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."

[1]

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.

The Secret

The front door opens fast, banging against the wall before the sheer inertia of it slams it closed behind her. She turns to glare at it like the implication of the SLAM was the door telling her she was wrong to take out her frustrations on the aged oak door. "Sure even you want to imply my frustrations are invalid."

Snatching the gweth off she hurls it at the silver-laced granite fireplace, with a smirk that says "can't even get that right' as the gweth falls shy of the blazing fire and lays on the floor. It also has feelings. "Maybe you should hand me to Dantia when you are that angry." She looks away from it and pours a bottle of wine into a decanter and drinks straight from that while pacing around the house looking like she is getting ready to cast the sorcerous magic Fire Ball and let it all burn to ash. Her eyes roll at herself because the realization that she is shaking and that makes the task of getting good and drunk on this wine very difficult. She sits and tries to calm. One good thing about her blinding rage, she cannot feel anything but that. If the Guard didn't do anything about that dormant infection, she is unware, because all that matters is she not cast IZ.

Using the boot jack to remove her boots, not even giving notice to the dirt that now decorates her floor. The least of the things happening in her here and now that needs to be addressed. With a more steady hand she drinks from the carafe and puts it, perhaps a little to hard, back on the table. A good sign because she is calming down and will be ready to roll back things said under controlled feelings to make sure that she takes ownership of her words. If that means apologizing for how they were said and the circumstances they were said under, she will do that. Musing quietly, her hand tightens around the neck of the carafe dangerously close to shattering it and spilling out precious wine, "You know better than that. What were you thinking really isn't a question now is it? Because the answer is everybody knows what you were thinking and that is one hundred percent your fault, Elf. So unable to rein yourself in, you just made sure anyone listening knows now that the one thing you didn't want out there, is probably now going to be out there. But the pretty good news on that note is that narrative that you heard is that you were not named, and in fact, makes all but the teller seem like the rest of you were just there and the outcome of what happened was his glory to have."

She drinks again from the carafe, a slower sip, savoring the taste. There it is. The Guard had the infection taken. It's time she can reflect and see her part, and make sure that she isn't "misunderstanding". She inhales as the rage dies off, the health needs of the people around Crossing tapping into her empathic nature. She brings the carafe to her lips and whispers over the top of it, "Thank Faenella I have Dantia. Here's to you my dearest friend, and a true sister." lifting the decanter just a bit she gives and nod and takes another good sip.

The white kitten rubs at her ankle, glancing down she address her audience. "So, first off. You have made some really bad judgement errors, some knee-jerk reactions that were cringe worthy, done things that at the end of they day made you toss and turn a few more minutes than you would have liked. Is what happened with this group one of those things?" She nudges the kitten as it bites her toes. "Did my initial response cloud rational reasoning and hide the truth of the situation from me?" She makes the effort to open her mind and assess these things, understanding even her culpability in this new rift.

The group of friends formed years ago, and allowing all the knowledge of things said or implied over the years fall into place the realization of it doesn't particularly bother her now, because she rather suspected it at the time. Mazrian is who they placed the value in, she was allowed in because it would ensure his participation. She went to most of the meetings. She also said very little in them, that could have given the impression she had no real desire to be involved when in actuality she was pretty sure no matter what she offered it would be rather nodded at and given little value to what the most would decide. "I might have taken a more active role and made them understand my every involvement doesn't have to be about how much empathy will I gain from it." So there is some blame to share in that area.

A visible look flashes across her face. She says the words out loud, making sure she can hear them. "You should have left when you felt that you were complicit in making an apology for your feelings. Accepting that YOU misunderstood the situation and should accept that being forgotten and told that the loud and clear gweth to at least get information to the group depending on you was somehow not heard and that absolves people from having to care how you felt. In fact, you were berated on your inability to hear the excuses formed and not just acquiesce that you were responsible now for making someone feel bad and that was a character flaw. You apologized and took a mental note. That's on you."

Her tone takes on a more chiding tone, "You broke the rule." Not everyone has to follow the rule, this is hers. Don't speak, think, or act when anger will not allow your words to sound rational or your actions to be seen as non reactionary. "That is, again, all on you." She thinks back, now calm, to the exchanges that followed. "Again, I am told that I am misunderstanding the situation. The group collective "we" decided what was being held in secret for so long was ok to be shared, the acknowledgement given that I wasn't at the meeting, a clear indication that my feelings on that not considered." She feels that anger rise again. She recalls her voice out loud as the story was about to be told to her horror because it was, to her, still a thing she had not shared. "Can we not turn that stone over right now?" She is SURE she said that out loud. "I didn't hear you and the excuse is this." The resentment that she feels she is owed some measure of understanding rings loud and clear. As a plus one you don't get to expect that. "Some lessons you need to learn twice, Elf, this one won't require a third time." The effort will be hers to not hold ill will towards the party group because she knew in her heart what the situation was. An afterthought will always be just that.

She upends the carafe and finishes off the rest of the wine. Her voice taking on a light tone, as if telling the end lines of a great story, "So the plus one stole a bottle of booze and left the party. Pretty certain she wouldn't be missed, and very certain she didn't have to accept an excuse for an apology ever again, and dipped off to find the people she knew placed value in her."