Sylviana Gir-Abar

Sylviana Gir-Abar the Harper.
She appears to be a Sylvankind of the Lassaran D'ahranal.
She appears to be very young and taller than average.
She has sultry jade green eyes and fair skin.
She has shoulder length, wavy golden blonde hair.
She has a delicate face, a small nose and small pointed ears.
She has a faint silvery mark on her forearm.
She has old battle scars on her left hand.

She is wearing an etched sterling silver headband, a crystal amulet, a purple crocus, a fresh sweet briar rose, a delicate red velvet choker, a tiny silver modwir tree pin, a sword-shaped silver cloak pin, a silver-edged blue pelican feather, a dark band, a black spidersilk vest, an antique silver chatelaine, a flowing black silk skirt, some smokey grey leathers, a soft black cloak edged in faded silver threading, a faenor trimmed leather thigh-sheath, a leather knapsack, a rune-carved ebonwood harp case, and some knee-high cuffed leather boots.





I was born of sylvan parents. My father died, so my mother told me later, fighting undead, and would never see the daughter his beloved wife bore him only a few months later. My earliest memories are of living in the forests near Talador where a small sylvan community lived quietly in the trees. A short time after Jantalar defeated Talador in 5087, my mother fled with me to escape the Jantalarian troops, settling at last in another small sylvan community. My mother was wooed and charmed by a human of noble birth, when I was only a child. At the first news that they were to be wed, I was devastated, having come to worship my father's memory. But my soon-to-be step-father won me over after a time especially with his obvious love for my mother. That and my mother's obvious happiness soon made any of my misgivings fade away.



Now, however, I scoff at the thought of my step-father being of noble birth, and believe that if he was, then he'd been disowned by his family and left to make his own way. My step-father is the only father I ever really knew, but now I can barely speak his name without uttering a curse. My mother died within a few years after her re-marriage and, I have come to believe in the intervening years, it was by my step-father’s hand. After a brief period of happiness following her re-marriage, I only remember a sad, cowed woman who seemed older than her actual years even by sylvan standards. During the few, short, remaining years of my mother's life, I came to care even more deeply for her and was fiercely protective of her on the occasions when my step-father would take his anger out on her. I was often the alternative recipient of that anger when I tried to protect my mother. But I accepted that happily if it would save my mother from my step-father’s wrath. I used to spend hours and hours in the trees near our home, trying to escape the unhappiness. Writing down my dreams, writing stories and poems where the beautiful damsel was saved from the evil lord. Writing little snippets and songs that I would share with my mother hoping to see her rare smile. When I was but a small lass, my paternal aunt was chosen by my mother to be my patron and my aunt chose the Fresiawn D'ahranal, which happened to be her own, for me.



After marrying my mother, my step-father moved us away from the small sylvan community that my mother had fled to, to a small holding purchased with my mother's coin, near a mostly human settlement. Upon my mother's death only a few years later, my step-father sold that small holding and took me from the only real home I was ever to know without so much as a letter of farewell to my aunt or any other relatives as far as I am aware of. I have no idea if they even now know of my mother's death. The two of us, "father" and daughter, wandered aimlessly (so it seemed to me) for a few years, with myself quite often being "hired out" to do menial work, or, if I was lucky, some sort of domestic work for small landholders or minor nobility. At last we ended up in the Barony of Mestanir in 5091 where I was sold (my words), 'indentured' as my step-father said, to a human Archmage of the Mestanir nobility in spite of my protests that I had hoped to be apprenticed to a loresinger or troubador.

My apprenticeship with the Archmage was a nightmare. He was more than cruel. And my step-father was no help against the abuse I suffered at his hands. The Archmage would just shower coin on my step-father to look the other way. I am not going to detail any of that here. It was during this time that I joined the Lassaran D’ahranal, secretly, during times I could steal for myself. These times became less and less frequent as my ‘apprenticeship’ with the Archmage progressed. It was also during this time, in the year 5092, that the Baron Hochstib made war on Mestanir. At first the battle went poorly for him but then, inexplicably, the mages who had been our main defense began to fail at their magicks, even to losing them entirely during battle and, inevitably, the Baron won the day and conquered Mestanir, adding it to the list of lands he controlled. Shortly after his victory the Baron expelled all magic users from the barony. Of course this would have included the Archmage I was indentured to and quite possibly myself. The Archmage was in a rage, first at seeing the defeat of his fellow mages, and then, quite understandably, about the order of banishment which would leave his lands ripe for the taking by the Baron. His treatment of me was even worse during this period, to the point I often wished for death rather than to have to continue serving him. I really believed he would one day kill me. Then, at a conference with his relatives, including his father, who is head of their clan, it seems as if none of his relatives is willing to put in a good word for him with the Baron, too frightened that they might be considered traitors or subversives and find themselves the target of the Baron’s wrath. However, the Archmage’s father suggests that he might try to bribe the Baron with a large amount of coin, precious gems and fine furs and silks. Perhaps some fine pieces of craftsmanship in the form of furniture and other objects. His father suggests one more ‘object’ that perhaps the Archmage could add to the list – a sylvan lass for His Lordship’s pleasure. I do not know if anyone can imagine my shock when I am told I am to be included in the bribe to the Baron.



Well, as it turns out, either the Baron has no taste for such a gift or is not impressed enough to take advantage of it. He keeps, of course, the large amount of gold and all the jewels and silks and artwork. But refuses to stay the order of banishment. He is instructing his guards to return me to the Archmage’s men who had brought me when I beg him to reconsider. Saying I will certainly be punished if he sends me back so quickly, perhaps even killed for failing to please the Baron. Perhaps if he could just let me stay until morning and then send me back… or keep me and I will work hard in the kitchens or any task he can find for me. So I stand, trembling uncontrollably, my eyes pleading with the Baron. After a long while the Baron shakes his head, and orders me taken away to be returned. I am startled to feel tears on my cheeks as I am being led away, looking back in anguish as the Baron returns to his desk and to his work.



Blindly I follow the guards as they make their way down the stone stairs of the fortress where the Baron has set up his headquarters. Leaning wearily against the wall in the guardroom at the bottom, I close my eyes and press my forehead to the cool stone, hoping to stop the throbbing in my temples and wondering, in some detached part of my mind, if this will be the night my master will finally kill me and deciding that I will fight him as best I can. For I cannot live like this any longer. As I wait for the men who brought me to be summoned, I cannot seem to stop trembling. The tall guardsman, a captain, who seems to be the one in charge, frowns at me and tells me I may have a seat at the fire if I am cold. In a daze of fear I allow him to lead me to a stool by the fire and accept the cup of hot tea which he hands me, not realizing the piteous sight I make as I sit there, trembling, with silent tears still escaping my eyes as I stare into the fire. He stares at me for a long time with an expression of concern, but there is nothing I can say to him and so lose myself in thoughts of what is to come when I am returned to Archmage. With a shudder at that thought, suddenly I am aware the guard’s back is turned to me… and, could it be? Glancing around… there are no others in the room! I had been sipping my tea as I sat in dread and now I rise to my feet, making not a sound, and begin to back towards the doorway, my anguished eyes on the guard’s back, silently willing him not to turn around. Hardly daring to breathe I finally reach the door, turning sideways slowly and glancing out, first one direction and then the other. No one! As I step fully into the hall and take two steps down the flight of stairs leading back the way I was brought in, I hear the sound of many footsteps just coming up! It is the guards, bringing my escort back for me! Glancing once more in the doorway and then at the only open path to me, I turn swiftly and set the mug of tea on the stair, creeping quickly and silently up the stairs. I hear a shout from below. My absence has been discovered! Running the rest of the way up, I burst into the Baron’s chamber, wanting only to beg him to delay my return for a few hours.



The chamber is empty, but a hanging on the wall opposite the door has been pushed aside to reveal a door and I quickly dash toward it and down the steps I find beyond, into a small enclosed courtyard. The Baron is there and turns, startled, as his personal guard moves toward me, putting himself between any threat and his liege lord, and catching me in his arms as I try to throw myself at the Baron’s feet. All I can manage to whisper is “please” as my eyes search the Baron’s for any sign of mercy. Shortly, a small contingent of guardsmen race through the door and start to swarm down the stairs behind me when the Baron roars, "Out!! All of you!", with a fierce look on his face. Startled themselves, the guards retreat through the door and close it at another shouted order from the Baron. Both the Baron and his guard are now frowning at me quite fiercely, and I notice for the first time, that the Baron is standing next to a huge cart that seems to hold some sort of giant gem or crystal. With a muttered oath he barks an order and, a form steps from behind the Baron, someone I had not noticed before, and hurriedly covers the crystal on the cart with a large tarpaulin, while the Baron’s eyes never leave me. I feel a chill now. Something is very wrong. I have interrupted something. The man who throws the tarpaulin on the cart tries to keep his face turned away from me, but I have already seen the concern etched on it as if on stone. Some small part of my mind, which has been overwhelmed by months of abuse and pain and fear, suddenly senses some even more grave danger and with a small whimper, I faint dead away, my mind overwhelmed by a burden too great to handle.



When I wake, I know not how much time has passed. I am back in the Baron’s chambers, seated in a low chair near the fire, my wrists bound tightly in front of me with a length of silk. I look up to see the Baron with his back toward me and I struggle silently with the silk binding my wrists before giving a strangled scream as a hand is placed on my shoulder and one over my mouth from behind. “Quiet, little one. Do not disturb the Baron just now. Sit quietly and I won’t harm you.” The hands release me and I look up into the eyes of the Baron’s personal guard. I nod, hardly daring to breathe as my heart pounds, and, sensing menace from the man behind me and even greater menace from the Baron in front of me, I stifle a sob and close my eyes tightly, my body taut with tension and fear. The man behind me turns to the side and picks up a cup from the table. Holding it to my lips he tells me to drink, it is a little warm wine that will help to calm me. My mouth has gone dry with fear so I drink, hoping the warmth that spreads through me will not only warm me but do as he says and help to calm my pounding heart.



It seems as if I have slept after that, waking with a start, my mind seeming to be clouded somehow and I feel as if I am watching what happens from a distance. After what seems hours I feel a presence before me and opening my eyes once again, I am surprised to see the Baron standing before me. Thinking only to rise and curtsy I struggle to come to my feet from the low chair but the hand of the guard behind me on my shoulder keeps me in place. I gaze up as the Baron glances at me, then at his guard, nodding slightly at the guard’s raised eyebrow. Then he places his hand on my other shoulder and murmurs, “If it’s of any consolation lass, I am sorry. There are many casualties in war and sometimes even the innocent must pay a price.” With that he turns and goes to the door, directing several guards inside and speaking quietly with them. I’m trembling now and close my eyes once again, trying to calm myself, the firm hand on my shoulder squeezing it lightly once, which makes me want to weep. Suddenly, strong hands lift me to my feet and I open my eyes, willing myself somehow to stand straight and tall, trying not to tremble as I am firmly escorted to the group of guards by the door. I am disappointed to see that the tall captain from the guardroom is not among them, he had a kind face, but all these faces are hard as stone. Before I have time to think further my hands are unbound and bound once again behind my back while a thin circle of wire is looped about my throat and pulled tight. From behind me comes a soft voice, “Go without a struggle and it will be easier for you lass. Struggle and the wire will tighten, which you will find…unpleasant.” And with that, a guard on either side of me and one to front and back, I am taken from the room, never even having a chance for a last pleading look at the Baron. This time when we exit the room it is not to go down the main stairs. We walk through several dark corridors to a well-worn stairway leading down into apparent darkness. However as we descend it never becomes totally dark. Glancing up I see that sconces at regular intervals along the wall of the stairway hold stones with a faint glow about them.



The trip into the inner fortress seems to take forever and then we are descending an all but unlit stairway, the air damp and stale and smelling of rot. I stumble and fall once, the wire around my throat tightening cruelly before one of the soldiers hears my gasp of pain and loosens it slightly. I am allowed to rest for a moment there, sitting on the step, my head against the cool stone. I ask if I might have some water and it is offered without a word. Drinking almost greedily, knowing it will likely be the last I am ever to taste, I am finally pulled to my feet to resume the seemingly endless trek towards the dark depths below.



Finally we arrive in the almost dark of the glowing stones set along the walls. I am taken to the edge of what seems to be a well, or cistern of some sort, though it is a huge one to judge by the width of the opening. I am able to briefly see over the wide ledge into the depths, but there is nothing to be seen but darkness, no sign of the bottom at all. Then I am turned around and a hand on my shoulder from behind forces me to my knees, trembling violently. The other three stand close in front of me. Afraid to look up myself, suddenly a hand is reaching down to tilt my head up and I am looking into a stony face. “The Baron’s guard has asked us to show you mercy if you did not try to escape,” he says. “Our orders are to throw you alive into the cistern.”



As we stand at the cistern they have been ordered to throw me into, the tall one who is speaking, the one with the soft brown eyes my mind for some reason takes note of, said I had been brave and that they would not enjoy doing what they had been ordered to do. But do it they must. However they have all agreed that there is no reason for me to suffer so cruelly and that he, himself, would make sure I was dead before being thrown into the depths. With this he sits on the wide ledge of the cistern while another pulls me to my feet and scoops me up, placing me in the arms of the one sitting on the edge of the cistern. Looking up I can see pain etched into his face as he tightens his hold on me and I can only whisper my thanks in a choked voice as tears flow down my cheeks. Trembling violently, I hear him unsheathe his knife. Even now I can remember his face and that small sound the blade made when it came free of the sheath. I close my eyes, wondering if it will hurt very much to die then feel a sudden burning agony as his blade enters my flesh. The act, however is... interrupted... and through my pain I can hear sounds of fighting, shouts, a loud cry, the clash of weapons and suddenly the arms holding me are pushing me over the edge. I open my eyes as I try to claw at the rough stone for a handhold and find a shallow grip in a loose section of stone. Looking up I will never forget the anguish I see in those soft, brown eyes. I can read his face, anguish for what he has been ordered to do, anguish for what he has done, and, as he raises his knife and slashes at my left hand, anguish for what he knows, by my open eyes, he is doing.



I fall for what seems to me a long time into the deep cistern and land with a cruel thud and a scream of agony that echoes in my ears before losing consciousness. When I wake to agonizing pain I can only manage to whimper. I have not the strength to even sit up, my left hand has been slashed cruelly and is useless. My right arm and right leg are broken and useless. Each breath I draw is painful and when I try to move and pain lances through my chest, I realize I must have broken a rib or two at least in my fall. It is pitch black and I can hear water nearby, but have no idea in which direction the sound comes from. Looking up there is only darkness now, no sign of any light, not even a dim glow from the glowing stones set in the walls of the room above.



I can barely think from the pain of the knife wounds and my broken bones. I reach up and feel stickiness on my temple, probably the result of the fall. I try to crawl and agony greets my effort, but I manage a little distance before suddenly, there is nothing under me and I am falling a short distance now into the water. How close I came to drowning I will never know. My injured form is taken by some deep current in the well and my body washed along until it is washed up onto a ledge of some sort deep beneath the earth. It is here I wake in total darkness, gasping with pain from my injuries, my left hand all but useless as I try to claw myself upright and fail utterly. How long I sleep and how many times I wake only to succumb to pain and fall into unconsciousness again I have no idea. I can barely recall moving beyond the ledge and crawling over something... things... am I going up or down? I have no idea... my mind filled with my physical agony and the dark closing in on me cruelly. I can remember the falling... a long way it seemed... and then more pain... agony, retreating and returning in waves. Suddenly I realize I am not alone... there are... things.. I reach out and touch them with my good hand... cool... smooth... flowing... they are on my face... my body... inside my clothing... all around me... gliding gently, silkenly... then more pain as they taste me... taste of me... how much time passes? Impossible to tell... they cover me gently for a time... and I try to rest my mind from the pain... I sleep, perhaps... and wake... alone? Ooh... no... there they are... good... it's better not to be alone... they don't know... don't understand how they hurt me.... with their tasting... it... well... it can be borne... only don't leave me please... I sing sometimes... something I dreamt? Something they whisper to me? Soon I will be warm... and safe... and the pain will be gone... I only hope my friends will remain with me... yes.. if only I can sleep... and not wake.



I remember later that through my pain I had realized they were snakes, coming and going, and that meant there must be somewhere they were going to. Maybe I could find where they were going, maybe it was a way out of my dark prison. Somehow, still slipping in and out of periods of unconsciousness, I managed to follow them, oftentimes losing them completely and having to wait, resting, fevered and thirsty until they returned to me, terrified that they would not and I would die there, all alone, in the darkness. Finally there is a pinpoint of light just ahead and I weep, crawling painfully, dragging my useless leg and arm, gritting my teeth at the agony each movement brings. Finally, there it is, a small opening and I can see my friends streaming through it. Only it is too small for me to get through and I weep with frustration. I try to yell, hoping someone might hear me, only my voice is cracked and barely audible, I don’t have the strength cry out any louder. Steeling myself against the agony, I try to use my left hand to dig at the moist dirt around the opening, using my elbow to dislodge some rocks, pausing every minute or so to rest and sometimes awaking to find I had lost consciousness again. It’s almost impossible, but maybe if I can get turned around, use my good leg to kick at the opening and so this is what I do. It seems to take forever, again waking and sleeping off and on as I fight not to give in to the demand my body is making to just rest and sleep. I know if I give in I will never wake. Finally the opening is large enough for me to squeeze myself through, not even able to scream any longer at the pain it causes because my throat is dry and parched. I crawl out into what now has become nightfall and I can’t see any sign of habitation, only the stars up above. Closing my eyes, exhausted, the last reserves of what little strength I had managed to muster gone, my last thought is that at least I won’t die alone in the dark, underground but here in the air with the stars above me.



I awaken to agony... blinding, white-hot agony... the sound of someone screaming... but... it's me... it is my hoarse screaming that echoes in my mind. I drop back into darkness. Waking again... pain... no... let me sleep... please... agony as my screams fill my head and the darkness returns. How long this continues? No way to measure... finally... I wake... and find... pain... but I don't hear the screaming... my lips try to smile as the darkness reclaims me. Finally, conscious... and... I have been saved.... somehow.... I am alive, though gravely injured... but I am being cared for... in a rough manner.. but still... attended to... my left hand will never be quite the same they say... but still... for these conditions... it is remarkable I will still be able to use it. “You must rest. Get stronger." They are elves, my rescuers. After several weeks I am strong enough to hear the tale of how they came to find me. They ask what happened... how did you manage to survive... I only smile... my good hand stroking... what? as it lays next to me.. I’m not even aware I’m doing it and they look at me so strangely. Yes please... I must try to stand... to walk... so generous... so kind of you.. no... I must leave you... it would go ill with you if I were found here... finally, fear in those kind eyes as I insist on the danger... yes... if you will just return what you can of my clothing... I will leave...



Not really in any condition to be on my own, but fearing to be found... fearing those who rescued me will suffer if I am found with them... I leave. It is hard to survive on my own... they gave me food... which lasts for a time... then I must seek work... in the dark... where none know me. My mind still clouded by memories of the dark, of pain unending, filled with the fear of dying alone in the dark, only finding comfort in remembering the friends who saved me, the snakes, there in the dark. Every night is filled with terror. I can sleep for only an hour or two before waking, screaming, nightmares of being trapped in the dark, dying alone in the dark, haunt me. I take to sleeping with a rag clenched between my teeth, hoping to muffle my screams so I am not discovered in the places I find to sleep.



I have to learn quickly how to survive on my own. I want to stay in the area, because my step-father has something that belonged to my mother that I desperately want to get back. I know I will have to steal it back because I don’t dare let him know I’m alive or the Archmage will know and the Baron will find out. I’m not going to go into details about how I survived during this period. For one thing I’m not proud of some of the things I did to survive. Suffice it to say that I never DID find what I was looking for in my step-father’s belongings and finally I was careless in working some little magick and was reported to the military, arrested and banished along with some other magick users who had been found out.



I managed to escape from the guards that were escorting us, though still shackled. I was determined to try and make my way back in the direction of Talador though, to see if I could find any of my relatives. It was during this time I had an encounter with some dark dwarves, which led to my dislike and anger at dwarves. I’m not going to recount it here except to say that meeting Lady Kadesha much later at the Pan Arkati festival slowly worked to change my views and I realized that one cannot hold a whole race responsible for the actions of a few. By the time I joined House Onoir I feel I was free of any of my previous prejudice against dwarves and it has been my very great honor and privilege to be apprenticed to Lord Shirkon, for whom I have developed the utmost respect. He could not have been more kind during some of my rough times in the preceding year. I am truly grateful to have had a chance to get to know him a little more.



At long last I found myself on the outskirts of Vornavis. I learned from a passing merchant that I could most likely find supplies in the Freeport of Solhaven. I decide to make my way there, traveling by night to avoid any soldiers in the area, unsure how far I am from Mestanir and lands under the Baron’s control. Stopping to rest, I climb a densely foliaged tree and settle into a nice, wide niche between the trunk and a thick branch to try and get some sleep. It is there, I wake from a nightmare, drenched in sweat and screaming into the rag I sleep with, to find a hand clamped over my mouth and dark eyes staring down at me. I try to leap up, but am firmly held and motioned to silence by a wraithlike figure who points down to the ground. The form holding me allows me to cautiously peer down and I see several soldiers around a small fire and several others setting up camp and draw a silent breath, thanking fate that they were making so much noise dishing their dinner out of the pot on the fire and rattling tent poles and such that they had not heard my muffled screaming. The night is spent wearily keeping myself awake, the figure having climbed to a spot above me in the tree, while she watches those on the ground and myself in the tree below. At some point I must have dozed off because when I wake it is full daylight, probably late morning and the figure is gone. And so are the soldiers! Easing down from the tree I am startled by a hand on my shoulder. It is a sylph, by the look of her, and later from her own words, it is a witch.



And so we prepare some food and, thinking it safer, retreat to the tree again to eat and talk softly. The witch does not answer many questions, or name herself to me, but questions me about my dreams. At first I am reluctant to answer, but finally, with an odd feeling of detachment, I find herself answering questions and telling her a great deal about myself. I tell her of the voices I hear, waking and sleeping, and the dream that haunts me. I tell of that long ago night that should have been my last on this earth but wasn’t. I tell her of my dreams to be a harper or loresinger and how I used to imagine stories of heroes and champions, and entertain my mother with stories during her long period of sickness. I confess to her that now I seem to be incapable of the least bardly thing. There is no song in me but the one that haunts my dreams, no stories, in fact my mind seems at times to be a slate wiped clean if I so much as attempt to remember a story my mother told to me or try to invent one myself. The witch listens to it all quietly. She tells me the voices are the voices of gods. Perhaps Luukos or Mularos. Luukos is the Serpent Lord she tells me, and Mularos the god prayed to by those who suffer great pain. Either or both might have had a hand in saving me. To be free of the voices and dream, I must acknowledge the debt I owe to him or them for saving my life -- somehow. She tells me that by following them, or perhaps if I am clever enough, by striking a deal with whichever one it is, perhaps I can bargain for what I have come to call my “voice” back. I ponder on this for a long while even after she leaves me. I want nothing to do with the affairs of gods or men. Such brings only pain and I so much want only some little peace. To rest, without fear.



Finally I do manage to make my way to the Freeport of Solhaven and then to the town of Whenimer’s Landing where I decide to stay for awhile. I know if I avoid the company of others and try to be as inconspicuous as possible I may be able to stay in this place for awhile. And so begins a very lonely period of my life, but also one in which, I have come to believe, my spirit had a chance to do some healing. I am far from alright during this time though. The witch’s words weigh on me and I decide to seek out shrines where I might pray to these Lords and perhaps find my voice again. Before she re-married she had taught me a little about the Goddess Imaera, who was her patron. But at my step-father’s insistence my mother was not permitted to teach me about any of the Arkati and so I do not have any idea of the true nature of the two Arkati named to me by the witch. To me, with the fondness for snakes I developed from that time alone in the dark, any god associated with a serpent must be a very good god indeed so Lord Luukos, known as the Serpent Lord, held no fear for me. As for Lord Mularos, if he saved me from my pain, being the lord of those who suffer, I was indeed grateful to him. I wanted only to have my voice back so that I could finally be free to follow the path I thought was mine before my life descended into horror. So if I could bargain with them, give them something else instead, in gratitude for their saving me, well, I would be more than happy to.



That was my state of mind when I finally heard about the PanArkati Festival to be held in Icemule. I hoped I might be able to learn more of these two Arkati. Perhaps learn enough so that I could properly approach them and they might at long last answer my prayers. For I had been praying in the shrine to Luukos in the Landing without ever receiving any answer. It was at the festival that I first met Lady Kadesha and Lord Morgiest. I had already met Lords Nevrek and Armaxis at Luukos’ Shrine in the Landing and saw them at the festival as well. I also made the acquaintance of the two organizers of the festival, Lady Iscikella and Lord Tierus, both of whom were so overwhelmingly kind to me that I have held some affection for them in my heart ever since. Lord Tierus was particularly kind to me during my stay and said I would be most welcome to join the worshippers of Lornon if I decided that was my path. At that time, the difference between Liabo and Lornon was not clear to me at all.



I am not going into all the details of what has led me from that point to becoming a devotee of Lord Ronan and pledged to his paladin, the Dreamwalker. Indeed, it has been an extraordinary journey and has led to my meeting so many wonderful people along the way. People I have come to greatly admire and respect, among them the folks of House Daingneach Onoir who pledged to protect me even before I became a member when my soul was still in some danger from Lornon because of my appalling earlier ignorance. Lady Kadesha has played a major part in saving my soul from Lornon, not only in helping me to see the evil reality of my former membership in CoL, but in helping me to find the Voln path and aiding me in sticking to it when the voices of Lornon threatened to keep me from it. I have had my share of troubles between the PanArkati festival and this day, but I have been strengthened with the examples I have seen from the members of House Onoir and with the lessons I have learned from my time as a squire. I know that I shall never stop learning and may make mistakes as I journey down the path I have chosen, but I feel secure in the fact that if I let the Codes of the House be my guide and keep questioning myself and my actions in light of those Codes, I cannot do to very badly. And even if I make a mistake I know I can depend on my fellow members to help me to see the right path and not judge me too harshly for being human. Not least of all I must thank Lord Purplenyte, for standing by me and supporting me through times when I was sure I would never be worthy to be a member of such an illustrious and honorable House. He has never failed to accept me for who I am and constantly encourages me to become the person he believes I can be.



By my hand this 15th day of the month of Lumnea in the year 5103,

Sylviana Gir-Abar