NameAkhlys Eurybe
Nickname(s)Akh | Liss
RaceFae
ClassGeyma
ProfessionHunter/gatherer
BirthplaceAustanferd
Age75
GenderFemale (She/Her/Hers)
Sexual OrientationHeterosexual
Audsalir ∀55
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fae | 5'4" | lithe | dark, long, and wavy hair | dark red tattoos | lilium flower eyes


She is small—the kind of delicate robustness of a blooming flower tucked away neatly in its pot, her body showing little signs of much more than a hair out of place. Everything about her whispers tales of her fae heritage, the sort of primal grace of one who has spent years in simple solitude. She moves with a purpose, but one not entirely confident in; the split-second hesitation of waves pulling themselves away from the sandy shore's lips. She is not the bear who roams out of hibernation, not daunting in stature like built monuments—she is a soft breeze, an overlooked tree in a forest.

And perhaps it is only thanks to her colors that she is the distinguished mark in a field, contrasting red streaks on skin and dark blues of her hair seemingly quite balanced on a body sculpted solely for them. Her eyes are a pinprick of light on a backsplash of darkness—swirling oranges and yellows against a face so stoic it looks as if made of porcelain. While facial features may not reveal much, her firefly eyes make her an open book, seemingly tied to the emotions that occasionally overtake her. Some might think she is wretched because of those eyes, however, an accident in her design that should have never existed. Her clothing, though, remains simple, for she is not a skilled seamstress, and comprises of two outfits: one is basic cloth dyed shades of teal with minor jewelry, the other a semi-silk material that she obtained under the hand of the Human King and kept upon her escape. 
 
fae | 5'4" | lithe | dark, long, and wavy hair | dark red tattoos | lilium flower eyes


She is small—the kind of delicate robustness of a blooming flower tucked away neatly in its pot, her body showing little signs of much more than a hair out of place. Everything about her whispers tales of her fae heritage, the sort of primal grace of one who has spent years in simple solitude. She moves with a purpose, but one not entirely confident in; the split-second hesitation of waves pulling themselves away from the sandy shore's lips. She is not the bear who roams out of hibernation, not daunting in stature like built monuments—she is a soft breeze, an overlooked tree in a forest.

And perhaps it is only thanks to her colors that she is the distinguished mark in a field, contrasting red streaks on skin and dark blues of her hair seemingly quite balanced on a body sculpted solely for them. Her eyes are a pinprick of light on a backsplash of darkness—swirling oranges and yellows against a face so stoic it looks as if made of porcelain. While facial features may not reveal much, her firefly eyes make her an open book, seemingly tied to the emotions that occasionally overtake her. Some might think she is wretched because of those eyes, however, an accident in her design that should have never existed. Her clothing, though, remains simple, for she is not a skilled seamstress, and comprises of two outfits: one is basic cloth dyed shades of teal with minor jewelry, the other a semi-silk material that she obtained under the hand of the Human King and kept upon her escape. 
apathetic | bitter | blunt | brokenhearted | closed-off | curious | despondent | detached | fearful | guilt-ridden | hesitant | meticulous | observant | quiet | regretful | revengeful | sensual | thoughtful


A battle wages war in between the spaces of her ribs, spaces so full of grief and guilt that there is naught room for much else. Reality dictates that she must seek solitude and confinement, keeping herself locked away in places no one else traverses—the lone wolf among herds of zebras. And yet part of her—the part closest to her heart—desires nothing but the opposite; she craves the taste of touch, the inkling sensation of normality when amongst others. Except when placed in that exact position she is like the trapped mouse cornered by the predator, shaking with fear and distrust of herself. She dares not speak, not opening her mouth, for the poison it is full of is deadly. She knows—she fears the power her words can hold. When she does speak, she speaks little and haltingly; the letters strung together planned out long before they hit open air.

She clings to shadows, and when confronted she is a wallflower; she hangs herself in the outskirts and keeps a distance, as if that'll subdue the effects of her words. She speaks little and watches more, following the cards being played and waiting for her turn to win the game in a single move. She dislikes her silence being challenged, and when pushed too far will use her commands to show them exactly why she does not speak. This dark streak carries itself around in her chest as self-loathing; she hates what she can do and if anyone seeks to pry the truth from her she will give it to them full-force.

After her experiences in captivity by the Human King, she is out on a search to find herself, to become at peace with what she is. A snake—an insipid poison that struggles to do what would be best for everyone, for all species: leave, entirely, even if that meant death. She has already left one part of herself behind when she was betrayed by the only lover she had ever known; now, she needs to stop running from herself and everything else around her. 
Childhood - Year 426-Year 454
She was born as Eurybe—she was young, she was brash, magic-less. She cared not for the words that slipped noisily from her mouth, demanding things as every child would. She was the only daughter to her parents, natives to the region of Austanferd, and claimed their attention until her younger sister was conceived; envious, she grew resentful and jealous. Her sister was everything she was not: plain, level-headed, deserving. She was doted upon in a way Eurybe never was, with her unassuming appearance and attitude much easier to handle. The wild-haired girl had her looks; she was graced with beauty and eyes no one had ever seen before—a marvel. She would spend a few years with her sister following in her footsteps, trying to be everything Eurybe was while the elder girl simply ignored her.

It was a day when Eurybe was feeling particularly generous that she allowed her sister to play with her. They set up a game of dares, each one daring the other to do something increasingly more risky. The Endalauss Forest witch was well known within their community, an ancient woman who kept herself locked away and brewed potions in secret. Eurybe's last dare would be for her sister to sneak into the witch's hut and drink one of her potions—a task that wouldn't go as planned.

Her sister backed out before she could pick a bottle up; the red-marked girl simply laughed and pushed her aside, crossing beneath the tent flaps to reach for the first bottle she could find, a metallic sort of red that shone in even the darkness around them, downing the contents in one swig. The witch appeared behind them, the young sister screaming in surprise while her older companion stood frozen in her place. The witch merely looked Eurybe in the eye, a knowing gaze holding her still, then stood aside to let them both pass to make their way out. It wouldn't turn out to be a potion at all, but the blood of a Geyma dragon the witch had slain herself.

Red markings traced themselves across her body where before it was untouched. It wasn't long until she would realize that her words began to have a negative effect on those she spoke to; playing with her sister would eventually be the death of her, and Eurybe could do nothing but watch as she faded away from poisoning. It was with the realization that it was her own doing that caused her sister's demise that she fled home from grief, not daring to speak to another soul in fear of doing them harm. She left her family and their place in Nyker, the only home she had known, before anyone else could die at her words.

Teenage - Year 455-Year 475
She spent the next several years on the run, keeping a low profile between the Vaenger Rapids and Endalauss Forest. She didn't make herself known to anyone, and took on the new name 'Akhlys,' shedding her old identity and tucking it away behind her. Any contact she had with others was kept to a minimum and she never shared her true name, much less the newly adopted one; 'Liss,' she told them, and she would only ever be the girl with strange eyes and red stripes, nothing more. In her solitude she learned how to hunt and gather, roughly sew clothing, and befriend animals over those of her own species. She was more ghost than girl.

She would eventually make shelter in the Forest, a safe distance away from the Silvigrin tribe who called it their own. A massive tree stood hollow, untouched by another, and it was there she would spend her nights and call home. With a boulder blocking any view of the entrance, only those who knew to look would find their way in.

Young Adult- Year 476-Year 501 (current)
She spent countless time surviving on her own. What had to be a decade later, on a hunting path she took often, she met a human boy that she grew to fancy; he was bright, bubbly, exuding a sort of charm that she figured most girls fell for. But he seemed to seek her out frequently, and it didn't take long for an innocent relationship to bloom between them. She was hesitant, and mostly quiet due to her magic, but rarely did she slip and use commands in his presence. Over the course of a couple years of seeing each other infrequently, she found herself to be in love with the man who happened upon her that one day.

But the next date for their meeting had come and instead of him it was the army of a human who sought the Fae crown; soldiers ambushed Akhlys while she waited along the hunting path and stole her away. The boy she came to know worked for this human, hiding is identity from her, pretending to love her, under the intent of learning about her magic. Eventually he gathered all he needed: she was guarding her words, and only when her temper grew and she let out a demand did he feel the harsh bite of poison in his veins. And though it happened rarely, he saw her magic as an asset to their cause and handed her over to the would-be human king.

She was forced to stand beside a man who used violence and the threat of death to get his way. Her own life was on the line, he told her, and all he wanted in exchange of keeping her alive was the use of her ability. She was to be his master plan to get others to oblige to anything he wanted: for, simply, if they did not cooperate and follow Akhlys' demands, they would be poisoned and left to die. She saw many fall at her words, had her heart torn apart time and again, and could do nothing while he rose to power over the Fifty Year War. He credited her for many of their successes and, ultimately, the reason for his ascension. But she wouldn't be around long enough to see him on the throne.

One year before the completion of the war, she managed to escape. While the human slept one night, a new guard was posted at her door; he didn't take the 'appropriate precautions' as deemed worthy to avoid hearing her words, and she commanded him to unlock her door and let her flee. He refused at first, as any would, but the pain from her poison was too strong—he gave in, and in doing so released the sting of her magic. She took to the shadows and caught a caravan headed to Austanferd, finding herself once again in Endalauss Forest, the closest thing she had to home. The tree stood as it always had, empty, waiting for her. As the following months passed she again fell into the same routine she adapted before ever finding the human boy. From then on, she would be careful to steel her heart lest she be betrayed once more. 
 
Poisoned words
Cursed words, her commands (i.e. 'leave,' 'lie to me,' 'turn around') are laced with a toxin that transmits psychically should they not be followed through or, even worse, ignored. The poisonous effects range from a mild bodily sting to death, depending on her emotional state. She has no control over the presence of the poison—it is there no matter the magic level, or the will she possess against it. The best way to relieve the pain, of course, is to simply do as she says.

At lower levels of her emotions, the first step is the hardest to endure; controlling her words are easy, but unstable emotions could give way to outbursts of anger or grief—and consequently, demands she wouldn't have otherwise said. These words deliver a sharp sting if the audience they are directed at refuse to follow them, knowingly or not, and takes several hours to subside.

At the next level, the pain associated with her commands sinks into the skin, gripping tight at the veins running twistingly through bodies and threatening to spill over into the heart and mind. The sting is there, always, but vision begins to blur and breathing becomes labored; the poison starts to take hold and the effects may last for a couple days should medical care not be sought.

The further into an outrage she falls into, orders not followed could have deadly consequences, the poison making its way to the heart and settling in deep. It is unrelenting in its pain, excruciating, and if not giving way to death the afflicted may be wishing for it anyway. Nearly blind, struggling to breathe, they may feel like they are burning from the inside out. If treatment by a skilled healer is delayed, there could be lasting internal damage done—and even then it might not be enough to save them.

At last, there is nothing quite like the searing sensation of fire licking its way greedily around flesh, except this kind is coming from the inside and there are no true flames; the poison has reached its way into the bloodstream, and there is no reversal once someone is stricken except for following the order given. It started with ignoring her demand, and it may very well end there, too. Death is certain without immediate care if the afflicted chooses to refuse her, and only the highest leveled healers have a chance of undoing the poison's effects. There is little way of remaining unscathed in some way, and the call of death is more likely than survival. 
More often than not she is bare save for the clothes she wears. If hunting or travelling, a knapsack is all she carries with her—for a second outfit, mostly. She doesn't own any physical weapons; her voice is all she needs in times of danger. 
original design: northgull / stefanomarinetti

avatar: amigogirl