|Created||February 26, 2011|
- 1 Mud Contributions:
- 2 Current Description:
- 3 WHO Lists:
- 4 Character History:
- 5 Trivia:
- 6 Geasa:
- 7 Wiki References:
- 8 Awards
- 9 Restrings:
- 10 an ornate tunic of embroidered indigo silk
- 11 Player Provided Information:
- 12 Personal Timeline:
- 13 Player Information:
Aoide's face is deathly pale. In fact, all of her is so white she is almost translucent. The darkness of her raven hair does nothing but accentuate her paleness. Her hair is arranged in a pile of braids and loops atop her head, though its usual bells and trinkets are absent. Her grey eyes look sadly at something in the distance, as if her mind and heart are elsewhere. Her step is careful and subdued and she seems to fade into the corners of the room.. The bard seems but a ghost of her former self. Even the indigo tattoo above her heart has paled. The spider now rests on a web of pulsing blueish veins that show through her translucent skin.
The first sound you hear as Aoide approaches is the clatter of her dagger and shield and the tinny sound of her amulets knocking together as she walks. As she nears, you also hear the jingling of the numerous bells and trinkets nestled in the braids and loops of her sable hair. Almost as a descant to her own symphony, Aoide is humming a lilting waltz. When she sets down her many bags, however, the symphony slams to a halt. The cacophony emitted by her bags is tremendous... judging by the sound, she's carrying a drum or two, cymbals and what appears to be the bell of a clarinet juts from one bag. Her face is wide and open. She seems to be young, but as an elf, it may only be the illusion of youth. Still, the look of her pale grey eyes only adds to her innocent appearance. Her pale skin is clean and unscarred save for a lone indigo scar (or is it a tattoo?) in the shape of a spider covering her heart. In fact, her clothes are also surprisingly clean and intact, save for the dusty hem of her cloak and thread- bare soles of her slippers. She must have walked the length of the realm and back by the look of them. Unabashed by the attention, Aoide looks you straight in the eye and says, "A song or a tale for anyone who asks. My aid for any who need it. Trust to a very few. Which, if any, do you seek?"
06/20/2011: Level 15 Bard Council Performance
Aoide, like most elves, is tall and willowy. Numerous black braids loop and twist around her head, adorned with bells and trinkets. But for a single ebon tendril, the plait's lone escapee, her face is unmasked and open. Her wide eyes are the palest grey and only add to the innocent look about her. While her hair tinkles and chimes when she moves, the sound is almost drowned out by the cacophony coming from her various bags. The bell of a shiny black clarinet juts from one resting at her feet. Under her cloak and mess of instruments and bags glints a steel sword. She is the Bardling of the Hunt, after all. Her pale skin is unmarked save for an indigo scar, or perhaps it's a tattoo, in the shape of her spider just below her collarbone. You can barely hear her humming a faint tune--a waltz by the sound of it. In fact, you spy her feet tapping along with the beat. Her feet and song still as she notices your attention. With a hunt of a blush she asks, "Would you care for a story or a song?" Aoide has a special twinkle in her eye. Aoide is in perfect health. Aoide is using: <used as light> (Weak magic) (Glowing) the Rod of Blacklight <worn around neck> (Weak magic) a black velvet choker <worn on body> (Token magic) a poet's shirt <worn on legs> (Token magic) an elfweave skirt <worn on feet> some soft soled black boots <worn on hands> some skin-tight black gloves <worn about body> a black-on-black embroidered cloak <held> an antique music box <worn with pride> (Red Aura) (Glowing) a golden quill stained with ebon ink
Elf [ Bard: 2 1 1 ] Aoide the Elf Maiden 2-26-2011 Elf [ Bard: 7 5 1 ] Aoide is always hunting for good stories. 3-10-2011 Elf [ Bard: 9 6 1 ] Aoide is hunting for scores, scrolls, and groups. 3-17-2011 Elf [ Bard: 10 7 2 ] Aoide, now offering corpse retrievals. 3-26-2011 Elf [ Bard: 10 7 3 ] Aoide afk a jiffy. 3-26-2011 Elf [ Bard: 10 7 3 ] Aoide, devoted Tikruul fan. 3-26-2011 Elf [ Bard: 10 7 3 ] Aoide is hunting for tales of the Lady Cordir. 3-26-2011 Elf [ Bard: 10 8 4 ] Aoide. 3-31-2011 Elf [ Bard: 10 8 4 ] Aoide Matwin seeks the Bards' Council. 3-31-2011 Elf [ Bard: 11 8 4 ] Aoide Mathwin seeks the Bards' Council. 4-05-2011 Elf [ Bard: 12 8 8 ] Aoide Mathwin seeks the Phantom. *HUNT* 4-17-2011 Elf [ Bard: 12 9 9 ] Aoide Mathwin requests a tell from Isolas. (HUNT) 4-18-2011 Elf [ Bard: 13 9 9 ] Aoide Mathwin the Bardlet. (HUNT) 4-20-2011 Elf [ Bard: 13 9 9 ] Aoide Mathwin, Ebon Bardling. (Hunt) 4-23-2011 Elf [ Bard: 15 15 14 ] Aoide Mathwin, Ebon Bardling. My poor bag. [HUNT] 6-06-2011 Elf [ Bard: 17 17 14 ] Aoide Mathwin, Ebon Bardling. -HUNT- 06/19/2011 Elf [ Bard: 17 17 14 ] Aoide Mathwin is composing. Ebon Bardling|HUNT 06/20/2011 Elf [ Just Rocks ] Aoide Mathin, Rainbow Bardling. (HUNT) 06/23/2011 Elf [ Bard: 18 18 17 ] Aoide Mathwin, Ebon Bardling. (HUNT) 06/24/2011 Elf [ Bard: 19 19 17 ] Aoide Mathwin, Ebon Bardling. (HUNT) 07/19/2011 Elf [ Bard: 29 29 23 ] Aoide Mathwin, Ebon Bardling. Weaver's Acolyte. 10-01-2011 Elf [ Bard: 30 29 25 ] Aoide is looking for a God+. Trick or Treat! 10-25-2011 Elf [ Bard: 30 29 25 ] Aoide sports a Team Oscar shirt. Go Bards! [HUNT] 11-01-2011 Elf [ Bard: 30 29 26 ] Aoide has wine that's looking for a home. [HUNT] 11-13-2011 Elf [ Bard: 30 30 29 ] Aoide Mathwin, Triat Initiate. [HUNT] 08-15-2012 Elf [ Elven Kitten ] Aoide Mathwin, EbonBardling, Triat Master 12-20-2012
I was born to be a bard, though I would not admit that for some time. But you see, I was born on the road, and was is a bard if not a wanderer? My mother was an elven ambassador and we spent most of our time traveling from settlement to settlement. Father was a craftsman, a tailor, and found work wherever we went, though it was often mere patch work. His heart’s desire was a commission from a court, fine materials and finer cuts. When the commission finally came, we headed to the Dwarven Kingdom where he would get his greatest desire: to make a dress for the queen. She loved the dress and I loved the court. The clothes, the food, the music, the finery, the romance, the soft beds...it all seduced me, and when my mother and siblings left, I begged to stay. Father became one of the Queen’s favorites, and he was always busy making new gowns for her or for those who wished to be like her. As the Queen's favorite, he was spoiled. Because he was making so much from the sale of his other gowns, I was spoiled. I can see now how pampered I was, but I'd go back in a heartbeat even still.
I’ll never know if he was simply in the wrong place on the wrong night or if he was more politically minded than I knew (for all was not well in the Dwarven Kingdom, even then), but in the dead of night a few months after we arrived, Father was murdered by those opposed to the Queen. I was at a party that night, as I was most nights, and I heard the whispers before the guards came to collect me. "To keep me safe," they claimed, but I was afraid. Even then I knew one could never be sure whose guards were whose in those days. I ran through the halls until I found a place to hide and there I waited. Through the night, I heard more rumors. When they found his body deep in the maze, covered in blood, I ran. I ran for days, wandering again, only this time alone. I had no desire to live and as an ambassador’s daughter. I was searching for another court to take me in. My skill with the needle was nothing compared to Father’s, and I soon found I’d have little success as a tailor other than mending and simple work wear. Perhaps now I would be content with the places and people that took me in, but then I was eager for something finer. So, I continued to seek vainly for someone to care for me but found nothing other than rejection in the circles I craved and nothing but common folk in those who would help me.
Huddled in the half-elf shanty on night, I began to despair. I had thought I might find my mother in the camp, something I would never have admitted I wanted in the earliest months. She was not there, however, and no one had seen her for over a year. Word was she had disappeared one night and never been heard from again. Perhaps the same who murdered my father, perhaps something related to her work, but I will likely never know. All I knew was that at that moment, I was desperately alone. I had been for some time, apparently, but had held on to hope for something else. It is a depressing thing to realize one has nothing and no one in the world. It was then, in my darkest moments, that I noticed a man in the corner who was so sure of himself, so confident. Surely this man had some power, some influence. I had seen the walk, that same carriage, in the royalty and well-to-do as a child. The man was Nevyn, though I did not know it then. I was shocked and a little disappointed to learn that he was not royalty at all. He was nothing more than a traveling minstrel.
I saw him again a few times as I stayed around the camp, mending and enjoying a break from the travel. It was an easier place to be than the elvish hometowns, even as an elf myself. There was too much there I was running from. Despite my past and heritage, the other hometowns were unwelcoming to a lone elf. And so, I waited there. Waited for what, however, I was unsure. I soon began to look forward to Nevyn's visits, for his songs and for his tales of the world. It sounded more glamorous in song than it had on the road. One night, as he sang and was lauded, I made my decision. I would become a bard. It might not be as easy as court, but I could work my way there. There would be praise and food and finery, even if I would be dusty for a while. That was just as well, I was dusty and hungry already.
I imagined it would be a glamorous life. What child does not believe herself to be a great singer? I was talented, certainly, but untrained. It was difficult, more so than I had imagined, especially getting started. I had no past to return to, no real future to look towards, and very few in the realm who could or would help. I laugh now at how inexperienced I was, how I thought it would be a simple decision. Still, when I was sure there was no future left, Viteazu began to train me, Hern constantly pestered to group with me (much to my aid, perhaps not so much to his), others helped gear me and teach me and I slowly progressed. Not too long after this, Cordir had pity on the bards, and my path was fated. As I spoke with the Weaver after her quest, I learned of the Triat, and began to find a purpose other than simply myself. That purpose led me here to the Wyld Hunt, and here I am--the Hunt is more home than anything else has ever been, even if they all don't wear fancy dresses.
The Color of Dreams
The last moments of the dream mingle with the first moments of waking. My mother brushes a hand through my hair, gently untangling the knots. “What color were your dreams last night, love?” I hear my father laughing from the corner where he works. I also hear Chime rustling about in the cauldron; I must have fallen asleep in the temple attempting to write. I reach a hand up to my hair and find it tightly bound and braided. Not loose and knotted from a night tossing about at all. That part was the dream, then. Father thought it was a silly thing, Mother’s way of speaking of dreams in colors, even though he was the one with an eye for hue. Mother insisted that the color of a dream was far more important than what happened in it. I have not dreamt of Mother in a long time. I have not seen her in longer. But this part of her stays with me always, this habit of coloring dreams.
I sit down in the corner of the Lodge with a quill and a book to answer her question. What colors have my dreams been since we parted all those years ago? My gaze drifts out the doorway of the temple across the courtyard. The sun has yet to appear, but the sky is already filled with color. My history has not been so unlike the sky: completely one color, completely another, and at times an incongruous mix as one day blends with the next. It does not matter which of these are memories and which are dreams. Their colors have shaped my past.
Black (the sort that takes you in and swallows you whole):
I splash into the river again, launching off the levee in my fourth raft that day. My previous three lie broken at the bottom of the rapids. This time, I head west. No rapids this way, but I still run out of time before I find the minnow. I trudge back to the cave to wait for time to pass so I can try again. At least my raft is intact. I reach in the cave and stand there, shaking with fear and shivering with cold. I am afraid to fight this lizard warrior. Me, a level nine! The warrior wields a club, though, and I know I am weak. There is something about those first middle levels as a bard. The thought of finding enough scores to ever level one more time, let alone twenty more times. Nothing I can hit is big enough to yield anything worth having, experience included. Even now, as I try to recall the kindness offered me, for I know there those who had compassion, it is from behind shadow.
Ebon (not so different from black if you don’t look carefully):
The Baths are sticky with humidity. My nerves have subsided now that the performance is through, but I watch the goddess warily. She is so severe! And yet, she was so generous just this evening. Without the bag of scores, I would never have leveled again. She offers a glimpse at her book of poetry. As a new poet myself, I am curious. I peek inside at her words and am shocked by their darkness. Later, I stand in the Midnight Garden. The importance of the day weighs heavily, heavy and ebon, in the air. I stand resolutely before the Ladies Wyld and Weaver. Guardian is there, too, as witness. Three oaths. With each oath, I am further bound. With each oath, I am further strengthened. Ebon cords. Ebon strength.
Green (the varying shades of leaves and vines):
Leaves are everywhere, but not my leaves. This is not my forest or the tops of my trees. This jungle is foreign, dangerous. I’d been here before as a younger bard as I explored the lost temple, but Hern led the way then. I cannot remember the way on my own. I am running low on clear red potions. Without them, I cannot escape the pits should I fall in again. I tread carefully, but I still do not know where I am. I rummage through my bags for my map, but I never see it. The last thing I see is a blade glinting through the green. I wept that day for the things he sacrificed to his Nashite god. Trash he called them.
Indigo (at once violet and blue):
I look at my hand, shocked. A spider has just burrowed itself in my hand. I am both repulsed and fascinated. Can it live under my skin? I fight the urge to rub at the sting for fear I will crush the spider or make the poison spread. My hand goes slightly numb and I am afraid. I cannot play any real music with only one hand. I wear a red aura and an indigo tattoo. I dream in purple that night.
White (the kind so bright I have to shield my eyes):
I am clothed in white, scrubbed clean of grime and travel dust. I stand waiting for the Chronomancer as I prepare to receive my trial. My hands shake from fear so I wrap them tightly around my clarinet. To lay aside joy, to forsake companionship, to walk among the dead. My face must have been as pale as my robe. Eventually joy and song and friendship came again, but I am not the same as I was before. I have not escaped without a memory of the trial. What was once black is now streaked with white. I bear this color proudly.
Gray (the true color of death):
Cold. Empty. Alone. The only voices were whispers of the dead. The only companionship was the bitter wind. I did not dream then. When I did, I wished that I had not.
I shake the gloom from around me. The temple is full of color and voices now. I could not find a moment to be alone if I wished it. I do not wish it. I clean off the quill and close my book and wonder: what color were your dreams last night, Mother?
- Aoide was given the title 'Ebon Bardling' by Cordir.
- Aoide was the first to find Cordir's Gift To Bards.
- Aoide won second place in the first Quest of Words.
- Aoide won a category in the BlissPoll 2011A: Best Singer
- Aoide was the Third level 50 bard in the history of TFC.
- Aoide was the topic of Samiyah's performance, A Song for Aoide
- A Gift To Bards
- To Aid The Weaver
- Bardic Circle 03-26-2011
- Bardic Circle 10-06-2011
- Seeking the Councilor's Advice
- Aoide - Level 5 Bard Review
- Aoide - Level 10 Bard Review
- Aoide - Level 15 Bard Review
- Aoide - Level 20 Bard Review
- Aoide - Level 30 Bard Review
Aoide has earned the following awards:
- Mobmastery Expert Pin
- Mobmastery Adept Pin
- Mobmastery Journeyman Pin
- Mobmastery Novice Ribbon
- Mobmastery Neophyte Ribbon
- Locator Expert Pin
- Locator Adept Pin
- Locator Journeyman Pin
- Locator Novice Ribbon
- Locator Neophyte Ribbon
- Hunter Master Medal
- Hunter Expert Pin
- Hunter Adept Pin
- Hunter Journeyman Pin
- Hunter Novice Ribbon
- Hunter Neophyte Ribbon
- Finder Master Medal
- Finder Expert Pin
- Finder Journeyman Pin
- Grand Finder Ribbon (x2)
- Finder Adept Ribbon (x14)
- Finder Novice Ribbon
- Finder Neophyte Ribbon
- Moon Ribbon
- Septenary Ribbon
- 3 Year Ribbon
- 2 Year Ribbon
- 1 Year Ribbon
- 'Trips 30' Badge
- One Meeeellion Ribbon
- <worn with pride> (Red Aura) (Glowing) a golden quill stained with ebon ink - prize for Cordir's "Quest of Words"
an ornate tunic of embroidered indigo silk
Short Description: an ornate tunic of embroidered indigo silk Long Description: Gleaming silk lies piled here - a garment of indigo and silver. Look Tunic: This tunic is cut to flatter the feminine form: graceful lines draw the eye to silk-wrapped softness. The neckline is an elegant oval that hints at but does not reveal the upper slope of the wearer's bustline. The sleeves have insets of a deep burnished silver, matched in wide bands of embroidery that draw the eye to the hem, collar and cuffs. Look Silk: The weave of this silk is superlative, with over a thousand threads per inch. Hues of indigo and storm blue have been cross-woven to create a depth of hue that brings delight to the eye. One cannot help but caress its length and to marvel at the texture. It is like a cloud, or water, or a velvety rose petal, or all of them at once. The fabric is, you realize, ancient. Older than some of the oceans of this world, older than dragons or gods. Singularly rare, it is silk woven by the demon in spider form, the Yochlol. In all of time, only one person has ever had the stubbornness to force the creature to do as bid. Look embroidery silver ornate cuffs collar hem A wide band of dark silver embroidery has been worked around the hem, cuffs, and collar of the tunic. The design is that of an elongated spiderweb, with a series of musical notes dancing along its length, as if the song used the structure of the web as its own bar, the webspinner as a clef. Scanning its length, you cannot help but hum the tune represented: jaunty and cheerful. Look Keywords: Object Keywords: ornate tunic indigo silk Description Keywords: Tunic | Silk | embroidery silver ornate cuffs collar hem Created for Aoide on Rishanae the 8th, the month of Thawing Ice, being September 29th, 2011, by Cordir.
Player Provided Information:
|Aoide's player started TFC in 1997. She played a relatively low level single class cleric in JohnPaul's following who liked to make mushrooms all day long in the guild. For many years she believed that you could only practice things once, then they had to improve through use. Needless to say, there were far fewer mushrooms than there were attempts, but she was determined to get that spell to a higher rank. Although she liked TFC best for the ability to talk to friends, she eventually leveled to what was then a higher-than-newbie size (high teens). After a few years she left TFC and did not return beyond a brief visit until 2004. It was then that I convinced her that if she REALLY wanted to level, she should probably dual her cleric to a warrior. She did this and leveled her first character past level 20--a feat that was at that time quite scary. She played for a while and then took her leave once again. In 2010 she decided once more that it could be fun for us to make characters together, so we did. This time she asked me what class I thought she should play and I politely told her shaman would be the best thing for her--but definitely anything was fair game except for bard. She played a shaman briefly before ADD set in and she decided to roll a bard just to spite me. I figured she would learn her lesson on her own as she found out that bard was extremely tough to play--especially for someone who isn't quite as experienced with TFC. Unfortunately for me, I think the fact that she was practically a newbie still kept her from realizing how weak she really was. Much to my surprise she stuck with it and found it quite fun. Not only has she finally, after 15 years, made a level 50 but she also almost became the second level 50 bard ever--barely losing out to Eathor--before taking an extended break for personal reasons. It takes a lot of skill, time, effort, and help to play a bard to max level. It is a feat that even the best players on the game have dared to take on, let alone accomplish. |
Aoide also decided from the beginning that she would not sit in guild, simply because that was not 'playing the game'. She vowed to be out questing and experiencing despite the fact that pkers were constantly on her heels. She evaded them beautifully--only falling a couple times. Sometimes it takes someone who really does not know the social rules of the game to show others how to play it better.
And as a side note: she did all this STILL without having to practice spells ;)
|I just wanted to say what a kind and helpful person Sayyida Aoide has always been. She has given me encouragement - both in words and in material things - and taught me many of the things I have needed to know to be a good Bard. I am sad that I could not hear her Final Song, but I know in my heart that she did well. I hope to follow in her footsteps someday, inspired by her example!|
02/26/2011: Aoide is created.
03/26/2011: Aoide attends a Bardic Circle
April 2011: Aoide attempts to aid the Weaver
04/05/2011: Aoide passes her first Bard Council.
04/13/2011: Aoide joins the Wyld Hunt.
04/15/2011: Aoide gains the spider's mark.
04/23/2011: Aoide completes her 20th Mob Mastery: a calm monk
05/27/2011: Aoide passes her second Bard Council.
06/07/2011: Aoide reaches 1010 Location Quest points.
06/20/2011: Aoide completes her third Bard Council performance, for level 15.
08/08/2011: Aoide is appointed the Finder Adept.
09/20/2011: Aoide passes her fourth Bard Council for level 20.
10/06/2011: Aoide passes her fifth Bard Council, reaching level 25.
12/10/2011: Aoide kills Flare, the Red Dragon for mobmastery level 88.
12/18/2011: Aoide accepts a Triat Mastery Quest: Three Acolytes Seek Mastery
03/12/2012: Aoide reaches 2403 mob hunt points, which allows her to level her bard magic class to 30.
06/19/2012: Aoide celebrates her 400 year birthday (level 30/30/29 bard).
08/04/2012: Aoide accidentally pk's Daisy as the two work on Aoide's Triat Mastery quest. Fortunately, this completes one of Wyld's requirements..
08/15/2012: Aoide crafts and presents her final performance for Bard Council review. Upon approval, she is advanced to level 50 bard!
09/24/2012: Aoide presents all of the tasks of her Triat Mastery Quest. They are reviewed, acknowledged, and Witnessed as complete in full, by Katrana and Cordir. She is baptized by the tears of the Great Dhole and her deeds witnessed. The Guardian gives Witness as well.
Aoide is from the same Arizona hometown (and group of friends) as Torchbearer, Aster, Myst, QBall, Ink, and many others. She learned about TFC in 1997 from her brother (whom she had repeatedly been asked by Ink to deliver TFC messages to). She decided to begin playing in hopes of spying on Ink and beguiling him into a relationship. She thought he was awesomely cute. She was successful. Aoide and Ink were married (RL) in 2005.
Aoide *LOVES* Nutella (and all things chocolate).
Aoide earned a Bachelor's in Comparative Literature in 2007.
Aoide speaks English, Spanish, and Italian.
Aoide is a huge book nerd.
Aoide is a phenomenal cook. In fact, she is so good that it has led to a distaste for restaurants, which can never seem to make anything good enough. Except Indian food. She hasn't figured that one out yet.