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Born: 26 April 1995
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IMAGE: http://pile.randimg.net/0/175/43971/sarella%20gif.png
AGE: 18
LOCATION: Sunspear
PLAYER: Oswin
ABOUT: Unknown bastard daughter of Lewyn Martell And Cassella Fowler. Raised by Oberyn as his own, she is a master archer and alchemist. Currently using the alias Alleras as she studies to make her chain at the Citadel. Paramour of Maron Sand and in over her head.
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Joined: 11-February 15
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Last Seen: Dec 19 2015, 06:35 PM
Local Time: May 22 2018, 01:01 AM
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SARELLA SAND

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Sep 24 2015, 08:39 PM
It had taken a day of coaxing and another day worth of bribing to finally learn about his paramour's whereabouts. Her chambers, of course, remained locked and under guard, guards that pushed him away whenever he tried to walk up to her doors. They refused to tell him anything, and even a few tantrums yelling at the wood of Sarella's door did not provoke her appearance. Not even her sisters could help him, some even counseling him to simply leave her be, giving advice on things they assumed he did not already know about her. Multiple times a day he tried to go to her apartments, only to be refused by the two guards at either side, their imposing spears sharpened to an oiled point that he doubted they would not hesitate to use. Were they any other guards but that of Sunspear, Maron would have long since cut them down from his path, having long since promised Sarella he would go any length and destroy any obstacle that lay between them. For the third time this day, the guards were ready to shove him away, but it was not Maron who approached this time.

It was Yoren, fully donned in his finery as heir of Lemonwood, and he approached in all haste to the two guards at Sarella's door. "Guards!" He exclaimed, feigning panic. From down the hallway Maron watched, peering around a corner and praying all the Seven's blessings came Yoren's way. He was not sure if this meant the two were comrades again, but gods bless him, there was enough fondness still between them that Yoren had agreed to Maron's devised plan to get to Sarella. "Guards, come quick! A mob is on their way to the palace!" It wasn't so unbelievable, really. Nobles from beyond the Red Mountains still filled Sunspear, and the ranks of officers had been increased to guarantee the protection of the northerners from the hot-headed, beady-eyed townsfolk in the shadow town. Maron watched from his hiding place as the guards hesitated, glancing to each other before bracing their weapons and quickly following after Yoren. It would not be long before they realized the rouse, but Maron hardly doubted his own efficiency as he snuck quickly up to the bolted doors that had for so long kept him out. With a strong fist he hammered his arrival, "Sarella, open the doors!" He called out, his voice deep and vibrating through the thick wood. Again he banged with a balled fist, knowing it was a feeble attempt.

Groaning loudly in frustration, Maron took a backwards step from the door, bracing himself for impact. Lifting a single leg he sent the flat of his foot against it, again and again until, at last, he barreled through with his shoulder. Breaking the bolt, the young knight forced himself into Sarella's chambers, eyes raking over the interior for any sign of her. The doors swung close behind him, having hit the wall behind them hard enough to force another inward swing. It was mere moments before he came upon her, finding her on the floor curled on her side, tears forming a tiny salty puddle beneath her face. "Sarella!" He exclaimed, falling to his knees and quickly pulling her up into his arms. Bringing her against him, Maron leaned back, bringing her with him as he clutched onto her. Relief flooded him, simply that she was alive and warm, very warm, and he nearly drew away to check the temperature of her forehead.

That was when he noticed a shock of red nearby, a silver basin filled with bloodied water, and bloodied linen cloths soaked within. Looking down, he noticed dried blood under her fingernails, and feeling the first few signs of another sort of panic bubble up in his chest, Maron collected her face in a single hand and brought her watering eyes up to him. "Sarella, what happened?" He insisted, brows knitting far into the middle of his forehead. There was enough blood left behind in the basin that he knew something had gone wrong, for it was dark and thick and his paramour's face looked completely exhausted. Painful, even. He had long since grown familiar with the cycles of her moonblood, and the lengths she took to conceal it from the Citadel. But this was not her moonblood... and, he knew, she would not have had to lock herself behind guarded doors simply because of her monthly bleeding. "Sarella, talk to me." With both hands he cleared the hair from her face, swiping away the strands until he could at last see all of her. She looked awful. "Please."
Sep 24 2015, 08:38 PM

She had been late. Sarella was never late. Not since her moon blood had first started, she had allotted it to the idea that it could have just been the travel that was disrupting her internally. Wrapped up in the celebrations and mostly in Maron, she had forgot to notice it further. It had occurred to her, on off times. Always before she was about to disband her room or when something else quickly flooded her mind and took prescience. It was not hard, to push it to the back of her mind. Which was quite easy, considering the turbulent waters that were her mind, always churning and twisting. Never settled nor still. Only in the fleeting moments of ecstasy did she find a moments peace. Seemingly people found it simple to find other things to think of when the other option was much more appealing than the other.

In this, Sarella seemingly wove the web to her own destruction. Content to focus on the events, the jousts, feats and dances. Spending time with her family filled a void she had not known had grown so vast since her departure. The dinner with her family - properly meeting Maron. It had seemingly gone well, at least no one had been fatally wounded. Which was more than what she could hope for. Yet now the tourney was finally winding down, Sarella was happy to see the back of many of the nobles. Especially those from the reach, not out of prejudice, yet mostly relieved to be out of their view. In fear that they would notice and see Alleras rather than the daughter of Oberyn Martell. Which were evidently one in the same, yet her life balanced on the slim blade of them being separate and entirely different beings.

On one of the last days was when the pain had started. Feeling as though her innards were being wrapped and coiled around a particularly sharp blade. Never experiencing pain such as this, even on the days of her moon blood. It did not take the large, copious amounts of clotted blood for her to realise something was terribly wrong. It did not take her long to piece together what was the cause of it either. The grayish tissue that was clotted together seemed to be tearing her a part from the inside. She had refused to see Maron since it had happened, the bolted deadlock on the door securing the fact that both he, and the rest of the world was locked from her chambers. Unsure if he knew or not, not truly having the strength to muster even a thought of how she could explain it, she decided to leave it. Unable to lay on the bed, for the feel of the linen sheets left her burning, and sitting upright almost willed her muscles to shiver and clench with such tremendous pain she did not think her body was capable of producing.

So there she lay, curled on her side, her burning cheek and whatever flesh she could bare pressed against the cool stone of the floor. Wanting to drain whatever comfort or ounce of cold she could towards to the inferno that was her flesh. Sarella's form was quite accustomed to pain. From the torture she put it through in training, to the hours she spent hunched in whatever uncomfortable chair that the citadel had to offer. Yet it was quaking now, under the internal damage that was being wrought from within. The hot pressure that swelled in her eyes had finally spilled over, slow and fleeting trails were left to snake down her olive skin. Unsure if it was the affect of her unfocused stare at the wall, or perhaps few emotions were finally welling close enough to the surface to bare semblance on the planes of her features.

As she tried to wade through the worst of it, assuming that it would end soon, it had been three days. The bleeding had stopped, yet the pain had not. Not wanting to ask herself the question of how far along she had been. Even if it did plague her. Pressing her knees into her chest, releasing a long breath she had not known she was holding. Knowing that sooner or later, she would have to emerge from the tomb she had barricaded herself in, with an explanation in hand. One that she had not yet found herself. Hoping it would come to her sometime soon, feeling as though she were rather running out of time to formulate something worthwhile.


Aug 8 2015, 08:26 AM

Sarella had not thought to be back in Dorne so soon. Or as well, herself. In her own skin, with the blistering heat of the sun lacquering across her shoulders and into the dip in her cleavage. It was a sight to be seen, Tyene and Nymeria had commented on it. Rella found herself subconsciously touching the ridge of her collarbone, a tier of panic had a domino affect as it rippled across her flesh. Splintering her subconscious and reminding it that she had indeed forgotten something this day. She had been wearing Alleras' face for so long that it was only Maron who seemed to remind her what truly lay underneath. Of course a moon had passed since she had last seen him. It was all too easy for her to be lost in her books, in adding another link to the heavy chain that was slowly adorning on her neck.

Of course she could not wear that here, technically Alleras did not exist outside the Citadel's walls, not in her family home of Sunspear. Where Lords and Ladies would know her true face. On her journey here, the long tendrils of hair had stooped so low that they now brushed the tips of her shoulders. The wayward and eternally spiraling locks were also in mind to accentuate her feminine features, something she had been smothering for months. Sarella still ran the risk of someone making a connection. Yet she was mostly hoping that the Reach's intolerance for Dorne still ran deep as their in-bedded snark and dislike did for its people. The Sand Snake also had little interest of interacting with the noble crowd that had gathered. She made the appearance for her family, that and the long arching ache she needed to see too before too long.

Weaving through the intermingling people, they were out among the walls and stalls. A small dance court, one less flourished but worked all the same as the one indoors had been set up for the people who decided to brave the heat of the sun. Even as the sky pinkened, the deep reds and scarlet's slashing across the horizon. There were still outlanders who remained within the sanctuary and cool stones of the keep. It was as Sarella liked it, less chance of her face being known this way. Or well, Alleras' face. Sarella's was well known throughout this crowd, earning many hearty slaps on her shoulders and drunken jests for her to join them in their cups. While her mind did wonder to the poison held within their cups, she did intend to join them. Yet she had already promised her family the same thing, after she did one thing, of course.

Spotting the strong set of shoulders and ducked head of ebony locks at the beverage table, Sarella hid her mirth. She had told no one of this journey, still savoring her sisters expressions. Sarella still sought one more. The woman did not normally saunter, or weave, yet she found her stride easily moving with whatever hunters grace she could muster towards the outlined shape of his back. Smoothing her palm over his shoulder and down the front of his chest, the sand snake pressed against him. The silken skirts of her gown swirling around their feet, the scent of her perfume hovering near as Maron reached his his goblet, utterly oblivious to her. "Do you suck as well as you swallow?" The acolyte inquired lowly, watching the bob of his throat with a grin. Her curls brushing along the linen of his shirt delicately, itching to pull his face towards her. Wanting him to see Sarella, rather than her common counterpart he was so familiar with.

DRESS


May 8 2015, 09:39 PM

A letter had been received, it was odd to think. For a woman who was so sea bound that there was a point one could reach her with the written word, a raven would not journey into the depths of the ocean to deliver such a note. There was no certainty in a ships resting place, nor where it would journey to next. It was only reasonable to have a host that collected the stagnant forms of parchment containing the ink and curved letters. A mist shrouded the sea on the morn, feeling her steel clad eyes glance over the writing that she knew so well. How long had it truly been? How many years had crawled past? Turns of the moon and other perils being dragged in and out of her life since she had last glanced upon the calligraphy such as this.

Swallowing the fear that rushed to identify itself in her throat, after all these years of silence the only news she felt was worthy to her was the bad sort. When Oberyn had taken the child from her arms those years past, Cassella had to content herself with the knowledge that she would not cast eyes upon her daughter again. Having to come to terms with the thought that she was in better hands. A ship was no place to raise a daughter, nor in a marriage that was as turbulent as hers. Sarella was with those of her blood, and would be raised with siblings and a family that adored her. That was enough to sate her selfish desire to reach out and tip everything that the girl knew out of balance.

With little wind to assist in their journey into the dockyards, fingers ringed with silvery scars tightened over the worn and well read letter. What would be left to say in the vast space of years between her daughter? Between Oberyn. What was she to say to the man that had raised her their child. The scarred wood creaked under her weight, muscles itching for the plank to be lowered, her pulse playing the same tune the drums of war often called. Two lone figures stood among the rabble, hunters they were. Even in their stance it was outlined, setting them apart from the rest. Such purpose she had not known filled her, riddled with the overwhelming weight of remorse. Striding through the crowd, Oberyn caught her glance. However it was the child by his side that held it, a grief she had thought was left in the past flooded her. Down to the bones that lined her cheeks and the curve of her jaw was Lewyn.

Without hesitation you pulled the part of you that had been absent for too long to your chest. The bands of muscles flexed in your arms, threatening to press the air from her lungs if you were not careful. Feeling panic envelop the girls frame, the tilt of her curly head in the direction of her father could not be missed. The sun warmed the flesh at the back of her neck, yet it could not compete with the heat that was harbouring in her thundering heart. "Sarella," Her tongue curled over the almost foreign word. All the missed moments, lost name days and times she was not there flooded into the three syllables. Her arms released the child, who took a few steps back on impact. Seemingly retreating to the protection that her fathers side could offer her. Of course, she was just a tale from a distant land. The stranger who held on too tight. "Oberyn." The steel bones of her tone threatened to break over the word, glancing to him with an expression that was quickly dissolving. "I did not think to see you both here, or at all." Cass admitted at long last, refraining from her gaze wandering back to the girl at his side. Had something happened? "A pleasant surprise, at least." A short pause followed, "It is good to see you." She continued honestly, feeling the fondness for him peak at the corners of her mouth.


Apr 15 2015, 07:50 AM

An ungodly howl roared across the ocean, the sea was sick with fever and untamed with rage. The waves thundering in the distance, rocking the Feathered Kiss violently to and fro. They were just off the coast of Tyrosh, the usually crystalline waters of the tropical continent were now turbulent with power in the unforeseen depths below. It had been an easy voyage, so far. Trading with the industrious people who occupied the island, the melancholy sea was a pleasant break from the harshly abusive colours that frequented the streets of the island city. The people were something that Cass could certainly live without. Their ambitions could only be treated for so long. Long enough to make a suitable deal, so to speak.

Chafed hands were rubbed raw as she struggled with a rigging, the sail flapping dangerously, threatening the woman to loose control completely. It was times like this she wished her husband accompanied these journeys with her. The merchants wife they called her, the dark haired woman had to smirk at that. For all the years they had been together not a child nor love was born of their union. He liked to blame her, this husband of hers. For all he knew - or bothered to ask of her life - it was her fault. Yet he let her roam the seas freely, she had taken charge of most of his dealings and business attendants. Just so long as she remember who's wife she was when she stepped foot back onto his shores. For all the man he was on land, he was mercifully sick that always brought him close to death when aboard her beloved vessel. Thank the seven for small favours.

"Secure the rigging!" Her authoritative tone roared over the waves, "Michal you daft fool, aft the port bow! Do you want us all killed?" Most of her insults were drowned out from the waves, the hailing rain were felt as though someone was playing needlepoint with the flesh of her skin. Muscles locking into place, the ribbons of water ringed her wrist. Slipping and twirling down over capable biceps. Long used to the stain she put them under, her throat, however seemed to rub raw at the constant stream of insults and instructions slipping from her maw. "We're leeward without a paddle, get your asses into gear or we'll meet our makers sooner than originally planned!" The frown that now seemed permanently etched into her skin was as weather worn as the woman who so willingly donned it.

Yet for all the orders and all the plans that she had made, Cassella knew an uphill battle when she was fighting one. The circumstances were progressively slipping beyond her control. They were too short staffed, without the hands to control the progressive madness that seemed to be intent on running amok in this thundering death trap. The treacherous winds, often so happy to help the ship drift and race across the blue waters had now flipped on its axle. With it's only intent now seemingly to be to drag this vessel to the bottom of the ocean. Inky black tresses, plastered to her skull. The onslaught of rain so heavy that one could not see but a few feet before them. Her hands tying off the rope with what remained of her strength.

Cass's frame arched from the exertion, straightening her back her pale gaze peered through the storm. From the chaos that surrounded her, a lone figure caught her gaze before their seemingly inevitable doom did. The face did not belong to that of her crew, nor was it a stowaway from a distant shore. If her memory was serving her correctly - not that it had yet to fail her, perhaps it was a sign that she was at the strangers door. For there was no possible way for him to be here, yet his frame was as familiar to her as it was the day he had marched from her Red Mountains. "Lewyn?"


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