Visilthe Alphera
Age: 36
Birthday: 28th of Reflection
Race: Half-Arsa
Appearance and personality
A frail, pale lady, standing at about 6'6. Her hair grows to just below her shoulders, always appearing well kept. She seems to always have bags under her eyes, and they tend to stay half-shut - though their gaze is no less piercing for it, an eerie flame keeping them alight. Odd charms of golden metals and purple silk robes cover her entire body, giving her steps a feeling of lightness. A woman of few expressions; yet light as they are, they seem to shift her entire visage. All the more disconcerting, then, when a flash of mania crawls across her face - a crooked grin, and an animalistic look in her eyes.
She has an odd manner of speaking; as if every interaction is an exchange of some sort, or an academic paper. Her voice is hoarse and cold, at times even stern - it's like an impulse of a teacher scolding their students. There's a bluntness, a lack of grace in how she speaks to other people, especially when she's not given the time to think - a stark contrast to her flowery writing. She has a soft spot for poetry, and writes some herself, as a break from her more academic body of work.
That is, until she gets some alcohol in her body - wine is her preference. Then, the collected scholar becomes a sadistic woman, always with a quip on her tongue. They say she's got troubling ways to entertain herself - and while usually she spends this time writing her most scathing of critiques, a lack of academic works flowing from the Spire means she's out prowling the streets far more than usual. If that twisted smirk crosses her face, pray for mercy.
Her actions are primarily driven by an obsession with her distant Aedall heritage; she is interested in discovering and maintaining their culture, as well as solving the mystery of the Disappearance. She also holds an interest in the arcane, and wishes to become a mage to further her studies - the Spire is a potent magical force, after all. She's unafraid to put herself in harm's way for her goals and ideals, and her hatred burns strongly for those who oppose her, or support those who wish to rewrite history. The latter is not to be confused with a selfless act of justice, though - Visilthe is conceited to a fault, and will not hesitate to use people she views as inferior to get her way.
History has a habit of repeating itself. How ironic, then; to maintain the legacy of a secluded, selfish people, it takes one.
Backstory
Visilthe was born to a well-off family. Her father, Asmodeus Alphera, an Arsa Sidhe - was a wealthy merchant hailing from the Valkian Realm. After building a small fortune, he decided that a life of commerce no longer suited him, and he settled down in Tamohn, far from his former place of residence, marrying a Falstoner lady, Valerie Alphera née Fur - a Fey-Touched of Arsa Sidhe heritage. They would only have one daughter.
She was a rather sickly child; although with her father's money, she'd get the treatment necessary to lead a fairly normal life - if a touch sheltered, never getting to forge any long lasting friendships past the age of thirteen. She would go on to study at the university of Tamohn, maintaining the position of a top student. She'd quickly outgrow the academy's modern curriculum, though; more and more of her time would instead be spent in the scarcely traveled corners of their library, reading anything she could find about matters of the arcane. It was there that she would first stumble upon the topic of the Aedall - through a book containing theories about the function of the Spire. She wouldn't end up becoming a mage herself, mostly because she'd never gotten the chance to seek out a patron.
To fulfill her need of interpersonal contact, she'd choose to write and review countless works and dissertations. The constant praises of her creations inflated her ego, and kept her sated. In turn, she'd gained notoriety with her juniors, as a cold-blooded reviewer with a sharp tongue and unparalleled wit. The very respect she'd always yearned for - or at least that's what she'd tell herself, right before being consumed by a gnawing gluttony for more. She would continue to sink into her work for years, growing jaded and cynical in the process. Having now learned all about the university's former status, she'd grow to loathe the place, believing she were the key to resurrecting its former glory.
Around the time of her rise, she'd be the witness of a particular event - seemingly minor, but one which would irreversibly set the course of her life. Her father was cleaning out his old possessions - trinkets he'd gained in his time as a merchant. There were two items in particular, though, which he'd label as "nothing but worthless junk, of no value monetary nor sentimental", but had gathered the attention of Visi. The first - a dagger, although perhaps calling it that in its form would be an overstatement. Nearly all of its original form had been cut off, presumably sold or carelessly destroyed, then repaired by various blacksmiths of varying skill levels and material choices, turning it into an utter wreck. There was yet a piece of the original blade within, though; an intricate design, smithed in silver. The second - a portrait. Faded, stripped on the sides and folded in four. It depicted an Arsa man, eerily similar to her father, signed with a name; Fenelth Alphera. He held a solemn look in his eyes, as he stood on a background of unmistakably Aedall architecture. Her ancestor - it must must have been at least six generations back, as she couldn't recognize the name. An Aedall. It was as if in one moment, she'd understood the meaning of her life's work. From that day onward she'd cultivate a distaste for her father, now considering him a fool who willingly scoffed at his own legacy. A legacy, otherwise lost to time, with the Disappearance. One which he should have all the reason to uphold.
By the age of thirty, she would eventually garner respect from not just her peers, but certain lecturers at the university of Tamohn. Still, despite her extensive knowledge and astounding backlog of work, they'd only allow her to act as a substitute, each for one reason or another - though most of them were naught but grudges, formed after Visi's scathing criticisms of their works. This only served to motivate her further, and so she sharpened her words. She would go on to marry Fredrik Ithva soon after; by all means an above-average academic, an Arsa Sidhe who originated from Tamohn. It was not a marriage of love - moreso, just a husband to present herself with at fancy gatherings, and one who wouldn't get in the way of work - but also, one who could provide Visi with the means to continue her Aedall bloodline. Not that they outright hated each other, at least; they'd held a mutual respect - until it all came crashing down.
None of it was built to last. It was clear she'd fly a little too close to the sun, her goal seeming always out of reach.
She'd tried and failed to rekindle one of the university's oldest abandoned subjects; a deep theoretical primer on the arcane. Laughed out of the conference she'd present it at, a chunk of her renown with the lecturers she'd been fighting to keep for years was eroded, in the span of minutes.
Then; she'd found out her body was too frail to carry a child.
Her future - the future she'd spent so long planning, fighting for - had shattered right in front of her. She had already severed ties with her father. Her mother, a good natured woman, was outright afraid of her. She had nothing; save for her work. It was it, then, that kept her going. Her destination - ancestral land. The Southern Reach. If not to further her research, then at least to die with respect to her roots.
If she is to have no future; she will cling onto the past.
