Kirian
Elf - Sword Sage, Survivor, Silent Fury

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Backstory

There are scars that never fully heal, some carved into flesh, other into bone, others deeper still, etched into the soul. Kirian knows the weight of these scars, and locks them deep within.

Born in the alabaster wooded sanctuaries of Alyrien, Kirian once embodied the serene grace of elven tradition. He was a prodigy of the ancient sword paths, a student of the Lunar Falcon. Swordsmanship was a way of life, not just as combat, but as philosophy, as meditation. His blade moved like a whisper through falling leaves, a dancer of wind and will. He was once called Vel'asar, the Enlightened Blade, his title was sung in the twilight groves, in courts of silver and song.

That name burned to ash, thrust upon the wind never to be spoken again.

It happened an age ago, during the War of Ashes, when the Cinder Host, an Emberborn cult razed elven lands in a pyre of godfire. Kirian led a final stand at the edge of Ilyther's Glade, where something ancient was buried, a wellspring of power the Cinder Host sought to weaponize. He and his wardens held the glade for three days, his sword singing with sorrow and wrath. Although they struggled and fought till their hands bled with their own blood... they would not win... the ritual was completed. The ground cracked, and a godlike flame tore upward, consuming forest, flesh, and sky alike.

Kirian awoke beneath a canopy of smoke and soot, burned and barely breathing, his skin forever disfigured by that divine fire. He crawled through the corpses of his comrades, the friends he could not save, brothers he fought along side. He does not know how he survived, perhaps his blade protected him, or perhaps something darker chose not to let him die.

His hair turned bone white. His once handsome face warped with molten scars. The elves of Alyrien looked upon him with disdain, as a harbinger of doom, the last survivor, an ill omen. His title once praised, now cursed. Vel'asar was struck from the record, and he was exiled, never to return again, for his failure and for the lives he could not save.

He has been Kirian ever since.

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The Emberwake

He found the Emberwake long after his exile, drifting along the coast of a distant land he had wandered to. Captain Arden took him aboard after a duel neither spoke of again. Kirian never explained himself, and no one pried. On the ship, he is a quiet shadow, always armored, always watching. His sword remains across his lap even when resting, his voice low and often unreadable. But when he fights, it is with chilling precision, his strikes deliberate, almost mournful.

Though distant, he is not cold. He fixes broken things, offers silent guidance. He practices alone at dawn where the mist is thickest, battling the phantoms of his past. Maneuvering as replaying what could have been in those final days in the glade. Sometimes he speaks to the sea, perhaps to ease the weight of his memories, or perhaps to see if voices long past will speak back to him.

He fears fire more than anything, the galley hearth, the forge below deck... he avoids them.

But when the crew needs him, he will stride into battle without hesitation, a lost soul yearning for redemption, clad in iron, blade at his side.

“I envy you… You died knowing you saved someone. I lived knowing I couldn’t.” - To bones during night watch

“I don’t know if there’s peace at the end of all this. But if I must walk through ash to find it… then let me keep walking.” - Reflecting on the future