Sylvissa Valestrider
 Sylvissa Valestrider
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| Gender | Female |
| Race | Elezen |
| Clan | Wildwood |
| Citizenship | Gridania |
| Age | 29 |
| Marital Status | Single |
| Occupation | Conjurer; Mender |
| Height/Weight | 6'2" / 122 |
| Orientation | Heterosexual |
| Relatives |
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(WIP)
Sylvissa Valestrider (Born on the Fifth day of the Fifth Astral Moon), also known as 'Sylviane Voclain' in the eyes of treasured friends and peers, as that is her birth name. After recieving several cycles of training under the watchful eye of a family friend, the name Sylvissa Valestrider was chosen after becoming a Conjurer. She has lived a almost-full life before resorting to Conjury, having almost joined the famous Wood Wailers as a skilled Archer. However, her anger and stubbornness drove her away with her almost-fatal wounds to the path of healing. There before the Calamity, Sylvissa became influenced by a family friend, Gilebert, to shed her angry ways to become a Conjurer. Although her traditional lessons are over, Sylvissa has a far way to go before she becomes any master at the art of healing.
It was a year after the Calamity and Sylvissa employed herself to clear parts of the Sanctum of the Twelve, and she was quickly whisked away to work as an Officer and Healer to a Free Company. As of now, she is still employed by this Free Company. ( OOC: Twelve's Hymn )
Contents
Known Information
Twelve cycles of attempting to master Conjury. From the seas of La Noscea, to the shifting sands of the Sagolii, Sylvissa has endured rigorous training from a family friend. One may know that she is devoutly interested in the matters of the Twelve, recently graciously abandoning her year job of the upkeep for The Sanctum of the Twelve, to work for a Free Company.
If some were aware of her name and her life, they would know that 'Sylvissa Valestrider' is only but an alias for the young Sylviane Voclain. Only those to whom she trusts knows her true name.
Most would know that she is a meager Conjurer, working her way to become a master of healing, and to possibly reach the (very unlikely) goal of being chosen as a White Mage. She was often found heavily drinking in her days before becoming a Conjurer, but she has tried to stray from her past ordeals as of late.
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Appearance & Personality
'Not too tall, not too short,' claimed Sylvissa's father. She stands quite average in the heights of most Wildwood Elezen, but she seems to tower over races such as the Hyur and Lalafell. Her skin is pale, and her blue eyes seem to shine brighter than the milk-white skin of hers. Sylvissa shares the very same traits as most of her relatives do- the bright, coppery-red hair that she favours to tie her bangs and part of her hair into a simple braid in the back. On most occasions, she might even have leaves and other fauna stuck in her hair. Sylvissa also likes to keep herself in good physical shape, favouring simple exercises to keep herself in some shape. But for the most part, she doesn't really seem to mind what she looks like to others- she would rather much worry about other people than her own looks. However, she has several burn wounds upon her body. Her hands, arms, and parts of her legs and chest are burned. She tends to cover her hands up with gloves most often, since they were the most severe part of the wounds.
Friendly and kind to all she meets, she tends to fight the world's rudeness with her 'Killing the enemies with kindness' sort of attitude. At times, she may seem quite aloof, or just simply quiet due to losing herself in her ever-growing amount of thoughts. However, she is quick to bite back if her tactic of 'being kind' fails. Born with a short fuse, Sylvissa is quick to lose her patience at times like those, to fiercly fight back at any argument with her sharp sword of stubbornness in hand. However, over the last several years as training to be a skilled Conjurer, she has learned to repent her outbursts and gain balance over her thoughts.
Magic
It is noted that Sylvissa has a high affinity for White Magic, using it to defend and heal grievous wounds. She is not too skilled at this time, as her magic could close open wounds, mend fractured bones, and cast a light protective shield over an ally. However, she tends to not resort to magic at a flick of a wrist. She knows well enough that magic, even used in a positive light, can be potentially dangerous. With this, her first reaction to any severe wound would be from natural remedies before applying magic.
Sylvissa is also a hearer of the Twelveswood, but she can only hear the light sighs, whispers, and cries of the Shroud. In her past, it once drove her mad, but now she views it as mere background noise to enhance her Conjury. She can't really decipher what the Twelveswood asks or wishes, but she would know immediately when the wood was in danger.
Strengths & Weaknesses
- Strengths
- ■ Twelve cycles of training Conjury and the spells surrounding it. Though she may have experience, she has a long way to go before she is any master at the art of mending.
- ■ She once had mastery at using a bow, but she quickly disregarded following that path after key events in her life time. Sylvissa may probably pick up the skill up again at a later point, but she does not have any interests in it at all, at this moment.
- ■ A quick thinker and always stuck within the confines of her own thoughts. Although she may seem aloof, she is quick to think on her own feet to try to gain advantage over others in some situations.
- ■ Some Alchemy and herb knowledge, enough to create several medicinal salves.
- Weaknesses
- ■ Cannot fight, due to moral issues and just having no desire to cause havoc. She wouldn't want to harm anyone, unless her life and the lives of others depended on it.
- ■ Has Pyrophobia.
- ■ Quite stubborn, probably stubborn enough combined with her voiced thoughts to get herself killed.
- ■ Has a fierce temper if provoked, however, with her several cycles of training she is able to keep this pretty level, but if provoked enough she will fight back.
Biography
Foundations
Wings unfurled, reaching to take a gulp of air from the sky's domain. The sound repeated itself several times over, like water spilling off a large leaf. One's ears may judge this as an actual bird, but one's vantage point of the scene might tell them otherwise.
Arrows, keen as any pointed dagger flew across, carried by the wind, ending its short flight thudding into thick bark. Sap poured from the tree, almost like a wounded soldier of war. A tall Wildwood Elezen walked up, bow in hand, to pull the crude arrow from the tree. It struck deep, but the male seemed to pull it out quick enough. One might note that several other cuts in the tree, indicating majority of this male's practice was done here, at the base of an old tree.
It was the fifth day of the fifth Astral Moon. To most, it was quite ordinary, but to the archer, it meant much more. His child was to be born on this eve, and he felt more nervous as the hours grew by. She is in the hands of the Twelve now, reverberated the thoughts of the Elezen, showing deep concern for his wife and hoping for some sort of ease in his timidness.
He was sent out for one task- to not cause any strife by his nervousness with his wife, and to retrieve a full pail of water for the Conjurers that were aiding her process. It was nearly nightfall, and the poor man hadn't brought to his mind to grab the pail lying by their temporary abode- a small tent at the heels of Fallgourd Float. He made mental note to made speed to return with the pail, to avoid scolding.
His coppery hair shined in the lowering sun, the cool air breezing over his short curls. He traced the horizon for a brief moment, admiring the beauty of the sunset and turned toward home, slinging his battle-worn bow over his back. He arrived swiftly, jogging at a light pace to swiftly grab the large pail resting by the closed entrance of the tent. He could briefly here comforting tones of voice and the endless groaning of his wife. 'Poor Aessine.' He thought briefly.
After filling the pail with cool, clear water, he pushed the pail first through the fold of the tent, trying not to disturb the Conjurers at work. Plus, he wasn't too keen on seeing blood of any sort. 'Laurent? Is that you, good sir?' eminated the voice from within. Laurent, immediatly linked the voice to the rough, stoic face of Gilebert, an esteemed Conjurer of great ability, and good friend. Gilebert's gloved hands took the pail, giving thanks to Laurent. 'Your Aessine, Twelve bless her, is doing.. exceptionally well for such demands on her being. She has fallen into rest for now though, but the child should be here soon.' Laurent dropped his hands to his side, scratching his neck in thought, pondering over Gilebert's choice of words. 'She will be fine, yes?' He asked. 'That is up to the Twelve. She is in their hands for the time being.' Gilebert quickly responded, his words true to their meaning, but not full of hope as much as Laurent desired.
Laurent fell asleep next to the tall tree to the side of the pitched tent, letting out a loud snore in his almost-peaceful sleep. Yet his dreams were otherwise- painted freely with evil, darkness at every corner, and full of screams. Laurent stirred, a loud cry awoke him from his sleep.
Sylviane Voclain opened her blue eyes into the world that night, staring into the gaze of her mother, crying loudly.
Awakening
'I am Sylvissa, strider of the vale!' yelled Sylviane to her group of small Elezen peers. She held up a large spear, often used by the Wood Wailers of the Shroud. The children around her carried sticks or any sort of crude weapon. It was a normal arrangement like this on sunny days at Fallgourd. Away they went like the tide when the rain came though, most parents flocked to their children, telling them that they would grow ill in the rain.
Today was a special day, it was Sylviane's seventh nameday. Today she would be taken along with her father to train with a new bow he had promised her a cycle past. She thought of it as a step onto the path to becoming a fierce Wood Wailer, protecting the occupants of the Shroud from evil and terrifying beasts.
'Sylviane Voclain!' yelled a voice a few ilms away, rough and old, seasoned to the bend and flow of time. 'Return my spear or we go nowhere, little strider of the vale!' Sylviane jumped off the well, scowling madly. Her face turned red and she looked toward the ground as she walked through the small crowd of kids toward her father, who shared her looks- Red hair, ocean-blue eyes, and a small streak of stubborness in their steps. She waved to her peers and walked off with her father toward their home. 'What in the seven hells, Sylviane?' The cold tone of Laurent felt like sharp daggers at Sylviane's neck. He was obviously furious and tired of her act. 'What makes you think that-' He was interrupted by the stubborn red-haired child. 'We were only playing, father! I can fend for my own!'
From there on, the pair walked in silence to their home. Opening the door to their small abode, the smell of freshly baked cake filled the senses of both angry Elezen. It calmed the stiff mood for the two, noticing a freshly baked Pineapple Ponzecake lying by the opened window to cool off. A tall woman came into view, very muscular, and she crossed her arms looking at the pair. Aessine Voclain, a once-renown carpenter, lightly noted with her skill to make Aetherial masks for the Wood Wailers. Her skill showed throughout the home, as many of the furnishings were some of her prized works. As of now, she has abandoned working full time, but she still is sometimes seen working on something.
'Are you two going to sit there all day?' She inquired, suspiciously looking over her fierce child and husband. Both moved their gazes over to Aessine, breaking from their thoughts. Smirking, Aessene's thoughts spoke truly: 'They both are so alike in nature.' 'Y-yes. I was just scolding.. Syl.' Laurent burst suddenly. 'Scolding?' Aessene would uncross her arms, walking over to the two. Sylviane crossed her arms in turn, looking away from her father. 'Caught her red handed with my spear. Gods knows what she would have done this time, Aess.'
'I know of it.' She responded lightly, grabbing the small child by the arm. 'It is your nameday, sit down and enjoy your cake.' She looked back up to her tired and oh-so-timid husband, urging him to walk into the other room. Hours passed and afternoon shifted into dusk. Sylviane had finished her cake, and her parents had given her gifts. A necklace, from her mother. A bow and a nice set of arrows, from her father. 'Now, Sylviane, you hold a very dangerous weapon.' Her father told her condesecendingly, eyeing her slightly. 'All are dangerous, father. Even people can be weapons.' She responds, fingering lightly over the bow string, tracing it all the way down.
Scars
The chanting mantras of whispers filled Sylviane's thoughts. Plagued with them for seven cycles, the voices grew with intensity as the cycles drew by. It drew her mad. It drove her away from becoming a Wood Wailer, and it certainly now drove her into the path of the Conjurer. Regret washes over her soul, sticking to her like a sore wound.
Gilebert watched over her solemnly, the gently-aged Highlander watching her brows furrow in response to her inner turmoil. 'You need to let go, Sylviane,' He added softly, in hopes to still her growing pool of anger. 'Sometimes we must accept what have become. For the better of others..' He paused, wetting his dry, chapped lips. '..and to yourself as well. Chin up, child, we have much work to do.' He stood up from the chair, glancing over the mass amount of tomes scattered around their table that he was seated at.
Anger spilled over her being like a madman. 'We have accomplished nothing! All I have done since I have gotten here is sort nonsense papers!' Sylviane's tone was cold, and her gaze felt unwelcomed. 'I almost died, Gilebert!' She motioned toward her bandages reaching up over her arms, hands, and chest. 'And you expect me to be okay with being a Conjurer, accept my fatal wounds, and deal with being separated from my own family because of..' She paused in the middle of her tantrum, ultimately realizing her errors. '..Myself.'
'What you did, Sylviane, was out of rash reasoning. Becoming a Conjurer might prove to be the best option for the slight echo of the forest in your head.. and your unwelcomed tide of anger.'
'We start today. The path unfolds itself from here, Sylvissa, Strider of the Vale,' ended Gilebert, his words full of validity. 'We have a long way to go.'
The Path
'Acceptance.'
'What do you mean by that, Gilebert?' asked Sylviane, curious to what his motives were. The sands shifted in the wind, blowing sand into her field of vision. They were out far into the Sagolii, and Sylviane was more confused as ever to her Mentor's motives. They finally had reached the stage of mastering the element of air, and he had came abruptly to her several days past, warning of their soon travels. It was typical of Gilebert, though. After mastering water, they had taken a trip to Costa del Sol to put her training into action by pushing her Mentor away with a blast of water. Just thinking about Costa made Sylviane wish she were hearing the waves break onshore, enjoying a nice cool drink, and having the cool breeze part her hair. However, the only waves here were made of sand and not as pleasing.
'Asking the elementals for their powers entails more than just simply asking. Air is the element of freedom. Being at one with yourself is freedom. Having acceptance leads to tranquility,' answered the white robed Gilebert. His gaze was covered partially by his hood, but Sylviane imagined his usual stoic look beneath. She nodded slowly, understanding half what he meant. What was she going to accept?
'Face your past, strider of the vale.'
The past. Filled with fear, anger, and drinking. It reeked with pain for Sylviane, and she was finally getting comfortable with Gilebert's simple, but guiding responses. The cycles drew by, and she had lost count at four. She honestly thought that he would never mention her past, since it stirred her anger and timidness.
'No,' she replied firmly, after great thought. 'You must, or you cannot heal the wounds of others.' He would never relent to her stubbornness, especially after throwing stones at him several times during their last practice with Earth based skills. He just stood there, crossing his arms as the sand flew by his large form.
'I didn't bring you out here for no reason, Sylviane. Especially in weather like this. This sandstorm is representative of your past, you must find a way to find shelter until the storm passes. Sit down, and let us meditate. Let the Twelve guide your path toward acceptance.'
He obviously wasn't going to relent, since he had sat down, crossed his legs, and rested his palms on his knees. Sylviane sighed loudly, sitting down in front of him. The sands shifted in the background, and the hot sun gleamed overhead. It was terribly dry and hot, and Sylviane wished to get out of this dreadful weather. To get out, she would have to face her past.
'Focus on the beginning. Tell me what you see.'
Sylviane felt the rush of memories hitting her, reliving them like they were like the present: The day started as normal as usual, tending the small garden in the back of her childhood home, taking a morning walk, go to the local bar, and then to go return back home. The whispers were back- again. Well, they were always there since her seventh nameday, but she ignored it for the most part, letting it pass. On that day, it was terrifying. Driving her mad. On her walk, she had forgotten to blow the candles out in her room. No one else would be home since her parents were out buying food for the next few weeks. She dismissed the thought, keeping on her walk.
She returned home to fire. The memories here hurt more, and she broke out of her thoughts.
'I.. can't, Gilebert,' she weakly stated. 'You must. I am here to guide you.' He outstretched his arm, resting it on her shoulder, squeezing it tightly. 'I know you can do this, stubborn girl.' Sylviane looked up at him, giving him a weak smile. She plunged back into her past.
The fire raged on, burning the home to ashes. Sylviane ran immediatly inside, unaware of the wounds to come. She was convinced that her mother was still inside for some odd reason. The whispers turned to shouts as the flames burned the tree next to the home. Crouching, she felt the flames lick her arms, and she managed to crawl out, screaming. From there it was dark. She remembered being awoken by Gilebert, after he had bandaged her up. 'You are to walk the path of the Conjurer now. Your family has willed so.'
The memories ended there. 'Why did just simply send me.. no, exile me away without contact?' She mumbled, feeling torn. 'They believe your past lashings of anger lead you to burn down their home. They were convinced that I could set you right. However, we were not aware of your ability to hear the stillness of the Shroud.'
'We walk the path of the Conjurer for a reason, Sylviane. To uphold the will of the Elementals, borrow their powers to aid the Twelveswood, Eorzea and all her peoples. To master all the Elementals' powers and seek repentance from the Twelve is to be able to have the power to mend all the errors around us. Air is freedom, Water is balance, and Earth is strength. I learned all my techniques from my Mentor, and I mean well to pass them to you.'
'You are ready to become a Conjurer, Sylvissa Valestrider. Accept your new name to show that you have power over your past.'
Calamity
Fire blazed over the Twelveswood, and all were in panic. Sylvissa and her once-Mentor went around, gathering the wounded to Gridania. An Elder Primal, unleashed from the Dalamud? Unheard of. There was once stories of a cult running around the Twelveswood serving their lives to the moon, but to actually bring it down upon Eorzea? Insanity.
There was a lot to learn, Sylvissa thought throughout these dangerous moons. It wasn't too long ago that she became a full-fledged Conjurer bound in service to Gridania. If someone told her that Dalamud was going to be thrust from the heavens down to Eorzea, she'd turn them down with a roll of her eyes.
There is work to be done, echoed her thoughts while bandaging a young child.
Mourning
A small sphere, the size of his large, weathered palms, rests outstretched in his arm. The outlying material is made of bright blue crystal, wrapped in small, twisting bands of inlaid gold, akin to any piece of Allagan work. The bands themselves, swirl over the mass of crystal, almost like the lines of a finger's print. '..A gift, stubborn girl.' He murmured weakly, his recent rambling coming to a brief end. He starts again, explaining about such item. 'It was a gift, from someone I knew an age past. An Aether Manipulator, if you may give a proper term. I was about to study this into my.. later cycles.. but I have managed to forget it, the poor thing.' Gilebert paused, searching over Sylvissa's form, smiling softly at her, but she just stared back, with fear dancing in her gaze. 'Do not worry. I will explain what it does: One may give their aether to it, and it exchange it disrupts the aether around the sphere, and possibly the user, if enough if put enough into exchange. It is said in tomes that the marking of a new age is filled with aether disruptions. A toy it might be in the hands of a child, but a weapon it could possibly be in someone else's hands.' He ended with, taking in a large gulp of breath as he matched her gaze, attempting to guess what she could be thinking.
Sylvissa replied solumnly, her voice full of grief. 'I am no scholar, how should I know if it works or not?' Taking another shallow breath, the elder Highlander poured his strength into getting up, grunting as he pools the last bits of his strength to merely stand before her. His once, very anguished pupil, who once fought against who she was to become. Many memories were spouted from that poor child, and he felt content with his teaching. He used his other arm to grab her shoulder, squeezing it. 'Find those who that walk that path, Sylviane. I trust you enough to find those to trust this with.' He motions his head toward the sphere, which he would then place in Sylvissa's hands.
'It isn't long now, Sylviane.' Gilebert cast his gaze away. 'I knew you'd be something special since the day you were born. Please, stay out of trouble and know I am still with you.' He would then remove his famous silver leaf necklace, which he the tied it around Sylvissa's neck. Tears spilled from Sylvissa's eyes and she burst out sobbing as he did so.
'Do not mourn me, Sylviane. Be brave, and hold on to these dearly. Walk in the light of the Twelve.' Those were his last words to her before he made her leave his cozy abode in the East Shroud.
Tranquility
It has been a cycle since the Calamity and her Mentor's death, and Sylvissa has made refuge within the confines of the Sanctum of the Twelve. Since the Calamity showed the ages-old ruins, Sylvissa decided to help out in the recovery of this lost relic. It wasn't so far into her work that she was approached by several people, to be enlisted in the ranks of their Free Company as a healer. She still visits to the Sanctum any free time she gets, but ever since the Company has moved its headquarters to Thanalan, time spent at the Sanctum is less.
((More shall be added as I go on. All above may be changed at any time I wish, since I am never too okay with what I write.))
Carried Items
- ■ Silver-Leaf Necklace - A complicated process of gaining the true essence of a tree's leaf into precious metals would take several days to recreate, unless one was a skilled smith. This necklace once belonged to Sylvissa's recently passed mentor.
- ■ Allagan Aetheric Field Manipulator - A small sphere, made of the components of crystal, gold, and other unknown properties, is once said to disrupt the user's aetheric field in exchange of their own aether to power the device. No one really knows the intended use of the sphere, but common scholar's knowledge would know that severe aetheric disruptions are the common cause of most ends of Eras. (( If I feel like this will become OP in some weird way, as it is literally a child's toy, I will remove this.))
- ■ Worn Stave - Made of Walnut, this staff has served it's purpose: to be the outstretched arm to cast spells of Conjury. It was the first object she was given when initially becoming a conjurer. The initials 'S.V.' are marked towards the tapered end of the cane.
- ■ Small, Leatherbound Satchel - Usually bound to Sylvissa's belt, this handy bag contains: Two pouches filled with gil; roughly about 3,000 in all, Several glass vials that are empty, bandages and a matching jar of salve that stops infection, fatigue, & minor bleeding; made of grinding down Mugwort, Trillium, Pearl Ginger from the Far East, and several lesser ingredients to make a yellow-green salve. She also carries a small book and quill, mostly to take notes.
Some of these rumors are untrue or are greatly exaggerated. Please feel free to add your own rumors under PC! ◢ Common Rumors (Easily overheard)
◢ Moderate Rumors (Moderately difficult to overhear)
◢ Rare Rumors (Very difficult or rarely overheard)
◢ PC Rumors (Rumors from the character's of other players)
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Footnotes
- Template by Bancroft Gairn
