Aeila Snowblood
Race:Drakken
Age:73
Element(s):Water
Earth
Height:5'8"
Bio:All throughout the history of Drakka, there has been one defining factor - the strong will live and the weak shall perish. The small, the puny and the insignificant have no place in the Drakken machine. Their's is an early death to avoid shame. However, there will always be an exception. In Drakka, the strong live but the weak also live if the strong wish to protect them. It was only inevitable, then, that it was the strongest who chose to protect the weakest.
There's a story told to Geminite children in hushed voices in the quiet darkness of nightfall but it's uncertain on whether it intends to inspire fear or hope. There was once a great, horned warrior, proud and bitter. His way was of the blade and any who faced him met a cruel fate. He was a wicked man but his strength was such that total power was his. As the years went by, the power darkened the man until he became nothing more than a wraith, inflicting torment upon the weak and innocent. He married and bore two sons but still he darkened. Killing could no longer satisfy him - there was no sport in slaughtering the weak who could put up not a shred of resistance. So he called his men to his side and abandoned his home to find an enemy truly worth killing, an enemy worthy of his might. He found his enemy but what he found was something greater than he could have possibly imagined. They were camped close to the Gem capital and seeking the cover of an Inn for the night, the great warrior found a young Gem woman. Her hair was the colour of blood and fire danced in the green of her eyes. In that moment, the darkness collapsed and his icy heart was thawed.
He promised her the sun and the moon and gave her both - his days he would spend with her, hearing her sing and dance. His nights would be a passionate gift and they would be trapped in one another's arms. So blissfully unaware was he, that he forgot about his young family back home. Eventually, the young Gem fell heavy with child and the great warrior was called back to his homeland to answer warcries from the South. He became lost in his war but even he could see that he was no longer the same - he lacked desire to kill and his heart wandered back to his secret bride and child. Little did the great warrior know that his secret had already spread amongst the court. His wife, furious and sick with envy, summoned the Gem to the court at once. Such was her anger that she charged the girl with treason and stealing her own husband away from her. Before the warrior could stop her, she took his hunting blade and split the girl from end to end. In a pool of her own blood, she died smiling, her hands locked with the tiny hands of another, too young to even have her horns.
And, as it was, the darkness crept back into his heart and he sealed it once and all for love was no use for a bitter world that only knew pain and woe. His wife, giddy with bloodlust, raised her blade at the child next but the warrior was fast. His strike sent her reeling and in silent anger, he had the child guarded. She was a monument to his weakness, a reminder of his pain. She was his punishment from the Gods for believing that there was something more than death. In the first few nights, he found himself at her bedside, knife in-hand. He wanted nothing more than to end her, to forget what he had done, to cover his weakness but he could never quite do it.
And so, she grew, the bane of those around her. Her father could only see her mother in her and ashamed of his weakness and sin, he cast her aside. His response was of violence, a wicked upbringing that was better suited for the likes of her brothers. Her stepmother hated her with a passion that burned white-hot, her weapons were words, sharp and twisted. Her brothers weren't much better either. She was the runt, the weak thing that didn't even deserve their time. They kept her shielded, however, under orders from her father. The younger brother liked hurting people and given his royal burden, he hurt people that hurt her. He never really liked her and she was terrified of him but he wouldn't let anyone cross her or his family name.
Despite this, she survived. Changed greatly, of course, but survived nonetheless. Meek and timid, she was no true Drakken princess nor was she a legitimate child of the king. Her name was for her position - the lowest of the low, a bastard.
The great warrior aged and bittered, his heart growing darker by the day. Violence could be beat into any child, he insisted, but anytime she raised a blade she was all-but uselesss. Eventually, he gave up, they all gave up and she was forgotten. She was a pretty young thing and the occassional suitor who reckoned his chances offered to take her from the warrior but each one was declined. The suitors forgot about her too and by maturity, she almost became a myth. Never seen by the public and locked away from those in better positions, she was only spoken about in tales and stories. Stories that were told with quiet voices - there weren't pleasant endings for those who spoke about where the little bastard came from.
Eventually, the warrior deemed that she was useless to him and she had to find her own way in the world. Not knowing a single thing about the culture and society of those around her, she sought the help of the only person to ever help her. Her brother had gotten crazier since she saw him last but despite this, he insisted that she attend the collection of Geminite brides with him. Too meek and unknowing, she agreed.
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