Legends of Belariath
Nalosara
She is a tempestuous creature – rife with inconsistent emotions, empassioned, with visions of darkness and light. Ill begotten – that is for certain, for she bears the mixed heritage of two races of elves – Sylvan and High, with such contrasting ideals that the mule of both creates a person wholly unpredictable; both restrained and free, passionate and intellectual, unable to fully grasp the essence of what either faction entails.
And she is old. Seasons pass, humans are born, grow old, and die, and their children cannot even remember the men and women that Nalosaura knew by face and name. After a falling out with her family, Nalosaura left the High life and delved into the lives of her Gypsy relations – the Sylvan, with their druidic ways and passionate lives. It was a nameless man – a philosopher, a psalmnest and teacher of old Verdspar, a mathemitician, cartographer and one of the last known tapestrarians – to weave Elvish silk in a way no hand can surpass – he was a man that Nalosaura fucked, thinking him nothing more then a pauper, a boy. He was high elvish, so in love with Sylvan culture that he mine as well have been born Sylvan – and it was he that first bridged her mind between connections of blood – to show her that she was indeed, truly, one being. Upon her flesh he etched his last principle, a perfect artistic creation, before commiting suicide. He needed nothing more in life, and sought to explore the far reaches of that which remains after. And to Nalosaura – he gave this last gift.
And for an elf, the land’s age is an elf’s age, and she watched as the sun rose and set, as men and women fucked and had children, those children grew and their parents died, and then they married, and they had children, and there was an eternity in it that surpassed any understanding. She had her first child, Llandona, to a High elfin man whom she seduced in an Imperial pub – and he remained loyal and stayed with her until she had this child, and he spell bound her with sweet whispers and love, only to allow her to awaken one morning to find him gone. Her baby with him. It was this child, only a quarter Sylvan, who began Llandona house in Verdspar – to become a brilliant politician interested in delving out into the far reaches and all corners of the globe – to map, to study, to explore. Nalosaura will never forget her child, and sometimes - seeing a beautiful glint of the towers of Verdspar – she imagines that perhaps, one day, she’ll return and be welcomed. Not today.
She found her way to Nanthalion in the guise of a common half-elfin girl. Thera. And there her consciousness bent further into torment. Who was she? Why did she live? Does she disserve to live? – She strove to understand the burning intensity of her own desire, and blamed herself for it’s existance. Hated herself for it. She made many identities – giving them each names, and Thera – Thera was locked within her psyche, to manifest, to sew, and to repent.
And then, just like that – she became herself. Many years have passed. She gave her love to a Dryad that did not want it, and obsessed about a Torien who could not feel the passion she felt. She made love to knights and peasants alike, feeling nothing for them, feeling no joy, no abandon. Just simple method. She sought only to clean the Naked Bird without plying her skill – Her true talents… to weave, to create tapestries and beautiful lengths of cloth – to ply the Nameless man’s skill into immortality. And from Ehlanna she now owns a cottage – a quiet place just north of the town, to rest, to relax, and to watch life from afar. The world shall exist, and so shall she – and she watches it like a cat from a window.