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Kyrielle's Profile

Current Mood: Content
Kyrielle (Kyrielle, Valeria)
Female - *, United States
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Relationship Status: Married

Updated: Today 8:31:36 am Viewed 1,881 times Likes 13

I became a graveyard

Of  the woman I once was.

Then one morning I rose again

In my own skin.

I swallowed a thousand different names

Before I tasted the meaning

Held within my own.


(Poem by Pavana, edited for content.)


I am Kyrielle. Lady Kyrielle to be precise. 

My Home Stone, my citizenship, is of and to that most resplendent city on the hill, Ven'dara.

My caste is Scribe. In that capacity I serve Ven'dara and her people. 

When not in such service I am most content where I was born. In the wild and beautiful Voltai mountains.


It is said the quill is mightier than the sword. I have both. Every rose.....has its thorn. 

Be you Ubar, be you Outlaw. Be you anything in between. Be polite, be respectful. I will be the same.

For the blood of  generations of Warriors run through my veins. 

And if I must engage in combat I will do so. To the death. Yours or mine. No in-between.

To that end I stand sublime.  A willowy 6 feet in height.

Inside a woven silver harness, exquisitely crafted, rests a curved double edged sica .

24 inches in length, handle to tip. Nesting comfortably between my shoulder blades.


A quill or several in my hair.


A tabuk horned shield. Composed of 16 horns of varying lengths, from 9  to 14 inches.

Set into the polished domed portion of a tabuk's skull in a random radial formation.

Held by a single beautifully woven silver strap across my back, on a hip, or across the front of my torso.


Two crossed hide straps on the back enable it to be gripped and held horizontally or vertically.

Each horn soaked for many hands in a composite of trees resin then dried in the summers' sun  prevents shattering

from the most ardent repeated strikes with a sword or axe. 

 I have placed a single small bell  two inches down from each one of these beautiful ivory horn's needle sharp tips.

Each bell has its own note. Combined they ring out a soft sweet melody

reminisent of a summers' eve 

when the last calls of the song birds fade into the coming dusk. 

Caveat :

Not a single tabuk was slain for its horn.

All, from the youngest to the oldest, were felled by nature.


"Don't wield too long nor grip too hard what you hold for truth. Be always prepared to let it go." 
Miyamoto Musashi, Warrior