, became disappointed at his Daughter's weakening skill, their nights often spent with him in near-crazed rages where he'd roar at the top of his lungs all manner of cruel and spiteful comments. Erysa's mother simpled bared it most days, and cried softly on the real bad ones. The girl herself bared it as best she could, convincing herself that both of them would get better once the city was remade, once they no longer had to feed so consistently on the dark power (she had become rather adept at convincing herself of the unlikely).

The city was remade. Nothing changed for the better. Even after they remade their old home, got situated again, her father didn't turn from the magic. How could he? He was addicted. Addicted to the power, and more addicted to the magical need. Her mother began to forget things, as if she were slipping into the past in her mind, which only made the father that much angrier. Erysa, sickened by the whole thing, simply stopped using magic. She still fed, but she began trying to go as long as she was physically capable without it.

Selfish urges which had never had a place in her earlier in her life started crawling into her heart, and she began to leave the house for long periods of time, leaving her parents to deal with one another however they saw fit. She knew it was wrong, somewhere in her, but the stress was overwhelming. She spent more and more time in the woods and forests, taking solace in the simple, undemanding beauty of it (the fact that it was artificially created and stabilized through magic was something she refused to focus on).

Life had to go on, and she knew it. Her latest interest in the wilder places of her home sparked an idea, and she went to the Farstriders, asking to be taught their ways (whatever that meant). Despite initial reluctance (her family's recent troubles were garnering them something of a reputation), she managed to convince them to let her join. It proved a perfect solution. Her wandering thoughts were entertained now as she focused on multiple things at once, from her target's tracks to keeping a count of her arrows, trying to keep somewhat stealthy, and so much more! And best of all, it required that she use no magical energies at all.

There proved to ever be an anchor to her old life, however. She hadn't gotten to telling her father that she'd decided to abandon the Arcane arts, knowing how he'd react. Fate intervened, though, and a courier came to the house one day while she was away. She had passed a test, and was to be officially accepted into the Farstriders.

She got home late a few nights following. It was an overcast night, the type that breed danger and terrible revelations. She came into a pitch dark building, a bit confused. The door slammed behind her, a tickle telling her it was shut with magic. She noted several small, tinkling lights across the room, and as she investigated, she found powdered residue from mana crystals. There was a body next to it, her mother's she found. Alive, but injured. That's when she heard his heavy breathing behind her. She turned to regard him, finding him almost entirely shrouded in shadows, save his glowing green eyes. Those eyes no longer held the love she had viewed as a child, but rather an unhinged visage of joy. She knew, in hear heart, what that look meant. He had just hurt her mother. He was about to hurt her.

Knowing didn't make it easier.

She tried pleading with him at first, even as he magically lit all the candles in the house at once, bringing blinding brightness and his terrible, twisted smile and darkly circled eyes that screamed insanity. It was a quick fight. He had cried something almost unintelligible, something about her disappointing him, about betraying her people's legacy. She had moved faster, if only barely, and put him down with a quick knife between the ribs. The candle light died with him.

Her mother had survived the ordeal, and while her wounds would heal, her mind was irreparably ruined. Erysa hadn't even tried to break through the din of her mind, knowing what her dead eyes and slack facial features meant, what that little bit of drool at the corner of her mouth was. She put her in permanent and constant care, knowing the Sin'dorei (she still wasn't used to calling herself or her people that) medics would be better able to care for her.

Erysa chose to decline the position with the Farstriders. She didn't blame it for her father's final fall - it had been destined to happen, and the message of her new appointment was just a catalyst - , but she couldn't handle being reminded of the event, or of any of the recent years. She opted instead to strike out on her own, to try her hand at 'adventuring'. Some part of her also desired to lend what aid she could to the world, to do her part to both repair the other race's views on her people, and to help in the seemingly endless conflicts threatening the world (she still isn't really sure what caused her to pick this path for herself, it just seemed appropriate, after everything).

When the Sunwell was restored, the relief that nearly knocked the young elf out was overwhelming. She returned home from her travels and took a hand in helping her disabled mother. Once the grandeur wore off, however, old feelings crept back up. The hunger was far less, but the memories haunted her still, especially when she saw a pair of glowing Fel-green orbs in the mirror. The road began to beckon again, and her 'perminant stay home' proved far more short lived. She arranged for her mother to have caretakers again, and promised the virtually comatose woman she would come to visit soon (it was more for her own benefit, obviously).

It's always hardest to move on to what's next, she'd been told as she set out the first time. And, true, it was quite difficult. But, she had vowed to never hide from the difficulties then, and she knew she wouldn't now. This was to be her real adventure, and with a much lighter heart, she could hardly wait to get started.