| Relatives | She doesn't know it, but she's related to people that she would never expect to know |
|---|---|
| Languages | English, Typescript |
| Aliases | Len |
| Marital Status | Single. She picks up a new project in every town she lives in |
| Place of Birth | High Elven Brighthorn Palace Gardens |
| Species | Half Elf- Half Human |
| Gender | Female |
| Height | 6 |
| Weight | 190 |
| Eye Color | Brown |
Half-Elf Bard/ Lore Urchin AI Highly realistic portrait of a goth bard.png
Prologue
This is the story, of a girl, who was given a name that never belonged to her. It wasnt because her parents were cruel—please. Life doesn’t need cruelty; it has strategy.
She was given a name that didn’t fit because hiding her identity was the only way to keep her alive.
Sometimes love shows up as presence.
Sometimes love shows up as absence that scorches.
Sometimes the only way to protect your child is to disappear so completely that even the gods lose your scent.
Leonard grew up in a cage.
A quiet one, disguised as survival. Every orphan learns the same first lesson: no matter how the world frames it, loss feels personal. But cages do funny things.
Leave something trapped long enough and it learns its own strength. Push something into darkness long enough and it grows its own light.
This is the story, of how a girl, named Leonard, burned her way out of her past and renamed herself Len—not out of spite, but out of evolution.
Of how she realized the scar on her face wasn’t a flaw, but a warning label:
Break me at your own risk.
She learned that trust has teeth. That hope is a gamble. That love is never neat—it’s messy, dangerous, and sometimes it leaves a body behind. But here’s the truth she wasn’t supposed to find: Being left behind wasn’t about her not being enough.
It was about a love so fierce it had to erase itself to save her.
So if you’ve ever wondered if you were meant to be claimed…If you’ve ever stared at your own reflection and asked, “Why wasn’t I enough?” —this story is yours, too.
Because Leonard didn’t just survive.
She transformed.
She chose her name.
She chose her power.
She chose herself.
And grace?
Grace isn’t a gift.
Grace is the aftermath of pain you outgrew.
…Rest easy, Dad. I’m telling the story now.
**✨ PART ONE: THE ABANDONMENT
Emotional & Tragic Version — Minimal Dialogue ✨**
The storm hammered the Spire the way grief hits a chest — blunt, relentless, unapologetic. Rain smeared the stones until the whole structure looked like it was melting into the hillside. Every window rattled. Every hinge groaned. The night felt swollen with something heavy and approaching.
Sister Margot was alone in the vestry, folding altar cloths in the quiet, mechanical way she always did when she was afraid. The grain was low. The vegetables were spoiling. Winter was coming fast. The numbers didn’t lie. Children could starve under her watch.
That worry evaporated the moment the knock hit the door.
It wasn’t timid.
It wasn’t frantic.
It was a single, heavy strike — like someone forcing themselves to remain upright long enough to reach shelter.
Margot froze.
The second knock was softer, but it carried something the first did not:
finality.
She crossed the chapel slowly. The storm pressed at the walls like it wanted in. Candlelight shook in thin, frightened shadows. When she reached the door, she stood there longer than she meant to, breath unsteady, hand curled around the latch.
The third knock didn’t come.
Silence did — thick, weighted, waiting.
Margot opened the door.
A man stood there, or the shell of one. Rain poured off him in sheets. Mud streaked his boots. His shoulders sagged from exhaustion so profound it felt like a physical presence beside him. He was young — much too young to look that ruined.
In his arms, wrapped in an old wool cloak, was a baby.
A newborn.
Small, silent, unnervingly alert.
For a moment, neither adult moved.
The man simply stared at Margot with eyes that looked emptied out by grief he hadn’t had time to feel yet. Not fear. Not shock.
Surrender.
He held the child tighter, as if his arms were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
He didn’t step inside.
He didn’t ask for anything.
He only nodded once, a stiff, desperate gesture — not permission, not explanation — and extended the bundle toward her.
Margot didn’t reach for the child right away.
She looked at him.
Just looked.
At the soaked, trembling hands.
At the bruise blooming along his jaw.
At the way his mouth kept trying to form words and failing.
Something terrible had happened.
Something he wasn’t built to carry.
And he was breaking under it.
He finally managed a few words — quiet, cracked, barely carried over the storm:
“Please. I… can’t keep her safe.”
That was all.
No name.
No story.
No defense.
Just a father who could barely hold himself together and a child who had no idea her life had already begun with loss.
Margot stepped forward.
The baby was warm.
Too warm, like she’d been held close for hours by someone afraid to let her go.
The man’s hands lingered a second too long when Margot took the child. Not for reassurance — for goodbye.
He swallowed hard, wiped rain from his face with the back of a shaking hand, and looked at the infant one last time.
There was so much love in his expression it hurt to witness.
Not a dramatic love.
Not a storybook love.
A raw, exhausted, bone-deep love — the kind that forms in people who’ve already lost too much.
He didn’t say another word.
He stepped back into the storm, shoulders hunched, head bowed, the wind swallowing him almost immediately. He didn’t look back.
Margot stood in the doorway, stunned, the child heavy in her arms.
The storm didn’t ease.
The Spire didn’t soften.
The night didn’t offer explanations.
Just a newborn with no name, no past, and a father walking into darkness without knowing the mother of his child was dying — or already gone.
Margot held the baby closer.
And for the first time in years, she whispered a prayer not for the children in her care —
—but for the stranger who had just abandoned his daughter in her arms.
Physical Appearance
Leonard, or Len, commands attention through her imposing 6-foot stature and striking appearance. Her rich, warm brown skin with distinct red undertones creates an almost ethereal quality, particularly in firelight. Her deep black hair is long, straight, and wavy, showing a nice flow and frame against her face elegantly while remaining practical for her adventuring lifestyle.
Her most distinctive feature is her deeply expressive brown eyes, which possess an almost supernatural quality of connection. Observers frequently describe feeling as though she can see directly into their soul—not invasively, but with profound understanding and empathy. Her facial structure shows her mixed heritage through high cheekbones and a gentle square jaw that provides strength while maintaining feminine grace.
A prominent scar cuts through her right eyebrow and extends to her forehead and cheek—a stark reminder of a near-fatal fall during early adventures that she was remarkably fortunate to survive.
Style & Clothing
Lyralei favors a gothic aesthetic with flowing fabrics in midnight blacks, blood crimsons, and deep purples. Her clothing features intricate silver embroidery depicting thorned roses, skeletal hands, and musical notes arranged in graveyard-spiral patterns. Her signature black velvet cloak, lined with purple silk and fastened with a raven-shaped silver clasp, billows dramatically behind her like dark wings.
Her beloved lute serves as both instrument and gothic statement piece, adorned with an extensive collection of charms including tiny silver skulls, obsidian roses, miniature coffins, crescent moon pendants, and mourning bells that create a haunting musical announcement of her presence.
Personality
Core Traits
Lyralei possesses a complex, romantic personality that finds beauty in decay, hope in darkness, and meaning in suffering. She approaches the world with melancholy wisdom gained from intimate familiarity with loss, abandonment, and mortality, yet maintains an underlying optimism about the possibility for redemption and growth.
Her charismatic nature stems from her ability to acknowledge life's darkness while finding reasons to continue fighting. She believes deeply in transforming pain into beauty, isolation into connection, and despair into bittersweet hope through music, stories, and genuine human connection.
Distinctive Characteristics
- Supernatural Clumsiness: Legendary ability to trip, stumble, or accidentally activate magical items at precisely the wrong moments
- Miraculous Luck: Accidents invariably work in her favor, creating advantageous outcomes from potentially disastrous situations
- Grateful Disposition: Maintains daily practices acknowledging her fortune and never takes her survival for granted
- Bunny Obsession: Absolute devotion to protecting and helping rabbits, will abandon tactical plans to assist them
- Adventure Enthusiasm: Insatiable appetite for grand quests and new challenges
Combat Psychology
When confronted with injustice or threats to innocents, her usual melancholy transforms into focused determination. She prefers non-violent solutions but possesses a cold, tactical mindset that draws from mysterious military memories. Perhaps from a distant past? Her combat style blends classical techniques with modern strategic thinking, creating unpredictable and effective approaches.
The eMarine Dreams
Lyralei experiences vivid, recurring dreams of serving as an eMarine in steampunk warfare scenarios. These visions are so detailed and realistic that she often awakens confused about which life is real. The dreams provide tactical knowledge, combat instincts, and psychological insights that enhance her effectiveness as an adventurer while creating ongoing questions about the nature of identity and reality.
History
Act I – The Abandonment
A cloaked noble leaves his infant daughter at the Foundling Spire of Greenbrook.
His only instruction: “Name her Leonard.”
The nuns don’t question, out of respect for his bloodline. Thus begins her story under a name that doesn’t fit.
Act II – The Child Called Leonard
Growing up, she’s recorded as Leonard, whispered about as odd, teased but never broken.
The other orphans call her Leo. The nuns call her stubborn.
But she listens for music everywhere — the drip of rain in the cloisters, the rhythm of bells, the songs of traveling minstrels.
Act III – Awakening the Bard
Her voice blooms early, powerful and haunting. When she sings, the others fall silent — even the strict sisters.
One day a visiting retainer hears her song. He flinches, recognizing a voice that echoes through the noble halls he serves. Word spreads: there may be more to Leonard than an orphan’s name.
Act IV – Claiming Her True Self
As she grows, she refuses to let her father’s cruelty define her.
She rechristens herself Lorelei, twisting the name forced upon her into something melodic, dangerous, unforgettable.
“Leonard” becomes a stage name she sometimes wields like a blade, unsettling nobles who know the truth.
But as Lorelei, she carries her own legend — not as a castoff, but as a voice too strong to cage.
Overview
Lyralei Songweaver is a prominent half-elf bard known for her extraordinary musical abilities, gothic aesthetic, and complex interdimensional experiences. Born as Leonard to the scholar Marcus Songweaver and the noble musician Caelynn Silverbrook, she was raised in an orphanage after her mother died in childbirth and her grief-stricken father made the difficult decision to hide her identity for her protection.
As soon as she could, she changed her name.
Lyralei has gained recognition throughout the realms for her unique combination of traditional bardic magic, energy manipulation abilities, and tactical expertise that appears to derive from dreams of military service in alternate realities. She is particularly noted for her refusal to use violence as a first resort, her supernatural luck that counteracts her legendary clumsiness, and her absolute devotion to protecting rabbits.
Languages
Elvish, Necromancer, poor mans English
Powers and Abilities
I like keeping my moves spicy! People automatically think I will take a back stance in a fight, they'd better think again! I also like keeping myself on my toes. Thunderstrike, Faerie Fire, Mythic Hand, Bane, Dissonant whispers. I also have scrolls now!
Attacks and Weapons
Rapier and Dagger: they are the only ones she chooses to continuously use.
