Lirial has been mistaken for that of a mortal high elf by many, often sporting finely crafted garments and armor that match the celestial radiance of her person. Her armors are that of Arborea, crafted by the followers of Corellon and imbued by the light of the Court of stars (much to the chagrin of those who prefer the darkness). Even when she is without armor or attire, her entire form is snaked by strings of unbroken Eladrin symbols from toe to ear. Few have heard their purpose, but the magic held within is clear to the eye.
Few truths surround the history of Lirial. Her appearance in Sigil was abrupt, and few Eladrin will tell the tales that are another's to tell. Some theorize she was working among the Prime Material for years, others that she was working with the Guardinels, knowing the propensity for secrecy that both harbor. What can be said is that she has taken quickly to the various walkers and people of Sigil, aiding those who need it and doing her best to teach through the arts and various Sensate stones.
Though there are whispers upon the winds. A lost prime sought with all her heart, an alliance with Shevarash that has lead to many a Drow slain by blessed blades where the Law cannot see, and a violent storming temper lying beneath her heavy hearted facade being among the more believable.
A time before
(This information is strictly OOC and is not common knowledge, save Devils or other Eladrin)
I do not aim with my hand. She who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of her father. I aim with my eye
Liriasarael stood at the threshold of the temple staring into the starlit sky above. It was not the clearest sky nor did it calm the fire that burned in her veins. This game of cat and mouse has been fought beneath those stars watchful eye for hundreds of years now, and after striking a stalemate for so long, the scales had finally tipped for the worst. The blood of the Aasimar flowed freely in the gutters, heralded by the cheers of those who's fathers' fathers would have balked at the sight.
I do not swing with my hand. She who swings with his hand has forgotten the face of her father.
The grip upon her blade turned her knuckles white as she shed her guise, the old woman she had appeared to be blurring like softened clay as her divine blade slipped from it's sheath and dazzling Armor of Light formed around her. The light of day filling the street and sky. The stars shall not see the actions of this night, for they already weep for the bloodshed of the day.
I do not kill with my hand. She who kills with her hand has forgotten the face of her father. I kill with my heart.
With her Litany finished and guise shed, the wooden gates of the temple buckled with a mighty kick, drawing the eyes of the cultists who have for so long defiled the sacred halls and the Baatezu whom they served. Her following words shook the very building as it took the tone of the very thunderstorm she felt within her heart "All who stand here against your will, relinquish your arms and move aside lest you face the repercussions of deeds not your own." There was a beat of silence among those of the temple, but with a word from their leader in the back, all present brandished their blades. An act that, despite the rage in Lirial's heart, overwhelmed it with sorrow "Pray that the Powers may deign to show you mercy, for I hold no authority to grant it this day, and the wrath of those who have fallen shall be felt in full."
For half an hours time the townsfolk watched on as their cathedral was bathed in light and the shrieking of mortal and fiend alike. Yet as the moon hit it's peak above, it vanished as quickly as it came. None dared investigate until mornings light, but those who did were met with a bewildering sight. Books and scrolls brandishing foul magics were strewn about the room, joined by those who had once used them for their own ends; members of the magistrate, the church, and guardsmen alike. In the center of it all rest a sword, plunged to the hilt in the altar before Corellon's symbol, emblazoned with the words 'Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and altar is rightwise king, and with it, taketh the burden of consequence for those whom come before.'