GENERAL INFO.

Full Name: Psyaline Aedian
Aliases: Justicar Aedian
Gender and Pronouns: Cis Female; She/Her
Place of Birth: Cyrodiil, Tamriel
Heritage: Altmer
Date of Birth: 4th Evening Star, 4E 167
Age: 34
Parents:

• Estelmoellith Aedian (Father, Alive)
• Elannayne (Mother, Alive)

Allergies: N/A
Addictions: N/A
Mental Conditions/Disorders: N/A
Physical Conditions/Disorders: N/A

APPEARANCE INFO.

Features: High, defined facial features with a sharp jaw and piercing eyes. Psyaline has notable dark circles around her eyes, and several concealed scars across her body from performing necromantic rites.
Voice Claim: Laura Bailey as Jaina Proudmoore
Eye Color: Gold
Hair Color: Blonde
Hairstyle: Long and tousled wavy hair, usually worn down with the face-framing pieces tied back.
Build: Average, a bit on the lean side, with an hourglass body shape.
Height: 6 feet and 6 inches (approx. 198 cm)
Weight: 173 pounds (approx. 78 kg)

SOCIAL INFO.

Connections:

• Thalmor / Aldmeri Dominion (Allies)

Relationship Status: Single
Sexuality: Heterosexual

MISC. INFO

Psyaline speaks Aldmeris, Ehlnofex, and Common.

Psyaline knows one Expert-Level necromancy spell, Dead Thrall. The spell is effective approximately 45-50% of the time, and failure to reanimate a corpse will result in some of her own health depleting.

While practicing a ritual under the Necromancer’s Moon, a stray cat approached Psyaline and sat at her feet patiently. The cat attached itself to the woman, following her and aiding her in her practices as if it were a guide. And so she took it in, raising it under the name Mirage. The duo became psychically connected and can telepathically communicate with each other in times of need.

BACKGROUND.

Psyaline's childhood was shaped by the high, unforgiving walls of the Tamriel's capital, Cyrodiil. From a young age, she was exposed to the harsh realities of political maneuvering and manipulation as her father, a high-ranking member of the Thalmor, expected nothing less than full devotion to their cause. And while she had the potential to rise through the ranks like the others in her family, Psyaline had always been repelled by the games of politics. Her father would often mock her disinterest, calling her weak for failing to understand the importance of the Thalmor’s grand vision. To him, the lives of mere mortals were expendable—tools for achieving the Aldmeri Dominion’s ultimate supremacy. He would speak of their vision of a world ruled by the Elves, where all would bow to their superior culture and intellect, but Psyaline could not find solace in these ideals. She resented how her family, particularly her father, disregarded anything that wasn’t beneficial to their own ascent. But what she found intriguing—what truly captivated her attention—was how her father and the Thalmor dealt with prisoners.

The executions. The interrogations. The prisoners subjected to brutal "questioning," their bodies twisted and broken as they were forced to divulge secrets, confessions, or simply scream for the amusement of their tormentors.

For Psyaline, these acts were more than just a means to an end—they were an art, a dance between life and death, with the Thalmor serving as puppet masters. She was both repulsed and fascinated. And, despite herself, she felt an undeniable stir deep within her, a longing for control over that very art. As the years passed, Psyaline’s burgeoning fascination with death turned into something darker. It was no longer enough to simply witness. She wanted to understand the process; to command it. There was power in controlling life, in bending others to your will, but there was always risk of rebellion. When it came to death, the power was entirely in her hands. And she would have it no other way.

She began studying the intricate work of morticians, learning about the techniques of embalming, of preserving bodies. But this was simply a cover. Beneath the surface, she was delving into forbidden, occult knowledge—seeking ways to manipulate the dead and, if possible, harness their power. She found books in dark corners of libraries, whispered rumors in the back alleys of Cyrodiil, all hinting at necromancy and darker arts—ancient rituals that even the Thalmor feared to acknowledge. Some of these secrets, she learned, were not simply about reanimating bodies, but about controlling them, bending them to one’s will. Some even claimed that the spirits of the dead could be called upon and enslaved. This was what Psyaline craved: a world where the dead served her, where she could wield their power like a weapon.

Her family, especially her father, never suspected any ulterior motive to her dedication. They were too consumed by their political scheming, their infighting, to pay attention. And for the most part, neither did the Thalmor. They saw her as an efficient tool, a newly-promoted Justiciar who could enforce the White-Gold Concordat and silence any dissidence—particularly those who dared to defy the ban on Talos worship. She was a cold, calculating instrument of the Thalmor, respected and feared for her skill in interrogation and ruthless efficiency. Her reputation for cruelty spread quickly, but those who knew her best—those who worked beside her—were ultimately unaware of her true motivations.

When she was not on assignment, however, Psyaline was a ghost.

Her fellow Thalmor operatives would see her slip away from the Embassies, disappearing into the shadows of Tamriel, into places few dared go. It was in these hidden places, among crypts and forgotten tombs, in the depths of forgotten ruins, where Psyaline honed her craft. With each passing year, she grew more skilled—more powerful. Her necromantic abilities blossomed under the strain of secrecy, and she began to make use of them in subtle ways. The occasional whispering of a dead soldier’s name to inspire terror, the eerie presence of a soul bound to do her bidding for a time, the twisted corpses she manipulated for her experiments. And as her power grew, so did her hunger. The more she dabbled in forbidden magic, the more she realized she wanted to push the boundaries. She didn’t just want to control the dead—she wanted to wield them like tools, as instruments of destruction or manipulation. Perhaps she could even challenge the very foundations of the Thalmor itself, turning its own tactics of subjugation against them, using its own prisoners to fuel her dark ambitions. The deeper Psyaline waded into the underworld of necromancy, the more the line between the living and the dead began to blur for her. She no longer felt like a mere agent of the Thalmor, a pawn in their endless political games. She felt like a visionary. A Divine.

Still, she kept up appearances. To the world, she was merely a Justiciar, feared and respected; a relentless enforcer of Thalmor law. But beneath her cold exterior, her thoughts were never far from her darker ambitions. Each life she extinguished, each soul she crushed beneath the weight of her will, brought her one step closer to unlocking the true extent of her power over life and death. She knows that in the end, the Thalmor are just another tool, another means to an end. The true question is whether she will remain in their service long enough to fulfill her twisted ambitions—or whether she will rise beyond them, attempting to reshape the world according to her own design, with an army of the dead at her command.