Someone said, "Make a thread for Lys's history and development!" and for some reason I said, "Okay!" - Currently only 3 entries made, with 2 more planned and 4 more in the concept stages. Look forward to when it is updated with art. Enjoy the adventures of my terrible daughter.
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Warning: Descriptions of child abuse
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For as far as Lysarra's memory reached, her life had always belonged to someone else, always pushed around and sought to be controlled. In one hand, she held her hopes and dreams, falling through her fingers and scattering in the wind - and in the other was her father's inescapable grasp, holding tightly to her wrist and dragging her behind him as he followed his own path, no matter how she kicked and screamed and pulled towards freedom. At times he would turn and ask her, with a sneer on his lips, "What path would you take, then, you fool of a child? You know nothing of this world, and I know it best! Your father knows what's best for you!" She never had an answer. To a degree, he'd always been right. But she knew it was only because he'd controlled her life so restrictively to ensure that it was so.
He tried so hard to mold her in the image of her mother, who died when bringing their daughter into the world. They shared a name, shared a face, shared their laughter and smile - but they weren't the same person. Lysarra had ambition and anger, and her mother showed patience and mercy. Lysarra was cold in all the places where her mother was kind. At first, she didn't understand why this shook her father so deeply - she'd never been close to her father, but they hadn't always been at odds - but as time went on, she was repulsed by what she realized. He didn't want a daughter. He wanted a doll. He wanted her mother again, back from the dead, and he used his living child in an effort to cling to a dead woman's fleeting image. To him, Lysarra was simply her mother reborn. And the constant disappointment and anger he held against her came from the failure of that unspoken expectation.
Lysarra hated her father.
For years, he forced her to learn her mother's hobbies, from cooking to tailoring to some smatterings of first aid. He taught her to follow the path of the Light, which ironically led to her rejection of this imposed faith. When she learned that he was arranging a place for her in the Church to one day become a paladin - just like her mother before her - she shattered his plans by publicly denouncing the Light, effectively disqualifying her from ever receiving the Church's teachings. Her father was furious, of course, but she didn't care. Lysarra resolved to make her own path. But, now that she'd burned the only bridge that seemed certain to bear her towards any kind of future, she needed to figure out where her new path started.
Since the day she steeled herself against her father's will, she was a wild and unruly child - but more than that, she was cunning and clever. Much to her father's vexation. He learned quickly how unwise it was for him to leave her alone with his colleagues, as he'd return to wary gazes and expressions of disgust. Sometimes, he would introduce friends to her, and after one look at them, she would simply scream and scream and make a scene that only bruises from beatings would silence. It wasn't long before he stopped inviting people to his home, and forced his daughter into isolation in hopes that she would either learn the error of her ways, or fear him enough to end this play of rebelliousness. He never seemed to understand one thing about his daughter: She hated him far more than she could ever fear him. As he pulled her down his path, she pulled away all the same - but it only caused his grip to tighten, and his pace to quicken, dragging his daughter down towards a prison he only saw as her salvation.
Under the weight of her father's chains, it was a long time before Lysarra managed to find something to hope and strive towards. But in time, she did. Magic always came naturally to High Elves, but the Lightseeker family had always pushed past its call in favor of the Light. In fact, her father, as if forseeing her foolishness, did his very best to dismiss and deny her any knowledge of the arcane arts. But he was a busy man, and a high ranking paladin in his order, and his work often called him far from the walls of Silvermoon. Despite his best efforts, Lysarra was too clever to remain caged forever. And her cleverness was noticed and noted by local mages, who encouraged her to study and hone her skills. With a little guidance, and a page out of some novice tomes here and there, she quickly learned that she had a gift. Conjuring candlelight with a snap of her fingers, freezing puddles and ponds with a gentle breath, in all ways it came rather naturally to her, even in comparison to other elves.
When her father caught her, he was furious. Not because he was opposed or against magic and mages as an establishment, but because he saw her deviation from his memory of her mother as an inexcusable insult to her name. He did everything he could to violently suffocate this budding passion, burning all her possessions, magical or not, and locking her in her room for days on end. But once she was started on this new path, there was nothing he could do to stop her. He could take away what she owned, but she could never strip her from what she'd learned. Lysarra continued to pursue her interest in secret, perfecting what little she knew, and experimenting to discover more. She prepared for the day where she would at last be allowed to break free, and spread her wings.
It was apparent to them both that their house would be torn apart by this endless war.
But it seemed the Scourge would have their way with it first.