Leilatha Lafea

[bleuception]

    -Basic Information-

Name: Leilatha Lafae
Nickname: --
Race: Moon Elf (Teu'Tel'Quessir)
Age: 127
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 155 lbs.
Occupation: Author, Adventurer, Undead Slayer
Deity: The Seldarine, favouring Sehanine Moonbow for her personal persuit.

Place of Birth: Evereska

                             -Description-

Leilatha is a pale blue Moon Elf, with the overall appearance of a young adult. Her movements are poised, flowing with the kind of natural agility often attributed to elvenkind. Going from crown to toes, her long, healthy mane of black hair descends in a veritable cascade all the way down her back. However, she prefers to keep her hair braided when going about her daily activities, both because it is more practical, and because it's stylish. It's not rare to see her wear one or two ornaments to decorate her hair. Her eyes are of a golden-flecked brown, to a point where said gold flecks seem to overtake the brown of her eyes. Almond shaped eyes and pointed ears are a given. Her eyebrows are arched, but otherwise fine and unobtrusive. She tends to wear pleasant smiles rather easily. Dotting certain of her features, she seems to enjoy wearing various piercing; earrings, nasal piercing on her right nostril, a labret below her lower lip... It gives her a somewhat free-spirited, perhaps rebellious look. Alongside these artificial ornaments, she also makes use of a choice number of cosmetics in order to enhance her looks without clashing garishly with her complexion.

Her height of five feet and eight inches is accompanied by a surprisingly buxom physique that is certainly not within the common norm for her race. She is, as some would say, a little plump. This heavily pronounced top-heavy figure of hers is difficult to hide, and baggy clothes are of very limited help in this matter. Typically well-spoken, Leilatha finds language interesting and sometimes derives a hint of amusement in using certain words. Her voice, however, isn't particularly note worthy; feminine and soft, but not a singer's voice.

                             -Personality-

Leilatha is a little mercurial, capable of going from joyous and festive to saddened and mopey in the same day. She does her best to remain polite and understanding to everybody, albeit sometimes with limited success. She displays patience and tends to – accidentally – make others wait on her due to her rather different perception of time, given that she's quite elven in that regard. She enjoys taking her time and feels that rushing through certain tasks is quite stressful. She acts much the same towards her writing; she doesn't force herself to slog through writing sessions, and she only settles to write should she feel the inspiration to be free-flowing.

Interested in all manner of things and pronouncedly curious, she likes to ask questions as well as receiving clear explanations – or as clear as the person in question is capable of giving. She likes to read, listen to music, admire paintings, watching sculptors shape a material of their choice into a piece of art, and while she might not be exactly entirely proficient at it, she also enjoys dancing. She's also not against a friendly drinking game or other fun activities one might fight in a bar, such as playing darts or card games. She also enjoys a good game of chess. This list could go on, but it suffices to say that her interests are extremely varied. However, she has a thorough dislike for undead, and will likely volunteer to combat them if presented with the opportunity; the only exception being Baelnorns, which not unlike her goddess, she tolerates.

She also has a taste for puns and appreciates a little bit of ridiculousness; such as the fact her writing quill is a woefully oversized, floofy feather. She adores it.

-Background-

Leilatha is from Evereska, but she speaks very little of her home or what brought her to Cormyr. She alludes to travelling before reaching the Forest Country, that the books she wrote before were the works of a younger version of herself and therefore aren't worth bringing back. She holds a great deal of respect for Bladesingers, and seems to somewhat idealize them as heroes which she tries to mimicry in her own manner. Hers is an innate magic which doesn't lend itself well to the same discipline, however, and as such she's taken to calling herself a "sword-sage", a magically inclined fencer, but never claimed to be a Bladesinger. Nonetheless, she makes use of a songblade, currently.

SPOILER: Click to show

((The information below is purely for DM usage and OOC knowledge. Do not metagame, please.))

The reason why she left Evereska, is due to a string of murders signed in her old pen name – the pseudonym she used to sign her books and remain anonymous; "Fiean", an elven name meaning "Rain Rider". She didn't commit these crimes, and her anonymity allowed her to remain untouched by the repercussions of another's actions. However, she was heartbroken that somebody would do such things, not to mention copying the crimes of the villain from a murder-mystery novella she wrote, titled "At Truth's Edge".

She abandoned writing altogether and left, searching for a way to cope with events she had no control over. Her wandering brought her across various sections of the Western Heartlands, ranging from the Backlands, to Elturgard, the Sunset Vale, and across to the Sword Coast, and eventually in Sword Coast North where she visited Waterdeep as well as Neverwinter, and eventually swung back around until she reached Cormry and the Dalelands. She only really started to regain some hope and drive to write after visiting Waterdeep. But there are times when Leilatha will remain mournful and subdued as she thinks of the horrible things enacted back in Evereska. She is afraid to return and find that the murderer – whoever it is – is still on the loose.

-Other Details-

Goals:
In no particular order, her goals are...

• Spoiler ahead. OOC knowledge only.
  SPOILER: Click to show
  To find who it is that used her pen name to commit heinous crimes.
• Find somewhere she would be comfortable to call home again. It's not rare for her kind to be stricken with wanderlust, but having a small, comfortable home or cabin to return to when she needs rest? It would undoubtedly be a valued perk, not having to endlessly rely on inn rooms. Ideally somewhere she could grow fruits and vegetables.
• To meet and discuss with a Baelnorn. While she's uncomfortable with the concept of undeath, she feels that an ancient, elven lich, sworn to protect the Tel'Quess in specific manners, would have much to teach from a timeless perspective. As well as insights regarding the concept of sacrifice. After all, to be a Baelnorn, is to unlive an existence of duty towards one's race. She thinks that meeting one or two such rare individuals will help her make up her mind concerning how she feels about such creatures.
• To experience the many culinary arts associate with different cultures. Of course, elven cuisine will always hold a very big space in her preferences regarding food, but she views food as a good way to assess a people; what they eat, how they eat, if they share their meals or always eat on their own lonesome, are table manners expected in all occasions or is one to eat to fulfill their appetite? Such aspects in other cultures intrigues her quite a bit.
• Winning in a drinking contest versus Roggrim. The dwarven brawler won the first round, but she'll win herself! Eventually. Probably. Maybe.

Factoids:

• Adores pumpkins. Not only are they delicious in pies (among other recipes), but they can be carved and decorated. If she gets a home, she wants to grow her own patch of pumpkins.
• She witnessed the "Trolltide" festivity in Waterdeep, and has taken a liking to wearing costumes and masks ever since.
• Leilatha makes ample use of Prestidigitation's cleaning properties for her personal hygiene.

Prized Possessions:
In order they were received.

SPOILER: Click to show

• A Toy Soldier, tiny yet dutiful guardian in Ilmater's name.
• A fiery orange, everburning feather. Perpetually be aflame with soft embers, yet doesn't burn upon touch.

[bleuception]

-Quest Participation-

Nothing but us placeholders here, for now.

[bleuception]

-Leilatha's Writing and Books-

((As an OOC note; if you'd like an in-game copy, please let me know and specify which book.))

-The Wayward Tales: A Collection of Short Stories-

Meant for readers-on-the-go, these slim books contain short, often humouristic stories to entertain travellers, wandering mercenaries, merchant caravaneers and other such individuals who might not have a lot of time to read larger books, yet still seek entertainment. These bite-sized reads are also ideal for younger audiences as bigger books could be intimidating to get into, whereas this format allows for shorter, yet pleasant reads.

Wayward Tales: A Collection of Short Stories, Vol. I

SPOILER: Click to show

Written by Leilatha Lafae


    The craggy spires and rocky outcroppings stood before them not unlike an imposing wall. A natural formation that seemed to threaten every living soul that would so much as travel in the region. The low-hanging moon and misty night did very little to reassure the heroes, whose camp was nestled in a stoney crook in the crags.

"Where is he, by all the gods?!" Exclaimed the impatient Ranger, looking out into the hollow and seemingly dead forest below. His sight was cast towards the path leading to their camp. "He's the bulwark of this party, and he manages to be late!"

    The Mage, ever so careful and deliberate, pondered this; but she had no answers to provide to her ally. Worry crept in her expression. "He might've been delayed. We'll wait until the morning."

    The Ranger whipped around, with a foul mood ruling over his behaviour. He shook his head vehemently. "We can't! The Necromancer who took residence within the crags will have finished this ritual well before the sun's light peeks over this desolate place. With or without the Warrior; we must go."

    While it saddened the Mage to admit, the Ranger was right, and it only made the lines of worry crease further along her forehead and face. To delay would mean to endanger the lives of many, who resided too close for comfort to the Necromancer's lair. With a sigh, she acquiesced, and brought herself to a stand, leaning against her staff. "Very well. Our duty demands it. Tonight, we fell this dreaded Necromancer..."


    Huffing and puffing, filling the air around him with the metallic clanking of his well-worn but sturdy armor, the Warrior was scaling the crags through whatever paths and solid grips he could find to reach the entrance of the Necromancer's lair. He was late! Terribly, terribly late! Not only did he wake up late, but he never found the correct path to the meeting spot the Ranger had chosen. How embarrassing! Even simple pathfinding isn't something he could do.

"They'll have my head if our glum and shadowy foe doesn't get it first!" He exclaimed, as he arrived onto a rocky platform, almost like a sort of balcony, up high on these craggy spires.

    He scanned the surroundings, but none of this small area looked familiar to him, nor what the Ranger described after he had scouted the area a while ago. It didn't look right, but surely, this sturdy wooden door leading out to this platform would be an entrance to the dark wizard's lair. It looked sturdy, and purposefully placed to block entry. Good thing that he lugged around a portable ram for just such occasions!

    Employing the tool, he took a good few breaths, before forcefully slamming the ram against the door -- which, to his surprise, swung open violently with a loud crash, upon the first swing! At which point, he dropped the ram and unsheathed his sword, erupting within the interior of the sanctum. Indeed, the crimson candles and esoteric drawings, the dark altar within, were clear signs that this was the lair housing some foul and twisted spellcaster. Even more alarming, his companions were just beyond, about twenty feet within this room, held in place by skeletal arms and hands against the ground. They were looking at him with great surprise.

    The Warrior bellowed; "Alright, where are you, you rat-faced dark-arts meddler?! Come face your doom!"

    ... Silence. Up until the point where the Mage and Ranger began laughing at once, seeming both amused and relieved. Surely, they were to be under some kind of spell, and the Warrior could only glance around in frustration and anger.

    The Ranger, however, gathered his wits, and cleared his throat. "My friend, you should... Hahaha, you should close the door."

    Intrigued by this notion, the Warrior couldn't help but regard his companion skeptically. "Whyever for? This villain may still be hiding in some shadowy corners of this room!"

"Just do it, please." Said the Mage, a crooked smirk upon her lips despite still being held firm against the ground by these undead limbs.

    The Warrior shook his head in confusion. "Fine, if you insist." Thus, he did so, closing the now-damaged door he broke open with his ram. To his surprise, he saw a crumpled form behind the door, sliding down the wall slowly. A dark robed man with a skeletal staff, bedecked in arcane symbols and other glyphs. And, plastered across his face, a very dazed expression, as he had been smashed with the violently opened door.

    It didn't take him long to realize the Necromancer was likely about to use this very door, and that his timing had been impeccable. He joined the laughter of his companions as he went to liberate them from their grim bonds, and returned home to secure the fiend within one of the kingdom's most secured cells, recounting the story of the Necromancer who had been vanquished by a door to all who would hear.





::STONY EXTERIOR::

    There are few things in the world as reserved and stoic as the stones which we frequently come across on Toril. Hard, often cold to the touch, yet reliably solid. But what do those rocks chat about when nobody's looking? Well...

"I'm tellin' ya, it ain't useful t' try an' have a discussion with zombos!"

    Rocky couldn't help but cast a perplexed glance across the other boulder, its stony brow furrowing ever so slightly and causing a little moss to fall off its surface. "... What are you even goin' on about, man?"
    Stonezo, the boulder in question who had prompted this conversation at seemingly random, could only huff at its mineral compatriot. "Oi, weren'tcha payin' attention at all when 'em zombos shambled through?! T'was so mountain-darned annoyin', why, I had half a mind to roll over one of 'em!"

    Baulder, the other stone occupying the small clearing, simply said; "You can't."

"Whot? Whatcha mean I can't?"

    The more short-worded of the three exhaled a sigh. "How're going to roll, genius? We're rocks."

    Before another argument would form between Stonezo and Baulder, Rocky decided to intervene. "I was sleepin', and you know I don't wake up easily. So what was that you were sayin' about zombies now?"

    The distraction worked. Stonezo continued. "Roight! So, these zombos were passin' through, yeah? And I just asked a question, y'see? And immediately, it was outrage an' impoliteness! Reckon whotever neck-romancer raised 'em must've been a real piece o' work fer 'em t' behave loike that! Can't get a word in. It's always groan this, groan that, threats o' eatin' yer brains! Seriously, zombos ain't fun t' be 'round of." He said, indignified.

"Necromancer." Simply said Baulder.

    Once more, Stonezo bellowed out a loud; "Whot?!"

    Rocky couldn't help another sigh. If it could, it would shake its head, and likely facepalm given all the times it had to endure such similar situations. "Necromancer, for the pronounciatin'. Not neck-romancer. It's fine, though. Just continue your story."

    Stonezo grunted. "A'ight, foine. So, y'know, given they were uppity 'bout it all, decided to tell a joke! Y'know, to calm th' atmosphere?"

Both Rocky and Baulder braced for impact.


"So I told 'em, hey! Does it take a lot of dead-ication to be an undead? Sure seems loike a lotta work! There's gotta be a reason why they're always dead tired an' groanin' and moanin'!"

    It's at this point, that Rocky decided to go back to sleep, not even granting Stonezo the satisfaction of a reply.

Wayward Tales: A Collection of Short Stories, Vol. II

As of yet to be written!

-Chronicles of Shattered Skies-
An upcoming novel series. The first volume is in the the process of being written.