Eirvi

Eirvi is our bouncer, of a sort. She takes it upon herself to protect the Red Table's state of neutrality. She exhibits an uncanny ability to appear wherever there is trouble, even as the Red Table continues to expand, seemingly drawn from across the trees by the smallest growl or cry. Fiona has, lovingly, made the request that when she isn't actively breaking up a fight or glaring down a rabblerouser, she keep watch from afar. I believe her exact words were, "Eirvi, darling, your scowl is a thing of beauty, but it's losing us business."

Thankfully, Eirvi's security measures go beyond perching like a gargoyle and staring down our guests, and while many find her demeanor frightening at first, her reputation among locals and regulars is one of steadfast loyalty, unshakeable mettle, and inarguable valor. She trains our other, more personable guards and also takes it upon herself to teach self-defense and hunting techniques to our hatchlings. She is the first to throw herself into danger to protect strangers, friends, and family alike with a ferocity that knows no equal, and will not hesitate to take any measures that will protect the Red Table's state of peace.

Though it is often hidden under furs and armor, Eirvi's friends and family are acutely aware of the constellation of scars she bears. We know nothing of her heritage beyond the fact that she hatched here in the Viridian Labyrinth, but Eirvi herself has no recollection of her parents or early home. As she put it to me, "my first memory is of blood." She blinked awake to an underground gladiatorial ring, a roaring crowd, and a single glimpse of the mirror hatchling she had been pitted against before its claws tore across the side of her face. That crowd saw her first kill: bloodied claws, torn throat, one last hideous gurgle before one hatchling became dust and the other, a dragon.
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For many years, Eirvi's days were a blur of blood, scars, and muzzles. She barely spoke. She barely thought. The other fighters began calling her the Cleaver, the last face seen by many an ill-fated gladiator. There was, however, one beacon of light in her gloom - Elrass, a fellow prisoner, though not a fighter himself. They found themselves bound by circumstance, and found comfort in one another's presence. It was when Eirvi realized there were eggs coming that she could no longer remain a gladiator. She could not subject her hatchlings to the face she had suffered.
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They never told me the details of their escape. I don't think they entirely remember - I don't think they want to remember. All I know is that by the time they had escaped the ring and outrun their pursuers, Eirvi could no longer move. She collapsed on the outskirts of the Emperor's Wake, ready to die.
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This is where myself and Muradin enter the story. We were enjoying a night of spirits and stories in a local tavern when a small golden fae barreled in through the window, begging for help. We found Eirvi cold, exhausted, and bloodied, curled around a single egg with tears in her eyes. In a brood of three, two had already died in their shells. She didn't trust us at first, perhaps believing us to be other potential captors, and for many years we did not know her true history.
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When we founded the Red Table, Eirvi assumed the protector's role almost naturally. She guards our hatchlings, our borders, ourselves. She refuses to allow the brutality she witnessed growing up. But over the years I have seen her relax, perhaps even heal. It's in the softness of her gaze when she watches over the young ones and her rare, roaring laughter among friends. It took her a long time to grow accustomed to life outside the ring, and in some ways I believe she never left. "Either way, it doesn't matter," she tells me. "I'm home."
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