Kaelie

Kaelie Rudeone
Status	Active
Race	Elf
Gender	Female
Guild	Empath
Instance	Prime
Relatives	Jiah, Reira, Mazrian, Daeryean

Description

You see Hodierna's Fist Kaelie Rudeone-Daemondred, Transcendent Empath of the Order of the Black Fox, an Elf.

A diffuse, honey-colored light undulates lazily across her skin, swirling and eddying with every movement.

She has an oval face with high cheekbones, pointed ears and elegant eyebrows echoing the sweep of ebon-hued lashes that frame her discerning copper-flecked celadon green eyes. Her golden-streaked molten strawberry-blonde hair is a riot of tumbling waves, and is worn loose. She has blush-hued pouting lips and sun-kissed skin accented by some glittery platinum stars and a coltish toned figure.

She has a tattoo of a delicate crescent moon cradling a wolf's pawprint on her neck.

Before

It has been 440 years, 138 days since the Victory of Lanival the Redeemer. It is the 4th month of Shorka the Cobra in the year of the Crystal Snow Hare. It is currently spring and it is early morning. You're positive it's 14 roisaen before the Anlas of Hodierna's Blessing.

She is standing on the quarterdeck of The Dance near Pilot Pendal. Feeling the large ship pitch in the Reshalian Sea, she steadies her footing by placing a slender hand onto his shoulder. Tendrils of her hair curling tight as the sea spray dampens them. There is an easy smile that is the tell tale sign she is far from population on the open waters and is not subject to the health needs of everyone around her.

Pendal glances over, "You know you should spend more time out here. It agrees with you."

She shoves him playfully away, "One day. But for now I need to finish the work I have been tasked with from my guild. I am so close to having learned all the required amount of Empathy that they demand. In several weeks time I will ask for my 200th advancement in the guild and I can only hope over the decades of dedication they will not find fault with my path or conduct." She closes her eyes, her jawline tenses. They are nearing Ratha, the familiar tickle of pain and worry from the residents reaching her even as they dock. "Stay close, please, I am only checking at the Guild here to make sure I owe no debts or have tasks undone."

The Box

She comes home and settles on one of the silverwood chairs. Letting her eyes close and taking a moment to block the perceived health of half of the town. Making a mental note to remind one of the Guards he has a dormant infection before turning off the constant reminder that others need healing. Taking a deep breath as she slowly lets it enter once more, she remembers. Reaching quickly into her cloak she pulls out a box. She arches a brow at it like it will reveal more to her now that she can examine it closely. Just as it was before. A small box with a note and a Be'ort rose. With little regard to the contents she tosses it onto the table and stares at it.

Eyes closing again, her thoughts pooling around to try and see it. "Clearly more of them are aware of me than I am of them.", she thinks. "Have they seen how long my legs are? They should go pull someone elses." "They have to know that there is no force known that would tempt me to sever my bond with Mazrian. And let's say I did. Then they would see me as someone easily moved to betrayal on a simple lark for kicks? No. This box and it's contents creates a secret that I share now only with them. It's already a wedge. I hold no real value for them, and could offer very little other than the absolute promise of conflict with Mazrian and Madigan if I reveal to them the contents of this box." She opens her eyes and sweeps the box off the table in frustration. Out loud her voices edge startles even her. "Damn them for putting me here." Then hissing out, "So close now and I don't have time for this distraction.", her eyes cut to the box on the floor, with a disgusted guttural curse she bends down to retrieve it. She shoves it back in her cloak and kicks the chair. "Now where is that Olvi?', she asks to the empty house before she throws the door open to head out in search.

The Scepter

Hitching in a breath, she uses the back of her hand to wipe tears off her cheek. She thinks to herself, "Why are you crying? You made this decision. You are supported by everyone. Stop it." She hisses through her teeth, reprimanding her internal monologue for not understanding how hard this is for her.

She plops down onto her favorite chair, scooping up the white kitten before it careens off into the rafters, looking it in the eyes she explains, "I have to let it go so that it can grow. It's important.", she drops the squirming ball of now hissing fur and gives a half smirk as it zooms itself nearly into the wall before disappearing under the bed.

She gets a golden scepter topped with an iridescent crystal shard from inside her silveress pack. With a practiced ease from years of handling it she twirls it through her fingers and across the back of her hand, whipping her arm up at just the right time so that it leaps into the air where she snatches it out of reflex. She smiles. She's going to miss that.

Inspecting the span of the scepter, etched along the length of the polished gold shaft is a meticulous detailing of the Provincial Orders Administrator's crest. There is a ding near the end from where she dropped it the very first time Valkhan handed it to her. She was so nervous. People put trust in her to make sure she spoke true for the Council and the Members. Her one voice carried the desires and wishes of her Council to the Administrator. She knew she would be looked at as a leader even if her only true power was to make sure she kicked and licked her scepter ten minutes before any event. Her nose wrinkles, her voice in dismay, "How many people have licked this?" She shudders, then shrugs, she'll wipe it down before Karturis gets it.

The pad of her finger goes over the Administrator's crest. She thinks, "Never realized the Order crest was not represented on his before now. And for certain isn't labeled "Kaelies' Scepter". Her eyes rake over the often held but never truly inspected item, the gold polish dulled from being handled. She grips it, as most would, her hand actually feeling the smoothness and remembers that she is not the only one that has held and waved this and she for sure will not be the last. Her missive to Valkhan earlier ensured that. Her eyes well again with yet unshed tears, she blinks slowly, knowing that will flush them free to roll down her cheeks. There will be more to come. But she is good with that (the internal voice must agree, it isn't mocking her) because none of them taste bitter. They don't sting. She has pride in what she has done and what she still gets to be a part of.