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|  Character Submission: Chiara Laecelam'lela
Hello, lovely character approvers! I have a submission for you that should keep you busy for a while. I realize this borders on stupidly long, and may take a few extra days to process. My apologies in advance for the lengthy read.
Name: Chiara Laecelam'lela
Gender: Female
Race: Elf
Subrace: Sea Elf
Age: 124
Class: Bard/Cleric
Proposed Split: 5-10 levels in Bard, and the rest in Cleric
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Deity: Shindaleria
Domains: Good and Magic
Automatic Languages: Underwater and Elven
Requested Languages: Common (I realize there is no "ear" for this. The request is for permission to RP a fair fluency in the tongue, supported by several decades of studying stolen books and spying on sailors, described in the biography)
Description: The lithe young woman in front of you looks like no elf you've ever seen from the land. Her skin is a pale blue-green shade, like a less vivid version of her sparkling eyes. Silver, green and blue markings cover her slender body, and you think you may have spied crescents of translucent skin between each of her fingers and toes. She is quite beautiful despite her foreign looks but seems troubled, as if by a deep sorrow.
Biography:
Orb and Ausir were both high in the sky as the sea elf labored alone in the shallow waters. Her feet dug in to the silty substrate as she grappled for a solid purchase to push against, the small surf-rounded stones partially covering the slight webbing between each of her toes. As she pushed, the lapping waves wicked the birthwaters away from her, leaving wisping trails that might have been pink in lighter conditions, but were invisible in the darkness of night, even to the sea elf's powerful eyes.
Panting slightly as a contraction eased, Nerene let her body tilt so she was floating once more, suspended in the water again. She had not been surprised when the birth pains had come. Her belly had been swollen for many weeks, and she had had no stomach for breakfast that morning, refusing even her usual favourites like the tender fresh squid. When the sun had begun to sink into the horizon that night and color the distant ocean waters with its golden rays, Nerene had set off in the opposite direction, towards the shore. In colder months, her small community might have been farther north and her path would have taken her to the Dragon Islands, but the sea waters were warm with the summer sun this time of year, and the elves had followed a few large schools of fish south, so when Nerene finally reached a secluded cove, it was on the western edge of the continent that the Breathless called Alindor.
It was dangerous, birthing alone, even more so for her than for one of her distant kindred on the land. Sharks had been known to be attracted by the scent of blood in the birthwaters, and more than a few laboring mothers had been attacked and killed in Nerene's lifetime. Nerene knew all this, but she had not asked one of the hunters to come with her, had not sought the protection of spear or trident. Perhaps if the father had been there ... but he had drifted into Nerene's life like something carried in on a tide, and just as suddenly drifted out again.
The sea elf scanned the surface of the waters, but no fins disturbed the surface. Grateful for that small blessing, she said a quick prayer to Shindaleria before lowering her feet back to the ground and bracing herself for another contraction. This time, however, she felt something slip inside her, and the tiny sleek body slid out from between her thighs, followed by a dark plume that began to diffuse quickly. She caught the child, and held it a moment under the water, counting slightly webbed fingers and toes and noting the sex before bringing the little girl to the surface.
The infant's first breath was followed quickly by her first cry, and Nerene soothed her a moment before submersing her again. It was her first child, but it did not take her long to sever the cord with her sharp shell knife and tie it neatly off. She brought the baby to the surface again, and watched her take another breath before submerging her again. She watched a stream of bubbles rise from the little sea elf child, then slow as instinct took over and the baby held the lung full of air. Nerene did this several more times, until she was sure the child had the rhythm of breathing and holding, then turned to retrieve the carrying sling from where she had weighed it down under a large rock. She had woven it from kelp fronds in anticipation of this moment, and the seaweed was braided into a thin, flexible pouch. She helped the infant rise to the surface for another breath, then slipped her into the woven sling and turned away from the lightening sky over the land to face where the sun had slipped below the watery horizon hours before. They would have to stop many times before they reached the others, as the child's lungs were much smaller than her own, and could hold far less air. Even newborn, though, the baby could hold her breath much longer than a landwalker. Nerene took one last look around the cove, and checked the sling a final time, then struck out for deeper waters.
***
Nerene's head snapped around at the sound of the crash. “Chiara! Get down from there! I told you, not above the tideline!” She sighed as she watched her young daughter scramble down from the pile of rocks and driftwood, and shrugged apologetically to the mother floating beside her. “What can I say? She seems to believe rules are made to be broken.”
“Don't all children?” replied the other, smiling serenely.
Nerene ducked her head below the water and snorted softly, sending a stream of fizzling bubbles towards the surface. She surfaced, tilting her head back so the motion swept her long hair off her face. “Oh, I don't know, Aylana seems able to remember the rules just fine,” she finally said, her mouth curving upwards as she nodded her head to the second child on the beach, crouched in the surf. Aylana's mother smiled her gentle smile again, but did not reply, and Nerene went back to telling her about the hunter's latest catch.
Chiara cast a wary glance at her mother, then scurried back to the other child, clutching the foreign object in her hand. “I got it!” she crowed triumphantly, dangling the small metal whistle in front of Aylana's face. “Told you I would.”
Aylana furrowed her brow, creasing her otherwise pretty face. “You really think it's from the Breathless? What do you think it does? Are you sure it's safe?” She watched the smaller girl fidget with the whistle, turning it over and over.
“I think so ...” Chiara replied, her voice more hesitant. She traced the openings on the whistle with her fingers, then yelped with surprise as Aylana pulled her into the water and under, and their voices returned to the more familiar cadences of submerged exhalations.
“They're going to see! You shouldn't have taken it.”
Chiara looked puzzled at that. “Why not?”
“Because it isn't yours, and your mother told you not to go that high.”
Chiara laughed at that, tilting her head up and letting the air whoosh out of her and upwards. “Don't be silly.” Then, as if in inspiration, she raised the little whistle to her lips and blew a stream of bubbles through it. Disappointed, she looked at her friend.
Aylana shrugged. “Maybe it doesn't work in the water, if it's really from a Landwalker.”
Chiara nodded at that, and pulled Aylana back up above the waves. Taking a deep breath, she brought the whistle to her lips and blew with the lung capacity of a sea elf child. The sound cut through the gentle susurration of the surf and the children froze as if petrified for a moment. Chiara shoved the little metal toy into the pouch slung around her neck then dove off after Aylana towards their mothers, who were turning around to see what was going on.
***
Chiara, older now, and just starting to show a few soft curves, hid behind the rocky outcrop. She had spent enough of her breath that it was no trouble to stay low in the water, and she was able to keep in position by simply sculling with her slightly webbed hands. Finally, she spotted a figure swimming towards her, and not waiting for it to get close enough to identify she shot from her hiding place towards the approaching sea elf.
'There you are!” She greeted Aylana impatiently. “Where have you been? The sun sank an hour ago ... I even swam up to check.” Not waiting for her friend to answer, she plowed on. “How did you get away? What did you tell your mother?”
Aylana waited for her friend to finish, then smiled in a way that reminded most people of her mother. “I told her I was going to pray.”
Chiara laughed at that, and clapped her friend on the shoulder. “Oh, so there is some advantage to trying to become a Shindalerian priestess after all! Come on, we're going to be late. The ship will have been unloaded hours ago.”
Aylana nodded, and allowed herself to be propelled forward as Chiara dragged her towards the steep incline representing the rising beach. The two swam quickly to where the pier's wooden pilings were visible under the water, then slowly rose to the surface, careful to stay concealed under the dock above them. They could hear the sounds of the sailors in the waterfront tavern even before their ears broke the water, and Chiara grinned at the sound.
“Listen! They're singing again.” She hummed along, picking up the tune easily, but straining to catch the foreign words.
Aylana watched her friend for a few minutes, then shivered as the breeze plucked at the thin fabric of her garment, now plastered against her pale blue skin. “Can we go now?”
“Already?” Chiara whined. “But we just got here! And I want to listen to the song, and see if I can learn more words.”
The pair had been coming to listen to the tavern chatter and music for months, ever since Chiara had found a book of poetry written in both the somewhat familiar Elven and mysterious Common tongues (each poem in both languages, one on each side of the page) among the wreckage of a shipwreck, preserved only because it had been wrapped in an oilskin. Aylana had not been with her on that trip to the shore, but had been equally intrigued by the foreign scribblings, and had agreed to help Chiara learn the language. Since then, Chiara had stolen a few pamphlets from the docks, but the papers had quickly become waterlogged, and the thick volume of verse had remained their most useful tool. Still, one cannot learn a language from a book alone, and Chiara had frequently dragged Aylana with her on her trips to spy on the sailors, both as a second pair of ears and welcome company.
“It's cold above the waters. I'm cold! I'm going back,” Aylana insisted stubbornly. Chiara sighed, but embraced her friend and watched her swim away before turning back in the direction of the music. She listened there for many hours before finally sneaking back home.
***
Chiara waited until the Shindalerian priest had swum out of the grotto and away, then squeezed her legs together so she shot out of her hiding place behind the patch of kelp into the shrine.
“Aylana! I waited for you, but you didn't come. Where were you, darling?”
Aylana looked up from the carved stone tablet she was studying, her face as serene as always. “I have been studying. This tablet,” she pointed to the lines of tiny Elven script, almost impossibly small to have been chiseled by a living hand, “tells of the teachings of Shindaleria, and this one,” she gestured to a second carved stone tablet which looked much newer than the first “tells of Carocsa the druid, and the shrine she built before she died.”
“Oh, I know all about that ... everyone does! The tale of Carocsa and the Shark-Lord? It's one of my favourites, and I know all the new tales. Come on, I'll tell you of it if you come hunting with me.” Chiara held up a pair of spears. “My mother made me promise to bring home dinner.”
Aylana wrinkled her brow. “I need to study, or I won't be asked to go onto the land to gather artifacts for The Returning.”
Chiara's jaw dropped slightly at that as she gaped at the pretty young cleric. “They're letting you go? Up, where the breathless are?”
Aylana nodded, solemn as usual. “Perhaps. It hasn't been decided yet, but I heard the priest talking to my mother.”
Chiara dropped the spears, and pirouetted in the water, letting her long hair float around her as she twirled. “You're so lucky! Up with the landwalkers ... bring me back tales of them, won't you?”
Aylana nodded, but held up a cautionary finger. “I'll tell you everything I see ... but we're not leaving Shindaleria's ocean to go play with the land races. We're going to look for artifacts and treasures, so we can bring them back and offer them to Mother Ocean. Besides, most people don't trust the Breathless, let alone spend their free time spying on them.”
“I don't trust them! I'm just ... interested in them! Besides, you and I can understand them now. They can't hide behind their language.”
Aylana sighed a little, but shook her head. “I'm sorry, Chiara, but I can't go hunting with you. I have to stay here and study.”
Chiara picked up the spears, her expression sulky. “I suppose you want to go to meet up with people from other sea elf communities too, hmm? Maybe find a husband?” Aylana sighed again and rose, and put her hands around Chiara's neck.
“I don't want to find a husband,” she whispered. “In fact, I have something for you.” She reached down and withdrew something from a hidden fold in the floating, diaphanous blue robe she wore, and fastened it around Chiara's neck. Chiara brought her fingers to her throat, toying with the intricate necklace of tiny shells. Her gaze softened.
“Oh, Aylana! It's beautiful ... thank you.” Chiara kissed the other sea elf, then grabbed the spears and was swimming away before Aylana could react. “I'll bring you back some of my catch, if I'm lucky!” she shouted over her shoulder as she shot away.
Aylana smiled, and turned back to her tablets.
***
Chiara stashed the fishing tridents in the usual spot, behind a large mollusc-covered rock at the edge of the kelp forest. She tried to peer into the stand of seaweed, but even her powerful eyes could make out nothing between the rows and rows of waving fronds, all dancing to the same rhythm of the waves. Far above her at the surface, the waves would be a powerful storm. Chiara had felt the seas growing wild a few hours ago, and knew Lady Doom was doing her worst to any sailors foolish enough to be caught on the open ocean right now. Down where she was, though, the waves were just a gentle rocking sensation, stirring the kelp and forcing Chiara to paddle slightly with her webbed hands every few minutes to remain where she was. If you dove deep enough into Shindaleria's love, Mist's storms couldn't touch you. Mother Ocean would keep you safe.
Aylana had taught her that. Aylana, her love, her beautiful friend, who she had known for almost a hundred years. Aylana, who she knew as well as she knew herself, and who had become a cleric of Shindaleria, respected by their mothers and the adults of the community. Next to Aylana, Chiara was still just a wayward girl, collecting tales and boring holes in conch shells to convert them into musical instruments. She hesitated, then retrieved just such a shell from the cache behind the rock. She had written a new song to sing for Aylana, and if the storm died down she would take her up above the waters and play it for her. It was one of her “surface songs”, as she called them, one that sounded better in the air than in the water. She also wanted to show Aylana what she could do with her music these days. She was still practicing, but sometimes it felt as if she could touch the Weave with her songs, and make small things happen.
Chiara tucked the conch into the woven pouch she wore slung over her shoulders and struck out into the kelp forest. The fronds reached up to the surface like waving hands, many times higher than Chiara was tall. She caught a glimpse of something dark near a patch of red seaweed below her, and bent sharply in half and kicked, sending herself hurtling down towards the abalone. She pried it off the rock with her little shell dagger, and tucked it into her pouch. When she found Aylana, the two would split the tender flesh, wrapping morsels of it in green sea lettuce. Later, perhaps Chiara would use the shell to fashion some jewelry for Aylana. She still wore the shell necklace Aylana had made for her before leaving for her first Returning.
Chiara froze at the sound of the scream. For a moment, she was disoriented. In every direction, the brown kelp blades waved around her, stretching up towards where the waves crashed above her head. Then Aylana screamed a second time, and Chiara turned in the direction of the sound, pushing the water as hard as she could to propel herself forward. She was swimming as fast as she had ever gone, but it felt as if the water had turned to jelly, gripping at her flesh and pulling her backwards.
The water surged around her as above her, a powerful wave rolled by, and for a moment the kelp fronds parted. She saw Aylana first, her thin blue robe torn, the jagged edges floating away from her body. Aylana's eyes were wide with fear, and her mouth was not smiling. Chiara was trying to make out what the red plumes coming from the rents in the fabric were. Then she saw the shark.
It was not a big shark. Even if it had been properly nourished, it would still have been no more than a few feet long. Still, it weighed nearly as much as either of the girls, and the slitted yellow eye visible to Chiara seemed to gleam with a kind of crazed malevolence. Chiara screamed then too, and reached for her trident where it should have been strapped to her back. In her mind's eye, she saw herself placing it behind the mollusc-covered rock, and she cursed.
Aylana was still motionless in the water, sinking slowly, her limbs not moving. Chiara called to her, and saw awareness switch back on in Aylana's eyes like a lightning flash. Aylana began to struggle then, but the shark had caught the scent of the dark streamers of red coming from Aylana's cut flesh, and was in full bloodlust. Chiara watched her friend in horror. Even without looking she knew the shark was coming back around for another pass.
The shark's mouth gaped open sickeningly wide, the jaw protruding forward to expose even more of the razor-sharp teeth. Without thinking, Chiara withdrew the conch shell from her pouch and, swimming forward, punched the shark as hard as she could with it right in its snout. The shark slowed and circled, shaking its head from side to side, then circled again and began heading for Aylana, who despite her struggles was still bleeding heavily and sinking slowly. Chiara met Aylana's panicked eyes. For a second, it seemed as if even the ocean had ceased to move. Then the shark was coming at Aylana again, and Chiara was darting back to where the trident was hidden.
It took very little time for Chiara to reach the trident, return to Aylana, and spear the shark through its gaping mouth, but it felt like another hundred years to the young lovers. When the sickly shark was finally dead, Chiara caught the sinking Aylana in her arms. She could tell Aylana was saying something because she could see her mouth moving, but no air came out and no sound could be heard. Any tears Chiara cried were lost in the ocean water around them, which was quickly becoming crimson with the blood that continued to blossom from Aylana's wounds. Chiara cursed and cried, and shook Aylana. She called out to Shindaleria to heal her cleric, but even she could see that Aylana's life was being drawn away from her like a receding tide. She thought about taking her back to where their nomadic settlement was camped, but knew it would take far too long. In the end, she just held Aylana, and kissed her forehead, and stroked her hair. Aylana died with a serene smile on her lips, her blood blossoming up and out around the pair like a rare and beautiful scarlet flower.
***
Chiara toyed with the shell necklace, crouched in the dark hold of the ship. It had been six years since Aylana had died. They had buried her a short distance from one of Shindaleria's underwater shrines, building a cairn of rocks to contain the body. Before she was covered up, Chiara had tucked a lump of rusted metal that had once been a whistle in Aylana's lifeless hand, then placed a necklace around her throat: abalone shell and shark's teeth. She had also sung the elegiacal lament at the ceremony of mourning.
Her mother, Nerene, had worried about her after the death. For months, Chiara had been paralyzed by grief. She had only left the settlement to visit the grottos and the rock grave, bringing pretty shells or morsels of fish or other food to leave at the grave. Scuttling crabs usually ate the food and scattered the shells, but Chiara seemed not to notice. The clergy at the shrines whispered amongst themselves when she passed. Eventually, one approached her, and tried to take her under his wing.
Even the priest was surprised by how apt a pupil Chiara became. Nerene attributed her daughter's changed behavior to maturation. The clerics at the grotto thought they had awakened a strong faith in Shindaleria, which had lain dormant until that time. No one asked Chiara. Even if they had, she would not have told them it was guilt that fueled her devotion in those early days, that she felt responsible for Aylana's death. After all, Aylana had died coming to meet her for a secret tryst, so it was Chiara, not the shark, who had robbed Shindaleria of such a promising young cleric. And since even music held little joy these days, there was nothing to be lost by trying to lessen some of her sorrow and guilt by taking Aylana's place serving Mother Ocean.
She had lived like that for five years, surfacing only to breathe, avoiding the shorelines where she and Aylana had spied on the Breathless, and avoiding of all places the kelp forest where Aylana had died. It helped that the tribe remained nomadic, and frequently was gone from the place where the shark had attacked. Chiara found some relief in these trips, as the memory of the tragedy was duller when she was not near the site of the accident, but she and Aylana had been friends for a century, and lovers for a fifth of that, and no hunting trip took her far enough away to forget her friend.
On the fifth year after Aylana's death, she surprised the community by accompanying the other clerics onto land in preparation for The Returning. Five years of devotion to Mother Ocean had left its mark on Chiara, and she even managed to convince herself that she was leaving the sea to look for precious gifts for Shindaleria, and not to search for the shadow of her lost friend. Most of the time the sea elves avoided the Breathless when they could, for they were reserved and untrusting of the landwalkers as a race, especially since Carocsa's death. Even so, Chiara still saw foreign sights: towns full of houses, bonfires sending up pillars of smoke, strange plants, and animals that never ventured near the sea's edge.
No one could offer a reason when Chiara disappeared a few months later. Even Chiara would have been hard pressed to give an explanation, but she told herself it had something to do with hope, or perhaps spreading Shindaleria's love, or some potential glimpsed on her trip to the foreign land. Perhaps she was just trying to escape her grief. She left in the night, taking her hunting spear and trident, her shell daggers and knives, some food, the conch shell instrument, and a comb made of fish bones. The food lasted a week, and then she had to slow in her journey to hunt silvery fish and gather oysters off rocks or dig clams out of their sandy burrows. One of the daggers broke a few weeks later, while Chiara was trying to pry open a cockle shell. The comb she lost somewhere on a beach on the west coast of Alindor. She didn't mind losing the comb, but she spent nearly a day looking for the conch shell trumpet when it went missing before finally giving up and continuing north. Aylana's necklace of shells never left her throat.
It took her a month to reach the port city of Mariner's Hold, and another week to scout out the docks and find a ship preparing to sail. She was no fool, and had noticed how the landwalkers stared at her blue-green skin and webbed fingers. The first time one of the city boys taunted her and threw a stone at her, she stole a blue cloak so dark it was almost black. The next time, she waited until the sun had set, and wore the cloak with the hood up. She didn't want to be remembered.
While she waited for a ship, she stole a quill and a blank book from a merchant when he left his stock unattended to help a customer. He was fat, and his dress was too rich, so she stole his purse too. She could have kept the coins – she knew their value, and what they could purchase – but she gave them to a beggar instead. He looked hungry, and his coat was too thin, almost threadbare in places. At night, she tried not to think of her mother, and began to write an elegy to Aylana in the leather-bound book. She wrote each lyric twice, once in Elven on the left page, and once in Common on the right. It gave her some pleasure to copy the form of the book that she and Aylana had spent so long studying.
It didn't take long to call up the knowledge of the Common tongue so painstakingly learned in her youth. Even so, it was hard to follow the conversations of the sailors and merchants on the docks, and the common people who roamed the streets. Those who spoke Elven were easier to understand, but the accent was still strange, and many of the words were different. Still, when Chiara finally snuck onto a ship, she had no trouble learning that it was carrying goods from Alindor to Port Hempstead on Mistone: cloth garments, wood, and fish. She didn't need to eavesdrop on the sailors to recognize the smell of salmon, though. The stink permeated the whole hull, and the pink flesh of the fish was covered by salt. It had not occurred to Chiara before that fish might spoil more quickly in the air. In the sea, they were always caught fresh and eaten raw. She ate the fish when she was hungry, but the flesh tasted of death to her. She also stole a set of robes from the hold, choosing a dark blue to match her cloak: blue for Shindaleria, dark for mourning. She gave equal weight to her faith and her grief.
The ship seemed to languish on the sea for weeks. Chiara roamed the cramped hold as best she could, and continued to write her elegy. She could hear the sailors moving above her, calling to one another, but she had no idea how far they were travelling. Her tribe's territory had extended only as far north as the Dragon Isles, so she had never been near Mistone, and sea elf communities are so widely dispersed that Chiara had never met a sea elf bringing tales from Port Hempstead before. Finally, she smelled land, and heard the cries of sea birds again, and knew they were close. As the dim gray of the cramped hull in daylight faded to the darker blackness of the hull at night, she felt the ship bump against an invisible dock, and knew they had made landfall. She withdrew as far back as she could in the hull, far past where the goods were stored, and covered herself with her cloak so she would not be spotted by the sailors.
Under the cover of the cloak, Chiara took the chain of tiny shells off her neck and began to whisper the same prayer she had uttered every day for many years now, worrying the shells like beads on a rosary. She prayed to Shindaleria, asking for strength, and for the happiness and safety of her mother, Nerene, and for Aylana's mother, and all the others she had left behind. She prayed for Mist to be punished somehow, and that the sharks would leave her family and loved ones in peace. And she prayed for Aylana, wherever she was, for her soul and that Aylana would love her still when they were finally reunited. When she reached the knot in the necklace, having made a full circle, she began again. The ship would be unloaded soon, and then she could leave. Until then she would wait, and while she waited, she would pray.
OOC Note: Although I have not defined Chiara's paternal parentage, neither do I make any claim to royalty, nobility, or any other special privilege of birth. I leave this ambiguous merely to allow for more flexibility in any future CDQs or the like. Any information on Chiara's father will come from the GM team alone, and I leave it entirely to their discretion.
Clerical Statements:
1. I have read and understand the dogma of Shindaleria, the expectations of playing a cleric of this goddess, and all available lore associated with sea elves and this deity. I fully intend to follow this dogma, and roleplay a devout cleric of Shindaleria. Up until this point, faith has been a dichotomy for Chiara: either one follows Shindaleria, or one is a traitorous lover of Mist. As she is exposed to other faiths, she will look to the teachings of Shindaleria for guidance, and follow the deity relations set out by the other clergy. However, Chiara is prone to follow her own path at times, and in exceptional circumstances might waver from these ... and risk the consequences of her Goddess's wrath. She would never knowingly aid a follower of Mist, though, and would balk at the evil nature of almost every other deity Shindaleria dislikes.
2. Chiara was not immediately drawn to the service of Shindaleria, but was always strongly aware of the faith and moderately devout, as it is an intrinsic part of sea elf culture. As her friend Aylana studied to become a priestess of Mother Ocean, Chiara became more aware of the particulars of the faith and fine points in the dogma she may not have otherwise been exposed to. At the time of Aylana's death, Chiara viewed Shindaleria as a protective mother, giving her children shelter, food, protection, and everything else they needed save oxygen in the form of the ocean. She fully believed that Shindaleria would protect her loved ones from the chaotic storms of the surface, and from Mist's influence. This faith was shaken slightly after Aylana's death, but eventually service to Shindaleria became like a spar from a ship's wreckage – something to cling to in the aftermath of disaster, and something to help keep yourself afloat. By serving Shindaleria, Chiara feels that she is partially compensating for the loss of what would have been Aylana's lifetime of faithful service, and over time this has blossomed into genuine faith and devotion. She is protective of the sea and its creatures, and would oppose anything that threatened the balance of harmony in the ocean. However, she is still inexperienced and young enough that she rarely weighs her decisions before acting, and as such is much more rash and impetuous than most other Shindalerian clerics. Chiara holds a great hatred in her heart for Mist, Mist's followers, and Mist's shark minions, and will violently oppose any who follow Mist or who threaten Shindaleria or the peace of the ocean in any way. Her grief is a great burden to her right now, but when possible she shares her knowledge of the sea and Shindaleria, so that others may also come to respect the ocean. She often tries to show sailors the wisdom in loving and trusting Shindaleria, rather than paying fearful tribute to Mist.
3. Chiara fights with the traditional weapons of the sea elves exclusively, as these are the familiar tools of hunting and defense that she grew up with. After Aylana's death, she goes nowhere unarmed, even if it is only a shell dagger. She does not favor spear, trident or dagger to the exclusion of any of the others, but merely chooses the weapon best suited to the task at hand or the situation. She has seen how the seawater corrodes metal, and dislikes any metal weapons. Whenever possible, she chooses weapons made only of materials that cannot rust, though in a pinch she would certainly use an iron dagger rather than be left unarmed in a fight. Chiara prefers robes of cloth over leather, and would never wear metal armor. Even thick leathers feel confining to her, after a century of flowing robes in the ocean. Silk best approaches the feeling of thin robes suspended in water, but the surface temperatures are prone to fluctuation, and Chiara recognizes the need to shield her body from the cold at times, and the unsuitability of silk for this particular task. She favors the color blue. At this stage in her grieving, she chooses dark shades, but presumably as the pain of Aylana's death dulls, Chiara will again wear brighter shades of blue. She likes plain fabrics, or any design or pattern that reminds her of the ocean.
Last edited by Carillon : 10-21-07 at 08:59 PM.
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