In the midst of conflict, turmoil, and pain, life around us continues. The world is a giant stage containing thousands upon thousands of smaller worlds, each one weaving an intricate tapestry that seems to have no rhyme and no reason. Close up, it’s hard to see and when viewed broadly, the picture becomes clear. However, to get there is no easy feat – no matter how enlightened one believes they are.
The weeks that followed Sylise’s quiet homecoming were a mix of confusion and self-doubt. She adopted the mask of her former self – the joyous, passionate, and optimistic version - wearing it on display for those that required it and for those she wished to keep at bay. Grief ran as deep as the rivers of her jungle home and her outlook as grim as the dark caverns of Underhill.
For a short while, it seemed the mask was working and staving off the more sinister facts of her situation. She told only pertinent information to those that requested, revealed only base truths to those that needed it, and dealt with the guilt that weighed on her mind as to whether withholding the finer details was indeed lying. What mattered most at the moment, she reminded herself, was her well-being.
She attended the sprouting of Princess Leilana – a beautiful ritual that enticed the young dryad into the world. The child’s face and eyes bright with the sensation of a whole new world lifted Sylise’s spirits for a little while. She delighted in Leilana’s fascination of her scales and massive tail and felt her heart filled with joy… but also pain. It had been a fleeting thought for just a moment, one that intruded where it was not invited. Thankfully, the cheers and laughter from those gathered brought her senses to the present.
In Al’Shadiya, she tried to return to normalcy. She purchased a home with intent to fill it with such things to feel comfortable. An altar to Lyssia was the only thing she prepared herself – the rest, she paid to have filled. It didn’t quite feel like home to her, but it gave her a place to sleep. She returned to the loom and weaved fine fabrics, but it did little to fill the void. Her muse of song and dance had fallen silent and nightmares began to plague her – both in her dreams and in her waking moments.
As with all things held together by a weak foundation, the mask she outwardly wore crumbled under the weight of truth.
In the night, she saw shadows around the corners, flitting up the stairs, and wavering at the windows. By day, the eyes of the citizens, namely humans, began to pierce her armor. Always had they viewed her as a monster and always she pretended it didn’t bother her.. but now… it did. Were they the ones…? Sleeping brought the worst of the nightmares, a grotesque version of the true events, though sometimes she was watching the men gleefully bludgeon her clutch and other times she devoured them while like the white rage of vengeance.
She stopped eating. Her mind wandered and clouded with the void of sorrow and her duties to the crown…
Shame kept her silent. Distrust made her suspicious. She needed closure… and to see justice through.
[open call for interested players]
The weeks that followed Sylise’s quiet homecoming were a mix of confusion and self-doubt. She adopted the mask of her former self – the joyous, passionate, and optimistic version - wearing it on display for those that required it and for those she wished to keep at bay. Grief ran as deep as the rivers of her jungle home and her outlook as grim as the dark caverns of Underhill.
For a short while, it seemed the mask was working and staving off the more sinister facts of her situation. She told only pertinent information to those that requested, revealed only base truths to those that needed it, and dealt with the guilt that weighed on her mind as to whether withholding the finer details was indeed lying. What mattered most at the moment, she reminded herself, was her well-being.
She attended the sprouting of Princess Leilana – a beautiful ritual that enticed the young dryad into the world. The child’s face and eyes bright with the sensation of a whole new world lifted Sylise’s spirits for a little while. She delighted in Leilana’s fascination of her scales and massive tail and felt her heart filled with joy… but also pain. It had been a fleeting thought for just a moment, one that intruded where it was not invited. Thankfully, the cheers and laughter from those gathered brought her senses to the present.
In Al’Shadiya, she tried to return to normalcy. She purchased a home with intent to fill it with such things to feel comfortable. An altar to Lyssia was the only thing she prepared herself – the rest, she paid to have filled. It didn’t quite feel like home to her, but it gave her a place to sleep. She returned to the loom and weaved fine fabrics, but it did little to fill the void. Her muse of song and dance had fallen silent and nightmares began to plague her – both in her dreams and in her waking moments.
As with all things held together by a weak foundation, the mask she outwardly wore crumbled under the weight of truth.
In the night, she saw shadows around the corners, flitting up the stairs, and wavering at the windows. By day, the eyes of the citizens, namely humans, began to pierce her armor. Always had they viewed her as a monster and always she pretended it didn’t bother her.. but now… it did. Were they the ones…? Sleeping brought the worst of the nightmares, a grotesque version of the true events, though sometimes she was watching the men gleefully bludgeon her clutch and other times she devoured them while like the white rage of vengeance.
She stopped eating. Her mind wandered and clouded with the void of sorrow and her duties to the crown…
Shame kept her silent. Distrust made her suspicious. She needed closure… and to see justice through.
[open call for interested players]