Talindra Ravenheart's page

Creativity should have come easily to Talindra. With a sculptor as a mother and an actor / playwright as a father, it should have been inevitable. From the time she was able to walk, her parents encouraged her to pursue whatever arts called to her. After frustrating struggles with poetry and literature only produced crumbled up sheets of parchment and wasted ink, and several misadventures in dance which almost resulted in a broken bone, Talindra entered her second decade despondent. Her parents assured her that many artists spend much longer finding their artistic calling, but she was surrounded by gifted humans around her age who had already created masterpieces.

Perhaps more maddening than her failures across several media was knowing that she had a creative drive. She felt the same indelible desire, the same visceral need, to create, that other artists talked about so often. After one too many failed attempts to "bring out the figure from the clay" on a crisp, cold winter night, Talindra wrapped her cloak round her shoulders and stormed out of her home. She needed some air, and the brisk winter night would distract her from her anger.

Winter was always her favorite season. The crunch of the snow beneath her boots, the crackling of melting ice or chaotic fireplaces: all of it delighted her ears. That particular night, she passed by a temple of Shelyn. They always had the best choir: Cayden's you really had to be drunk to appreciate, Iomedae's was ... respectable, if you could get past the stodginess, and Irori's was just inscrutable, like if obscure philosophy was put to song. Shelyn's, though... Maybe it was some wizard or cleric's magic enhancing the music. Whatever it was, she somehow found herself at the temple doors silently asking a junior curate to go inside to listen.

Her father's plays had songs, of course, and she'd been to so many plays and just as many operas over the years. And they were beautiful. But those songs always served a narrative, they always put telling a story first and beauty, art, second. What she heard in the temple that night was different. She had entirely forgotten the odd mix of anger and dejection that had caused so many sleepless nights. More, she felt like she belonged. She felt that this was something she could do. Quietly, to herself at first, she started humming the melodies. Her sharp ears easily caught the subtleties, and as her confidence grew, so did her volume. Soon, she joined the choir, her elven soprano easily finding a place within the complex, multilayered harmony.

This was it. This wasn't just where she belonged; this was home. She knew from that first night, as the tears warmed her reddened, cold cheeks, that this was what she wanted--nay, needed--to do. Everything made sense, now. She had a place and she knew where it was and that's where she was. So enraptured with the songs that she was hearing--that she was creating--that she stayed until services ended several hours later. Running home and, again, almost breaking a bone as her exuberance mixed poorly with the ice on the streets, she recalled as much as she could of the songs that night to her parents.

Within just a few short weeks, she found herself spending most of her time at the temple. The clergy, of course, took note, and one of the senior curates, Elora Saphielle, asked to speak with her on a night much like the one she started singing with the choir. She noted that Talindra was spending a lot of time there, and said it was clear that the Eternal Rose saw something in her. Talindra agreed, surprising herself. Elora suggested she commit herself more formally to the church with a task: create something beautiful in a fixed form. If Shelyn speaks through her, Elora said, she will find skills she didn't know she had. Curious, more than anything else, Talindra agreed. Elora, however, gave no further guidance, only suggesting to sit quietly in prayer and let Shelyn reveal herself.

Within an hour, Talindra was certain Elora was mistaken; there was no inspiration, and she was feeling the same frustration she felt when working with clay. Her mind didn't work this way. She wanted to give up, and told Elora of her plan. However, instead of absolving her of responsibility, Elora only gave her a smirk. It will come, she said. Be patient, she said. So Talindra returned to the meditation chamber.

Talindra was never one to use visualizations in her meditation; she preferred to focus on prayers, mentally reciting them in rhythm with her breathing. Yet this time was different; this time a rose with rainbow petals came unbidden to her mind. She turned it over in her mind and examined it from so many angles, finding a fractal kaleidoscope of color and beauty. She found herself transfixed by the rose, but just as quickly as it appeared, it shattered into so many lifeless shards. Talindra's eyes shot open, she stood up immediately, and went to find Elora. It wasn't just a vision of what to create; it was a calling.

She asked for some clay, and started working it to form the rose in her mind's eye. It was too thick, too viscous, yet as she worked it, it transformed into the most delicate, beautiful glass. An hour later, she had finally recreated the rose. Returning to Elora, she presented her work. She asked, with an expectant look, if that was all. Talindra shook her head, and said that she had been called to defend works like this, that she could not stand by while people destroy beauty, destroy love. That she would take up arms to defend the beauty of the world. She gasped after this last part--not out of disbelief, but realization. She didn't know until that moment that she would become a champion of Shelyn, but the moment the words left her mouth, she knew this was even more important than creating beauty herself.

"A champion of Shelyn?" Her parents were as surprised as she was. There was no dismay, no disdain, in their voices, merely surprise and curiosity. Talindra had always been strong-willed, passionate, able and willing to defend what she believed in. They knew these traits would define her as an adult, but they didn't expect this.

The training was excruciating and exhilarating. Throughout it all, Elora was always there for her. Elora was training in the ways of the cleric, and given the overlap, they saw each other frequently. Elora had more of a mind for the arcane elements of faith, whereas Talindra took surprisingly well to the martial aspects. This surprised her; she generally hated exercise and physically strenuous activities, but martial training just worked for her. It felt right, it felt natural. Similarly, while the path of the cleric focuses more on faith and less on fighting, it's still an element. Talindra and Elora spent their nights together, alternating discussions of the faith and sparring.

The most challenging part of this for Talindra was the Trials, and especially the Trial of Love. This Trial calls for the aspirant to love themselves, the hardest of all kinds of love. Talindra has always been a harsh critic of herself, far more so even than other artists. Yet Elora was always her champion, always showing Talindra how worthy she is of love. This tenderness put a new light on their friendship, and soon it grew beyond friendship.

Shelyn encourages her followers to embrace love in all its forms, particularly romantic. Love, art, and beauty are all related in Shelyn's view, and the beginning of a romantic relationship is celebrated in a betrothal ceremony. The faithful exchange rings--preferably rings they make themselves--to celebrate the art and beauty they will bring into the world with each other. They fashioned rings for one another, beautiful gold rings inset with gems. Their betrothal ceremony drew faithful from far away churches, and was regarded as one of the most powerfully moving in living memory.

Soon, they had finished their training, and got a small place together. Life was perfect, and Talindra felt a deep sense of peace. She felt how being in love changed her worldview, changed how her brain worked, in the most beautiful ways. Creating was easy for her, now. Her life was where she wanted it to be; everything was right.

A few months after the betrothal ceremony, Elora was called Korvosa to assist with rededicating the temple. Normally, Talindra would accompany her, but she had duties that prevented her going with. A few days later, a messenger had a letter for her. The messenger, a young human man, was clearly nervous, his hand shaking as he handed her the sealed missive. Her heart fell to her feet as she took the letter, broke the seal, and read it.

The letter didn't specify the details, but said that Elora had lost her life, that she was assailed and outnumbered. Talindra gripped the parchment in her hands so tightly that her fingers started to tear into it. Her vision went black except for the words on the parchment. She threw the letter to the ground and immediately arranged passage to Korvosa. Whoever did this was shortly going to lament existing. She gripped her glaive so tightly on the boat that her hand was sore for a day after.

Handling the investigation herself, not trusting anyone else, she eventually found Elora's ring in a jewelry shop. Dizziness struck her and she almost lost her balance. When she could focus on something besides the ring, she asked the shopkeep who sold it to them.

"Gaedren Lamm" came the reply.

Redemption, forgiveness, and peace were core tenets that Talindra swore an oath to embody. Gaedren Lamm would know none of these things. Talindra didn't know anything about this person, but she did know what would come next: justice.

No. Not justice. Revenge.

Talindra is a tall (roughly 5'8), toned, yet slender, elf with an olive complexion. She has blonde hair to the middle of her back that she wears in a chingon. Her pale green eyes brighten easily into a smile. On the nape of her neck, when her hair is up in her preferred chingon, a colorful tattoo of a rose--a rose with prominent thorns--is visible. She regularly carries herself at her full height.