Vëalíre,
Lioness of Prideless
Played by pine

t
he last few months had been nothing more than a dream — a restless wandering amongst the fog. The phantom in the tombs ( or had he been real? ) had left her shaken, more than the lioness cared to admit, and in its departure, she had fled. The winding twists and turns of the crypt’s maze had eventually faded as a cold light glimmered before her. From the darkness, she had emerged — but what was left of her? What d e a t h had she died this time?

For months, Vëalíre wandered. Blind to her surroundings, she was driven by instinct — her only guiding light, the frantic arrow of her inner compass. She was desperate to regain what she had lost — to find the family from which she had been so cruelly wrenched. And yet, her frenzied quest found no resolution. The woodlands of her home were nothing more than a whisper on the wind ; the kindred souls of her family had been reduced to ghosts. The turbulent sea had seen to that. In time, the sickness ebbed from her mind ; clarity rushed forth in its wake — and Vëalíre was left to accept the reality of her situation: rebuild her foundations upon solid ground or succumb to the eternal rest found beneath it.

And she had chosen l i f e.

A cold wind stirred, rising up from the frozen expanse of the tundra at her back ; it billowed once, a swirl of snow and ice dancing in its wake, before rushing forth. Cold fingers stirred the thick fur upon Vëalíre’s back, and a shiver raced along the lioness’ spine. She narrowed her eyes against the strike and swung her head around, gaze alighting on the corpse of pines dotting the banks of a quiet stream. Drawn by the promise of shelter ( and, perhaps, the familiarity of a forest’s embrace ), Vëalíre inhaled—a slow, deep breath—as she revelled in the perfume of balsam and pine.

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code to pine


n o t e ; on the map, vëalíre is standing among the trees near the upper edge of the tundra/woodlands border ( basically the section of trees between the two names on the map ).