Mareona Gwynn Daelen

Begin writing your story here...

Begin writing your story here...

Begin writing your story here...

After investigating Finde's room for the second time, a pile of contracts was discovered within her storage chest. Included in the pile were contracts for Dimia, Lindsay, Lindsay's Husband (Cyran, crossed out), etc. Interestingly, Durthag and Benedict had unsigned contracts.

After investigating Finde's room for the seconod time, a pile of contracts was discovered. Included were contracts for Dimia, Lindsay, Lind

The Kingdom of Arland is a prosperous nation within the world of Arcanum. In Arland, just a time marches on to a regular beat day-by-day, industrialization and technological progress marches forward in step, bringing regular advancements in technology that improves the lives of its regular citizens. Unfortunately, it is often the irregulars of the Arland Kingdom who are overlooked and left behind. While other nations may prize their magicians, the few magical folk of Arland remain hidden to avoid ostracization, for Magic and Technology do not mix well. While Technology relies upon the mastery of natural laws and physics, Magic manipulates and distorts those natural laws to make the impossible possible. So Magic may empower an individual to fly with weightlessness, or manifest fire from the air, the very presence of Magic may also distort the delicate balance of a pulley system or change the path of least resistance for an electrical current. So as the presence of Technology proliferated across Arland, so did the risk of Magic. Nowadays, there's simply no need for court magicians or sorcerors-for-hire, as anything that can be done by a magic user of ten years expertise can be accomplished by an engineer for a tenth of the price.   To my family's misfortune, even non-magical labor has been impacted. The cheap textiles created by the shop could not match the quality of the mass-produced textile mills. Had it not been for the specialized commissions of my father, I'm sure the family store would have closed early-on during my childhood.   During my short stint as an actor in the Arlandian Troupe, special effects or lighting would often misfire.

During my early 20s, money became tight due as the shop struggled to stay afloat financially. My father became unable to continue his trade due to the tremors in his hands. Our hair had begun to turn silver, only fueling the rumors of a ghostly curse afflicting our family and storefront. In some ways, the rumors were true. My father became increasingly unable to work, with his fatigue increasing each week. We had received visits from local healers, consulted herbalists for remedies, and purchased elixirs from alchemists in hopes of improving his condition. Despite these efforts, my father only had the energy to continue his work about once a month, under the light of the full moon.   Eventually I began selling old design and simple textures at the local markets, where I could only charge a few silvers at best for each article, as opposed to the several gold pieces my father could receive for his specialized commissions. Everywhere I walked, I felt their eyes on me. It wasn't particularly new. Growing up in a majority human community, I noticed other children frequently staring at my ears. Nowadays, it's more of the same, although people seem more concerned about the seemingly unnatural color of my hair.   Needing to earn more money for food and medicine, I gathered my father's remaining inventory and stored it in a pack. I walked to the larger cities within a few days travel, hoping to have more success selling in these areas. I'd colored my hair black with a charcoal dye and tucked away my ears to see if a different appearance might help my approachability. It did. Eventually, while selling, I was approached by a young aristocrat. She seemed polite, albeit a bit too naive. She liked the look of one of my father's rejected commisions, laden with frills and fancy designs. It seems my father had produced work similar to a popular designer for the local nobility. The young woman asked me if the dress was an authentic designer piece, offering me 25 gold pieces. I was caught off by guard the offer, then before I knew it, the words 'yes' escaped my mouth. Suddenly my food costs were covered for the next two months.

Ever since I was young, she had health complications. By the time I was 10, she was no longer able to continue her trade as a seamstress. She remained well enough to teach me her craft, allowing me to assist my father with manning the shop and completing orders.   By my 13th birthday, she was permanently bedridden, with ghost white hair and skin as if she'd never seen sunlight. Around this time, I noticed my father rarely leaving her room for hours, eventually days as he attended to her needs. Due in part to this, the family shop lost customers over time. Father seemed to have lost his passion for his work, spending much of his time and money on searching for treatments. Another factor was rumors of my mother's condition spreading through town. Our few friends and long-time customers informed me that many referred to my mother as a living ghost, and they were fearful they could somehow contract the same symptoms.   During my 16th year, my mother's condition had reached its final state. Anyone who had seen her in her final months would have assumed she was suffering from old age. She passed away only a few weeks after her 40th birthday.

Long after my mother's passing, my father remained guilt-ridden. He told me about the frailty of his family, how none of his family members ever lived quite as long as other elves. As they age, not only do their hairs turn silver, but their skin changes into a ghostly complexion. Any family members that died of old age seemed thin, perpetually thirsty and wrought with tremors. While no one in his lineage lived as long as the typical elf, living for several hundred years is still significantly longer than other sentient races. He never imagined this disease could spread to other species, or else he would have never stayed with my mother.