Here is a quick note on the current government and political climate of the sylvari.

The current empress is from Londelirinen, the central kingdom.  She is a believer in isolationism, which is also the most popular political position in the empire.  As such, the sylvari have very little trade or diplomacy with other nations.

The king of the northern kingdom, Alloryen, is a fan of pursuing more trade and relations with the humans.  This is the least popular political position, but there is growing sentiment for it.  The younger generation tends to be progressive in this way.

The king of the southern kingdom, Maelamin, buys into the old hard line approach that the "civilized" humans today live largely on stolen sylvari lands.  It does not help that several human cities are built on top of the ruins of ancient sylvari settlements; this is viewed by a decent number of syls as an affront, an abomination, etc.  He - and those like him - dream of liberating these ancient ancestral lands, though the sheer numerical advantages of the humans make this a very impractical dream.  Those of this viewpoint obviously oppose any sort of trade or diplomacy.

Each kingdom has a council made up of nobles from the great Houses.  The empress has her own council, as well, and there is the equivalent of an impreial senate that does a great deal of the lawaking.

You should know that there is constant subtle intriugue among the various great houses as they struggle for superiority.  This is mostly a game of face and public honor and positioning, but there absolutely are darker steps taken.  Apparently, one entire Alloryen    House perished in a terrible fire whose source could never be traced.  Whispers suggest that more than one House benefitted from such a tragedy.

Selen’in’iel Isil’inari

Sylvari, 217 years old (adult). Second daughter of House Isilinari, one of the Great Houses of the northern Alloryen kingdom.

Invoker, Member of Circle of Arcane Enlightenment, Order of the Secret Storm.

Seleniniel grew up in Lindelea Elin in the northern reaches of the Sylvarian Forest, where she lived an idyllic, carefree childhood among the natural beauty of the Melodious Pools. She showed an early penchant for the arcane, and her childhood education built a deep knowledge of nature and the primal forces shaped by Kith-Jora. Her father is a Kith-Joran priest and senior member of the Dancers of the Oak Fellowship. Like most Sylvari children, she was raised to cherish the natural beauty that surrounded her, and most of the older Sylvari believed she would succeed her father to the priesthood. As a young Syl, of course, she cared little for others’ aspirations. She was a mischievous and joyful child, strong willed and self confident in a way that second children often are, and very close to her older sister and a younger cousin, also of House Isilinari. The three were inseparable, often skipping lessons to play in the forest with the reclusive pixies and nixies that also call the forest home. 

Tragically, most of this changed when she was 23 (early adolescence). Like many days, she had convinced her older sister and cousin to wander into the woodlands. That day they were in search of the elusive faerie dragon they could occasionally find and encourage toward mischief to entertain them. That day they found something different. Miles from home, they encountered what they believed to be an unusual treat–a lone Sylvari male strumming a lyre on the shore of a far flung stream. The children were delighted and entranced by his song–Seleniniel did not realize, but her sister and cousin quite literally so. Whether by luck or strength of will, Seleniniel had her full wits about her when their entertainment suddenly transformed into a savage half-wolf creature–something she had never encountered or even dreamed to exist in her short and sheltered life. By instinct, she ran–assuming her companions too. She did not see the wolf savage her cousin as he struggled sluggishly, in a mental stupor induced by the song. But she heard. While his screams propelled her faster to flee, she spared a glance, seeing her sister inexplicably lagging behind. Seleniniel had always been the smaller child, her sister the athletic and adept one. Seleniniel did not understand why she would not keep up. Despite her terror, she fell back, begging her sister onward, pulling her, desperately trying to propel. Sadly, it only meant that Seleniniel bore witness as the creature pounced on her sister, its jaws ripping her from Seleniniel’s grasp with a force of raw violence she could not dream of matching. But Seleniniel did not relent. She leapt on the creature, and even as the life spilled from her sister onto the forest floor, Seleniniel kicked, clawed, bit, tore–like a feral creature herself. The scene that greeted the Sylvari rangers drawn by the commotion must have been surreal–an elven child, to their eyes, covered in blood and locked in combat with a wolfwere three times her size. As the rangers drove the creature back, Seleniniel would not release her sister, who remained locked in the wolf’s jaws. She pounded and ripped at its eyes and snout, screaming in rage and pain.. and loss. As the rangers harried it, Seleniniel finally pried open its maw with her own forearm, buying back her sister’s now-limp body as the creature fled. Even then, as the rangers tried to inspect the living child’s battered body, Seleniniel would not let go of her sister. Only as the adrenaline and blood leaked from Seleniniel, she lost consciousness, slung over the body that once belonged to her sister.. her best friend... her protector from the trivial dangers of a now-lost childhood in their cloistered forest enclave. 

Seleniniel did not have the luxury afforded most adolescents, gradually adjusting as the idealism of youth erodes to the pragmatism of adulthood. Hers was ripped away in a day. She could not understand–would not accept–how Kith-Jora could abide, much less create such savage creatures. The platitudes from well-wishing adults did nothing to salve her pain. Or her anger. She didn’t care that the healers couldn’t save her mangled arm. It was her reminder of the greater loss. She fumed as the priests prattled on about the gods’ supposed will, and she refused to join the ancient rituals to relinquish her sister’s and cousin’s bodies and spirits back to Kith-Jora’s care. Why should she. She now understood. The once-comforting woods and streamlands of her home were only half of her god. Nature is chaotic. Nature is capricious. Nature is uncaring in its cycles, its hierarchy, its blind ambivalence to the well-being of even the most reverent Sylvari priest. We are meat and fertilizer. But nature’s ambivalence is a fairness of sorts–if you know the rules. The strong can survive. The weak are culled. She–therefore–became strong. 

Seleniniel left Lindelea Elin at the age when most Sylvari are enjoying the waning irresponsible years of late adolescence, before they come of age and Sylvari society expects more. Lightheartedness, like friends, rarely came to Seleniniel anymore. She poured herself into her own talents with single minded ferocity. This was something she could shape through force of will; something she could control. And they rewarded her fervor–her penchant for the arcane most of all. In Istalindir’s mage halls she found purpose. It did not take long for her teachers to abandon what hope they may have harbored that she would aspire to the Order of the Evergreen Oak (the most common Order of the Circle of Arcane Enlightenment in Istalindir). She had the talent, to be sure. But though she masked it, her reaction towards others’ reverence of nature–most unusual for a Syl–left little doubt. 

Instead, she gravitated towards the naked power of invocation magic–to her, a school embodying strength of mind over the physical world and the antithesis of the weakness that betrayed her. She relished the raw fortitude, sometimes pain, it took to handle even the early years of invocation study. It took her twice the focus of most mages to master the somatic gestures with only one hand–an old scar few in Istalindir were bold enough to ask after, and none received an answer for–but she used the struggle. It drove her. It forged an ironclad will, not in the blast of the furnace, but in the cold intensity of yearslong repetition and single-minded pursuit. She became cold forged steel. And she idolize the legendary invokers from her books, human and Syl alike, who proved that one mortal with a singular will can trivialize so much of the natural world. It was no surprise to her teachers that she eventually made the journey south to Semon, in Coria, to stand for the Circle’s Test and petition for entry into the Order of the Secret Storm. (That Order does not have sufficient quorum in Istalindir to administer the Test and admit applicants). After her induction, she made a permanent home in Istalindir, where she continues to hone her skills as a invoker and serves as a close advisor to the matriarch of House Galanren. She is fiercely loyal to Lady Galanren for reasons that only she and the Lady know. Beyond her, Seleniniel has few close confidants. 

Even two centuries from the death of her sister, her once-home of Lindelea Elin and all associated with it bear little but sorrow and bitterness. Seleniniel is estranged from her parents and the rest of House Isilinari. Indeed, she is estranged from most of what binds Sylvari society together, though she keeps her outlier philosophies to herself–less from any sense of propriety and more from the wall of isolation she built around herself and, more recently, the self-possessed confidence of an accomplished mage who has little interest in what others think (or don’t) of her. Age has ossified her outer shell and fermented the bitterness within. She radiates intensity and authority, suffers fools sparingly, and proselytizers none at all. That is not to say that she has lost her belief in the gods. She knows Kith-Jora’s nature better than his priests. It is her faith she cast aside long ago and never stooped to retrieve. If she dwelled on her connection to the gods, she would likely agree that she (like many mages) identifies most closely with the teachings of Jusarin. But she does not waste her time thinking on these things. The gods are distant and disinterested. The only being interested in her preservation is herself, and it is only the strength of her mind that will see it so.

Arathea Ondolithe.

Sylvari, 155 years old (young adult).

Bladesinger.

Arathea was born and raised in Sillarion, the capital and seat of Her Imperial Majesty. Her father was none other than Moreuron Ondolithe, a soldier turned elected official on the Imperial Senate. Her father drilled into her from a young age the ideals of patriotism and loyalty towards the empress, but also the Sylvari Pacifist Movement. She frequently stood by him as he spoke to students and supporters of making peace with the enemies of the nation, preaching that Sylvari must love all creation of Kith-Jora. These moments left a long-lasting impression on Arathea; she learned not only to be an ardent supporter of a certain political faction but also taught her diplomacy, leadership, and the value of hard work.

Spending the days of her youth studying, training, and at times attending meetings with her father, Arathea quickly found her dream in life. She had heard the stories and the legends, and as a little girl, she wanted to serve the nation as best as she possibly could. Arathea decided she would be a keeper of the Yaara'menie; she decided she would become a Bladesinger. 

Day after day from being just a little girl and past her 100th birthday, she trained, learning how to use a longsword, learning how to dodge threats, and learning how to outmanuvear her enemies. But perhaps most importantly, she learned how to sing the legendary Bladesong. For years she would practice it every night to no avail, but with time she began to master it. As she grew older, she seemed to learn more every day, and with excitement, she would sit down and write to her parents about what she had been taught. While there were countless challenges, and many would not be able to make it. But the 'Blue Rose' of the Ondolithe family would not faulter, and she rose to prominence with pride worn on her sleeve.

In rare moments, the young girl would be able to return home to her family and her congregation. Her mother was a priestess of Lleua, which made her have an interesting dynamic with Arathea and Moreuron given how Lleua is far from the rules based ideals they follow. However, Arathea still enjoyed these times at the temple, surrounded by people she loved and who loved her; they provided much-needed breaks in her busy life.

She even had a little brother named Tanonnen; the child would sit and listen with wide eyes to Arathea's stories and experiences and ended up becoming quite clingy to her. The two were separated by about 35 years, and Arathea would take a very nurturing role towards the child. She would try to teach him lessons and force him into studying more, but the child was a free spirit, much like his mother, leaving Arathea and Moreuron to groan and facepalm as Tanonnen was preoccupied staring at the moon or chasing insects.

The day would come when Arathea turned 141 years old that she would arrive at Megilindar Nost for a ceremony she had dreamed of ever since she had been a little girl—the ceremony to be made an official Bladesinger. Her soft blue eyes seemed to shine throughout the entire day; she could not possibly be happier. Her father parroted this sentiment, pride coursing through him as he watched his daughter follow in his footsteps, a smile etched across his face from ear to pointed ear. By the time it was over, Arathea was now something from a legend, from a children's tail. The 'prodigal child' had reached her goal, and now she was dedicated to serving Her Imperial Majesty and all Syvlaria to the best of her ability.

Dak Whisperfoot

Cidal (Shawlin/Loaven), 30-ish years old

Messenger/Courier for House Malithonel of Alloryen (Rogue/Spy)

The enigmatic little Cid known among the Sylvari as Dak Whisperfoot has served as a trusted messenger and courier for House Malithonel of Faernae for the past several years. It is unclear precisely how he came into the service of the House – some rumors suggest that he was sold to them as an indentured servant, while others hint that he bungled into the position by sheer luck – and, if Dak himself is asked about the circumstances of his employment, his explanations are likely to be as vague and varied as the gossip surrounding him.

Most often, he claims to have set out on an adventure from his home village of Stone’s Hollow in Coria and, months later, found himself wandering the ruins of Winde’Kua and exploring the banks of the Mirily-Wen Duin. It was along those banks that he first encountered Raina Malithronel, the eldest daughter of the Lord of her House, who initially mistook him for a faerie. After assuring her that he was, in fact, simply a Shawlin who had found his way into the Kingdom thanks to wanderlust begotten by the Shadelin side of his lineage, he managed to charm his way past the Syl woman’s inherent distrust of outsiders, and convinced her that he was hoping Sheilin would bless him with the chance to see a true elven city before he made his way home, again. Fascinated by the curious creature, Raina offered him the opportunity to travel with her to Faernae and, if he proved useful to her along the way, she would grant him that boon, herself.

The particulars of the tale, beyond that point, shift and slip depending upon Dak’s mood, level of intoxication, or sometimes by the company in which he finds himself. It does always end with him having proved himself not only useful but nearly invaluable to Raina in their shared journey and, as a result, found himself welcomed into the city and the House itself where, after a time, he managed to fashion a position as a loyal servant to the family. He has remained in this position ever since, he claims, and has no desire to return to Coria any time soon.

The truth of the matter, though, is that Dak’s earliest days were not spent in some Corian Cidal settlement but, rather, on the streets of Bayris as part of a pack of Guttersnipes, gathering information and pickpocket revenue for the Thieves Guild there. Upon working his way through the ranks and being groomed within the Guild at the age of twelve, he became a “Spider” in his own right, managing several crews of younger Guttersnipes who would fill his web with secrets, silver, and snippets of information that helped to bolster the Guilds’ coffers. When word that the Alloryen King’s willingness to pursue trade and relations with humans got caught in his web, he took that information to the guild masters in hopes that, somehow, the unpopular political leanings of the Northern Sylvari kingdom might be exploited for profit. So it was that Dak Whisperfoot was dispatched east with orders to insert himself into the goings on there, subtly manipulating politics, pilfering items of interest, and reporting back to the Thieves Guild with any and all pertinent information he can gather.

Rainminainen Aeradhen is something of a loner, preferring to travel the Sylvari kingdoms rather than settle in any one place. He has had multiple animal companions over his years of travelling, and currently travels with a falcon he particularly enjoys hunting with.

Born in the town of Cormlond, Rainminainen was raised by his parents, a pair of weavers by trade.It was a comfortable and (by Sylvari standards) unremarkable childhood. He first found his calling in adolesence, when his parents took him to Amban Aluir, and he lost himself for the first time in its waters. This awoke In Rainminainen an appreciation for the natural world, as well as the desire to see even more of it.

The next years of his life were spent learning the skills needed to survive on his own. His family were saddened by his departure, but understood that the wilderness was his passion, and supported him, bidding him a fond, if tearful, farewell when he finally set out on his own.

His travels have taken him all the way to the northen kingdom and back again. Rainminainen sought out the other natural wonders watched over by his people, though the waterfalls of Amban Aluir remained favorite, journeying back there when possible, and ocassionally visiting his parents when in the area.

Rainminainen isn't antisocial, despite his solitary life, but simply prefers to wander, and therefore has limited contact with others much of the time. For all his people wonderous feats of magic and might, of music and story, nothing appeals to him as much as the sunset on a clear night, or the thrill of the hunt.