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Shaed

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A shaed is a type of cloak made by using the Fae magic of grammarie which is made out of shadows. In The Wise Man's Fear, Felurian makes a shaed for Kvothe to protect him when he returns to the mortal world. It is referred by many people relating Kvothe's stories as the shadow cloak. The act of wearing a shaed is called being enshaedn. Clever, conniving, brutally curt. Fiona loves the power words hold other people. With that, she abhors violence, believing there are less primitive ways to achieve your goals. She enjoys a clever dialogue or debate, and has the tendency to be dismissive of those who don't immediately strike her as useful or interesting. She carries herself properly and professionally in all things, giving respect and expecting respect in return. One could say Fiona is beautiful, and while extremely accurate, it does little to actually portray her.

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Shaed

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Fiona Malvolin

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Garrett Malvolin Melanie Malvolin Viathan Malvolin Alexander Malvolin

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Rogue

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Cloak

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Ink Black

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During Kvothe's stay in the Faen realm

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54.0

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The Shadow Cloak

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176.0

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Human

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Single

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New York City

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Emerald Green/Violet

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Female

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*Protects the wearer from harm *Provides camouflage in the dark

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1992-02-07

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A shaed is a type of cloak made by using the Fae magic of grammarie which is made out of shadows. In The Wise Man's Fear, Felurian makes a shaed for Kvothe to protect him when he returns to the mortal world. It is referred by many people relating Kvothe's stories as the shadow cloak. The act of wearing a shaed is called being enshaedn. Clever, conniving, brutally curt. Fiona loves the power words hold other people. With that, she abhors violence, believing there are less primitive ways to achieve your goals. She enjoys a clever dialogue or debate, and has the tendency to be dismissive of those who don't immediately strike her as useful or interesting. She carries herself properly and professionally in all things, giving respect and expecting respect in return. One could say Fiona is beautiful, and while extremely accurate, it does little to actually portray her. It would be odd to think of Fiona and not dwell on the way her footsteps fall; lightly, but with purpose in every stride. Or to make note of the way her long raven hair sashays across her back, contrasting sharply with the white porcelain of her skin. Or the way her slender shoulders shift beneath the sleeves of her black designer blouse, maintaining that perfect posture. It would be odd to not think of those things. It would be impossible to not think of those eyes. Emerald green. Cunning and sharp. Eyes that swallow and offer and promise. Eyes that are rapt with attention, with importance, for you, the dear observer, or with a disdain that cuts to the bone. More than her perfect posture, the quirk of her full lips in a smile, more than the embroidery on her fine clothes, more than the green and black of the old family ring she wears, more than her last name, more than her laugh, more than the melodic voice that chimes in low dulcet tones, those eyes portray Fiona.