Maliel
Legacy Name: Maliel

Intelligent | Runaway | Haunted | Lost

Age | 124 - considered a young adult in his race

Gender | Male

Position | Prince of the Savvi, a mystical race of beings imbued with magic. They are elegant and pretty; their faces are soft and flawless, skin usually white with runes/markings covering their bodies. These runes glow as a symbol of their magic, the color varying on each individual Savvi to indicate which magics they are most affiliated with. Their ears have two points, one lower than the other, giving them a jagged look. Instead of feet they have hooves, slender like elk, not bulky. They are a thin race and are often referred to as 'Elven Fae' for their similarities to both Elves and Faeries.

Looks | Maliel has pale skin, practically white, as his kind all do, the runes covering it a bright, icy blue. Maliel's power is special in that he has both air and water magics, and can combine them to make ice, a very rare attribute... yet not surprising considering his pedigree. However, these runes no longer glow and remain a dull grey due to his fear of using magic (see story). He is five foot four, average height for a Savvi his age. His hair is a silver-grey, while his eyes are impeccably blue. Said hair used to be pulled back into a neat, thick braid, but due to being on the run, is now usually tussled into a low ponytail. Two small, thin horns sprout just behind his ears and point towards the back of his head; they are short. A smattering of grey freckles dot his nose and cheeks. Because his runes no longer glow, his overall appearance has become more dull/gaunt/greyscale-ish.

Song | Mountains by Message to Bears

The Savvi are a mystical people...

...beings imbued with elemental magic from birth. Each individual sports only one particular element, and together, we united them. Our kingdom was once glorious and open to all creatures, all creeds, to come and take part in our ethereal displays of magic and mingle amongst our population. We're a naturally curious race and highly intelligent at that; our advances in technology, all of which were magic based, were the pride and heart of our culture.

I was privileged to serve them as their Prince.

My family ruled the throne for many generations, being blessed with both water and wind magics, giving us the very rare control over ice. I in particular shared a very close bond with ice and was able to make it manifest in my very hands, encase my arms, have snowflakes dance across my fingertips. It was a blessing I treasured each and every day, as did my people. My wonderful, beautiful people. It pains me to even think of them.

With all good things comes bad, however; although our kingdom remained open to all for generations, greed began to manifest in our neighbors. The Great Lair of Ti'kek, home to the once prideful and peaceful Arachnoid race, began to spurn us. The Arachnoids were somewhat daunting to other races due to their large, spider-like appearance and we were often warned to not trust them, but we were far too friendly to ever consider enemies with... well, anyone.

I suppose that was the beginning of our downfall.

One thing had led to another so fast, even to this very day I can barely make sense of it. I remember the guards alerting my father to a body that had been dumped on the palace front steps, covered in web and shriveled. At first we thought it was simply the action of a rogue and assigned more security while our people grieved the loss of a family member. But they kept coming, cocoons showing up one after another in alarming number. At this point my mother refused to let me leave the palace and any news beyond the bodies was lost to me, but it became quickly apparent what was going on outside.

War.

I may have been young, but I was not stupid; I knew exactly what was happening. I've never heard so much noise in my life; the barking of orders, the shrieks of the Arachnoids, raw magical energy sizzling the air, elements colliding and fusing... but the worst had been the yelling. The sheer terror caught in the throats of those who couldn't find shelter in time, before Gods know what happened to them, as I was powerless to help... it caused many a sleepless night.

I lost track of how many moons passed before the fighting ceased and an eerie silence covered the realm. The aftermath was to be expected; ruin, death, and destruction. As we began to pick up the pieces of our shattered kingdom, my mother took it upon herself to sing a hymn for the fallen, and bolster the spirits of our people:

She always had a way with words, a true bard to the very soul.

It was during this time of grief and repair that we became an isolated kingdom; we erected large, barbed walls around our territory with a fusion of ice and steel magic, the outer edges laced with lightning as to shock anyone who dared try to ascend it. Our gates became closed and locked to the outside world, every import scrutinized with great care and suspicion. We became wary. No longer did Pixies grace us with dances and festival, or did Elves come with a menagerie of wine and food. For the first time in our history, we were truly alone.

Years past, as they do. We rebuilt and started anew, with no further incident or word from Ti'kek, our newly engineered walls keeping them at bay. We never properly learned why they attacked us so; aside from greed, there seemed to be no other motives to their assault. Had there been a shift in power of the Hivemind? Were there dire straits that caused them to attack us? If so, why hadn't they come and asked us for help? We surely would have provided it! These and more raced through our minds, even years after the war's end.

It was especially hard on my father, the King, who felt responsible for not protecting his people; something no one blamed him for, but himself. He became bitter as the days dragged on, spending most of his time locked away in the armory, working with the smiths to forge weaponry and armor. When he did come out, he bee lined to the arena and trained incessantly. He did not want to be surprised again, which I understood, but... there had been no signs of further conflict. The war was over. It was time to come home.

...Or so I had thought.

It... happened out of the blue. I remember giving my mother a firm embrace before retiring to bed, my father still busy in the workshop. I settled into my linens, closed my eyes, and felt something sharp stab into my head. The pain was so intense, and yet I couldn't move. Slowly, my senses became numb and tingly, as if I were drowsy, although my mind was wide awake. As my eyes opened again, not of my own accord, I realized what was happening; I'd read about this during my studies and dismissed it as a work of someone's imagination.

I was possessed.

I watched in horror as my body rose, my movements stiff and jittery. I tried calling out in my mind, to reason with whomever had taken control of me, but I was met with empty silence and another shock of pain. I walked out of my room, down the spiral staircase, towards the front door of the castle. At this point, I wasn't sure where I was going, but surely someone would notice and rouse me from this nightmare.

My first chance at salvation came via the guards stationed at the front doors. I was practically screaming at them to grab me, hit me, do something that could disrupt the connection to my captor, but my words were mental and thus didn't reach them. As they approached to question me, I could only watch as my hands rose, fingertips ablaze with ice energy. The guards looked at one another uncertainly before slowly reaching out, concern written across their faces, but soon replaced with fear as the energy in my hands exploded, encasing the two shocked men in a tomb of ice. Then my hands squeezed together, cracks appearing on the ice before a loud explosion rocked the castle, dwarfed only by my mental cry. In a flash of white my hands were stained red, and to this day I struggle to scrub them clean.

It didn't end there. I continued my wayward waltz outside of the palace, shards flying from my hands, felling one after another as they came to investigate the noise. My friends, my colleagues, my people - disappearing with a simple flick of my wrist. I wish the bloodshed had ended there, plead with my captor to release me and let the rest of them be, but still no response. Panic had begun to light up the city behind me, bodies being found as my march continued onward.

As the gates to our kingdom came into view, I was suddenly stopped. Slowly, very slowly, I turned, clasping my hands into a tight ball. I already knew what was going to happen, and although powerless to stop it, I tried. Gods damn me, did I try. Yet the ball of energy in my palms continued to grow, my hands coming apart to accommodate its girth. The churning ball of ice spun rapidly, becoming louder with every second of its growth. As it reached its apex, my arms swiftly lashed out, hurling the energy at the gates.

My energy spent, the runes covering my body flickered and died, the glow fading into a dull, dead grey. I collapsed, my captor's hold on me releasing. As my mind swayed in and out of consciousness, the sound of skittering reached my ears and I managed to lift my head to see the damage I had wrought; the gates had been shattered and the Arachnoid were piling in, hundreds of them, their eyes hungry and fangs dripping with saliva.

And it was all my fault.

The Arachnoid ignored my fallen body as they swarmed past me, charging into the heart of the city. I knew not why I was spared... perhaps my captor's influence told them to. Perhaps he wished to torment me further by witnessing bloodshed, and the downfall of my kingdom. Perhaps I was to be used again. It was that final thought that gave me strength in the form of fear, and I dragged myself towards the shattered gates, using them as a pillar to assist me in standing up. As I looked back towards my dying city, I locked eyes with my father, who had engaged the Arachnoid in a bloody battle. The betrayal in his eyes haunts me to this very day.

...I ran away.

I ran aimlessly, my hooves flying across the land as I fled to Gods know where. All I could think about was what had just happened, the information being processed over and over. I couldn't digest it. I still can't. Part of me still has hope that my people won the war and rebuilt, but I can never face them again. I ran until my body couldn't run anymore, collapsing on the side of a dirt road in a small ditch, curled up into a ball. Bloodstained, cold and alone, I was going to die there.

...And yet, I did not. I was found by a wandering merchant and his companion, who nursed me back to health and gave me a second chance at life. I don't deserve it, but I don't know what else to do. I travel with these folks now and dare to call them friends, but still I worry. Still I wonder if I'll be possessed again, if I am to relive my past sins in another village, ruin another kingdom, take more lives. I am reluctant to love again, to have friends again, for fear of doing to them what I did to the ones I had before... their faces will always be etched in my mind's eye.

My magic still has yet to fully return, and I know exactly why: fear. The one thing that defines my race has fled me, or rather, I have fled it. A Savvi without his magic is no longer a Savvi. The runes covering my body are still dark, and grow darker with each passing day. I know not what will happen to me if my magic never fully returns, but it is a curse I am content with bearing. It is my punishment, my reminder of what happened, and what could happen again.

My name is Maliel Riverwind... and I am a coward.

Credits:
Profile by: Ringo
Overlay by: Folara
Art by: GlaceLeau
Story/Character by: War