Fromer Matriarch of The Oratorium
Former Head of the House of Scholars
Mother of Lady Syraëlle Avenloré, Lord Theridian Avenloré, Lady Celarienne Avenloré
Daughter of Lady Selvarithe Avenloré, Lord Thaluren Avenloré
Wife of Lord Thamior Avenloré
Sister of Lord Elovain Avenloré, Nyrelith Avenloré
Aunt of Lady Lineia Avenloré
Grandmother of Gwynviène Avenloré, Sylvérian Avenloré, Aurenne “Ren” Avenloré, Aestrelle Avenloré, Mirelyn Avenloré, Ilién Avenloré
Lady Velarienne Avenloré was a figure carved from both silence and strength. Known for her stern bearing and unshakable intellect, she rose to prominence as the Matriarch of the Oratorium — the sacred chamber of voice, memory, and tradition within the Avenloré estate — and later presided as Head of the House of Scholars, a position demanding wisdom, diplomacy, and reverence for the written word.
With hair like burnished moonlight and eyes that missed nothing, she commanded respect without raising her voice. Her fairness, both in face and judgement, became the stuff of whispers among the halls of The Library. She was not a warm woman, but a just one — a pillar around which the sprawling Avenloré lineage spun.
Her marriage to Lord Thamior Avenloré, known as the Ink-Stained Knight, was one of convenience, forged between quill and blade rather than affection. While they shared duty and purpose, and even a kind of intellectual respect, the union bore no love. Velarienne was not a woman to pine, nor to pretend. She turned her devotion toward her work, her children, and the legacy of the Oratorium.
Of her children, it was Lord Theridian Avenloré she chose to follow her as both Head of the Oratorium and Head of the House. Theridian’s temperament, like hers, leaned toward cool logic, uncompromising discipline, and a belief that duty outweighed sentiment. She believed he would rule with the same steadiness, austerity, and respect for order that had marked her own tenure — ensuring the House would not soften or stray under more impassioned hands.
Those closest to her speak of quiet moments where her hard edges softened: the way her fingers lingered over ancient texts, the flicker of pride in her gaze when her grandchildren spoke with passion, the rare but striking moments she defended those dismissed by louder voices.
Even in her youth, Velarienne carried the gravity of one born to lead. Her legacy echoes in the voices of her descendants — each shaped, in some way, by the precise weight of her expectations and the silent strength of her love.