Elysiaera Calistrae
Elysiaera Calistrae
Elysiaera Calistre is a twenty-two-year-old human born and raised in the riverside farming village of Larkfen Hollow. After years of running along stream banks and darting through barn shadows, she has honed a blend of rogue skills—lockpicking, silent movement, and nimble sleight of hand—while secretly studying minor arcane rituals and fire manipulation from a dusty tome she “borrowed” from a traveling wizard that passed through her town. Having just come of age, she can no longer ignore the call of adventure beyond the fields of her home and is resolved to prove herself in the wider world.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Tone, athletic, taller than average
Body Features
Generous breasts, long toned, athletic legs.
Facial Features
Elysiaera’s long, strawberry blonde waves cascade around a face marked by bright, curious brown eyes and a narrow mouth with a natural pout. She often pulls her hair back into a loose ponytail to keep it from her face during a quick getaway or an impromptu spell, letting a pair of wispy bangs soften her impish expression.
Apparel & Accessories
Her attire of soft, form-fitting leather clings snugly enough to facilitate quick and silent movement when darting between cover. She has a long, slender rapier strapped to her waist. She always wears fingerless gloves to ease casting spells and legerdemain.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Elysiaera "borrowed" a book from a travelling wizard. From this arcane tome, she learned how to create and clumsily manipulate arcane flames. She continues to practice, showing uncanny progress.
Sexuality
Elysiaera doesn't have time for love. There are too many things to see in the world and love, marriage, and other messes do not interest her at all.
Education
She has spent the better part of her youth in Larkfen Hollow. There's no school and what education she has came from her parents and the other townsfolk. She's become very learned in stealth, subterfuge, legerdemain, and most recently elementary arcana and while she is a novice at this new skill, she is also a natural.
Employment
She's been helping her parents around the farm and helping townsfolk around Larkfen Hollow.
Accomplishments & Achievements
When she was 14, she won the Pie Eating contest at the faire on the village green. She spent two days afterwards with a terrible stomach ache.
Intellectual Characteristics
She is introspective and inquisitive. She has an incredible imagination and dreams of seeing all of the wonders of the world.
Morality & Philosophy
She is, at heart, a warm, caring person. She tries to do good in a way that brings her, and those around her, the most joy.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
Mischief is in her blood: she delights in harmless pranks, always plotting her next jest with warm laughter and a sparkle of daring. Her inquisitive nature drives her to seek out hidden trickery in riddles and puzzles and she loves to test the limits of her fledgling magic. Warm-hearted toward those she trusts yet fiercely independent, she thinks two steps ahead and cherishes the thrill of outsmarting expectations.
Savvies & Ineptitudes
Elysiaera is graceful, quick, and has a strong sense of physical balance. She also has a knack for deciphering languages and codes.
Likes & Dislikes
She likes animals. She loves pie.
She dislikes snobbish, boorish people. She hates bullies.
Social
Contacts & Relations
In Larkfen Hollow, Serel Haywood, the blacksmith’s apprentice, showed her how to move gracefully around the hot tools of the forge, teaching her to move quickly and gracefully. He gets upset when Elysiaera, giggling, hides his tools surreptitiously. Lyssa Aldercrest, the miller’s daughter, is her steadfast and eager partner in pranks and other harmless mayhem, the one person who knows exactly where to find her when she vanishes in a swirl of laughter. Together, the three friends have mapped every hidden nook and shared every secret rite under the moonlight.
Family Ties
Her parents, Halbryn and Maerwyn Calistrae, are farmers who taught Elysiaera the value of hard work, generosity, and the magic that blooms in lived experience. They watched with pride as she used her athletic build and quick reflexes to shoulder baskets of grain, tend livestock, and then slip unseen past their watchful eyes for a harmless prank in the market square. Though she loves them deeply, she recognizes that her path now leads far from the familiar rhythms of sowing and harvest.
Social Aptitude
Elysiaera is clever and good at improvisation. She may come across as a rube to those that wrongly think themselves her better, but she's more that what she appears.
Mannerisms
Elysiaera is a prankster. Delighting in innocent and harmless tomfoolery.
Age
22
Children
Current Residence
On the wide open road or at the side of a smoky campfire.
Gender
Female
Eyes
Dark Brown
Hair
Light, strawberry blonde
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Olive
Height
5' 7"
Weight
116 lbs.
Quotes & Catchphrases
"Oh my gosh! I can make fire!"
Session 3 - Day 8 and 9 - The Hollow Spire Ruins
I arrived at dusk.
The Hollow Spire loomed like a broken tooth against the sky, jagged and defiant. I should have felt fear. Instead, I heard the astrolabe hum, buried under the rubble—soft, steady, like a heartbeat not my own. Its glow kept the shadows at bay through the night, casting a pale dome of protection around my camp. I slept beneath its light, dreamless but not untouched. Something watched. Something waited.
By morning, I stepped into the first chamber.
It was... not what I expected.
A plant—tentacled, bioluminescent, and deeply committed to its role as the worst comedian in the realm—anchored to the ceiling began its performance. “What did the lich say to the necromancer? You raise me up!” It cackled. I winced. The jokes were so bad they scraped at my spirit, each pun a psychic abrasion. I felt my resolve thinning, my will fraying. It wasn’t trying to kill me. It was trying to demoralize me into oblivion.
Running as quickly as I could from this unfunny botanical nightmare, I heard it say with a groan, “Tough crowd,” as it slinked back into the ceiling.
The second room was worse.
Glyphs covered every surface—walls, floor, even the air felt etched. They pulsed with malevolence, not just old magic but active hatred. He stood at the center, cloaked in shadow and fury. His voice was like rust scraping stone.
“I am Erderr Dolbyne,” he said, stepping forward. “My master told me to wait here for you. You will submit, or I will end you.”
I didn’t flinch.
“I don’t know you,” I replied, rapier in hand, relaxed. “I don’t know who holds your leash, but you’re a fool to think I’ll allow anyone—or anything—to put a leash on me.”
He laughed—a dry, hollow sound that made the glyphs flicker. “Then you will die defiant.”
He attacked.
The fight was long. Grueling. My blade sang, my limbs burned, and the Turtle Shell spell that I’d invoked turned each blow he struck. He was stronger than he should have been—fed by the glyphs, by something deeper. I faltered.
Then came the wind.
Almathea.
She arrived like a storm wrapped in sunlight—hair streaming, eyes alight with purpose. Her presence shifted the room. The glyphs recoiled. Erderr hesitated. And in that moment, we struck together. He fled, wounded and snarling, vanishing into the ruin’s depths.
After the silence returned, Almathea knelt beside the glyphs. “This evil can’t be destroyed by force alone,” she said. “Only the good from a being of this world can unmake it.”
I didn’t ask what she meant. I already knew.
The words came to me—not from memory, but from truth. I spoke them aloud, voice steady, heart bare. The glyphs screamed, then shattered. The room exhaled.
It is gone now.
But the Spire remembers.
-E
Session 3 - Day 7 - Late Evening, Overcast, Larkfen Hollow
My pack is ready. Serel gave me a charm—silver and ashwood, shaped like a fox. Lyssa tucked dried fruit into my satchel and pretended not to cry.
I cast Glimmer Hop one last time before bed. It curled up beside me, flickering softly until I fell asleep.
Tomorrow, I’ll head to the Hollow Spire Ruins. I don’t know what I’ll find. But I feel ready. Not because I’m brave. Because I’m curious. Because something is calling, and I want to hear it clearly.
Whatever waits, I’ll meet it with open arms.
-E
Session 3 - Day 6 and 7 - Sunny, Larkfen Hollow
I’ve spent the last few days with Elder Maelin. He’s patient, but firm. Healing magic is less about force and more about listening—to the body, to the wound, to the memory beneath it.
He taught me a healing spell—Glimmer Hop. It takes the shape of a pink rabbit. I cast it once, and it felt like laughter in my hands.
He says I’m attuned to “soft magic.” The kind that mends, not defends. I think he’s right. It feels like weaving light into broken places.
-E
Session 3 - Day 5 - Sunny, Larkfen Hollow
I found Lyssa and Serel fighting, covered in mud and shame. Lyssa made jokes at his expense and while he is usually unphased by her jibes, something she said wounded him deeply. I would’ve thought these two would grow up, but they seem too interested in spatting with each other. Lyssa is still a spoiled brat and Serel is so rigid and focused. One has too much sport and the other not enough.
When I arrived at Fenlight Chapel. Elder Maelin pulled me aside and locked the doors. Obviously, I found this quite alarming. His eyes were sharper, harsher than I remember. He warned me that my magic is waking, and that it might draw attention. Not all of it kind. I asked what kind of attention, but he only said, “The sort that finds you before you find it.” He’s going to teach me a healing spell, something to protect me when I am hurt. I just have to come to train with him in the chapel for a few days.
I also asked him about the script I saw in the Tomb of Thaleen Vire. He pulled down a book of ancient languages from on of the dusty bookshelves. This may help me decipher the writing I saw on the walls.
Later in the evening, I stopped by The Wren & Willow. Branna Wren poured me cider and listened to my stories. I got the feeling that I’m not as good at telling stories as she is, but she asked if I was ready to leave again. I said I wasn’t sure. She just nodded and said, “You’ll know when it’s time. You always do.”
-E
Session 3 - Day 4 - Evening, Overcast, Home
I’m home.
Mom made stew—turnip, leek, and wild fennel. I ate three bowls and still wanted more. Dad's workshop smells like pine tar and copper filings. The house is warm, familiar. But already the road calls.
I slept in my old cot beneath the loft window. The mattress is lumpy, the quilt too short, but I’ve never felt so safe. The Hollow hasn’t changed much. But I have.
There’s a quiet in me now. Not fear, exactly. Just awareness. Like something is waiting.
-E
Session 3 - Day 4 - Midnight, Overcast, On the road to Larkfen Hollow
The fire was low, and the stars were thick above me. I remember the hush of the woods, the way the wind curled around my tent like a lullaby. I must have drifted off quickly, because the dream came sharp and sudden.
She stood beside the fire—a woman cloaked in moonlight, tall and still. Her hair shimmered like frost, and her eyes held something ancient. She didn’t speak at first. Just watched me. Then, like a whisper in my bones, I heard her name: Almathea Lucia.
She warned me. Of danger at the Hollow Spire Ruins. Said I was being sought, though she didn’t say by whom. Her voice was soft, but it left a weight in my chest. Like a bell rung too deep to hear.
I woke with her name still on my lips. The fire had gone out. The woods were quiet again. But I didn’t feel alone.
-E
Session 3 -Day 4 – Midnight, Overcast, On the road to Larkfen Hollow
The fire was low, and the stars were thick above me. I remember the hush of the woods, the way the wind curled around my tent like a lullaby. I must have drifted off quickly, because the dream came sharp and sudden.
She stood beside the fire—a woman cloaked in moonlight, tall and still. Her hair shimmered like frost, and her eyes held something ancient. She didn’t speak at first. Just watched me. Then, like a whisper in my bones, I heard her name: Almathea Lucia.
She warned me. Of danger at the Hollow Spire Ruins. Said I was being sought, though she didn’t say by whom. Her voice was soft, but it left a weight in my chest. Like a bell rung too deep to hear.
I woke with her name still on my lips. The fire had gone out. The woods were quiet again. But I didn’t feel alone.
-E
Session 3 - Day 4 - Midnight, Overcast, On the road to Larkfen Hollow
The fire was low, and the stars were thick above me. I remember the hush of the woods, the way the wind curled around my tent like a lullaby. I must have drifted off quickly, because the dream came sharp and sudden.
She stood beside the fire—a woman cloaked in moonlight, tall and still. Her hair shimmered like frost, and her eyes held something ancient. She didn’t speak at first. Just watched me. Then, like a whisper in my bones, I heard her name: Almathea Lucia.
She warned me. Of danger at the Hollow Spire Ruins. Said I was being sought, though she didn’t say by whom. Her voice was soft, but it left a weight in my chest. Like a bell rung too deep to hear.
I woke with her name still on my lips. The fire had gone out. The woods were quiet again. But I didn’t feel alone.
-E
Session 2 - Day 3 - Morning, Rainy, The Burial Chamber
I met a ghost tonight.
She called herself Lady Thaline Ver, and she glowed with a pale green light—soft, but unmistakably ethereal. Her voice echoed from the far side of the chamber, asking, “Who are you?” I answered, timid but steady. And she appeared.
She said she was once the steward of these lands. A ruler. A protector. But as she spoke, I felt something else beneath her words—regret, maybe. Or confusion. She believed she had ruled with kindness, but the people she governed saw her as a tyrant. There had been a rebellion. She crushed it. And then she died.
Centuries have passed, and she’s had time to think. To reflect. I don’t know why she chose to speak with me, but I listened. I asked questions. I tried to understand.
She didn’t ask for forgiveness. But I think she needed it.
I told her that the only person left to forgive her was herself. That the people she ruled are long gone, and that her legacy—whatever it was—has faded into dust. What remains is her own heart, and the clarity she’s found in death.
She looked at me, and the glow around her began to brighten. Then slowly, it faded. As she vanished, I heard her whisper, “Thank you.”
I stayed in the chamber a while longer. There was a sarcophagus in the center, and strange writing on the walls and ceiling—symbols I couldn’t decipher. I’ll need help with that.
Before I left, I found something nestled in the dust: an amethyst, warm to the touch. It shimmered faintly, and when I held it, I felt wind stir around me. I think it’s a gift. A cipher. Something that can summon a spirit of air and lightning. I’ll use it wisely.
I’m heading home. I need rest. But I’ll carry this moment with me. Not just the magic—but the memory of a ghost who found peace.
—E
Session 2 - Day 3 - Afternoon, Raining, On the road back to Larkfen Hollow
I’m writing this with sore limbs and a heart that feels both heavy and light. Lady Vire is gone. Truly gone. I watched her spirit fade into pale green light, her voice softening into silence. I don’t know if I freed her or simply stood beside her long enough for her to find her own way—but I was there. I stayed. I listened. And I think that mattered.
The skeletons were terrifying. I held my ground, but I felt fragile—like a thread pulled too tight. I need something gentler in my arsenal. Something that doesn’t rely on luck. A spell I can call on when the fight turns and I’m the one bleeding. I’ll ask Branna Wren or Elder Maelin when I return. Surely my magic is not just limited to flame.
And yet there was the flare. A rush of power, uncontrolled, unapologetic. It wasn’t just light—it was me. I felt it rise from somewhere deep, like a spark that had been waiting for the right moment, for the right fuel. It was beautiful. And a little frightening. I know magic, but I don’t understand it—not the way wizards do. I’ve never studied the old tomes or traced ley lines across parchment. My magic feels like instinct, like breath. But what if it’s more than that? What if it’s wild?
Still… I’m not afraid. Not really.
I’m tired, yes. My boots are soaked, and my fingers ache. But I’m walking home with something new inside me. Not just power—purpose. I helped someone find peace. I stood in the dark and didn’t flinch. And even if I don’t know what comes next, I know I’ll meet it head-on.
Larkfen Hollow awaits. I want to see Lyssa’s grin, hear Branna’s stories, sit with Elder Maelin and ask too many questions. I want to share what happened. Not just the fight—but the feeling. The quiet triumph.
Then… maybe the Echoing Grotto. Or the Hollow Spire Ruins. I haven’t decided yet. But I will.
Because this is my story. And I’m still writing it.
-E
Session 1 - Day 3 - Morning, Third Chamber
It was raining when I woke.
Soft, steady—like the forest was whispering. I packed quickly. The tomb was waiting.
I passed the statue again, its gaze unchanged. I turned left this time, into the darker corridor. Thirty feet down, the wall opened into a long chamber. A desk sat rotting in the corner, its chair slumped and mildewed. Behind it, a steward—well-dressed once, now hollow-eyed and hissing.
He rose with a dagger in hand. His baleful eyes seemed to ask, “Who disturbs my mistress?”
The fight was brutal. He grabbed me by the head, tried to drive the blade into my skull. I couldn’t get my rapier into position. I was too close, too cornered. But I moved—fast, desperate—and struck him with the pommel. He reeled. I retreated.
Then came the flame.
I didn’t mean to lose control. But I was tired of feeling weak. Tired of bleeding. Tired of wondering if I belonged here. The Emberlash surged—white-hot, furious, mine. It consumed the steward, the desk, the chair. I barely stopped it before it took the whole room.
My hands trembled. My breath came in gasps. I felt something inside me shift—expand. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. But it’s different. And it’s awake.
Then I heard it.
A voice from the corridor beyond. Gravelly. Ethereal. Ancient.
“Who are you?”
I didn’t answer. Not yet.
But I think I will.
—E
Session 1 - Day 2 - Evening, The Second Chamber
The second chamber was worse.
Not colder, not darker—but heavier. The air felt thick with memory. A chandelier hung above, its crystals dulled by time. A canopy bed stood rotting in the center, its silks shredded like forgotten dreams. No one living would sleep here. But someone had.
He was waiting.
A chamberlain, once proud, now hollow. His clothes hung in tatters, his eyes vacant until they found me. And then—rage. Not mindless hunger, but something deeper. “Why do you trespass in my lady’s bedchamber?”, his eyes said.
He struck first. I barely blocked it. The club hit hard, and I staggered. But something inside me snapped—not in fear, but in defiance. I remembered Branna Wren’s stories, the ones told over cider and firelight. About standing up when you’re knocked down. About choosing to be the hero, even when you’re bleeding.
I leaned into the pain. And I struck back.
My rapier found its mark—deep, true, final. He reeled, arms outstretched, as if trying to hold me back from something I couldn’t see. But I wasn’t stopping. I placed my hand on his chest and let Emberlash burn through him. Fire bloomed. The zombie burned. The bed ignited. The canopy turned to ash.
I stood there, breathing hard, watching the flames consume the past. I’m hurt again. But I’m stronger.
I returned to the campfire. The woods are quiet. I ate berries and bread. No dreams came. No shadows stirred.
Tomorrow, I go deeper.
—E
Session 1 - Day 2 - Midmorning, Edge of the Tomb
I’m hurt.
Not just bruised or winded—truly hurt. The kind that makes your limbs feel heavy and your breath come shallow. The kind that makes you wonder if you were ever strong to begin with.
I tried to rest in the chamber, but there’s nothing there to shield me. No rubble to stack, no sarcophagus to hide behind. Just stone and silence. The statue watches, but she offers no comfort.
So I climbed back up the stairs—slowly, each step a reminder of the halberds that found me. The woods are still misted, the coals of last night’s fire cold but intact. I leaned against a tree and let myself breathe.
I used the time to check my wounds. The cuts are deep, but not fatal. I took a long, sobering rest. My strength is returning, slowly.
I didn’t want to use the scroll.
It felt like giving up a piece of something sacred—like spending a wish. But I couldn’t go back to the village with nothing but bruises and silence. I needed to earn the story.
So I whispered the words, ancient and lilting, and the wind answered.
It came soft and swirling, like the breath of the forest itself. Leaves lifted around me, dancing in the breeze, and the pain began to fade. The scroll dissolved in my hands, its magic spent, its purpose fulfilled. I felt it leave me—not just the pain, but the doubt too. Not all of it, but enough.
I’m stronger now. Not whole, but steadier. The kind of strength that comes from choosing to stay when it would be easier to leave.
I still wonder if I was ready. But I think… maybe readiness isn’t a feeling. Maybe it’s a decision.
While I sat there, I asked myself if I was ready. If I’d come here too soon. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could handle whatever the tomb held. But now… I’m not sure.
It’s a strange feeling—doubt. I’m not used to it. I’ve always been the one who pressed forward, who believed that courage was just another kind of curiosity. But today, I felt small.
I’ll go back down soon. But for now, I’ll let the wind speak, and I’ll listen.
—E
Session 1 - Day 2 - Morning, Inside the Tomb, First Chamber
The air is thick with dust and silence. No torches. No braziers. Just stone and shadow. My Emberlash flickers against the walls, casting long, uncertain shapes. The ceiling is low—barely seven feet. I feel like I’m walking into a memory that doesn’t want to be remembered.
The room is square, thirty paces across. Alcoves line the walls, filled with urns and burial relics. Two corridors branch off—one curves right, then left again. The other runs straight and deep. I’ll choose later. For now, I’m drawn to the statue.
She stands opposite the stairwell, carved in noble repose. A woman of grace and sorrow. There’s a plaque beneath her feet, but it’s been defaced—scratched, stained, made unreadable. Someone wanted her forgotten. Or perhaps misremembered.
I knelt to brush away the dust. That’s when they came.
Two skeletons, silent and swift. I barely had time to raise my blade before the first halberd struck. The pain was sharp, deep—my shoulder split open like parchment. The second blow nearly dropped me. I staggered, bleeding, desperate.
I fought back.
Steel met bone. Flame met shadow. I chipped away at them, dodging, spinning, striking. One fell. Then the other. But before I could breathe, another came—clattering down the corridor like death on borrowed time.
I met him with fire. Then steel.
He collapsed beneath my blade, knees shattered, skull silent.
I’m hurt. Badly. My strength is drained, my speed dulled. But I’m alive.
And I think… I think the statue was watching.
—E
Session 1 - Day 2 - Morning, Misty, Tomb Threshold
The dawn was soft today—mist curling through the trees like breath, the sky pale and patient. I woke with the scent of moss in my nose and a chill on my cheeks. Breakfast was simple: an apple, a wedge of cheddar, and silence. I think I needed the quiet.
The door waited, unmoved by time or weather. Its runes shimmered faintly in the morning light—symbols I half-recognized from Branna Wren’s old texts, or maybe one of Elder Maelin’s chapel tomes. Neglect. Nature. That’s what they whispered.
I sat with that for a while. Neglect nature… and you get rot.
So I walked the hills, gathering what the forest had forgotten: brittle leaves, worm-eaten bark, damp twigs soft with decay. I pressed them together, shaping the rot into a crude sphere—ugly, honest. It fit the alcove like it had been waiting.
The door groaned, then sank into the earth with a sound like thunder muffled by centuries. Behind it, a stairway descended into shadow.
I lit Emberlash in my palm. The flame danced, eager. My rapier felt steady at my side.
I’m going in.
—E
Session 1 - Day 1 - Nightfall, Just outside the Tomb of Thaleen Vire
I should have known the quiet wouldn’t last.
They came just after the fire began to fade—two wolves, lean and hungry, drawn by the scent of warmth and solitude. I saw their eyes first, glinting in the dark like twin moons. No negotiation. No hesitation. Just hunger.
I moved before I could think. The rapier felt heavier than it had on the road, but it found its mark. The first wolf yelped, staggered, lunged again. I met him cleanly—blade through the neck. He didn’t cry out a second time.
The second circled, cleverer than his brother. I felt him behind me before I saw him, and dodged just in time. He didn’t expect the flame.
Emberlash bloomed from my palm, a spray of fire that lit the trees in gold and shadow. He didn’t burn, but he felt it. I saw the fear ripple through him. He snarled once, then fled—tail tucked, heart broken.
I didn’t chase.
Afterward, I buried the first wolf. It felt wrong to leave him there, even if he’d meant to kill me. I grew up with animals. I know their rhythms, their fears. I’ve seen wolves before, but I’ve never killed one. Never killed anything.
I whispered something as I laid him down. I don’t know if it was a prayer or an apology.
The fire’s out now. My blanket is warm, and the stars are watching. I recovered my composure. My body is whole. My heart… less so.
Tomorrow, the tomb.
—E
Session 1 - Day 1 - Twilight, The Mistfen Trail, south of Larkfen Hollow
I left Larkfen Hollow before the sun had even touched the treetops. The air was still damp with night, and the road south felt like a thread unraveling beneath my boots. I didn’t look back. Not because I wasn’t afraid—but because I knew if I did, I might never leave.
The tomb of Thaleen Vire is said to lie a day’s journey from the Hollow, tucked into the wooded hills where the road forgets itself. I followed it until the path grew uncertain, then stepped off into the quiet. The trees here are tall and close, and the birds—though present—refuse to sing. It’s not silence. It’s something more deliberate.
I practiced Emberlash once or twice as I walked, just to keep the spell warm in my hands. The flame flickers like memory—bright, but fleeting. I still don’t know why the tome called to me, or why the fire obeys. But it does.
Twilight found me standing before a stone structure half-swallowed by ivy and dusk. A mausoleum, maybe. The door is strange—marked with blocks that don’t seem to belong. I’ve heard whispers that the tomb won’t open without a puzzle solved. I’m too tired to try tonight.
I’ve made camp a few paces from the entrance. The ground is soft, and the wind carries the scent of moss and old stone. I’ll rest. Tomorrow, I’ll see what secrets the tomb is willing to share.
—E
