Feyaire The Free

Feyaire, The Free

“Mark my words - when I'm done with ya, you'll remember my name.”

Name: Feyaire (Na'Ruil)

Pronunciation: Fay-air (Nah-roo-eel)

Title(s): The Free

 (Lady of the Na'Ruil / ‘Ancient-Noble’ family)

 (Abyssal Bride)

Pronouns: She / Her

Age: 28

Height: 5’7 / 170 cm

Race: Half Elf 

(+2 Charisma, +1 to two other ability scores)

Appearance: 

Upon first glance, you'd never guess that Feyaire was of noble blood - in fact, she looks the complete antithesis of such a title. This, of course, is on purpose. She vehemently denounces such a suffocating lifestyle, and her renegade attitude can be seen in every aspect of her appearance. From her short, unruly mahogany hair to the terribly singed and tattered edges of her trademark scarf, Feyaire's entire being rages against rules and uniformity.

 Feyaire’s eyes are golden pools of energy, surrounded by freckles. Her mouth is large, grinning more often than not, revealing straight white teeth. Her expression is friendly - if not a little rambunctious, and camaraderie and teasing her favorite pastime. You'll often see her arm wrestling her adventuring buddies or sparring. She's rough and tumble in that respect, which is why her olive skin is often covered in scrapes or bruises. Interestingly, though, bruises aren't the only things on her skin... If you look closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of some strange markings on her neck and wrists...

 Clothing wise, Feyaire is practical and cost efficient. As such, utility, mobility, quality, and comfort are all top priorities. When shopping for clothes and equipment, she looks to get the best bang for her buck and fully utilizes her abilities to sway others for this purpose.

Altogether, Feyaire gives off the impression of a practical tomboy, with little class or care for proper etiquette. Though, there is a certain charm about it that puts others around her at ease.

Class and Character Information

“Who am I? My, wouldn't you like t'know?”

Level: 1

Class: Sorcerer

Subclass: Wild Magic

Stats:

• Strength: 11 (+1)
• Dexterity: 14
• Constitution: 14 
• Intelligence: 13 (+1)
• Wisdom: 8
• Charisma: 16 (+2)

Weapon Proficiencies: Daggers, Darts, Slings, Quarterstaves, Light Crossbows.

Armor Proficiencies: None.

Tool Proficiencies:

• Noble Background Bonus - (One type of gaming set) - Dragonchess

Passive Bonuses: 

• Darkvision - improved visibility in situations with little to no light
• Fey Ancestry - have a passive advantage on saving throws against being charmed, and immunity to sleep magic.
• Skill Versatility - You gain proficiency in two skills of your choice.
• Position of Privilege - Enhanced standing in society and relationship with nobility.

History

“Don't go stickin' yer nose where it don't belong, 'less you don't mind losin' it.”

Background: Noble

Backstory

--------------

 It would only be right to start Feyaire's story where it truly began - which was many years before she was actually born. Her story begins with the birth of her father, Veryan of the Na'ruil.

 Born of noble high-elf blood, his family cherished him as the eldest son of the main family tree. Expectations were placed on him from birth, and growing up in a strict environment made him strained, stressed, and a terrible perfectionist by nature. He dutifully fulfilled his family's wishes, no matter how ridiculously great or agonisingly small.

 As he was being trained to become the next head of household, one fateful day, Veryan was finally allowed beyond the edge of their property on his own. His task that day was to follow the path to the east, a path which briefly ran through a dark wood, to deliver a message to another allied noble family. This assignment seemed easy enough for him - and he'd hoped to be home before sundown.

 With his preparations finished, the hopeful Veryan began his trek. He had been a few hours into his journey, unharmed and ahead of schedule, when he stumbled across his first obstacle.

 A massive, ancient-looking tree had fallen across the path horizontally, blocking his way. 

Despite his father's urgings and mother's stories about how dangerous it was to leave the path, he didn't want to return home having failed the first mission issued to him in his hundred years of life that involved him leaving home.

 Indeed - the naive Veryan had intended just to go around the tree, but as he left the path and walked along its length, he found that he could not see the end of the trunk. When he turned around to go back, the path had vanished - nothing but a dense growth of trees. It was not enough space for even a child to pass through, let alone a fully grown high-elf. He hacked and sliced, but the underbrush was so thick that he could not cut through, no matter what he used; fire nor blade - it would not give way. So, he did the only thing he could do; he continued forward. 

Following the narrow path laid out before him through the trees, the further he walked, the stronger the scent of death and rot became. After what felt like hours of walking, he finally emerged into a meadow filled with dying flowers and fallen trees. There Veryan stood, shocked to stillness, a cold sweat dripping from his skin, surrounded by decomposing carcasses and skeletons left to decay. At the center of the clearing stood a mass of abyssal energy, vaguely shaped into a recognisable form. The power was so strong he could barely stand upright. As it approached, he was forced to his knees, paralyzed, despite his overpowering urge to flee. The manifest reached out to touch his shoulder, and as it did, he was overcome with emotions and memories that weren't his own. Visions of the Abyss; the hopelessness of eternal suffering and a crushing sense of loneliness overtook him, constricting his lungs until he could no longer breathe.

Just before he lost consciousness, five words were burned into his mind, five words that would haunt him every night for the rest of his mortal days. Five words that would ultimately be his undoing.

“Your first daughter is mine.”

…

Veryan awoke with a start some days later, finding himself dressed in the crude linens of a commoner, a human woman at his side, sewing up the holes in his clothes. He could not know it then, but this woman at his side would eventually become his wife.

“Who might you be?”

He asked in Elvish, before realizing that she could probably not understand him.

“Who.. you?”

The high elf tried again, in broken common tongue. To this she looked up and smiled warmly at him, revealing a chipped tooth and sharp canines.

“Well, I'll be damned, the elf-boy has manners after all! I was wonderin’ when you were goin'ta ask!” The woman with hair that resembled fire in both color and shape exclaimed, jumping to her feet and pointing a finger at the bedridden noble.

“Remember this name as it belongs to the one who saved yer life, elf-boy. The name's Leila, Leila Brightwood. Ya got it?”

Her attitude surprised him, as he had seen nothing quite like it before. Rather than feeling displeased, however, it felt like someone had opened the window - and he had just breathed fresh air for the first time in his life.

 As he took in her frank way of speech and carefree appearance, Veryan couldn't help but start to laugh.

...

Within a few year's time, he had fully recovered, and managed to put the horrifying event that happened in the woods behind him. He and Leila had fallen into a whirlwind of love, and were married within the next year. Wanting to return home with his spouse, to see his mother and father again for the first time in years, he began the journey home with Leila. 

At first, it seemed that all was well - his family was simply ecstatic to see him home, alive and seemingly none the worse for wear. However, they were much less ecstatic to discover he had taken on a human wife. Veryan was supposed to marry a Lady from another family when he came of age. Not only had he married a human, he had declared directly to his parents face that he would take on no other wife, for the rest of his days. 

This angered his family, it was a hideous stain on their sparkling family reputation. In their anger, they gave him an ultimatum - to let go of this human wife, or leave right then, and never return.

Little did they know, Veryan’s name didn't mean 'bravery’ for nothing, and when he stormed out that evening, it would be the last time they saw him.

…

Six years and a hundred days after he forsook his family name, Veryan and Leila had secured honest jobs back in her hometown. They were living happily in one another's company, blissfully unaware that their carefree days would soon change forever.

Veryan returned home from work to his wife standing in the doorway. He looked at her quizzically, concern in his gaze. When his eyes met hers, he could see nervous excitement.

“I'm… I'm with child,”

Leila said softly, her voice crackling like the fire in their hearth.

“I'm with our child..!”

She repeated, this time louder and more enthusiastic.

Veryan was beside himself with joy. He was speechless, well and truly tongue tied. He picked up his wife and spun with her in his arms, laughing so hard that tears gathered in his eyes. Looking at his wife, with every ounce of love in his body, he kissed her. When he pulled away to look into her eyes, Leila parted her lips to speak.

“It's a girl!”

She proclaimed excitedly, waiting to see his reaction.

Veryan froze. Everything around him froze, and in that moment, he heard the malevolent voice in his ear once more; both a whisper and a shout at the same time. The five words he'd tried so hard to forget; the five words he'd managed to bury beneath all of the happy memories he’d made with Leila. Now they echoed through his ears, invading his mind, piercing through every fiber of his very existence, those five words he'd hoped never to hear again.

“Your first daughter is mine.”

That night, Leila learned of the events that had lead up to their first meeting. They held one another tightly as they cried, and the moonless sky wept along with the two, until the invisible hands of sleep mercifully took Leila away, and deep meditation would allow Veryan to escape his mind, if but for a moment. They would soon return once again to a bleak and wet reality, the heavy mist of the early morning blocking out the warm touch of the sun.

...

Seeking all the help they could get, Feyaire's birth was a difficult one. But her mother, Leila, still clung stubbornly on to life. Their baby was born healthy and kicking; but strange marks encircled her neck and wrists, as if to be a constant reminder that she did not truly belong to them.

They raised Feyaire cautiously, always taking special care to keep her properly protected. Soon after her birth, however, they began to notice the effects of the curse. Their daughter had been born with a magic aptitude that was both strong and unpredictable, and it would erupt and manifest itself at random. They kept her close at hand and did their best to seal it, but nothing would last for long. Her earliest years were difficult, but they were easy compared to what would happen afterward.

…

Word spread like wildfire - Veryan had let it slip one day that he was of noble heritage, and soon, a target was placed on his back by a notorious outlaw looking to score some coin.

In the depth of a cold winter night, their family home was attacked. They were abducted, and to be held for ransom. 

At this point, Feyaire was nearly six years old - a fact she would proudly proclaim to all who asked her. As she aged, her power became more potent and unpredictable. This terribly cold night in the dead of winter was not an exception; in fact, it proved the rule.

The stagecoach which was transporting them to a secure location prattled on with no issue, when they hit a bump in the road that jostled young Feyaire awake. Her eyes snapped open, and she immediately began to panic, her power flaring up in reaction to her powerful emotions, resonating deeply with the emotion of fear. The young half-elf did not know as much that day, but she would learn when she was older that the invisible force that shot forth from deep within her in the panic of that frigid night had a name;

“Thunderwave”.

The stagecoach driver was struck from behind, his body sailing through the air as he was forcefully ejected from his seat. He screamed in pain, his lungs forcefully emptied by the impact. His body flapped uselessly in free fall for a fleeting second before he gracelessly collided with the earth. Feyaire heard a sickening crunch and felt the floor beneath her thump twice, after which she could hear anything but the silence of the night, the whinnying of horses, and the grinding of the wheels spinning faster still over the gravel below. 

The horses, wild with fear and without the direction of their master, ran blindly - sending the stagecoach and it's occupants hurtling over the edge of a steep cliff.

So they fell, down, and down, and further down…

The thieves could only retrieve their comrades and the noble elf named 'Veryan’ in pieces, but they all were accounted for - all except for the noble's wife and child.

…

Leila and Feyaire arrived at the house of Na'ruil. Leila's face was grim, tired, but determined. Feyaire's grip on her mother's hand tightened - she would be strong.

They were granted an audience, and Leila informed Veryan's family of their son’s fate. Grief stricken, but vengeful, they sought to blame her - the human who had stolen their son and disgraced their family legacy.

Before things escalated, Leila broke other news to them, the real reason she had come to their home.

“I formally request to be included in this household, Veryan’s child is in grave danger,”

Veryan's father guffawed while his mother glared, incredulous,

“How dare you?! You and that bastard child of yours killed our son! We owe you nothing. In fact, we could have you killed for what you've done! I'll have you know, human, I still very well may,”

Leila's eyes turned stone cold, her red hair a wild, untamed flame.

“-Ye’d best watch yer tongue,”

Leila asserted, malice dripping from the words, her true accent slipping out now as she spoke,

“I've taken th’ chance to tell everyone that cared for Veryan, nobility s’well, of these events,”

Leila smiled, sharp canines on full display, both desperation and strength in her gaze,

“I wonder what would they'd think of’a family desertin’ eachother? Much less killin’ one a’nother,”

A brittle laugh escaped her lips, her voice low.

“I'd hate ta'think what yer’ allies'd do when it’s obvious you're itchin’ to abandon those you promise yer’ loyalty to.”

..

Feyaire and her mother Leila were allowed to live on the Na'ruil land, under their protection. However, there were conditions. They were to stay away from the main house, and would live in a small cottage made separate from the rest. Feyaire would also not be allowed to step foot out of the walls of this cottage without express permission from the main household.

Young Feyaire was secluded. Protected, yes, but suffocated, her lack of freedom a vice slowly closing around her throat. 

They rarely had visitors, and when they did, it was never anyone worth a lick of salt. The only people that came to see her and her mother were emissaries from the main house, a few nobles who had nothing more interesting to do than to visit and make unsavory comments and threats in an attempt to try to force the two to ‘leave their land alone’, and the noble children, who would make a bravery game of throwing rocks through her window, and mock her when she came to shut it.

Despicable. Disgusting. They were truly vile.

‘I hate this,’

The young half-elf would think,

'I hate them,’

She would whisper when her mother was out of earshot.

Her hatred grew, her feeling of inferiority swelling with every insult about her mother, every underhanded mention of her status as a half breed fueling the flames, burning ever brighter with each jeer about her ‘dishonorable’ conception. This disdain grew to hatred, and the hatred into ire.

Feyaire swore she would prove it, prove them all wrong. She was worth something. Her life was worth something. Every single one of them would bow and lick her boots someday.

 She would make sure of that.

and so, her adolescence was spent within those four walls. Yearning for the outside, for the beyond she had yet to experience.

For the blue of the sky, and the kiss of the wind.

...

 As soon as she'd matured enough in years to leave the estate, Feyaire declared that she had reached adulthood to the main branch via letter, and proclaimed that her name would now be “Feyaire, The Free”.

Feyaire packed up her and her mother's things, and began their search for a new place to live.

 The freedom of choice was exhilarating, the unknowns of this outside world something she relished in.

...

They had travelled around from place to place for a while after they left the safety of the noble estate, but Feyaire was searching for somewhere more permanent - as her mother wasn't as young as she once was, and the physical demands of travelling were beginning to take their toll on her. 

Feyaire was loudly complaining to the new barkeep she'd met only hours ago about this predicament, well and truly in a self inflicted drunken haze, when someone tapped on her shoulder.

Whirling around, ready to dish out a verbal lashing, Feyaire saw the hand that had touched her was attached to what appeared to be an orcish warrior of some sort.

Seeing her expression, he lifted his hands in front of him as if to say, 'woah, sorry there, lass’ before raising one of them to the back of his head and scratching his neck.

“Say, I hear there's good work for adventurers near Lumivaara. Me and my party are leaving tomorrow morning to travel in that direction if you-”

Feyaire abruptly stood, shouting raucously with a slight slur, knocking her cup over in the process, spilling its contents all over the bartop - much to the bartenders displeasure.

“SHAY NO MOREE! COUNT MHE INNNN…”

dropping one too many coins as payment onto the counter which was now soaking wet, she either didn't notice or didn't care, but most likely both. She was much too excited to think straight! ...well, that and much too drunk.

Slapping the orcish warrior what was a touch too hard on the back, she skipped towards the door, tripping over her feet,

“SHEE YOU TOMOORRHOOOOOOW,”

Feyaire yelled to the orcish man over her shoulder, waving her hand over her head just before she disappeared through the open door.

Despite her state of inebriation, she well and truly meant what she'd said. The next day, as she promised, Feyaire met the orcish man and his party with her mother Leila, and she travelled together with them all the way to Lumivaara, even though she was very, very, very hungover.

And the rest? Well, the rest is history.

Overview / TLDR

-------------------------

Feyaire's father was born as the heir to a noble high-elf family.

 One day he was delivering a letter and stepped off of the path in a dark wood. He became lost, and soon stumbled upon a powerful abyssal manifest who cursed him, claiming his first born baby girl as its bride. 

He fainted, and was found and taken care of by a human woman, who would later become his wife. 

He returned home, but they would not accept the interracial marriage as legitimate, and so he forsook his family and left to live on his own with his human wife. His wife became pregnant - pregnant with a baby girl. 

This baby girl was cursed, and had uncontrollable magic abilities from the day she was born, linking back to the powerful being who'd cursed him before. This baby girl was Feyaire.

Accidentally, her father let slip that he was once nobility. Word spread, and they became the target of a notorious outlaw, looking to make some coin by holding them for ransom.

They were kidnapped, but en route to the location in which they'd be held, Feyaire awoke and her magic reacted to her fear, casting her first “Thunderwave”, and sending the stagecoach over the side of a cliff. Her father died on impact, but she and her mother survived.

Feyaire's mother came up with a plan to protect her, and blackmailed her father's noble family into protecting them until young Feyaire reached maturity.

The noble household allowed them to live on their land, but under strict conditions, and out of necessity, not empathy. They mistreated Feyaire and her mother for the entire duration of their stay.

As soon as she'd matured enough to leave, Feyaire packed up her things, and took her mother away from the noble household.

The two travelled around for awhile, and eventually heard there was work for adventurers in Lumivaara. They settled in Lumivaara, so her mother could finally rest, and so that Feyaire could make a name for herself as a powerful sorceress, and prove to her noble blood that she's worth a damn.

Personality

“Yer' curious 'bout me? Ha! Don't go gettin' any ideas in that empty skull'f yours.”

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Virtues ( + ): Motivated, Enthusiastic, Courageous, Dedicated, Intuitive, Loyal.

Characteristics ( / ): Ambitious, Outspoken, Adventurous, Boyish, Rambunctious.

Vices ( - ): Neurotic, Competitive, Sarcastic, Obstinate, Aggressive, Arrogant, Superiority Complex.

Personality:

 If you asked someone to describe Feyaire, you'd likely hear something like, 'She's a spitfire with dangerous ambitions,’ or, 'She's a dangerous enemy, but an even more dangerous teammate,’ and to their credit, it would be true up to a certain point. 

Feyaire is driven by desire for power, for fame, and for fortune, and has a terrible superiority complex due to her upbringing which can make it hard for her to work as part of a team. 

Though, contrary to popular opinion, she is quite a valuable asset to any party. This is due in no small part to her undying loyalty to those she cares for, and paired with a stubborn streak that's a mile wide, she makes for an ally that you can never seem to shake.

 On top of it all, she has a unique tenacity that is unceasing, which makes her an ally that gets back up no matter how many times she's knocked down. 

It's undeniably true that Feyaire's attitude may make it hard to get used to her or make it challenging to truly befriend her, but once you have, she's a friend until the day she dies. 

Yes, her personality is difficult, and yes, her magic is wild, however - both the caster and her magic hold great potential for growth; and it's a growth she intends to nurture. 

Motivations: 

• To finally prove to the world that she is worthy of praise, admiration, and to accrue so much fame to her name that she outgrows her noble blood and the elvish family that disowned her father regrets what they've done.
• To better control her magic, and become a legendary sorceress. This ties in to accruing fame.
• To provide a good life for her mother in her old age, and take care of her.
• To become someone her mother and father can be proud of.

Languages: Common, Undercommon, Elvish, Abyssal.

Equipment, Skills, and Spells

“My loadout? Listen up - take notes, I'll only be sayin' this once…”

Equipment: 

Nobility Bonus

• A set of fine clothes
• A former signet ring, modified to hold an arcane focus in the form of a precious gemstone with magic properties.
• A singed scroll of pedigree That she tried to burn twice
• A purse containing 25 gp

Sorcerer Bonus

• A light crossbow and 20 bolts
• An arcane focus  (combined with signet ring)
• An explorer's pack (a backpack, a bedroll, a mess kit, a tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days of rations, a waterskin, and 50 feet of hempen rope)
• Two daggers

Skills: 

• Base Sorcerer - Arcana, Intimidation
• Half Elf Bonus - Perception, Insight
• Noble Background Bonus - History, Persuasion

Spells:

• Slot 1 - Thunderwave
• Slot 2 - Mage Armor

Cantrips:

• Chill Touch
• Minor Illusion
• Mage Hand
• Ray of Frost

Saving Throws: Constitution, Charisma.

Miscellaneous

“Small talk? Hah - 's you wish, long as you don't start actually thinkin', it's dangerous fer th' rest of us.”

Trivia: 

• In spite of being locked away from the outside world as a child, Feyaire still developed good social skills due in small to the spite of her family but a fact which is rightly accredited to the patient and kind teachings of her mother while in captivity. This is where her basic set of values were instilled, though they began to twist and turn as she aged, and are no longer remembered exactly like the righteous lessons that her mother had intended for her to learn.
• Her hair is cut short in the hopes that she would be taken more seriously - and not disregarded because of her gender. It's also linked to a traumatic childhood memory.
• Feyaire cuts her hair on her own with one of the daggers on her belt so… it can be… a bit.. uneven.
• She enjoys keeping a friendly yet competitive rapport between herself and teammates. It suits her to be sweet and sour in that way.
• Feyaire's name (pronounced like fay-air), is a human spin on an elvish word - 'Fairë’ (pronounced like fair-ee), meaning 'free’. She chose this name for herself after proclaiming her adulthood, in accordance with elvish culture.
• Even though she's a caster, Feyaire tried hard after leaving home to be rid of the frail body her 'home life’ had forced on to her. She dislikes being looked down on as a 'weak little girl’, so she does everything she can to break away from that image.
• Feyaire despises the assumption that she didn't have to work for her power, as she's a sorcerer - and was born with the power many study hard to attain. She'll be the first to say that her magic was a curse, not a blessing - and not a single thing was given to her without equivalent sacrifice.
• Fey can drink her weight in alcohol, but eats pretty regular portions.
• As she spent her childhood trapped in the cottage on the outskirts of the noble Na’ruil estate, Feyaire became an expert people-watcher, as gazing out of her window was her only passtime. She observed the nobility - cheats and charlatans as they were. She analysed how the nobility preened and postured in everyday conversation over many, many years  - and also how to spot a liar.
• The Abyssal being which claimed Feyaire before birth still seeks her out, and she hopes to be strong enough to protect herself by the time it finally finds her.
• Fey is a Wild Magic Sorcerer. When she experiences a magic surge, not only is it painful - but it draws attention… from another plane.
• The day when Feyaire cast her first 'Thunderwave’ is a repressed memory, bound to resurface at a later date…
• Fey's neck and right arm are covered in magic burns. They spread when she surges, and glow gold beneath her skin. They're usually hidden from view with her scarf and a bandage that covers the majority of her right arm.
• Veryan, Feyaire's father, was either lucky or unlucky enough to be cursed by the Abyssal. It just so happened that he was strong enough in heart, mind and body not to instantly die upon its approach, and survived long enough for the curse to take effect. This means that it is possible that other Abyssal brides like Feyaire may exist.
• Fey’s childhood name was given to her by her father. It was Míwaloth, meaning “small, frail flower(s)” in Elvish. Her parents often referred to her as either Míwa or Loth.

Theme Song(s): 

“Believer” - Imagine Dragons  

“Warriors” - Imagine Dragons

“Centuries” - Fall Out Boy 

Character Sheet: TBA

(Fey travels alongside her partner, Kaz, whilst her mother, Leila, awaits their return.)