Sylvari Dawnsage

Gender: Female


Age: 26


Race: Striga (Formerly Astralblood)


Nationality: Crescent Isles


Appearance: Sylvari is an exceedingly pale woman of middling height. Her silver blond hair is vibrant and long, and obviously well-maintained, despite the imposing nature of her armor. A veil of black and silver, typically worn over the upper half of her face, conceals her eyes, glowing with a shade of scarlet, devoid of pupils. The flashes of her smile reveal pronounced canines with an unnatural sharpness. Her poise and bearing are carefully constructed, almost painfully graceful. Despite the cultivated appearance of grace and ease, a careful observer would note an edge about her demeanor, a paranoia that threatens to snap her into action at the slightest provocation.


Personality: Sylvari's personality ranges from domineering to sincere to a deranged mania, as if she is caught between different masks she means to wear when dealing with others. She is all too willing to partake in frivolous conversation with others, as well as engage in light flirting, but deeper conversations make her very flighty. Due to past experiences, she is very slow to trust others or provide personal information of any substance. In truth, she longs for genuine connection and companionship after so long without but is scared to develop feelings for those who may abandon her later when finding out her true nature.


History: Sylvari Dawnsage was meant to follow in the footsteps of her ancestors to be a holy warrior, defending the people, as generations of her family did beforehand. From the earliest days of her childhood she was schooled in the exercise of war. Her father, Alderon Dawnsage, taught her that lurking beneath the veneer of civility, there were the shadows of evil, tempting every mortal creature. Sylvari had a hard time accepting this wisdom, naturally inclined to seeing good in others, and happy to draw out this good with her own soft and sweet demeanor.

Nevertheless, she accepted the tutelage of her father, finding comfort in mastering her body and mind in pursuit of a goal and was convinced she would use this prowess only in the defense of innocence and toward the redemption of those forced to unsavory methods. She still believed that no one could truly wish ill on another. This belief persisted until her 30 days Sentinel's Vigil, a rite of passage among her people when a child moved from a novice warrrior to a fully-fledged warrior of light. Enthused to demonstrate her skill and motivated to find evidence of common good in the hearts of people, Sylvari set out on her Vigil in high spirits. Her journey began well, seeing her defending the weak from beasts, natural disasters, and, her proudest moment, saving a village from the predations of a bandit troop by convincing them to lay down their arms and cooperate with their neighbors to mutual benefit. Armed with these victories, and with the Vigil mandating only 4 more days of watch, Sylvari was certain she would be able to restore a bit of her father's hope in humanity.

But, as is so often the case, youthful expectations would soon be subverted. On her way back to reunite with her father and her people, Sylvari happened upon a secret chamber of a ruin that she was searching for holy relics to be reclaimed. Inside, she saw true evil, pure and unadulterated. A vampire was directing and manipulating a dozen civilians to ritually scarifice their blood into a large vat in the center of the chamber containing the body of a young child. Sylvari knew not of their dark purpose, only that a child was in danger and that her father's words bore a wisdom that came from hard experience. She fell upon the cultists in a righteous frenzy, cutting them down swiftly and efficiently. The vampire, obviously, was enraged at the young warrior's interruption and fell upon her. Skilled though Sylvari was, she was still young, with much to learn in the ways of combat, and the vampire was a formidable foe. It was all Sylvari could do to defend herself, unable to attack at all, fearing for her life. Still, the vampire wore her down, and with a mighty heave, threw Sylvari through one of the crumbling walls of the ruin. By a stroke of luck, or divine intervention, this wall was load-bearing for the structure, and sunlight began to spill through the now-open ceiling, forcing the vampire to beat a hasty retreat.

Sylvari regained consciousness minutes later, pain singing from every part of her body, but duty came first. She rushed to the child's side, freeing him from the strange contraption and comforting him, now out from the strange device's lull and terrfied by his surroundings. Sylvari bid the boy wait for her outside, and set her weapon to the device, smashing it to pieces. The device reacted strangely to her weapon, erupting almost too easily, as the dark crimson essence within obeyed not gravity but a darker purpose, and the liquid flowed like a torrent into Sylvari's mouth, shocked open. She coughed and sputtered, trying to expel the foreign substance from her body, but was unable. She felt strangely fine, invigorated even, considering her previous pain, and the cries of the boy on the surface drew her to duty once more.

She returned to comfort the boy, who revealed that his village had been destroyed and his parents slain, leaving him with nowhere to go. Sylvari deemed that the boy would return with her and become one of her people. She traveled with the boy, continuing her journey homeward. The first night, the dark urges came to torment her. She awoke in the middle of the night, terribly, unimaginably thirsty. She drained her waterskin and the spare, and still the thirst persisted. She went quickly to a nearby stream and drank more than she ever had in her life, but the thirst was there, as strong as ever. She returned to camp, perplexed. She sat across from the boy, staring at him absent-mindedly as she thought what could have ailed her. It was only upon seeing a small cut on the boy's arm that produced 3 beads of scarlet and feeling the unbidden drool flowing down her face at the sight that she realized, in horror, what had become of her. She grappled with her thirst the whole night, unable to tear her eyes off the drops of blood that slowly clotted before her, but unmoving, afraid of what might happen if she shifted even an inch. The boy awoke in the morning to see Sylvari staring at him with sunken eyes and drool streaming from both corners of her mouth. He nervously asked if she was alright. The question shook Sylvari from her stupor and she steeled her resolve to continue her journey with the child. As the sun rose, she felt weaker, slower and sensitive to the harsh light, but the accursed thirst abated the smallest bit, a blessing that gave Sylvari the energy to cotninue the whole day.

She and the boy returned to the village in this manner, wordless walking by day and raging temptation by night. She explained the situation of what happened to her father, concealing the device and her condition. Whether her father was convinced by her report or was simply needed by the situation and had no time to question her, the elder Dawnsage simply nodded to Sylvari and went to take care of the boy. Sylvari was affirmed to have completed her Vigil, without the usual celebration that accompanied such an event, given the circumstances.

Over the next few months, Sylvari's thirst only grew, and with it a growing weakness, as she refused to give in to her cravings. The only comfort in these days were her interactions with the boy she had saved, taken into the tribe and given the name Azreal, as he had no recollection of his previous one. Azreal always made time between his duties to ask about stories of Sylvari's fights when she returned. His enthusiasm and genuine interest gave Sylvari something to focus on beside her blazing desires. Eventually, Sylvari's weakness became so apparent that her father was forced to send other warriors of light alongside her, a badge of dishonor, marking her as incapable of carrying out good on her own. Sylvari was distraught, but she knew that her father had saved her from greater embarrassment by not prohibiting her from adventuring altogether.

On one of these trips, Sylvari was accompanied by one of her fellows, Banbraith, a warrior only a few years her senior and an exceptional marksman. The pair were tasked with clearing out a nearby village of restless undead that had driven off the local populace. When Sylvari and Banbraith reached the village they were ambushed and nearly overwhelmed by a horde of the creatures. Banbraith sent his trusty raven back to the tribe with message requesting backup as he and Sylvari took shelter in one of the more fortified buildings. By this point, Sylvari had been without sustenance for months and every movement was agony. Her thoughts were consumed with the sight of the stressed vein on Banbraith's forehead pumping blood. Sylvari was nearly overwhelmed by thirst and began hitting herself with her weapon to give her any distraction from harming her companion. Banbraith, shocked by the sudden outburst, tried to grapple Sylvari and prevent her from injuring herself. The commotion prevented either from noticing the undead had clawed their way through and attacked Banbraith from the rear, killing him as he attempted to restrain Sylvari. The undead fell upon him, tearing open his flesh, completely ignoring Sylvari. As she saw her comrade torn into by these creatures, an inexplicable emotion drowned out all others: jealousy. How dare these creatures devour her companion? Only she had claim! In her frenzy she killed the creatures and immediately fell upon Banbraith's corpse and began draining it of blood, reveling in the feeling of blasted thirst finally, finally, retreating. It was this scene that Alderon and the other warriors with him saw when they arrived, as Sylvari even cracked open Banbraith's bones to extract the marrow within. Alderon confronted his daughter and banished her from the tribe for becoming a creature of darkness.

Cast out from her clan, Sylvari was distraught and wandered the lands, repeating her torturous cycle: starving herself until she could no longer bear it and devouring the nearest person when she could no longer restrain herself. Finally, she resolved to simply accept her condition and master it: drinking freely when she thirsted, but always endeavoring to keep her victims alive. To her surprise there were even some who volunteered for her to feed upon them, citing that her kiss was sweetest of all. She now roams the land, seeking to master the powers of her blood and skill to carve a path for herself in a world that has been hostile to her.