Illiahanna

Illiahanna Callachan
Status	Active
Race	Elothean
Gender	Female
Guild	Empath
Instance	Prime

Appearance

You see Jade Lotus Illiahanna Callachan of Therengia, an Elothean Empath.
She has an oval face, slightly pointed ears and sparkling jade eyes. Her auburn-streaked dark brown hair is very long and thick, and is worn pulled up in an elaborate four-stranded braid. She has fair skin and a handful of different-sized ivy leaves scattered down one side of a sylphlike figure.
An itsy-bitsy pixie brandishing a vial of violaceous glitter floats lazily around her left forearm, glowing with a lustrous sheen against her skin.
She is middle-aged.
Her right ankle has a tattoo of a dark silhouette of a cat sitting on a crescent moon, its tail curling around the pointed tip.

She is wearing a slender silver diadem holding a jade crescent moon, a silverwillow haircomb painted with a shesegri and prism lotus design, a spiral knotwork gold chain with tiny jade snowcatcher lotus blossoms, a jade green brocade cloak with a golden knotwork clasp, a flowing white velvet gown wrapped in shimmering jade ivy leaves, an intricate silver signet ring etched with a lotus, a pale green leather belt embossed with lotus blossoms, a black suede garter sheath embossed with a silver shesegri knot, and a pair of iridescent green slippers laced with spidersilk silver vines.

Memoirs of a Drunken Empath

You see an opened thin diary decorated with a lotus flower surrounded by shesegri knotwork lying on top of a bamboo table and begin to read the Gerenshuge words written within:

Beginnings (320–353)

I was born in Shard, the heart of Ilithi, on the 11th day of the 4th month of Shorka the Cobra, in the year of the Emerald Dolphin — 320 years after Lanival’s victory. The first thing my mother ever placed in my hands wasn’t a toy rattle, but a snifter of Elothean windhaze (Well, all right, maybe that came later).

My Elothean mother, Falcraa, was an Empath of legendary kindness. People still whisper her name in reverence, and believe me, she left me enormous shoes to fill. My aunt Antea, a Ranger with arms like tree branches and hugs to match, balanced all that gentleness. She would take me out hunting, where I learned to heal others while they fought in battle and how to skin critters for their pelts. I was allowed keep a few bundles as a tip to sell for coin, coin I spent on secret shopping trips.

My father (redacted), an Emerald Knight, died defending Corik's Wall. My grandfather fell defending the House of the Marching Lotus during the Elven-Human War. After their deaths, most of my family joined the House of the Verdant Lily, an Elothean house known for its pacifists. My pacifism was always… negotiable, depending on how many glasses of Elothean windhaze I had in me.

I was the eldest of four. Gwynath and Hanafae, my beloved sisters, always looked to me like I had all the answers. I didn’t. I just pretended convincingly. My brother, Rednilk, ran off to be a Paladin, the shiny one in steel. He thought himself our protector. I thought he was a fool. We were both right.

That was my beginning. A girl from Shard with too much responsibility, a taste for shopping and spirits, and a heart stitched together with equal parts kindness and defiance. And, of course, a running tab at every tavern in Ilithi.

Wars, Weddings, and Windhaze (354-365)

When the Gorbesh War erupted in 354, I was still young. Too young, if you ask me or anyone who’s ever collapsed after three straight days of triage, fueled only by a few cups of Elothean jade tea and a handful of stale tarts to keep them going. The cries never stopped. The stream of bodies broken and bleeding, never stopped. I worked until my knees buckled, and still, it was never enough. That year I learned the bitter truth: no matter how many you save, some will always slip through your hands. I learned quickly that healing wasn’t just about hands and spells. It was about endurance. About standing upright when every part of you screamed to lie down. And, sometimes, it was about pouring yourself a drink and pretending the world outside didn’t exist, if only for a few sips.

In 359, I left for Ratha with my first husband, the first of twelve. (Yes, twelve. You can stop gasping now. You’d be amazed how quickly men fall in love with you after you’ve just reattached their limbs.) That same year, the Sorrow War began. I spent long, three-anlas boat rides between Ratha and the Crossing, healing whoever I could, half-dizzy from seasickness and sleeplessness. On Ratha, I adopted my first child, a young Elothean Ranger lass who reminded me that laughter could heal as well as any spell. And yes, sometimes laughter worked best with a snifter of windhaze in hand.

The Rathan Carnival of 360 allowed me to forget the weight of duty for a brief, glorious moment. I browsed every stall at least twice! (Some healers bring home herbal remedies, I brought home new shoes and a handbag, and no, I regret nothing.) Then came the coronation of Prince Sirolarn in 361, and the Ice Festival held in his honor. I remember sipping on doctored up “hot cocoa” that was mostly Elothean whiskey, riding the Tunnel of Sorrow boat ride until I was dizzy from laughter and, somehow, hit the jackpot playing slots at the Snowdrift Gambling Park. Miracles do happen, usually when your vision is blurred and your judgment questionable.

I remained in Ratha until 363, when a hurricane destroyed the Seerah ship. Back in Zoluren in 364, I volunteered to help rebuild the new Temple after the old one was destroyed. My back ached with every stone lifted, but my spirit soared. Even now, when I place a Tamsine’s favor orb upon that shrine, I smile proudly to myself, remembering that day we finished it.

The Wars Within and Without (366-405)

In 366, I walked the streets of Shard again for Jeraya Bayajen, The Festival of Elanthian Prosperity and the Wren Faire held at Fayrin’s Rest. Retail therapy was just what this Empath needed! I returned home with bags heavier than my pack ever was in battle. My Guildleader Annael promoted me that year, granting me the Gerunshuge Empath title of Niliaevat Raesh Isen, or “Field Empath” in the common tongue. So much happiness, but it was only the calm before the storm.

374 was the year my world shattered. Shard burned beneath the Outcasts’ boots, and I ran again, heart pounding, carrying only the will to keep healing (well, that and my flask of windhaze tucked safely at my hip). Therengia became my sanctuary, though its streets would also soon run red. Triages never ended: at the crate outside the Riverhaven hospital, the Langenfirth bin, the Therenborough quad. Blood, tears, and smoke. At my brother Rednilk's nagging, I reluctantly joined the Order of the Dragon Shield, My zeal earned me a seat on their Council, and eventually Vice-Speaker. For a while, I thought purpose might dull the pain. But then came the news, outside the Riverhaven hospital where my sisters, my mother, and I sat healing, word came about our beloved Ferdahl, Kukalakai. Dead. Murdered. I can still hear my mother’s trembling voice: “Never forget where you were on this day… never forget why we do what we do.” Her words branded my soul. We held each other, sobbing until our voices broke, and I swore I would never, ever forget.

Twelve husbands. Twelve loves buried to time and wars. Each vow felt like it might last, yet every time I saw someone walk the Starry Road, it left me questioning why I still survived. With my twelfth husband, I helped out with the Order of the Theren Guard, throwing myself into its cause, hoping steel and oaths could shield us from more sorrow.

In 380, I reunited with family in Shard for a festival to celebrate the retreat and final end of the Outcasts, the city of my birth was alive with joy once more! And of course, I made a beeline for Jakuv’s All-Trades Outlet, my favorite shop at the Shard Liberation Festival. I’m fairly certain I bought out half the stock that day.

I was taught the art of manipulating beasts to see me as harmless around 386. A strange skill, yes, but handy when half the forest wants you for lunch. In 391, we attended Lady Athelisa’s Purple Twilight Ball at Ulf’Hara Keep, and in 397 came the Jade and Yellow Royal Ball with Ferdahl Aemmin and Baron Gyfford. Oh, that ball, what a night! My jade gown shimmered like living leaves, and I danced until my head spun from both the music and the all the suur wine.

By 393, I was dragged back to reality, as the undead rose again under that foul Necromancer Lyras and my hands blistered again from endless healing. My spirit bent under the burden, yet somehow… it did not break. The only relief I allowed myself was an occasional reckless bet on the Theren’s Star barge, and sneaking a swig of windhaze between healing the endless tide of wounded bodies.

Being an Empath wasn’t just a profession, it was a burden. We were supposed to be pure conduits of compassion, the white lilies of Elanthia, offering ourselves endlessly to others. What they don’t tell you when you join is that compassion burns. It eats at the bone when you’re not careful. I carried wounds that weren’t mine, and they lingered, haunting my body long after the injured had walked away whole. The Guild taught us how to heal, but not how to let go.

So I found my own methods. Some prayed. I shopped. Some meditated. I drank. My bank book filled with debts as quickly as my veins filled with windhaze, and my vault bulged with dresses I didn’t need but had to have. Don’t judge me too harshly - every healer has their salve. Mine just happened to come in bottles and handbags.

From Protest to Paradise (406-433)

406 was the year my faith in my own guild cracked. We Empaths were given the ability to shift others. For a heartbeat, it felt like a revelation, a new way to serve, a deepening of what we were born to do. And then, just as quickly, it was snatched away. They told us it was forbidden. Forbidden to use the very power that had been entrusted to us. I can still remember the sting of betrayal, the way my chest tightened as if they had stolen air from my lungs. When Annael, our beloved Guildleader, resigned in protest, it felt like a mother walking out of the home we had all built together.

My sister Hanafae and I, along with so many others, could not stay silent. We stood in solidarity, boycotting the Crossing guildhall, offering our healing outside its doors. I burned my bodice that day, raising my fist and a flask in defiance. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t change a thing. Salvur took Annael’s place, and the world kept spinning. Only I held the ashes, and another empty bottle.

The years blurred together - husbands gone, children grown, friends buried, enemies scattered, wars survived. I needed a change, so I tried my hand as a barmaid at the Darkstone Inn in Dirge. Most nights ended with me patching up bar room brawlers more than I poured their drinks. I once healed a man’s broken nose with one hand while smacking him with the tray in the other. I dished out more slaps than drinks. Deserved ones, mind you. Dirge drunks seemed to think a barmaid’s backside was public property. One pinch, one slap; that was the house policy I invented. By the end, I wasn’t a barmaid so much as the inn’s resident battlefield medic with a liquor license.

I retreated to Pokekehekepi Beach, a place so far removed from the endless cries of the wounded it felt like another world. For a few fleeting years, I tasted something close to peace. I sipped on fruity cocktails adorned with frilly paper umbrellas, let the sun kiss my weary skin, and laughed at the way cabana boys fanned me like some noble lady instead of a battle-worn healer. Oh, how sweet that was. Invasions still came, of course, but I told myself the younger Empaths could shoulder them. For once, I let myself rest.

The Return (434-449)

In 434, I returned, trading the beach for a little hut in Fang Cove, Ilithi, where I reunited with dear friends. Together, we aided Timekeeper Veralos with the old quests of yore. I threw myself into those quests with a kind of giddy determination, completing them so many times that I was awarded a medal. Two years later, in 436, I stood awestruck as Andreshlew rose from the depths of the sea. The island itself seemed to breathe as if waking from a long slumber. I celebrated with the Merelew at their Hollow’s Eve Festival, marveling at their strange, beauty, and yes, shopping until I literally dropped.

By 442, I had traded my healer’s robes for laborer’s garb, standing among masons as Gyfford’s Bridge rose in Therengia. I remember whispering farewell to the old rope bridge before stepping onto the new one. I was given a bright yellow hard hat marked with the white rose of Therengia - a gift of gratitude from the Baron that I cherish still. Around 446, I bought a small cottage in The Crossing, right on Willow Walk. Salvur gifted me an Empath spell to summon a little vela'tor plant to help shoulder the burden of wounds. I call him Seymore, as in “See More Wounds”. In 449 alongside my BBF (Best Bard Friend) Shavay, we co-founded the Circle of the Jade Lotus. Together, we worked to share the beauty of our Elothean ways, to remind the world that we are more than keepers of wisdom and culture, we also make the best booze in Elanthia!

The Later Years (450-)

The following year, I was gifted a fully trained horse by my friend Lexxa, and I started taking jousting lessons, where I promptly learned I was terrible at it. Oh if only Rednilk could see me now! Two years later, my path led me to the Order of the Black Fox, where in 452 I was honored with a place on their Council. I felt steady again. Rooted. But the world is never content to leave us in peace.

In 453, they whispered that it would be the end of the world, that the Heralds would destroy us all - and I nearly believed them. On the final day, I found myself in Taelbert’s Bar in the Crossing, standing among my sisters and brothers in the craft, holding triage as adventurers fought the Heralds and a swarm of drakes outside. The battle roared, but for a time we kept pace. And then, in an instant, fire. A cluster of drakes pressed their jaws to the tavern's door and exhaled a line of flame that swallowed us whole. Heat seared through flesh and bone, filling the inn with screams. My body wanted to collapse, but I would not let it. I staggered back to my post, bloody and scorched, and I healed until my hands shook too hard to weave the spells. I healed until the last patient had risen. The world didn't end that day, in fact I drank the rest of the day.

So here I am - Older, wiser, still drinking, still shopping, still healing. To be continued...

Companions and Pets

Pity Party (Pity for short):

A fully trained, domestically bred Akhaal horse that is sixteen hands high with a black coat spangled with tiny white spots that are concentrated over the back and hips. It has a black mane and tail, and a wide white stripe running from below the right eye to just above the nostrils.

Kimiko:

A pudgy, snow-white kitten with a midnight-black crescent moon on its forehead. Its bright crystal blue eyes peek out like limpid pools in a frozen tundra, and its tiny feet seem barely capable of supporting its round body. Dangling from a silky pink collar, a silver name tag reads, "Kimiko." Illiahanna owns an altered matching diadem <see alterations>.

Puff:

An adorable snow-white husky puppy with enormous crystal blue eyes. Without any patterning across its pristine coat, the downy soft creature's eyes are matched only by its oversized paws that it has not yet grown into.

Mischief:

A Ratha sewer monkey adorned in an elaborately plumed black tricorn hat. Mischief once saved her from the nasty sewers under Ratha after she died there.

Azog:

A well-fed, snaggletoothed peccary wearing an emerald and jade plaid kilt. Azog was named after one of her good 'Tog friends.

Seymore Wounds:

A slender vela'tohr plant with leaves that shimmer and undulate like liquid emerald.