Avan'aya Quael'talah

Appearance
Avan'aya Quael'talah was imperial in her stature, compendiary in comparison to the most and judiciously framed. Chin-length tresses fell loosely about her visage, blonde tendrils resting swept over her right eye. The scarred flesh she wore was taut like a drum, leaving scarce room for much other than eerie placidity and the occasional scowl on her visage. While evident she had healed to some degree, raw injuries periodically etched  upon her battered cheeks, some at her digits.

Her hooded eyes were difficult to focus upon; their aquamarine gaze darted about anxiously, never quite settling on one thing. Crows feet rest at the corners of her lids, pockmarks littered over her face. High-raised cheekbones alongside a trim nose gave an impression of ignorance, the implication of such a demeanor only heightened by her directionless and distrait mien. Occasional bouts of hair billowed from behind lengthy ears, platinum tresses though more oft than not sitting unperturbed and uniform behind her them.

Protracted ears shifted regularly in response to her emotions, boasting an objective stance when distanced from her surroundings. Silver hoops struck through her lobes, wiry and ornate chains linking the piercings to ones higher along the thick yet agile cartilage.

The alternation of her wardrobe was far too intermittent to document, though one of the more stable constituents of her dress was the matte crimson undertones. Strapped securely by two leatherbound latches around her chest, a laboriously chiseled blade balanced at her back. Engraved silver rings upon its hilt occasionally flared with signs of life, a soothing elan in contrast to its purpose. A red and white tabard, occasionally stained with blood, clasped over her breastplate. A golden-paged libram settled on her hip, next to a worn riding crop and a long whip.

History
By the King's calendar, the ripe elf long ago was born to the world from the womb of a seamstress and the grace of a bishop. In a simpler time, she occupied herself playing with dolls and cooking with her mother, learning the ropes of womanhood which would one day fall useless as a bachelorette. There are fond memories of those days repressed far behind militant experience, at which her venerated age is comprised mostly of.

Two hundred and twenty years passed in relative calmness until the inevitable rise of the Dark portal, wrought from the hands of warlocks and wizard alike that would cause the first non-domestic threat to the land for many thousands of years. Eager to take arms and defend what her people have protected for centuries, the fledgeling soldier found naught but devastation as all others involved had. In the ashes, she found faith which would later become unshakable, inducting herself voluntarily into the Order of the Knights of the Silver Hand.

Six years proceeded before the Second War upon the prior defeat, and in the allocated time the spry elf had garnered a fondness for the mannerisms of the dragoon. Avan'aya proceeded into war beneath both Uther the Lightbringer and Anasterian Sunstrider, making good on the beheld repayment of her people from the Arathi aid given ages past. Her, like her horse, were eager for combat in the sake of the High King. The elf fought valiantly, obtaining a glance at what hidden talent of horsemanship had lain beneath the surface. At the ineluctable defeat of the massive Horde on both fronts, the Alliance of Lordaeron celebrated, and the woman was no exception.

Nineteen years of peace passed before the scourge overtook the innocent citizens of Lordaeron like a tidalwave. Despite the good efforts of King Terenas, Uther, and his men, Arthas' grasp on humanity had all but crumbled. At the fear of those who remained to later combat his forces, most of the contempt had lain with the elves. With slipping defenses and dwindling numbers from the past wars, the kingdom crumbled at the scourge's feet. Nine thousand years of finery was gone as quick as it came, and the beloved Sunwell, like what remained of those who hailed its presence, was depleted. Remaining a steadfast member of the Silver Hand was an imperative key to what would happen nine years down the road.

Seven of those years passed as the miraculously resilient elves scraped their forces back together, extinguishing the fires wrought hellishly by the scourge and turning it inward. At the opportunity to scathe the remnants of the Outlands in search of warfare, the temperamental high elf obliged, refining her demon-hunting skills through faith both to the Light and the Alliance. Biding her time and improving what prowess she reaped, the experience in the coming battles would be all but necessary. With the eventual secured defeat of the Betrayer in the remnants of Karabor, the well-awaited return to Azeroth was secured, but at a looming price.

Two turns of Azeroth later and the world found itself at the clutches of the living dead. The scourge ran free, battered bodies refusing to fall unless obliterated entirely. The capitals of both factions became overrun with corpses and the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel raged on. In an attempt to gain resources, both wings of the world's armies collided at the shores of Icecrown, some at the gates of the icy citadel, others in the titan city of Ulduar. With scattered and sparse forces, faith and a great deal managed to pull the elf and her disadvantaged allies out of the wreckage, and at the eventual Light-granted defeat of the man she watched grow and destroy her pedigree, the flame in her heart was quelled for a time. The world fell silent and rested as the former Regent of Stormwind unknowingly sacrificed himself and took mantle to save his people, and the people of Azeroth adjourned for a short time.

Five years of respite seemed eternal for those the woman found herself in the company of, and she herself was inclined to agree. Having mastered for the most part the training and raising of colts into adulthood, a large and empty void roused in her life. Through boredom grew an idea, and thus a small sovereign territory, granted by both coin and swindle, was born. Dubbed the county of Emberdell, the port city latched upon the Darkened Bank's eastern tip of Redridge began to prosper, accumulating permanent merchants and homesteaders alike. The grizzled veteran watched in pride, appointing the province a Council of County and Governor, allowing it to ferment well beneath her gaze. Though satisfied with the aid the point would bring, the vacancy in her soul for warfare teemed.

The earth churned that year at the mighty cataclysm. The templar, venerated and aged, quickly transformed Emberdell into an active transport city, sending resources to and fro the Kingdoms with the small veil of the mountains and perilous jungle in the way. Though not participating, her faith merely grew and her disdain for the infidelious followed suit. Pledging damnation upon the evils of the world was enough to draw the woman from her shortlived retirement, and such ideas reflected on her management of the county. At the untimely death of the destroyer and the temporal rest of the once again ravaged planet, there was no longer time for rest.

Two years of mundane life ahead of where she currently was and the mists slowly rolled away from Pandaria. With the roused suspicions of war, she once more prepared, though without worry. Shipping off to the new land and settling wages with the enemies she beat back countless times and even spotting old faces beneath the Horde, it was all in a day's work until the mighty Siege began. Both Alliance and Horde soldiers alike poured into the recesses of the war to combat the heinous war crimes against the innocent people of the Horde, policed recklessly for months on end beneath the oppressive gaze of the Kor'kron who all but they seemed so eager to end. It seemed as quickly as it had started, it was all over. With the new Warchief in position to domineer over the Horde and the King satiated with his decision, the elf, as per usual, returned to what she deemed as home.

Emberdell remained settled during the combat in Draenor. The elf claimed no holdings in the war there, and thus the settlement reflected such per the duration. The proximity of the sovereignty to the Blasted Lands made it prime for transport, and there were few difficulties in managing a busy port. The establishment continues in its modesty. The elf, however, aged and restless, has returned since to the front of war, back where it all began; Lordaeron. Beneath the red banner of the Truthful, Avan'aya and her settlement fly in the silence of her faith, and those involved eagerly await the next step at the war's conclusion.