[hider=Thia ][hr][hr][center][color=00CED1][h1]Zarathia Amakiir[/h1][b]The Fated Dusk[/b][/color]

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[code]125 - She/Her- The Fated Dusk - ???[/code][/center]
[color=00CED1][i]"There is no destiny... Whatever lies the Fates might tell you. It does not exist. The only thing that we are all destined for is death."[/i][/color]
[color=darkgray][b]Thia[/b][/color][/center]
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[color=00CED1][b]NAME[/b][/color]
Zarathia Amakiir

[color=00CED1][b]RACE[/b][/color]
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[b]High-Elves[/b], as they are known in the common tongue, are long-lived, magically inclined people. Famed for their otherworldly grace, they reside in places of ethereal beauty, building silvery spires that reach towards the stars. High-Elves are known for their love of nature, magic, music, poetry, and many other artistic endeavors.
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[color=00CED1][b]CLASS[/b][/color]
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Thia is an [b]Oathbreaker[/b], a paladin who has broken her sacred vows to the Goddess of Death. She has abandoned her faith. She has left her order. The light that once burned in her heart has been extinguished. Her faith lies broken, remembered only with grave bitterness. Reduced to a hedge knight, Thia wanders Eldoria aimlessly. Performing minor deeds, acts most would see as paltry heroics, righting small evils, and concerning herself no more with great matters or prophecies.[/indent]

[color=00CED1][b]Appearance[/b][/color]
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A high-elf, marked by her Silvermoor blood, Thia has long white hair and pale skin. Tall and graceful, as only the elves can be, she has the lithe body of a dancer, muscles shaped to martial tasks that demand arms and armor. Gone from her person are the famed mirth of the elves and their gentle features. She has discarded the soft, welcoming smiles and regal bearings of her half remembered kin. Warm joy has turned to a cold flame of anger. Her visage has become that of a fell apparition, conjured from the depths of some long forgotten tomb.

Thia is a weapon, a deadly blade forged in the fires of faith, sharpened by one battle after another, honed to a fine edge, and then shattered, smashed against the mountains themselves.

Swathed in a cloak of gray and the attire of a traveling pilgrim, Thia draws sparse attention. However, her full suit of plate armor is never far, if not worn beneath her robes, and halberd, wrapped in thick canvas, is ever close to her hand. Fine black steel, now dented and marred by battle, has begun to fade to a dark gray.
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[color=00CED1][b]HISTORY[/b][/color]
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"Is it not curious, that the High-Elves, long-lived a race as any other under the boundless stars, choose to serve Death herself? What secrets do such ethereal beings conspire to hide from us?" - Tonad the Scribe

Born under an auspicious sign, beneath bright stars and a cloudless sky, Thia is a high-elf unhappily resigned to her destiny. From birth, she was one of the youngest members of House Amakiir, a cadet branch of the ruling Silvermoor family that held sway in the Verdant City. Her mother, Eilrel, was a famed wizard, a noted practitioner of the School of Abjuration. Her father, Ianberos, was a successful merchant dealing chiefly in wholesale of exotic spices. Her older sister, preceding her by several decades, Nuala, was a well-regarded harpist. A distant relative of the current Silvermoor ruler of the Verdant City, Finarfin Elendar, Thia was fortunate enough to be raised with some of the wealth and splendor afforded to Elven royalty.

Distance to the main Silvermoor bloodline ensured that her house lived free from most of the politics that afflicted the major Elven houses. Over the passing centuries, House Amakiir had grown comfortable in the Stormshade, the roots of her family tree intermingling with those of the ancient trees. Thia grew up in a happy household. She was close to her parents and closer to her sister, who taught her to play an endless constellation of instruments. Thia still carries the hand carved flute that her sister gave her on her twentieth birthday and it remains her most cherished possession.

Her ancestors were respectable elves, upright citizens, known for their worthiness. A long line of wizards, culminated in a exceptionally talented cousin, responsible for a number of advancements in the arcane arts. Several more renowned musicians were scattered throughout the long memory of the high-elves and Thia would passionately argue her sister to be among the finest of this esteemed collection. Heroes from House Amakiir, the kind commemorated in songs older than the Verdant City itself, existed in fewer number, but Thia recalls unerringly the story of legendary paladin, Haera Amakiir.

Surrounded by the ancient forest of the Stormshade, Thia's early years were pleasant and marked by patient learning in the old elven tradition. She was taught the many languages of the elves, humans, and other common races. She studied the histories cherished by the elves. She practiced the artistic endeavors so beloved by her kind. She learned to wield bow, blade, and other arms, as expected of any elven noble. Thia showed little interest in the mercantile career of her admired father, accompanying him on trade expeditions merely to satisfy her growing wanderlust. Likewise, the spellcasting of her mother, grasped but the surface of Thia's attention, she was more interested in the stories, the histories that her mother would tell. A gift for music was marred only by a growing interest in the faith that held sway in the Verdant City.

There was no singular vision, no great spiritual awakening that drove Thia to seek out the Temple of Zray. Instead it was a series of moments, small encounters with death that shone with profound meaning and augury before building into a final divine revelation. The death of a beloved pet and the ghostly visage of it she saw before it peacefully faded. The untimely death of a cherished cousin, lost in a great storm at sea, a favored song sung by the young woman that Thia heard in the twilight.  The death of one of her tutors, a grizzled soldier, a dwarf who fell in battle, arriving for her usual instructions she saw him sitting there smiling, unharmed, vanishing only when he had offered her a final lesson. Observing a solemn ceremony to mark the passing of an aged high-elf stateswoman and beloved great grandmother, Thia encountered a strange young woman, a human no older than herself. Though she felt grief at the loss of her kin, her conversation with the human woman touched on matters of life and death, leaving Thia with a feeling of unexpected joy. Unable to find the human thereafter or discover any trace of her presence in the city, Thia came to believe that it was an aspect of Lady Zray herself that she had conversed with.

Embracing the merciful faith of the Goddess of Death, Thia sought to follow her own path, seeking out the clerics and paladins of the Temple of Zray. It was a surprising choice to her family, uninvolved as they were in the Temple of Zray. Her decision was a short-lived curiosity among her other kin, forgiven rapidly considering the relative unimportance of House Amakiir. It was not unheard of for high-elves, even highborn elves, to worship the goddess of Death. Although in truth, many treated this religion merely as a formality, forced upon them by ancient accord and numerous failed rebellions.

Received as a novice at the temple, Thia was accepted as an apprentice of the priestess Farryn Wranrora. Introspective and full of deep thoughts, even for a high-elf, Thia adjusted well to life as a religious acolyte. As she came to be initiated into the mysteries and rituals of Zray, Lady of Death, she found new confidence. Under Farryn Wranrora's careful tutelage, she learned to channel the divine magic of their mistress. Invocation of these arcane energies came easily to her. She found strength in the teachings of the temple. She found comfort in the compassion that Lady Zray offered to all mortals, no matter status, achievements, hard to define concepts like honor, or even goodness.

There was a welcome peace to be found in the services the temple offered. To keep the graveyards that the temple kept was to learn the stories of the dead and to provide comfort for the living. Guarding the shrines dedicated to Lady Zray and the hallowed dead furnished blissful moments of quiet contemplation. Thia learned to be a record keeper, recording the births and deaths that occurred under her watchful gaze. She studied the holy book, the Tome of Scattered Bones, said to have been transcribed at Lady Zray's insistence, furthering her knowledge of burial rites, the prevention of undeath, auguries, and other such matters. She participated in funeral rites, helping to peacefully guide the recently dead onwards. In time, she came to conduct these sacred ceremonies herself, leading the dead to their deserved rest. Along with her brethren, she prayed, offering chants and songs to celebrate the circle of life and death.

Pleased as she was with her progress as a servant of the Death Goddess, Thia found herself enthralled by the paladins attached to the Temple of Zray. Divided into distinct orders, they existed as groups of a thousand names, a thousand shapes, and a thousand colors. Each built upon a different set of decrees and striving to achieve a particular purpose. United one and all in preserving the fragile balance between life and death, the thin thread of existence the world depended on.

Still a child, by the elven measure of time, she joined the Order of the Pale Light, a fabled order known for the peerless warriors the order produced and the fanatical devotion to the delivering swift mercy to the undead. Among the members of the selective order Thia found comrades in arms. Fellow truth seekers, dedicated to the cause of righteousness, aflame with the pure fire of faith, and endlessly strengthened by their belief. An able student, she showed a gift for spells to protect and vanished. Her heart beat with new joy, for she had found the place where she belonged. Under the gentle care of her superiors and older acolytes, she opened up and shared.

Far from a woman to her kind, but close to the eyes of humans, she served as a page, accompanying the knights of her order on their holy quests. At first, she engaged in menial tasks. Taking care of horses, sharpening weapons, maintaining armor, mending fabrics, and assisting the paladins as they prepared for battle. However, in time, she would join them, standing alongside them in desperate battles, facing horrors conjured from behind the grave.

She stood unchanged, but two years older, when her order judged her ready and assigned her further training to a knight. Her steadfast dedication and gift with arms saw her placed under the stern gaze of the knight, Paelias Meliamne. An accomplished swordsman, a wood-elf in his 250th year of life, Paelias was a harsh teacher, famed within the order for the elaborate calisthenics he forced all his squires to complete and the strange, unorthodox style of fighting that he espoused. Where some wilted, breaking under the wood-elf’s heavy hand, Thia thrived, growing from a green sapling into a mighty oak.

Seasons passed in multitudes, before she was knighted by Paelias himself. Years she fought. Years she traveled. Crossing the realms more times than she cared to count. Always following the sensation, the guiding feeling that the Lady of Death supplied to her ardent disciples. She earned a name, a moniker for her prowess, the Dusk Blade. Knights began to speak of her with pride evident in their voices. Commoners knew of her, viewing her with fear and cautious respect in equal league. Nobles, particularly her high-elf kin, could see some value in striving for perfection, even if they found little appealing in skulking through dark tombs that smelled of death.

So content was Thia, that she could have spent several more centuries unchanged. The Fates had other plans for her however…

Words, at first fearful whispers, arrived by foot, horse, and at last raven. A darkness hung heavy over the Fells of Oughild. A vile sorcerer, a necromancer was said to dwell in the tomb of Almar Mara. Amassing an army of undead, the necromancer had come to threaten the silver mines of Zhadenit and the outlying towns. Mournful ballads sung in the great banquet hall of the Order of Pale Light tell of the company of death paladins sent to eliminate the necromancer.

Mournful songs sung in the great banquet hall of the Order of the Pale Light tell of a company of death paladins sent to capture a necromancer. Famed knights, named knights, brave soldiers with the experience of many years and campaigns. Thia was proud to count herself among them.

Driven from the foul, cursed barrow, the necromancer was cornered in the small town of Tanyth. Surrounded, the villain summoned a greater undead, a monstrous lich to aid them in their evil work. Battle unfolded with no opportunity for an evacuation of the peasantry. Death cut down the old and the young, weak and the strong, the cowardly and the brave. Before the necromancer was slain and the conjured undead dispatched, more than a hundred innocent souls were lost and a great part of the company of paladins lay dead. It was little consolation to Thia that she had cut down the necromancer and seen the lich banished. The smiling head she carried back to the order brought no relief. Her superiors praised her, welcoming her back as a hero.

Thia felt no such joy, falling instead to a deep despair. She saw only the faces of her lost friends. Remembered only their voices, happy memories marred by final moments ended with cruel violence. She had squired with several. She had fought battles with many. She had saved them in the heart of a desperate battle. They had saved her from the wicked blows of the unrighteous no fewer times. They had shared hardships in the field. They had bled together more times than she could recollect, she could trace the scars and remember. Zray had delivered only what she had promised. Death did not spare the good, the honorable, the brave, or the kind. All were hastened to the Lady of Death and all were warmly welcomed.

Thia had known that this was true. She had always known this to be true. It was the foundation of her religious education and pillar of her faith. Cracks appeared, not subtle, jagged lines beyond detection, but deep fissures that threatened to collapse the fragile structure that her belief had been reduced to. The final words of the necromancer haunted her. The laughter as Thia beheaded the crowned figure, tolled in her head like an accursed bell. To accept the injustice of it all was at last impossible and Thia wordlessly left her order, leaving behind only an amulet bearing the holy symbol of Zray.

Far stories began to speak of a grim knight soon after. A figure clad in blackened plate, marked and dented by countless blows, adorned in the pallid vestments of the grave. A cold lantern flickering in the darkness, offering no words and no prayers. A horror that for all this, seemed to deliver mercy and charity to the innocent. If such stories are uttered within Thia’s sensitive hearing, she is quick to explain that there are many wandering hedge knights dressed in plate armor cast in a dark shade, and assuredly any such tales celebrate one of these no doubt noble pauper knights.

How long Thia would have wandered, how long she would have fought, before she tired, before she faded, is impossible to say. Yet the Fates conspired against her. Lady Death once more chained her. The bright moon hung over her, ash bone painted with streaks of black. An ill omen, she knew. The old tomb, a crypt from a distant age, was full of whispers. She found no one. No living. And no undead. A skeletal figure sat unmoving, as if waiting for her, a great halberd, untouched by rust, unchanged by time, rested against the shoulder of the armored knight. For it was a knight, she saw, the heraldry decorating the armor was familiar, but she could not place it. The script was elven, from a kingdom or empire long since swept aside by the wind. Compelled by a force she could not identify, a compulsion that arose from deep within, she reached out to touch the halberd.

Darkness swallowed her as she felt cold metal meet her fingers. She awoke to laughter. She awoke to back and forth banter. The ethereal voices of the three Fates greeted her, welcomed her, and soothed her anger. For a time. She would not forgive. She would not forget. She knew the trap that had been laid for her. She could sense the hand of her lady, the subtle forces at work, and her fury returned undiminished.
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[color=00CED1][b]FEARS[/b][/color]
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Thia fears herself more than any other. She regrets her choices. She feels betrayed by many, but most of all by herself. She fears her own weakness. She shivers with thoughts of her own madness. She wishes to speak to the Lady of Death. To curse her. To share fully of her anger, shame, and sorrow. Yet she fears such a meeting, feeling within her heart that she is no longer worthy, that she has been sullied by her hatred.

Although she would not speak it, she fears the judgments of her sworn brethren, the order that she abandoned. She suspects they would not understand. She believes they would not forgive.
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[color=00CED1][b]GOALS[/b][/color]
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In the time before she was unwillingly claimed by the Fates, Thia desired only one thing, peace, her own personal peace. She wanted to live a quiet life. She wanted to forget her past. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted to let her name fade from the world.

Unfortunately, the Fates had other ideas, and Thia found herself a most reluctant fated. Viewing her current title an oppressive burden, Thia seeks only to joylessly accomplish whatever tasks expected of her. Her hope is that by fulfilling her duty as a Fated she will find the peace she has so long sought, whether it be the quiet of the grave or a release from her new obligations.
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[color=00CED1][b]SECRETS[/b][/color]
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Lost to despair, unwilling to accept the natural cycle of life and death that she had sworn to uphold, Thia became an oathbreaker and abandoned the Order of the Pale Lgiht. Unwilling to fall further, she did not try to claw back the lives of her companions, the souls of her brave friends and lost love, already claimed by death and cared for by her mistress. However, her faith lies scattered like bones across the open earth. She can feel darkness in her heart. A bitterness that chokes the familiar prayers before they can escape her throat.

Thia admits to no past as a paladin. She offers no stories of her time serving the Lady of Death. She claims only to be a soldier. A wanderer with little purpose.
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[color=00CED1][b]FLAW[/b][/color]
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There is a bitterness to Thia, angry embers that smolder beneath the cold surface of her elven manners. Given cause, this resentfulness escapes in unpleasant words and less often volcanic violence. Resigned to her fate, Thia swallows the bitter drink from the cup that the Fates have handed her. Uninterested in the future, she is prone to bouts of melancholy, seeing only the shadows of her past. Old adages say that a paladin must be brave, daring, and possess a fearless heart. True as these words may be, a gloom hangs over Thia, a deep fatalism that renders her less brave and more a seeker of her own doom. Believing that nothing ultimately matters, assured that nothing will alter the preordained outcome of her life and every other life, death, Thia is drawn to danger like a moth to a dancing flame. One end is as good as any in her battered book, but she intends to die with a weapon in hand.

Cursed or perhaps simply stumbling under the weight of her own guilt, Thia is troubled by strange visions. She sees dark forms that others cannot see. She hears voices that others do not hear. In crowds, she finds the faces of old friends gone to the mud. Lost in her own thoughts, she is stirred by soft touches, friendly claps on her shoulder, gentle taps on her hand. Fragrances drift through the air, memories, hopelessly buried with the lost. Beyond the sights and sounds offered by the Lady of Death, Thia finds herself experiencing sensations that feel like growing madness.
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[color=00CED1][b]Skills[/b][/color]
[indent]Clad in blackened and battered plate armor, Thia is an oathbreaker, a former paladin, learned in the ways of war, master of a variety of weapons and armor. Her life is one of constant travel, of adventure, of endless battles against the evils of the world, seeking small victories to rebalance the cosmic scales. A hundred years have passed before her, she has fought from one decade to another, across campaigns that stretch the breadth of the known world, and in battles scattered across the realms like stars.[/indent]
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Noble Upbringing - A noble by birth, Thia possesses an intuitive understanding of wealth, power, and privilege. She moves easily in high society, finding quick welcome and comfort among the nobility. She is an eloquent speaker, fluent in several tongues, and shows the refined manners that mark the highborn. Buried beneath a carefully cultivated layer of grime, there is a regal air to her person, visible only when she permits her gloominess to momentarily fade.

Classical Elven Education - Given her station, Thia has received an extensive education befitting a member of a cadet branch of the Silvermoor family. Under the watchful eye of many great scholars, she has studied literature, poetry, drama, philosophy, history, art, and languages in a volume suitable largely for the long lived elves.

Elven Weapons - No proud high-elf would leave the Verdant City without being proficient in the traditional elven weapons and in this, Thia is no exception. From an early age she was taught to use the longsword, shortsword, shortbow, and longbow.

Martial Weapons - Trained as a paladin, a holy knight, Thia has benefited from many decades of training and practical experience when it comes to matters requiring the usage of soldierly weapons.

Mounted Combatant - Although she seldom fights on horse or beast, Thia is a dangerous foe while mounted. No knight of any measure would neglect to master fighting mounted on an animal trained for war.

Polearm Master - Dedicated to the high-elf pursuit of art, Thia endeavored to discover where her true artistry might lie. She found it not in the musical instruments best-liked by her sister, the delicate paint brush of a painter, or the liberating chisel of a sculptor. Instead, she determined that her talents resided in her ability to wear cruel instruments of war. This gift she channeled over the years, cultivating her skill with polearms. She keeps her enemies at bay with the long reach of her weapons, piercing and smashing armor with her heavy instruments. In the thick of battle, Thia is dervish, striking with both ends of her weapons, and wielding them like a whirlwind, spinning and lashing out in unexpected manners.

Sentinel - Thia has mastered techniques to create and take advantage of every drop in an enemy's guard. She disarms the unprepared and unaware with deft swishes of her weapon. She slows enemies with opportune attacks as they attempt to move or attack. She harries foes with the long reach of her weapons, leaving many to regret their choice should they attempt to disengage from her. And she defends her comrades in arms, by striking out at any adversary that should dare to attack her companions within her reach.

Heavy Armor - Eschewing the light armor usually preferred by her kin, Thia has spent a lifetime perfecting her use of heavy armor and moves gracefully even bedecked in a full suit of plate armor.
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[color=00CED1][b]ABILITIES[/b][/color]
[indent]A high-elf Paladin of Death, Thia is a harbinger of death and doom. She wields powerful magic, blessings bestowed upon her by Zray, the Lady of Death. She channels these divine energies to fuel magical effects. She casts powerful spells that slay the living and sunder the undead, speedily sending them to her merciful mistress.
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[b]Darkvision[/b] - Living in the Stormshade, traveling across the ancient forest, the high-elves have grown accustomed to dimly lit forests, and the night sky. Even complete darkness is no great obstacle for them and their vision remains unhindered.

[b]Keen Senses[/b] - With sharp eyes and pointed ears, Thia is notably perceptive of her surroundings.

[b]Fey Ancestry[/b] - Blessed with fey blood, Thia is resistant to magic that would charm or beguile her. Better still, she is immune to any magical attempts to put her to sleep.

[b]Paladin of Death[/b] - Bound by her oath, regardless of her betrayal, Thia remains tied to the Lady of Death. The mark of Thia's mistress remains upon her and the grim favor Zray once offered her has not faded. Despite her hatred, her tireless rejection of the Death Goddess, Thia retains all of the abilities associated with the faithful paladins of the grave. She can speak to the dead, permitting conversation with the souls of the deceased. She can calm hostile spirits, when a body can be found to bring peace to the angry spirits through the proper rites and rituals. She can banish the undead and other entities who refuse the kindly call of the Lady of Death. Fell magic, withering spells that bristle with necrotic energy, destroying matter in mere moments, are hers to command. She can weave this decay, imbuing her weapons with baleful power that harms. Dreadful magic that hasten the journey of the living and dead to where the Lady of Death might gently embrace them. Touched by death, Thia exudes a dreadful aura, a disquiet that grows into sudden horror, armor furnished by Zray. Deeply troubling to the oathbreaker, chief among her fears, is the fact that no distance from the Verdant City and the Lady of Death has diminished her ability to sense where she is needed, a heavy burden bestowed upon her by her lady decades ago.
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[color=00CED1][b]FATED WEAPON[/b][/color]
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Thia wields the Breath of Zephyr, a fated weapon shaped into a halberd. Wrought in a strange metal and shaped by inhuman hands, the weapon is perfectly balanced for the Death Paladin. With each swing, the blade of the halberd sings, whining and whistling as air dances through differently sized and shaped holes aligned across the spine of the sharp metal.
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[color=00CED1][b]FATED POWER[/b][/color]
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A - Swings of the halberd create a swift melody, a low whistle, that sends gusts of air hurtling through the air, blasting foes with force and cutting as if sharpened steel.
B - Slamming the end of the shaft of the Breath of Zephyr, a loud metallic note reverberates, summoning a purifying wind that dispels magic.
slam end of shaft onto ground it makes a loud, booming thump that causes some AoE purification spell
C - a pair of bells are tied with a silver string to the socket of the Breath of Zephyr, when shaken with intention, the bells release a __ sound that __.
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