Weaver of Dreams ♦ Whisperer of Fate
| Age 22 |
| Gender Female |
| Origin Elf ♦ Suldaza |
| Occupation Herbalist ♦ Illusionist ♦ Seer |
Valeria's legacy starts with not her own, but that of her forebearers. The Tisserand household was once a member of the High Houses, should her Uncle be believed, who claims that he was told that same story from his father, who was told it by his own, and so on and so forth. Why they lost their status exactly is anyone's guess, though there are probably those who remember elsewhere in the forests of their home or have it written down in some, ancient ledger. Valeria never dwelled on it for long, not because she wasn't curious, but because it was often hard enough to stay focuses on the here and now.
It was said that her mother was the most talented Shroudweaver their family had seen in three generations. Chosen. Perfect. She was both a beauty and brains - gifted with the way she wove Shroud into wondrous offerings for her family to devour to sate their pride and ego. She also saw visions of the future and walked in spaces so deep within the realms of possibility and imagining that it ate away at her over time. Valeria remembers years where her mother was kind and loving. Unfortunately, they only reached so far before she began to struggle, growing distant as a result.
It was within this childhood that others began to name her the successor to whatever legacy her mother was leaving behind. At first in whispers and then in more insistent prompts, she was exchanged between relatives and households that would keep a ward so that she might learn from others. And perhaps to keep her away from whatever was truly going on at home. It was during one of these stays that she met Astera, placed as a playmate and potential guard when he finished his own training. He was talented in using Shroud in ways she had never been allowed to imagine, and once the wariness of first meetings wore off and she no longer bristled every time he came near, they struck a bargain.
She'd learn from him what she could, if only to claim something for herself, and in return she'd owe him a favor. She wasn't quite sure what it would be, never asked or pushed him to tell. In the end, that bargain fell lost to her memory, never called in or mentioned again. And yet, there is a stirring of magic that lingers in their words. A bond waiting to be breathed into life again. Admiration turned to friendship as she neared her age of majority, full grown and yet "still growing" due to a smaller stature than most elves. Not quite perfection. Never good enough. That was the message she began to receive from the run-ins with others in her family who looked to her with hope and hunger in their eyes.
Because what she may have lacked in physical perfection, she made up for in her ability to weave, and unlike her mother whose mind had buckled under the pressure of those abilities, she held control. At least, she seemed to which was enough for them. When Valeria finally returned home for longer than a temporary visit, she was 16 years old. It was time to talk about her next steps and what her life would look like in the coming years. It was a time for celebration. The ball that her Uncle held was a small affair with close friends and a few allies, set up in a "summer home" in the woods away from the major cities. A proving ground for Valeria to make an appearance, where rumor might travel and make misdeeds seem smaller and successes sound grand.
Except that was where everything went wrong. The details of that night are still hazy at best. What she was told in the aftermath was that the estate where they'd been staying had been attacked. She recalls moments of clarity and broken memory at times - whispers from the Shroud. Her mother... Eyes covered by bloodied bandages. Dark robes. So many... Sightless. The word rattles around her mind again and again. Her Uncle said it was an attack from enemies. A most unfortunate circumstance. And when the "culprits" were discovered a week later, revenge taken without trial, everyone seemed all too happy to move on.
Except she hadn't just lost her mother that night, disappearing into the dark. She'd lost Astera, too. She reatreated into herself for a long while, moving through the motions and all too happy to be the puppet her Uncle took out to entertain his guests. One year bled into the next, over and over again, until she was staring at her 22nd year, trapped in a cage of her own making. She wanted out. She had to get out. And yet she could do nothing but smile and agree. Even as she was matched with some young Lord of a higher house than their own whose family looked at her pretty face and her weaving, at the family heirloom that would follow her, and saw her body as little more than a home for its future children.
A means to an end.
And then the night before her wedding something strange happened. The arrival of guests and staff the perfect cover for a band of thieves - pirates - to sneak in and try to steal the ocarina that never left her side. And among them, a face she never thought she'd see again, aged now like her own. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. And staring at her from the other end of a dagger. A favor spoken. A bargain reminded of in the dead of night. A magic that was all too happy to awaken after years of slumber, pulling her on an adventure that might have saved her life as easily as it may still damn it.
It was said that her mother was the most talented Shroudweaver their family had seen in three generations. Chosen. Perfect. She was both a beauty and brains - gifted with the way she wove Shroud into wondrous offerings for her family to devour to sate their pride and ego. She also saw visions of the future and walked in spaces so deep within the realms of possibility and imagining that it ate away at her over time. Valeria remembers years where her mother was kind and loving. Unfortunately, they only reached so far before she began to struggle, growing distant as a result.
It was within this childhood that others began to name her the successor to whatever legacy her mother was leaving behind. At first in whispers and then in more insistent prompts, she was exchanged between relatives and households that would keep a ward so that she might learn from others. And perhaps to keep her away from whatever was truly going on at home. It was during one of these stays that she met Astera, placed as a playmate and potential guard when he finished his own training. He was talented in using Shroud in ways she had never been allowed to imagine, and once the wariness of first meetings wore off and she no longer bristled every time he came near, they struck a bargain.
She'd learn from him what she could, if only to claim something for herself, and in return she'd owe him a favor. She wasn't quite sure what it would be, never asked or pushed him to tell. In the end, that bargain fell lost to her memory, never called in or mentioned again. And yet, there is a stirring of magic that lingers in their words. A bond waiting to be breathed into life again. Admiration turned to friendship as she neared her age of majority, full grown and yet "still growing" due to a smaller stature than most elves. Not quite perfection. Never good enough. That was the message she began to receive from the run-ins with others in her family who looked to her with hope and hunger in their eyes.
Because what she may have lacked in physical perfection, she made up for in her ability to weave, and unlike her mother whose mind had buckled under the pressure of those abilities, she held control. At least, she seemed to which was enough for them. When Valeria finally returned home for longer than a temporary visit, she was 16 years old. It was time to talk about her next steps and what her life would look like in the coming years. It was a time for celebration. The ball that her Uncle held was a small affair with close friends and a few allies, set up in a "summer home" in the woods away from the major cities. A proving ground for Valeria to make an appearance, where rumor might travel and make misdeeds seem smaller and successes sound grand.
Except that was where everything went wrong. The details of that night are still hazy at best. What she was told in the aftermath was that the estate where they'd been staying had been attacked. She recalls moments of clarity and broken memory at times - whispers from the Shroud. Her mother... Eyes covered by bloodied bandages. Dark robes. So many... Sightless. The word rattles around her mind again and again. Her Uncle said it was an attack from enemies. A most unfortunate circumstance. And when the "culprits" were discovered a week later, revenge taken without trial, everyone seemed all too happy to move on.
Except she hadn't just lost her mother that night, disappearing into the dark. She'd lost Astera, too. She reatreated into herself for a long while, moving through the motions and all too happy to be the puppet her Uncle took out to entertain his guests. One year bled into the next, over and over again, until she was staring at her 22nd year, trapped in a cage of her own making. She wanted out. She had to get out. And yet she could do nothing but smile and agree. Even as she was matched with some young Lord of a higher house than their own whose family looked at her pretty face and her weaving, at the family heirloom that would follow her, and saw her body as little more than a home for its future children.
A means to an end.
And then the night before her wedding something strange happened. The arrival of guests and staff the perfect cover for a band of thieves - pirates - to sneak in and try to steal the ocarina that never left her side. And among them, a face she never thought she'd see again, aged now like her own. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. And staring at her from the other end of a dagger. A favor spoken. A bargain reminded of in the dead of night. A magic that was all too happy to awaken after years of slumber, pulling her on an adventure that might have saved her life as easily as it may still damn it.
Appearance
| Height 5'7" |
| Build Willowy |
| Hair Raven Black |
| Eyes Violet & Pale Lavender |
"Oh, how you've grown," the aged voice fell on her ears, their delicate points heating in response. Her lips pressed together in response, smudging the stain that the elderly woman had swept on them only moments earlier. "Not enough," Valeria muttered under her breath. "None of that," came the chiding, wrinkled hands swatting at Valeria's shoulder. "You will grow more. Hush now. You are perfection my dear." It should have been a compliment. It should have made her feel better. Instead, Valeria's stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat as she grabbed the goblet of water in front of her and drank it down.
"You can hardly see the color in your eyes these days," the woman continued, as if nothing had happened. As if Valeria's heart wasn't racing or her hands shaking around the goblet as they held it tighter. She glanced in the mirror at her reflection, biting off a pained sigh. When she'd been born, her eyes had been a violet hue. They were a pale lavender now, whatever remnants of Shroud lingering within her having settled. That was the assumption, anyhow. She worked hard to make it look that way, pulling at threads and weaving magic into illusions to make herself look the part of perfection they expected.
She couldn't make herself taller, but she could wear heeled boots and slippers. She couldn't change the color of her eyes, but she could make them appear different. The sense of 'otherness' that lay around her like a veil, creeping into her every movement and mannerism could not be helped, but she could learn to use it to seem curious, interesting, or wise beyond her years. She could control everything except the damned Shroud itself when it mattered most during those moments of wavering when she found herself trapped in visions and dreams.
"I do what I can," she answered without thinking. The old woman looked at her for a long moment before squeezing a shoulder that was too thin. "You do enough, dear." It was different than what her Uncle said - what so many of the others said day after day. It was never enough. "Thank you," came the answer all the same. She pressed her hands over the black and violet gown that she'd been dressed in, with its delicate lace and elegant features. It was the kind of thing she liked to wear, at least. This time she'd had a choice in that.
"May I have a moment?"
"Of course. He'll want to see you at your best." Valeria made herself breathe, chest fluttering with its contained heartbeat. The world spun. "My Uncle or the young Lord, you mean?" It was supposed to be a slight jest, but she heard the tightness in her voice too late, even as she painted on a nervous smile. One that tried to look eager rather than terrified. "Both, my dear. This will do fine for today. I'll set things out for you to look through later tonight. Give you some time to consider your options before the wedding."
"Right... Thank you."
Options.
Wonderful to have someone believe she might have them.
"You can hardly see the color in your eyes these days," the woman continued, as if nothing had happened. As if Valeria's heart wasn't racing or her hands shaking around the goblet as they held it tighter. She glanced in the mirror at her reflection, biting off a pained sigh. When she'd been born, her eyes had been a violet hue. They were a pale lavender now, whatever remnants of Shroud lingering within her having settled. That was the assumption, anyhow. She worked hard to make it look that way, pulling at threads and weaving magic into illusions to make herself look the part of perfection they expected.
She couldn't make herself taller, but she could wear heeled boots and slippers. She couldn't change the color of her eyes, but she could make them appear different. The sense of 'otherness' that lay around her like a veil, creeping into her every movement and mannerism could not be helped, but she could learn to use it to seem curious, interesting, or wise beyond her years. She could control everything except the damned Shroud itself when it mattered most during those moments of wavering when she found herself trapped in visions and dreams.
"I do what I can," she answered without thinking. The old woman looked at her for a long moment before squeezing a shoulder that was too thin. "You do enough, dear." It was different than what her Uncle said - what so many of the others said day after day. It was never enough. "Thank you," came the answer all the same. She pressed her hands over the black and violet gown that she'd been dressed in, with its delicate lace and elegant features. It was the kind of thing she liked to wear, at least. This time she'd had a choice in that.
"May I have a moment?"
"Of course. He'll want to see you at your best." Valeria made herself breathe, chest fluttering with its contained heartbeat. The world spun. "My Uncle or the young Lord, you mean?" It was supposed to be a slight jest, but she heard the tightness in her voice too late, even as she painted on a nervous smile. One that tried to look eager rather than terrified. "Both, my dear. This will do fine for today. I'll set things out for you to look through later tonight. Give you some time to consider your options before the wedding."
"Right... Thank you."
Options.
Wonderful to have someone believe she might have them.
Personality
Guarded ♦ Observant ♦ Curious ♦ Graceful ♦ Fatalistic
─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───
Valeria is the sort of quiet that comes from a careful weaving of learned behavior and natural inclination. She never had to teach herself to be soft or observant. Those were qualities that were so deeply ingrained in who and what she was that removing herself from them often seems impossible. She was, however, frequently told when to speak, and more importantly, when not to let herself be heard - when opinion and interests didn't matter. It took its toll over time, making soft observation and quiet serenity sharpen into something colder and wary.─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───
And yet, Valeria is a creature of habit, and hers has always been to care too often and too deeply. Despite how she might attempt to appear on the outside, her emotions are a constant storm within, and frequently terrify her with their intensity and devotion. It would be easier if she didn't feel at all - to hide in that cold, quiet place within her, and yet even within that darkness, there is something with teeth and claws waiting to be unleashed. And she she plays a constant game of balancing between what she is expected to do, or say, or be in every situation, often forgetting herself in the process.
But when she is allowed to be herself? There is a gentleness there that is fiercely loyal to those she has designated as her own, not unlike a dragon with its hoard. She can be ruthless when lashing out, exacting when crafting plans, and unrelenting in her attempts at protecting the people and things she loves. Not that it is often seen. For now, perhaps that is because most things she loves have been taken from her one way or another. There is a caution that carries heavily on her shoulders, keeping her at arm's length most days. And the rest of the time? She is either too drawn in by her visions and attempt to control her own ability to weave Shroud to think about anything else.
There is a desire to be gentler. To be more. To be herself, whatever and whoever that is. But she hasn't seen that girl in years. Not since her mother disappeared and her best friend died. Not since she lost every reason for living for herself and made herself keep placing one foot in front of the other for their memory and what she tells herself they would have wanted. Her heart aches. Her mind breaks. Her soul wages war on itself. And yet the world keeps turning and the days bleed one into the next, her grasp on them lost one painful inch at a time. She isn't sure what she is more afraid of these days - becoming her mother or never, truly being herself.
Skills
- Shroudweaving - Particularly with illusions, telekinesis, telepathic communication, manipulating and visiting dreams, and seeing visions of possible futures. Unfortunately, most of Valeria's control and work has been in discovering ways to be delicate with her craft, drawing out small details and adjustments. She is someone who can do something small to perfection, but struggles to hold that same control when her talents turn to larger ordeals. It is not due to lack of power or connection to the Shroud either. In fact, it is the exact opposite that makes it so dangerous and so difficult. Without meaning she often is pulled by the whims of fate and fortune, into dreams and visions. At its worst, she is never sure of what is real and what is not, understanding the sort of madness that her mother had fallen into before she disappeared. At its best, she can feel all that potential building within and around her, eager to be unleashed. What would it look like for her to not fear her own potential - these abilities that she has seen shatter a mind? That is the question she tries to never ask herself, too scared to see what it would lead to in the end.
- Herbalism - Her other skill, though lesser in comparison to the ones above, is utilizing Shroud and her own raw talents and learning to tend to plants and use them medicinally to help others and herself. The process is calming to her and has helped her recover at times from the side effects of her own abilities, though her interest in plants did not stop at medicinal ones alone. She also learned poisons and antidotes, teas and tonics. Anything that would feel like a step toward something that was hers rather than the legacy that her mother left behind.
- Combat, Hunting, and Tracking - Growing up in the forests of her home lent itself to other skills as well, though she was never as talented at them as those she trained with. She could hold her own on a hunt or in a spar that was well matched, at least. The passion for it and interest was greater when she had Astera with her still - someone to enjoy it with. Now it brings memories of him to the surface, dragging bitter thorns across a wound that refuses to heal. His death was the end of those outtings, no longer finding moments of relief in a sparring ring or the woods like she once did.
- Dancing, Singing & Ocarina - What she refused to let go of instead was her passion for dance and music. It was encouraged by her family, keen on how beautiful she seemed when performing, and yet, that passion was more of an escape than something to feel forced into. It seldom killed the love of performance, though her Uncle and others may have tried at times, seeing that very same passion as a double-edged sword. There is beauty in the way she dances and sings, yes, but there is also something raw and untamed. Something beautiful in the way that the forest itself and nature is beautiful. And it is this talent, one she shares with her late mother, that also makes it possible for her to use the ocarina that was handed down from one member of her family to the next - that magical artifact that can draw out emotion and tempt the mind with only a few notes. Most of its melodies and possibilities are long forgotten now, and Valeria cares for it as one would a sword or bow, knowing it was created to be as much a weapon as it is an instrument.
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