Marisolstice » Lair » Liara

Liara

(#21636613)

Level 1 Skydancer

Familiar

Glossy Duskrat

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.95 m

Wingspan

3.77 m

Weight

370.15 kg

Genetics

Silver
Cherub

Black
Stripes

Coal
Underbelly

Hatchday

Mar 03, 2016
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Ice
Common

Level 1 Skydancer

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Midrin
Ebony

Offspring

Biography

___________________________Liara_______________________________

Seamstress

♛
"The desire to create is one of the deepest longings of the soul."
♛

_________________________

B I O G R A P H Y

Main Theme: Snowy Valak Mountain ( Night ).

______ I.

“Surely they wouldn’t come after a little girl.”
This is how she remembers her mother, Ebony: in a dark, sweeping gown, appealing to her husband. The Manor was grand and old, hidden deep in a copse in the Tangled Wood. The furnishings are dark and elegant.
The Guardian looked pleadingly at Midrin.
“She’s so young. You can’t put her away.”
“Where she’ll be safe?” Midrin’s fist crashed on the dining room table. He learned nearer to Ebony. Each word was a growl: “The Marconi will stop at nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Two families have lost their heirs already. I refuse to be the third.” Midrin took her paws in his. “She’ll be safe this way. Isn’t that what every mother wants for her child?”
Ebony was silent for a long while. The grandfather clock ticked on, then signaled the quarter-hour with a ripple of bells. “Perhaps. But will she be happy?”

II.

The conversation hadn’t meant much at that moment. She’d been busy playing with her straw dolls.
Even then, she worried endlessly about what style frock they should have. Her greatest treasure was a glass jar of buttons, a rainbow of colors and myriad of sizes.
When she was nervous, she laid them all out and sorted them by size.
She was nervous right now, but had no time for button-sorting.
She clutched the jar to her bosom as they descended the rickety, lightless stairs together. Ebony had a guiding paw on Liara’s gown.
“I don’t know how long you’ll be down here, my love.”
“That’s alright, mama.”
“We’ll bring you anything you want.”
The underground chambers weren’t bad—not at first. It was a little sitting area furnished with red-pink cushions and a portrait of a smiling Guardian, a book case, tea sets.
“This was her study.” Ebony hugged her. “Be good. Be quiet.”
Liara had no problem with that. She sorted buttons and snipped fabric for hours. Whenever she did, she was lost to the outside world, living instead in a universe of texture and color. Each piece was a new song to her, whispering like a best friend about what sort of gown it belonged in.
She only came out of her trance briefly—whenever they had a dinner party that night. Forced laughter and light spilled through the cracks of the ceiling.
“And where is your little girl?” a voice asked.
“You haven’t heard?” her father responded. “We sent her to live with her governess.”
There was long silence again.
For a moment, Liara daydreamed about going to the party in a white moonlight-soft dress. For reasons she didn’t understand, tears welled in her eyes.

III.

When others asked her later about her time in the basement, she never knew what to say.
Time itself in captivity is different. Longer. Days stretch into nondescript oceans of time.
The basement in the Manor stretched on, too. When she got tired of sewing or knitting, she wandered.
That was how she found the wheel next to the phonograph. She peered at the elegant black contraption in wonder. Then the phonograph.
With a few adjustments, the rickety thing began to play. A crackling voice belonging to her grandmother said, “For silk, pull the fibers tight, dearie. Don’t brake too quickly or too hard.”
Liara was fascinated. Soon the rhythm developed—soon the iridescent fabric grew before her eyes.
Those watching would have seen a lonely, lost girl, laughing and talking to a phonograph.
But inside, Liara was the creator of her own world.

IV.

If you can’t speak of time, how do you describe emotions?
Liara remembers her mother coming to the basement to talk with her, to take the bolts of silk upstairs, where they vanished.
But Ebony’s visits grew less frequent, her coughing more common. One rainy afternoon, her mother hugged her, smiled, and left for the last time.
Later—how long?—Liara heard her father talking to a new woman, pressing her ear to the cracks.
“And where do you get this silk?”
Me, Liara thought. She gazed at her grandmother’s smiling portrait.
“Foreign traders,” Midrin said. “The Blacksand Annex. You know.”
It was time to leave this place. There were more types of fabric, dye in the world. Liara knew this from her grandmother’s discs, who whispered and spoke of a world full of endless wonders.
That night, she wove a braided cord to the sound of a crackling waltz.
Then she burst a window just below the ceiling of the basement. Her wings and arms were badly cut—the other windows lit at once, blazing into the night—but she ran, laughing and free, as mist softer than her silk wrapped around her, to hide her.

V.

Silk, silk, silk for sale, she sang. The path was bright here. She had no silk, but the words gave her comfort.
A Guardian female paused before her with a half-smile. “You look lost, girl.”
“Nope. Well, maybe.”
“We could use a seamstress.”
“So long as you don’t put me in a basement.” Liara bowed low.
That gave Axaris pause. “You poor thing.”
“Not for long.” Liara laughed and crossed her wing with Axaris, eager for her next adventure.

Bio by Caelyn

Bio template by @Mibella, find it here.

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Exalting Liara to the service of the Tidelord will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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