Mordren, Maven of Strings's page

If you were to ask a dwarf after the true meaning of darkness, he might answer with the final light of his forge. A halfling might jest that us larger folk have grown too many, and simply blot out the sun. Humans instinctually know the meaning of this word, but a rare few would utter it. And elves, in their cities of trees and green life fear it for what it is, surrounding themselves with the things they hold dear.

It is the silence before the storm, the crouch before the pounce and raking claws rend life from its vessel. It is as death, indiscriminate and unforgiving.

Few in this world remember the early days of creation. When the young mortals first sought out the false comfort that light would bring, only to inevitably bend their knee when the dark came to call.

There is a legend among the elves, that has long passed into myth as newer generations continue still to run, to hide. That the denizens of the First World, their true ancestors could tame the darkness, become one with it. These beings of dark and shadow would wield it like a weapon, wear it like a cloak against would-be attackers. But who, prey tell, would provoke the wrath of creatures born of the very thing to which all life eventually succumbs?

Fey Type: 2RP
Subtypes: Elf, Humanoid
Medium Size
Normal Speed
Flexible Ability Scores (+2 to two scores)2RP
Linguist 1RP
Resist Level Drain 1RP
Elven Immunities 2RP
Shadow Resistance 2RP
Shadow Blending 1RP
Weapon Familiarity (Wakizashi, Elven Weapons) 1RP
See In Darkness 4RP
Negative Energy Affinity -1RP
Light Blindness -2RP
Total RP13

Her heart beat like a drum in her chest, the exertion of combat evident in the small sweat that broke from her brow. Her foe came in low, slashing hard from her left. With deft footwork and a bit of arrogance, she leans into the blow. The air about her slender blade all but screamed its approach, the clash of steel rang loudly in the empty hallway as her blow drove the offending blade aside with ease.

The shadows danced about her form, confusing his sight and sword arm with each passing moment. Another step forward and he was off balance, the moment of her triumph within sight. Then a light flashed at the edge of her vision, momentarily blinding her with the intensity. This lapse inevitably led to her prey's escape. A burning rage consumed her as they neared the corner and their salvation. She did not take the time to think, but hurled her four foot long blade through the air. Her killing intent gleaming along the blade despite the lack of light. Her target turned and she was pleased to see terror flash in those familiar eyes before she woke.

Light cut in from behind the ragged curtains and seared her retnas once more, though this time a bit more vividly. She turned away from the light, taking refuge beneath the covers and thought back on her dream. It had been some time since her brother had interfered with her plans, even in dreams. She wished then, that she could have slept that instant longer that she could enjoy the sight of her blade laying him low.

With a reluctant grumble, she crawled out of bed. The night was born anew, and she had plans. The Dark Ones intrigued her. She offered her nightly reverence to her Lady in Shadow, then was off to see what was in store.

"This could be fun."

The night was young. The clouds above obscured the moon from sight. It was nights like this that Mordren loved most. When true darkness falls over the night like a heavy blanket. It was merely an added benefit that her nature would not be revealed to onlookers as the light of the moon died away.

Tonight would indeed prove fun.

Tonight, she hunted. A very special prey awaited her in the slums. A young man whom just lost his sister to disease. She'd been watching this one for some time now, keeping tabs on his progress as her own plans steadily came to fruition.

As she suspected, he was not one to let such a night waste away. As such, she considered herself lucky that she arrived earlier than usual. She tugged her cloak tighter around her with the chill as the wind blew past and the dark wrapped around her like a lover's embrace. A shade in the night, Mordren stalked her prey, followed him as he made his way about the slums on a familiar route.

A patient creature, Mordren looked on as the boy stole and sabotaged with increasing confidence. Excitement grew within her as he turned her way. No, he had not spotted her, yet something had clearly spooked him and he began to retreat back to his home, careful to avoid taking a direct route and retracing his steps. The swell of pride and lust was quelled by the realization that some fool had knowingly or not interfered with her hunt, and she ghosted through the night, finding nothing but aggravation and growing fury. Whoever that was will pay more dearly than they could imagine, death would be a welcome salvation when she found them.

This was not to be her only surprise this night, as was evident on her return. A letter, addressed to her by name sat upon her bed. The contents of which did much to soothe her rage.

Upon finishing the letter, she folded it in her hand and though the cold did not bother her, she prepared a fire in the modest hearth. With a flick of her wrist, she cast the letter into the growing flames and she pondered, a look of pure yet terrifying joy upon her face.

The Syndicate had taken notice of her efforts.