Ophelia Dragelion

Full Name: Ophelia Dragelion
Alias: Wisp, Little Lia, Ophie
Age: 22
Birthday: Fall
Race: Hylian
Occupation: Mercenary
Pronouns: She/They
School of Magic: Demise



Delightfully Mundane. That's how Ophelia would describe her childhood. Idyllic in a way that could be captured in passing memories alone. She doesn't question the fortune of her birth - famed Labrynna knights for parents and an older brother who would surely rival their acclaim, although that might just be her personal bias - and instead accepts it with skinned knees and spilled buckets of milk. That is to say, she accepted it with a clumsy grace that only a child could possess. A child who knew nothing outside of rolling fields and gentle animals.

It wasn't something little Lia fought to break out of; a simple life of simple pleasures suited her just fine. Who could ever wish for more outside of it? Perhaps that had been the main reason she pouted as much as she did when her brother announced his decision to follow in their parents' footsteps. She saw it coming, of course. She hadn't been blind to the way he drank up the stories told by their father nor did she pretend to be. It wasn't something she could comprehend at the time. All she knew was he would be gone and in danger, that had been cause enough for her to cry.

As most things, and like most children, Ophelia got over it with astonishing speed. As if her brother could do anything without her cheer and encouragement! (He could, undoubtedly, but it had been her own inflated sense of self importance that got her through the tears and apprehension.)

So it had been with this newfound purpose that she applauded the swords training and insisted she was helping him build strength by placing herself on the hay bales he was moving. Or, when the days had been harder, throw herself on his back.

"I'm testing your reflexes," she would say with a toothy grin "you're welcome. Now, mush!"

It had been fine for a while. Fun, even, until he left. Everything she feared would happen, did, and all she could do was watch.


She tries her hardest to push the memories down yet it seems to be the only thing on her mind, playing in a constant loop like a sick song: her parents hiding her away, watching from the cracks as they were overwhelmed by the number of monsters, their last words nothing but garbled screams that made her own voice raw just from listening. Telling her to run away. Telling her not to look. Telling her to survive.

She doesn't remember how she got away. She doesn't want to remember. What she does remember, however, comes in passing blurs that root her in place. The pain, the panic; Hylia above, she wants to forget it all. Ophelia contemplates removing her eyes in hopes of forgetting their faces, her ears in hope of forgetting their screams, but she isn't given the opportunity to act before she's taken. Fates forbid they let her have any relief after the ravaging of her home.

Ophelia wouldn't call the gang a 'family' per se. She wouldn't dream of tainting the word with their affiliation, but they were the closest thing she had to one following the rampage. They were the only thing she had. Their kindness - or rather, their mercy - came with a price. Such was the cost of existing in their world, whether she wanted to or not.

The young woman adapts quickly. What choice did she have? (She had a choice, she always did, but it helps her sleep easier when she rationalizes it as such. Pride wasn't worth her adolescent head.) She sinks herself to their level and finds herself a new purpose built on the ashes of what once was.

Three years she works under their terms and conditions, excelling as a means to make herself indispensable. Her plan is simple. Stupidly simple. The lack of clear planning earns her some wounds, but what was a wound to the taste of freedom? She drags her body back to what's left of her home. The promise retribution keeping her moving despite the growing infection in her wounds. She takes her continued existence as a sign that that promise would be fulfilled.

It takes her a year. Her purpose is carried out, but it's not by her hands.


Her legs carry her until she collapses, only to pick herself up hours later and repeat the process. Ophelia doesn't know where she is or where she's going. Where her thoughts once banged against the walls of her skull, there had now been radio silence. She didn't know which she preferred: the constant echo or the silence.

It isn't until her path crosses with that of a passing mercenary group that she realizes Labrynna is long behind her.

They're a good group. It's not even a gut feeling - it's a fact she can't explain the origin of. A fact that kept her a few steps behind them despite having no real reason to stay. Their good deed had been finish; Ophelia had been given food, water, treatment, and a place to lay her head with an entertaining story as an added bonus. As far as anyone was concerned, they had the ability to wash their conscious clean of her well-being without hesitation. But they didn't.

She learns about them from a distance, from the edges of their camp, but they had been more than content with her transformation back into a Hylian from the Stalfos they found her as. Ophelia doesn't join in their sparring or participate in their missions yet continues to be present for it all. The offer to join is rejected time and time again. She's too embarrassed to admit it and they're kind enough not to tease her until she's comfortable; from the moment they saved her, she had already bound herself to them.

It's... a process. In the kindest terms. Learning to trust, unlearning the mechanisms she used to survive and cope, it's hard. Especially if her progress - or there lack of - is any indication. But she's trying and that's all they can ask. They're gladdened all the same. Ophelia gives her name during her second year with them. The story of her family follows closely behind; how her mother and father were killed, how her brother had certainly joined them by now.

But oh, how the deities above loved to make a fool of her time and time again.


★ Despite drinking milk and eating all of her vegetables, Ophelia stands at an intimidating 5 foot flat. Lithe in stature and appearing as every bit of delicate as a glass doll. Looks are ever deceiving, however.

★ Ophelia has a natural gift when it comes with animals. With people? Not so much. At least, not anymore.

★ It's only due in part to her group's influence that she known to fight fair on most occasions. On the other hand, she isn't above resorting to her previous, more dirty style of fighting if it means protecting those she cares for. Fatal not just to her enemies, but to herself as well.