Legends of Belariath

Sayden Vahdel

Her mother had been a Sheyka healer of the Shadow Falcon Tribe, the numerous braids in her long, ice white hair, tiny gems and crystals tipping each one, declaring her rank and status to any laid their eyes upon the woman. Her father was the son of a highly respected merchant who specialized in precious gemstones and the craft of jewelry. His family had been trading with the Shadow Falcon Tribe for as long as the High Elves had considered them an established community and their family was much welcomed by the Shayka. It was during one of the several trading trips that were made each year that her father finally acted upon his desires.

He'd harbored a growing obsession with the Sheyka for several years, an obsession that compounded after every trip that was made to the tribe. Several days after one such trading trip between his father and the Sheyka had been finished he returned and waited for the right moment to steal the woman away. Because of her rank as a healer and her position in the council, there had been no likely hood of her leaving her people - or her people letting her go - so he had devised a plan that would allow him his desires but not risk the embarrassment of his family or their position of trade with the tribe. He left all the right bits and pieces of evidence that would point the Sheyka to believe that her mother had been kidnapped - and very likely tortured and killed - by the Moriel.

It goes without much say that her mother fought her captor with tooth and nail and any other way she could think of. For several years she was the slave of her captor, returned to him when she ran, punished by his hand when she defied. And yet, after all of this, she slowly began to love him. As she began to yield to him more and more, to accept his position his his life, his obsession turned to affection, to love. From this meeting of strong willed individuals came the creation and birth of a child: Sayden.

As all births to a High Elven are of much celebration and rejoicing, so was Sayden's birth, despite her duel bloodlines. From the beginning, it was obvious that she would bare the resemblance of both races. The moon-kissed lavender of her skin - the blending of her mother's dark skin and her father's fair complexion. The purple-dusk of her hair - the combination of her mother's ice white hair and her father's ebony. But her eyes, her eyes were those only of her mother's kin. A violent orchid that could pierce the soul.

The first years of Sayden's life had been glorious and lavish. Full of laughter and song and beauty. But then, as all things tend to do, her world came crashing down around her. As if karma had come to balance the actions of her father, her mother was captured and killed by a wandering Moriel while she was journeying to a village that had needed her assistance as a healer. Her father, not able to come to terms over the loss of his beloved, not able to tolerate being around all the beauty and music of his own people - all things that his mate had loved most - he took his young daughter and left the city in self exile. He chose a remote plot of land in the forest, built a small but comfortable house, and settled to live in isolation with Sayden. In time, he grew to resent his daughter, who had so many characteristics and similarities to her mother that it pained him to look at her. As she grew so did her aptitude for music - first singing and then clumsily made instruments - and rhyme, both things that her mother had loved so completely. Her father's resentment began to turn to hatred. He punished her, often harshly, when he caught her with her child-crafted flutes and pipes and then destroyed the instruments. She was scolded when she sang, pages and pages of lyrics and stories were torn to shreds or burned. Everything she created - save for one set of lovingly built pan-pipes, which she hid and protected no matter the extent of punishment - was ruined at the hands of her father. She endured this for years, until one day, having finally had enough, she ran away from home. She took only what she needed from her home, clothes and food and a small amount of money... and her most coveted possession; her panpipes.

Sayden wandered for months, her skill at song and music and rhyme growing rapidly now that her talents were allowed to run free. She sang for meals and played her pipes for extra coin. As she continued to travel she worked to perfect her instrument until the tubular reeds were smooth as velvet and gave birth to beautifully rich and warm tones when her breath blew across them. Occasionally, when she'd stop to rest in a city or a town fellow bards and musicians would come to her and give her suggestions, taught her to play other instruments, even - though very rarely - giving her the instruments they taught her with. During her travels she came to hear whispers and stories of a place called Nanthalion.

It's been a year. And even though she's wandered away from the boarders of Nanthalion - sometimes for a month or longer - something about the empire always draws her back... back into his clutches. Her first months in the city had been a time of learning, of meeting people who were like in and very much unlike her. Bards and warriors and mages of all races and creeds. This was a place where stories were born on every other breath spoken. Where ledges were being created and destroyed. Where the very lives of all who dwell here danced in intricate steps along the razor edge of a sword.

This was a place where a single word could change the course of a life: claimed. A place where a single action by another's hand could take away the most precious ideal: freedom. A place where a single name could be linked to the destruction of everything that was once held dear: Kalagoth.

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