Jaelin is an elven child of war, one of the few who seems to have flourished in it. Born in Myth Drannor, she was sent to the far reaches of the High Forest during the war, secreted there by her father and Si, an ancient elf she knew only as a family friend. She was glad to go, thinking it high adventure, and a way to escape the taunts of the other elven children. Her bright violet eyes and black hair had earned her attention she did not want, and that of more than a few of the superstitious elders' notice as well. They spoke behind their hands of "faerie", the "old order", and other things she didn't understand. The white streak running through her raven locks didn't help.
Her escape from the city was harrowing, old Si racing through the streets faster than one of his age should have ability to, hiding in alleys during the worst of the fighting. He never spoke during this time, only intent on one goal. As they neared the edge of the city, his head jerked up toward the direction of one of the towers, her eyes following his. Startled to see her parents there, she began raising her hand in greeting, but the smile froze on her face. Her mother was throwing spells, fireballs erupting to clear the path through the gates. Behind her, Jaelin's father was locked in a deadly contest with three others, his sword covered with blood as he protected the concentration she needed. As if in slow motion, Jaelin watched as her father fell, another's sword finding her mother's back.
Si jerked her roughly forward, and then they were running...running through the smoke and flames, through the path her mother had managed to clear. Her lungs felt as if they would burst, but they kept on and on, the landscape around her a blur as they fled. They did not stop until they reached a small hill, at which Si finally stopped. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her abruptly around to face the city. Thick black smoke rose above the towers and buildings, flames erupting like a giant hand reaching for the sky. She watched as one of the huge stone temples suddenly gave way, carrying another beside it with it's weight as it crumbled. Si's voice, raspy but strong, rang in her ears. "Remember this child! Let this sight burn into your mind and soul, never to be forgotten!" He opened her hand, laying a small black feather in her palm. "Remember it's maker."
Jaelin never forgot. The small sanctuary in the woods she was expecting was actually a large complex, artfully hidden within the trees. The small haversack Si had been given by her parents did not hold food for their journey, but magically held all her parents gold, payment for her initiation and training with the guild. Si was not just an old friend, but Master of the Calamus Bladesingers Guild, a secretive group rarely encountered knowingly. Of the five students accepted each half century, only Jaelin and one other had made it to the complex. The others perished on their journey through the war-stricken area.
Jaelin trained rigorously, both in mind and body, as befitted a blade-singer. She found solice in the repitition, the mindlessness that comes with doing a movement so many times that your muscle forms in that manner, forever breaking what habits of movement she may have already had. Her strength grew with her skill, adding grace and fluidity to her actions. Rather than appearing frail as her willowy frame would imply, she gave the impression of a cat about to strike, coiled power held in check. In young adulthood, a rune was permanently tattooed high on her right shoulder, a panther about to strike that perfectly matched her movements, whether at rest or moving. It was the mark of her guild, which she would wear throughout her life. With her long black hair and tendency to wear dark clothing, she reminded one of a panther herself, prowling through the complex, always on the hunt.
Si's decision to leave for Evermeet finally broke her carefully constructed world. The fates had finally given her the sign she had waited for, and she left the guild's chambers to adventure into the world. Strapped at her side is her sword, it's elaborately carved blade hidden inside it's scabbard. The pommel and hilt shimmer in the light, carved to a cast of her hand Si had taken, so that it literally is an extension of her arm when she wields it. Imbedded into the hilt is a large black gem, polished smooth so that it blends perfectly with the sword, it's cut on the inside so that when light hits, it appears to burst with the light from it's interior. Glancing back once at the now empty guild, then toward the dark woods where she knows Lestat is, Jaelin turns her horse and heads through the trees. Her destination...the ruins of Myth Drannor.
She never forgot.
