Andaralyn Wytchwyrd

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Like a crawling, icy claw, a chilling fog crept through my village on the night of my birth, snaking its way into every earthbound building. This weather was not unusual during the bitter, cold months but on this spring day it was very abnormal, a freak occurrence.

I was told my mother struggled through my birth; for years she had possessed an unfounded fear of bearing a child, a fear not even my father could unravel. Her worried state worsened the process of child birth, causing anxiety and a laborious.

I was born in distress, choking and blue, with a small pair of slightly curved horns jutting from the crown of my head. Although an unusual trait for an Eladrin the Feywild is unpredictable and my family has had many curses placed upon us. The eerie events of the evening of my birth combined with my rather strange horns led the seers of the village to believe my birth was an unfavorable omen, a result of a curse on my family. However, my parents loved me all the same; I was their first child.

Over the years, as I grew up in my small village, my father became increasingly leery of my curse. Beyond my horns, other strange events began occurring. My skin unusually cold to the touch and, during the winter months, it took an almost translucent appearance. My mother blamed the phenomena on the arcane influence of the Feywild, noting I was an excellent conduit of arcane energies, inherited from my rather gifted. She has always denied the notion I was cursed and preferred I grow up training under my father, as a novice hunter of hags and other dark fey.

My father, however, took another approach, sending me to Mithrendain, during my adolescent years. Both my parents were well respected in Mithrendain, my father a potent sorcerer and hunter and my mother was a lucrative ritualist, blessing lands and removing diseases. Although neither ever flaunted their wealth.

Here, in Mithrendain, I trained with the arcanists, the sorcerers, wizards, sword-mages and their ilk. My arcane adeptness was tested, but, to the dismay of my parents, I displayed little promise. It was obvious I possessed an attunement to the arcane pulse of the Fey Wild, as I was able to channel enough energies to cast minor spells but could progress no further. My father demanded further investigation into my plight.

Some of the most learned scholars and wisest seers saw my case, most determined that I was cursed by a powerful fey, perhaps by a hag that held a grudge against my father. One sage and historian even suggested I was cursed by the archfey Baba Yaga, a coven of hags may have pleaded with her to curse me, which could not broken by a simple ritual. Of course their judgments were hastily made as I was not seen as worth their time.

These theories of my curse came to be untrue. As I prepared to leave Mithrendain, to seek another destiny, a scholar approached me, much younger than those who have studied my case. The scholar called himself Keeran, telling me he heard of my case spoken of in the halls of the Citadel Arcanum. He told me he knew of my family, particularly my mother, and had a suspicion about what is inhibiting me. According to his family, my mother was once a terrifying agent for a coven of arcanists working for a wintery archfey, a guardian of a resource laden mountain range, the Crags of the Quarry. The mystical, icy walls of the palatial fortress of the Prince of Frost were carved from the deep, frozen heart of the range. The guardian archfey is known as the Crag Walker, a colossal, white mountain goat.

Keeran said my mother’s coven and the Crag Walker were once assaulted by agents of the Autumn Court, who were allied with a rival archfey seeking to destroy an ancient circle of cairn stones hidden deep within the mountains, rumored to protect the Prince of Frost from death. The Autumn Court nearly defeated the Crag Walker until an ice storm descended upon the battle, a storm so violent that it felled even the most massive of treants and froze the legions of fey soldiers. Once the storm settled a fierce contingency of the Prince of Frost entered the battlefield, rescuing the Crag Walker and his dwindling forces. During this conflict my mother disappeared.

At the time I did not believe Keeran, as my mother was kind hearted and working with the Winter Fey would be unfathomable to my father. However, her connection to such a power would explain my icy character and strange happenings.

I left Mithrendain and went back to my homestead, much to the chagrin of my father, still lacking any useful arcane skills to speak of. Too weak to take up a life of martial practice, my father made me choose between becoming a crafter or train in the arts of diplomacy. Disliking the minutia involved in most crafts I chose the path of diplomacy. I trained for many years, again in Mithrendain, in the sly art of the silver tongue. I apprenticed with Soolean Whitestar, a feared emissary to various factions in the Feydark. I proved quite adept at diplomacy and less savory means of negotiation. Near the end of my training I was was entering adulthood and returned home to celebrate by success in finishing my initial training.

That night it came for me.

A frost settled over the village, not uncanny for the season. During the celebration with my family, including my younger sister and a handful of friends, a half-eladrin half-goat creature, covered in snow white fur and black skin, brazenly broke down our door and beckoned me by name. Its chest was torn open, ribs missing, and inside beat a blackened, frostbitten heart. As he stared at me I was overcome with fear, I lost control of myself. I walked towards the creature and then my mind went black.

I awoke on a stone slab surrounded by evergreens, during a ritual with me as the focus. I struggled to move, but I was tied down. The ritual began and I became tired and weary, before falling asleep I saw approaching the shadow of a massive goat.

When I came to again, I was physically alone but did not feel alone. Something was with me, inside, watching me. A deep, slow bleating voice rung out inside my mind instructing me to travel, sill in a daze and frightened I obeyed. I came across a fortress, atop a mountain; here I met the remnants of a warlock’s coven. Over time I discovered my mother was a member of the coven but disappeared and severed her ties with the Crag Walker. As retribution my mother was cursed to lose her first born. So there I was, lost, angry and yet somewhat satisfied as I felt arcane power flow through me. I sensed the presence of the Crag Walker in me.

Unfortunately, I was imprisoned in the fortress. I tried to eacape many times, but my attempts were futile. The Crag Walker told me this was my destiny, to serve him. He told me of my fate and spoke of my mother. As I learned more about my mother my attitude slowly changed, as she turned from the image of the saintly woman I grew up with to a terrifying arcanist, I began to feel betrayed. Over time I became content to follow in the footsteps of one of my parents. Perhaps I could bring pride to my family still.

I learned of the Crag Walker’s purpose, to guard and control the mountains and preserve the peace through any means necessary. My heart grew cold and I turned to fully trust the Crag Walker. The Feywild, I realized, is an unforgiving place, controlling those that live here is the only way to protect its denizens.

Up until recently, to repay the debt my Patron owes to the Winter Court, I have served as a loyal member to the Frost Prince. I initially set off to monitor a group demon hunters, reporting back to the court as necessary, however much of the group has been dispersed and I have taken their purpose to heart. Learning of the Obyrith threat, I am doing everything I can to turn the tides, including jeopardizing my relationship with the Winter Court.

Luckily, due to the fall of the Autumn court, partially at our hands, a power vacuum has occurred in the Feywild. One Rigby Relano is restoring an ancient Fey court and has offered me a seat in his court. After I regain a foothold in the Feywild, and perhaps the respect of the Winter Court once more, I shall rally the most powerful Archfey against the Obyrith’s.

Andaralyn Wytchwyrd

Rise of the Obyriths Dozaec