3. Sirion Goldthane

Sirion Goldthane


  • Character: Sirion Goldthane
    Player: cardamon-ygg

    Between the time of the Days of Thunder and the Rise of Men, there was an age unlike any other. An unto this were born the Ar-Tel-Quessir, the Sun Elves. Beautiful, pride, and cunning to the point of severity, their golden houses banded together and at the height of Elvendom established Aryvandaar, sometimes called Vyshaantar after the greatest of its ruling families. It is one of the lesser branches in the tree of Vyshaan, the family of Sol’denbrae, the Golden Bough, which we will now concern ourselves, along with actions that shaped he world as it is known, both past and present.

    Sol’denbrae, known for its collective power, intellect, and cunning among those already well known for the same, was under the control of two brothers. Ambrion and Darion, each a wizard of no small power, ensured the houses prosperity. United, there was little they could not accomplish, and it seemed an ascension of Sol’denbrae to the leadership of Vyshaan, and thus the kingdom itself, was inevitable. It was not to last however. The Third Crown War saw the death of Darion and the decline of Sol’denbrae, rightly or wrongly blamed for a number of military loses under Darion. On the surface, he was held in high esteem. The Grand Martyr of Vyshaantar, afforded lip service honors in public and spit upon in the darkness. The surviving brother, struggling to hold together his house’s position in the middle of a war will little end, grew not only desperate but vengeful. He longed to see not only his brother avenged, but his memory as well, and came to believe the only way to do so would be to rule far more than even the seat of Aryvandaar.

    Yet Ambrion remained cunning. It may be said that Darion was the more idealistic of the two, but it cannot be said that Ambrion was not the most dangerous. He knew that one need not sit upon a throne to wield its power. Thus it came to pass that a bitter seed was planted in the heart of Sol’denbrae.

    As Ambrion’s ambitions grew, so did Sol’denbrae’s influence under his careful direction. Yet Ambrion was cautious, making sure that for every action taken at his command, another bore responsibility. Many great and terrible things were done at his word, yet history will always speak of other names. Still, it was not enough. For all of Ambrion’s power and reach, his careful defense was also holding him back, and soon the growth of the Golden Bough slowed. And that was when she came to him.

    Ambrion’s political games and the savagery they evoked had not gone entirely unnoticed. A Eryines of the Nine Hells, Nivahlashiel, The Cold that Burns.

    Here was a creature who mirrored Ambrion’s heart. All that he was, she was more. Powerful to the point of terror, ambitious to the point of shamelessness, cautious to the point indolence, beautiful, cruel, and eternally hungry, but not for food. Nivahlashiel fed on the desires of others, on the fulfillment of her chosen few’s darkest wishes. It was a slow need, and she took pride in her dedication; influencing mortals for centuries at a time.

    It cannot be said that they loved each other. It cannot be said that Nivilashiel is even capable of love for anyone but herself. But there was an affection there all the same, and unlike some, she did not have to kill to feed. Thus they entered both a pact and an embrace. In return for the power to fulfill their wishes, the Scions of the Golden Bough would lend her the fruit of their ambitions, and she would lend them the power of her race. Thus the sons and daughters of Nivahlashiel and Ambrion Sol’denbrae were born, the blood of the fiend entered the House of the Golden Bough, and the last Crown War were pushed to a bloody conclusion within a generation.

    Sirion’s consciousness rose from reverie and the topaz gem on forehead pulsed with a warm soft glow, reminiscent of a firefly in the warmth of a Spring twilight. With a wordless command, it vanished again. The Kiira, an heirloom serving as record for his family and repository of power through the ages, was his most valuable possession. Yet what it had shown him brought a terrible feeling of dread that he had difficulty forgiving himself for.

    He rose from the divan he had rested upon and walked over to a counter, where he poured himself a glass of wine. “It does not alter anything you already knew,” his reason told him. And it was correct. Since the last encounter he had with the things that had been his brothers, before leaving Evermeet and traveling East decades ago, he had known where he came from. It was a story long forgotten…this stone held possibly the last record of it on all of Toril. Yet in confirming the truth of his ancestry for himself Sirion was filled with apprehension.

    “How much of what I have done is really me...or really that thing in my blood, I wonder?”

    A soft voice from deep down answered, and it surprised him so much that he froze mid-stride, nearly dropping the wine glass. “Only as much as you want it to be.” He froze for two reasons. That such an answer came…or that he swore he really heard it. Slowly the golden haired wizard turned his gaze to the divan, and there stretched across it was a vision that brought his heart into throat.

    “...Niv...Niv...Nivahlashiel!” he stammered, too frightened to communicate much else. He was not the type to frighten easily. It was not that he wanted to run. It was that he wanted to stay that frightened him. That he found her so familiar and so inviting, despite knowing her goals and her nature. He knew he should fight, or run, yet he did not.

    “Please, my child.” Every word she spoke he heard twice, from within and without his mind. “Call me Grandmother.”

    ((Finally got around to writing this. More to come in the Tales by the Fireside sometime in the next three years))

  • ICC

    Reviewed, XP Pending!