I am fate's strike unexpectedly come, I come too soon and am before their time, I am reaper, predator, and I swear this Oath before Selene. I,
Shi'mon Heylel ibn Oscura of Sweet Night, One Faint Kiss. Amongst Night's Chosen, I shall be
Simeon Cythera.
The Chosen are my kin, I am servant to Selene for She is my patron, my Divine. Through my kin, I offer my skills to Selene. I offer my
Feet, which move lightly with a finesse honed with the years. My Hands too, accustomed to a weapon's grip, apt to strike with deadly accuracy. And finally, my Mind, my greatest asset in making sense of this sorted world. I submit my greatest flaws:
For all the experience and knowledge age offers, it gnaws the body with equal measure. I may expertly move and fight, but this is the product of a practiced body and makes the most of my diminishing stamina. Also, born in Selvia Oscura, my body has rarely experienced an abundance of Lef, thus its tolerance is low, and if exposed would likely leave me ill. I declare this so that my kin might aid me in my time of need. I recognize the Sweet Night knows no politics and declare mine openly to shed temptation.
Raised in Selvia Oscura off the edge of Léve, which eyes us with great suspicion and treats us as lepers, I hold some resentment toward the Elves of Léve. The Empire's guards showed fear, but admittedly, a curiosity that confuses and entices me... I digress, I lead with the confidence of one who wields death, just as Master Nazeek did, yet since his passing death is both my greatest weapon and damning fear. May my kin aid me should I stumble as I shall do so for them.
Openly I declare with neither pride nor shame-- for Sweet Night knows neither-- my past as kin may know.
As my body declares without apology, I am a Dark Elf born to Selvia Oscura. The shadowed woods were a curious sort, enchanted like Léve, yet more hungry than charitable. Daily life was largely without Lef as our Elders declared the risks in our land too steep. Besides this, we lived similarly to the Elves of Léve. The young were taught to traverse between trees among our raised camps. We hunted, collected water from clear rivers, and lived well without excess or luxury. Unlike in Léve, we were also exposed to the Empire. I was among a group of youths who a young guard from western Sanctum taught swordplay. He stirred my heart and he fancied me too. We little opportunity, however, as the sons of a lost and rebellious generation emerged from the west. They practiced Corrupt Lef, drawing from the trees and guards and tempted us with power. A troop from Léve swooped in soon after. The young guard found me as arrows and lances cut all around, and amidst the chaos, he spirited me away to the southern docks built alongside a guard outpost. He secured me passage to Sanctum with a rusted dagger and a letter. The letter would grant me access to the Empire's capital city-state, Sanctum, and a place as his betrothed. A life.
A life I would never know... Some days at sea I awoke to a figure walking between the stacked bunks. Still shaken, I grabbed for the dagger, but inexperience betrayed me. The figure caught and disarmed me then met eyes. Deep whirling pools of black, I remember, darker than night. I lost myself to those eyes. Just watched as the Empire's soldiers fell to silent blades, most still in their beds. That was the night I met Master Nazeek. He allowed me live on his ship so long as I asked nothing of his darkly clad entourage, who he simply called 'Kin'. Given time I learned to sail, to keep a vessel, and eventually was trusted with greater secrets. I trained with Master Nazeek until 399 when I swore the Oath. My service to him continued until the Spring of 415 4E.
I do not hide from the gaze of my kin.
Master Nazeek taught me much of technique and strategy over the years. A Renaissance Man, truly, he left journals and illustrations I have only begun to observe. I hope to continue the beliefs of the fallen and bring his ideas to realization, for the good of the Order. Honestly, I do not believe Master Nazeek is truly dead. Foolish denial, perhaps, but too much mystery surrounds his death to wholly accept. Yet, I swear to maintain this house of Night's Chosen so that others might receive second chances as I did. Truly as I am
Simeon Cythera and amongst Night's Chosen, I seal my Oath. Of Sweet Night, One Faint Kiss.
Spring 399 of the 4th Era (Original). Autumn 415 of the 4th Era (Renewed)