Sibowen Eilsinna

Sibowen Eilsinna
Status	Active
Race	Elothean
Gender	Female
Guild	Moon Mage
Instance	Platinum

My name isn't Sibowen. Of course it's not. What kind of mother would name her daughter "Darkness"? But don't imagine I will tell you my name, either. It's the same with my face. I wear a mask for good reason. No, I won't show it to you. You haven't earned it and you wouldn't like it anyway. Even I can't stand it.

I suppose that's a large part of what drew me to the Tezirites, and the moon mage guild. I want to bend light and shadow to my will, and their mirrors don't reflect me as I am. No one cares what hidden power looks like. And I am intimately familiar with curses and the dark.

Everyone said I was cursed from birth, even my mother, though she loved me anyway. She blamed herself for my ugly face with its awful birthmark. She taught me by candlelight in the evenings so no one would be out to see and torment me with rocks, or threaten to burn our house down. I learned to sleep in the day and work by firelight and the light of the moons. I learned to hide, and the value of silence. In the last place we lived, the neighbors didn't even know I existed.

My stepfather knew, though, and he hated me. I was only tolerated because I could work at night when things would have otherwise been idle, freeing my mother to help him outdoors during the day. One day was too much, and after months of saying he was going to cut the mark off my face, he decided to try. My screams brought the neighbors, who couldn't tell blood from Be'ort's Curse, and separated us.

The house burned down that night. No one is sure how it happened. The neighbors were dealing with a blood-soaked eleven year old and others said they dragged my stepfather off to the nearest guardpost. Maybe it was a stray ember from the unattended fireplace. Maybe someone set it deliberately. Maybe it was just another god-given curse, destroying the last of my childhood.

The lady patched me up, but my stepfather told everyone I was a thief and they turned me out, my face and arms still wrapped in bandages. They had, after all, never seen me before. Some do-gooder from the Rowan Branch monastery took me in for awhile. But things happened, and I refused to worship with the rest of them and even they turned me out. Since then I've wandered, by night of course, and eventually found my way here. Maybe the stupid Gypsies were right, and it was fate.

There is no happy ending to this story. Not yet. My wounds healed, but poorly, and at this point the scars resist even empathic healing. I keep my scars covered and one day, when I am strong enough, I will have my revenge on all those who hurt me. Every one. Take care that you are not one of them. Every cut, every rock, every horrified glance will be paid back fully. This, I swear.

One thing I won't swear to, though. I never promised you the unvarnished truth, only that I would tell my story. Perhaps if you can unravel the fabric of my tale and patch together the truths that even I can't discern...then perhaps you are someone special.

I doubt it.

~ S. E.