Age: 30 - Born Year 116 in the spring

Gender: Male

Name: Makanii (Ma - ka - knee)

Character Description:

Makanii is a 6’3” tall Kurol. With a fairly average build as far as male Kurol go. He’d have sharp faned fins protruding from his mid-forarm, back of his calves, and a longer one going down the center of his back.

While looking at him from the front, he seems to be a pale grayish blue, his back is a stark contrast to be that of a darker blue, almost pure black. The only bit of color about him would be his hair, which is akin to that purple cabbage in color that is barely longer than the tops of his shoulders.

Smaller scars can be seen on his body from close calls with larger prey in the oceans, but these are far and few inbetween. More so showing his abilities to survive and fully knows his way about the ocean than becoming food for a larger predator.

His smiles are infectious, and his cyan eyes seem to always equally be smiling. His webbed hands match the rest of his body and are often running through his hair. He has yet to receive any tattoos and all of his physical traits are easily seen since he wears little other than a set of kelp over his groin and upper legs. Primarily to keep a knife there rather than actually keep himself modest. 

Character Occupation: 

+ Hunter - Basic hunting knowledge, primarily hunts like an ambush predator. Waiting for something to swim by and then lunges towards them. Decent with traps and knows a couple of the common corals for baiting fish and such.

+ Weaver - makes plenty of nets and is a huge fan of weaving cages to trap crabs and such within, or create kelp ropes to drag fish with him to eat in his personal nook.

Character Personality/Traits:

+ Treats life like one big game. While he seems to take nothing serious, he actually does. The ‘hunt’ is always on, but that didn’t mean he was going to be a grouch his whole life.

+ Extremely friendly, very hard to offend. He will twist words to just mean the opposite and take the worst of insults as a compliment, or simply let what would be a would be harsh words slide by.

+ He is always moving his hands or body in various ways. Grandiose postures. He finds the ways the land walkers move and act to be hilarious and tries to mimic them as best he can.

+ While he is this way, he isn’t a jester or prankster. He is about showmanship and high morale. Easily willing to embarrass himself if it means making another laugh or ease tension. He has no pride or honor truly. Friendships are more important than that.

+ A major flaw is the obvious. He isn’t aware of normal surface people’s way of life. While he is aware there are differences, the sheer amount and depth of them is far beyond him.

+ Another major flaw is punctuality. He’s just really really bad about keeping up with when to be somewhere if asked.

Character Biography:

Makanii was born among yet another batch of eggs within Tarakoa. His early life these days are a blur of memories. Either from lack of care to remember, or simply other things have taken his attention for memories.

Most things he remembers are what he was taught to survive in the oceans. How to hide amongs the corals, kelps, and ridges. Working within the community to help each other and being a valuable member to the tribe. Basic hunting skills to catch fish with a spear to help hunt and bring food to the tribe.

Growing up, Makanii found himself always seeking a laugh. While not one for pranks outright, anything silly or funny would always occur around him. Sticking bits of kelp in his air to appear older to mock their elders in childish ways. Finding himself trying to mimic other fish simply because they are silly looking. This childish act always stuck with him even as he aged. Nothing is beyond a joke or a laugh.

When it came to the Pauna, he’d find them honoralbe and extremely cool. Whenever any returned he’d swim after them trying to keep up even with his small body and inexperienced training. Any big catches they returned with, he’d always offer to help carry to show off, even if he could barely drag them a couple feet before they either sank or started to float up higher, dragging him with it. These antics may have labled him as mischievous, but in all honesty none of his acts truly harmed anything or anyone.

Many of his acts to show off almost nipped him and his familial tribe in the butt. Accidently pissing off a too large of a predator forced to find a small cave to hide in until the shark lost interest. Accidentally getting bit but smaller, but just as angry, fish and forced into a dry space so his blood didn’t attract larger prey. A few of these scars are still seen today.

Friends, familial bonds, and other such things, most of that became lost thanks to his tribe being forced to leave their home. Twelve years ago was the start of Kaihanga Ora domain acting different and turned against them. Soon with the two year winter, those that were able to survive and make it, fled towards Saphriel.

Swimming and traveling was filled with several dangers, but also a few rare sights. Ocra being fended off by the Paura, until it realized that the pack of kurol were not worth the effort. Herds of whales passing by and feeding off schools of krill. Even the ever playful Dolphins swimming down to antaganize them, but never truly try to harm anyone. Makanii tried to grab onto and swim off witht he Dolphins but during their travels he was told off from doing so, otherwise they couldn’t protect him.

It was filled with both tragedy and wonder. Their numbers dwindilling as they went. Injuries far more dangerous as due to the lack of reliable and safe dry spaces to let such wounds be tended to as they went. But eventually, they made it to a new safe area. It is there that what few are left of their tribe now exist. Living within Dragongrass under the white flying dragon’s mountain.

It was here that Makanii, once of age, started to learn more to being a hunter. A Pauna. Working alongside and under his teacher and mentor, Raiha. He was taught how to more hide within the kelp. How fish, crabs, and other ocean beasts see and detect. Using their native water magic more to aid in these endevors as well.

Over time, Makanii started to successfully hunt, trap, and kill his own prey. One of which, was a lucky find, a larger than average crab! Makanii turned it’s claw into a knife to use in day to day, and a personal trophey of one of his most memorable hunts.

One of these hunts triggered his accidental discovery of using magic. Many Kurol can use it, and for him he was an early bloomer. While trying to push something in the water away the same one would swish their arm to create a wave in the water. He’d do that but with the push of the magic.

He’d have complained about the constant headaches from overusing his magic that would eventually bring up that conversation of what magic was and how to use it properly instead of only pushing things around. He found the use very instinctual, and incorporated it into his daily way of life.

When not hunting, Makanii would have been spotted near docks of the land walkers. Watching them and those that sailed in their giant wooden vessels. He found the way they moved and talked to be hilarious, and would mimic their behaviors often. One of his favorites was watching a huge celebration when a trio of large ships returned. Proclaiming to have fixed the ocean after their year long voyage.

He wanted to speak and join in with their fun movements, but alas he did not know their tongue. Thankfully Raiha did, and helped him learn most of the common words used. Makanii was nothing compared to a native speaker, but he soon got around that as he joined in on the occasional party held by sailors.

One of his small hobbies that isn’t work or hunting, would be collecting shells. He’d be seen just below the surface near ocean shores scavenging for oasters, clams, and more. Mostly to eat, but also for abandoned shells to trade or keep if they looked esspecially interesting.

Near the end of his training and well into adulthood. The Kingdom of Saphriel had asked the Kurol for their aid, and working alongside the Pauna and his teacher, they helped find the bodies from the Tidebreaker’s wreckage.

This was his first true insight of some of the hunters on the surface. Wanting to expand his repertoire of stories, friends, and experiences, Makanii would start to leave Dragongrass more often and brave the surface land more, seeking out some of these hunters to befriend and learn more from them.

Other/Extra: 

Extra language: Common (Speak, not read nor write) - As described in biography, learned from his teacher within the Pauna, since he is adamant to interact more with the surface hunters, and learn more about mysticism.

Player Plus Extra Item: Crab claw cutter - just a reflavored knife. It is the claw of a crab that is used to help cut away at things

Donator Extra Item: Bag of Clam Shells - literally a bag of empty clam shells. Something he collects because of their color and likes to hand them out as gifts or to trade with in minor ways
(Just a MC bundle, with a simple lored item just saying ‘Clam Shell - whatever was once within it has been scooped out’)

Magic Biography:

(At least three paragraphs about your character's relationship to magic, and how they may discover their potential.)

For Kurol, they typically only realize they can control only water and don’t have the experience of others through trinkets. Makanii is no different. Water magic to him is just as mundange as swimming, breathing under the water, breathing above the water, walking, all of it. It is a part of him.

Through this, he hones his skills just like any other person would train their body. Using it in all the ways one can fully and work it like a muscle. Certain water abilities he simply won’t ever think of, like at Medium how you can use the magic to breathe under the water.

Whistle discovering his potential, Makanii would do it purely by accident, not even realling he is using magic simply thinking it is something a Kurol can do. Pushing objects away from him in the water when swishing his arms, he’d push things ever so slightly further away. It had taken him weeks of constant complaints about headaches for it to be explained to him he’s been over using his magic and that was the source of everything.

If he were to get introduced to other magics, he would find it very difficult to use other than maybe wind with how he experiences and uses his own magic. He can’t feel or directly interact with many of them in the same way he can water and wind, which is feel it all around him.

Please describe the magic system, including its limitations in your own words:

Bothimir gifts certain people with his gift to use magic. Some races can do this naturally without the gift, but those are few, such as Kurol!. Each race has a certain limitation of how many types of magic they can Aspect into, for example Elves have 4, Dwarves 2, and Kurol also 2 with one being natively Water magic.

To use magic, one must have a trinket. Trinkets come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, some are mono-typed, and others can be more than one type.

To use magic, one must see or touch their target. Otherwise, it just won’t work. Some magics have weird and niche exceptions, but that isn’t really important for the base rules.

To improve upon your own aspect comes from usage and training. Having a teacher of a higher power than you can help speed this along.

Please describe how you would use a weak trinket with your character's first/only aspect:

(Try to be creative, while acknowledging its limitations and utility uses)

Makanii would use his weak water magic to minorly manipulate where things are in the water. Maybe to move seaweed in an unnatural way to catch the attention of his hunted prey. Could ripple the surface of water, so it is harder to see through properly and remain hidden underneath it.

Player: Nevermore or Raven!

Other character(s): Quinnik, Koehen, and Eudora

Character Name: Ismae Yates
Race: Human

Age: 23

Gender: female

Character Description: a woman of average height, an even 5’6 she is spindly in frame, spry in form. Her round face and lost expression gives the sense of ignorance and blissful unawareness as she walks, leading with her head and ever curious. Her hair is kept short, a shaggy bob of dark brown almost black hair. Her wide eyes never focus on one thing for long, hazel falling to various items that grab their attention. 

Almost always rocking on her toes she fiddles with her clothing as she speaks, pulling at her fingers and humming in soft, unfocused tones. 

Character Occupation: hunting, scavenging

Character Personality/Traits: Always a little lost in her own thoughts, Ismae tends to speak in soft hums and nods. She isn’t one to hold a conversation for long, and if she does, it’s often disjointed in topic, always bouncing to the next subject before finishing the first thought. She comes off as gullible, dreamy, in the clouds with her own world, though she often is always listening, keeping attention to those around her as they speak intently. She isn’t loud, often confused for mumbling or referred to as a mouse; she wanders from crowd to crowd, stall to stall, subject to subject, scurrying to learn from that moment and then onto the next. 

Character Biography: 

Dismay was common amongst the refugees of Barkamsted, never a moment to take a breath. Wary mothers and hardened fathers persevered through dangerous circumstances and unforgiving conditions to keep their small families alive, though many would find themselves in the ever constant throes of grief and despair, losing homes, belongings, security, and worse of all, their children. 

One such couple were the Yates. 

A family of five, the human couple struggled to keep mouths fed and bodies warm. Caz Yates, a simple woodsman and a bittering man with the environment worked day and night in hopes of seeing his wife and three children be warm and fed, though struggled to see them consistently fed, forgoing his own meals and comfort in these harrowing times to fill the gaps. This waned on his health greatly. 

Greta Yates, a fragile and glass like woman in temperament struggled to care for her three children alone while her husband worked. Recent in postpartum of her youngest child, a small boy she had yet to name with how new to the world he never left her arms. Fear of death or loss of the small boy clung to Greta in thick sheets of paranoia, even lashing out to her two daughters, believing they might conspire against the infant in vile jealousy. 

The oldest daughter, Francis, 10 years of age she days spent her hours with chores. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Assisting with her own family as well as others, serving as a wet nurse for the struggling mothers in their small community. She was a frail girl, pale and seen as pretty amongst the aged women she assisted. 

The second daughter, Ismae, only 5 years old tried her very best to keep up with her older sister, though she met the wrath of her mother frequently, never allowed to assist anywhere near her young brother. Ismae attached to her father when she could, wanting to be helpful and often coming with him on his various jobs just to be out of her mother’s way. 

The family functioned in these harrowing times, though the world wouldn’t be kind to them or many others. The farm blight took hold, causing the already struggling family to flounder. Feeding his family became beyond difficult for Caz, and his wife grew more hysterical with the struggle to keep her little boy healthy. Desperate to comfort his wife, haggard with the constant wails from her he gave in to a horrible request. 

In need of food, and fewer mouths to feed, Caz took Ismae with him to go foraging, giving the small girl a basket and having her go seek out berries while he searched around in the area. Ismae, delighted to help her father would begin her hunt, but unbeknownst to the young girl, her father would return home without her, knowing his child would get lost in the woods on her own. 

6 years pass and Ismae steps out of the Barkamsted swamps, still holding her empty basket now twisted with brambles and her skirts torn and mud covered. A haze, still quietly calling out for her father, still the five year old girl.

The still 5 year old Ismae made her way back to the roads, being brought back to Barkamsted by some guardsmen. Taken in she continued to vaguely call for her father, lost as the men guided her and tried to figure out who she was. 6 years is not a long time and it wouldn’t be long before Ismae was identified as the Yates’ child, much to the horror of her parents. Having not aged a day, but having looked as if she had been lost for the past 6 years frightened her parents greatly, her own infant brother now older than his older sister.

With the farm blight passed, the family was indeed doing better with one less head to worry about, and Caz had almost broken with the return of the daughter he had left to die, guilt ridden and heart still broken to have followed the request of his crazed wife, he made the choice to leave her, taking Ismae with him as he saw this as a new start, a way to amend what he had done. He gave Francis the choice to choose where she went, now 16, though she chose to stay with her mother to help care for their now 6 year old, Cyrus. 

Greta was thrilled to have the clearly demon possessed Ismae away from her and her children, and called Caz many names, screaming that he had been tricked. 

Caz took Ismae to Falkvard with him, hoping to keep her away from the bane of her mother while he nursed Ismae back to the point of talking. She had been despondent, often staring out windows or walls as if lost in their small home. Caz was of course worried, even refusing to leave her home alone in fear she may just wander out the door, and not wanting to repeat what he had done to her years prior, he always kept her with him. 

Strange girl. To his dismay, many found her despondency off putting and even creepy. She spoke little and when she did it was in disjointed sentences, often referring back to conversations Caz had attempted to have hours previous. 

Many would grow to avoid Ismae, often speaking with her father and giving her odd glances. 

She’s mad. Soon the avoidance extended to her father, the community avoiding him as he defended his daughter vehemently, pointing out the cruelty of outcasting a child. 

This year with her father would not be a long one, as the Sons of Itiris would attack Falkvard. Scooping up his daughter, he ran from the attack, but wouldn’t make it far before he would be punctured through the back by arrows. Caz collapsed to the brick streets, Ismae tumbling from his arms. 

“Da…” she once again started as if still returning from the woods. She pulled on his sleeve, uncertain as to why he had suddenly fallen, completely unaware of the chaos that unfolded around her. “Da… let’s go home… I want to go home…” he couldn’t reply, and Ismae continued to try to rouse her dead father. 

Ismae would be picked up again, pulled from her father’s corpse by guardsmen and taken somewhere away from the attack. Cries of children and mothers, fear echoing throughout the streets, Ismae began to try to walk home. Slipping away and through the streets she walked uncaring back to her and her father’s home, empty and quiet. She sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the door for hours, perhaps days before there came a knock. She’d stand and with her little form open the door, peeking out to see two guards, checking for people and to inform them of confirmed deaths. Seeing just the small girl, they began to seek other relatives of Caz, eventually locating Greta in Barkamsted. They’d inform her of the death of her ex husband, and that her daughter was still here, refusing to leave the home. Greta would refuse to take Ismae in, but Francis would come to Falkvard to try to convince her young sister to come back with her. 

Ismae would play quietly with small toys while Francis over the next few days attempted to coerce her to leave the home. Ismae never made eye contact, never said more than a few words, and would never be convinced to leave the small home. Well, she was almost 6 now, and it wouldn’t be hard to just take her back to Barkamsted, to which Francis finally allowed the guard to help her with. 

Ismae cried. She cried and cried, never able to fully explain why, just asking for her father and to go home. Even if that home wasn’t what others thought. She explained in vague descriptions and feelings of what she thought home was. Loss, familiar, home. It’s the only word her small mind could muster.

Back in Barkamsted, Greta left Francis to raising Ismae, having little to nothing to do with the girl. Ismae and her brother Cyrus weren’t allowed to speak with each other, but that was only ever enforced when their mother was present, so they would get along fairly well as Francis watched over them. Ismae was prone to bouts of wandering, leaving the home to attempt to return either back to Falkvard, to the swamps, or where ever else her feet took her. Francis spent many days chasing Ismae down to return her home, and while Ismae was still young, she often sobbed any time she was brought back to home, insisting she wanted to go home and find da. She was near inconsolable during these times, not for a lack of trying from her siblings, crying for hours usually until she slept. 

As the years went on, the start of the deep winter began, Ismae now 14, her sister now reaching adulthood, and her brother beginning to do farm work at 15 years old which unfortunately was cut short by the deep cold. Their mother continued with her distaste for Ismae, coddling her little boy and claiming Ismae was corrupting him as Cyrus had begun to join Ismae in her bouts of wandering, deciding it was best to wander with her and guide her rather than pick her up and take her home. 

Francis took charge of her two siblings as their mother grew ill in the cold, admittedly not trying terribly hard to care for her mother as she was already in her latter years and had been awful through their lives. Francis would allow the wandering more than in previous years, specifically when Cyrus would accompany Ismae, this allowed Cyrus and Ismae almost full reign to wander. Cyrus would have very one sided conversations with his sister, explaining his latest fixation about tinkering and mechanical tools to his sister while she nodded aimlessly. She occasionally chimed in with a random question, or deep cut dig at something regarding their life, which Cyrus always found odd, but would entertain any form of conversation with his sister.

With the voyage set out to hopefully cleanse the continent of the everlasting winter, Cyrus and Ismae had begun setting small game traps in the close woods of Barkamsted. Cyrus experimented with small contraptions to help feed the family while Ismae accompanied him, usually interested in letting the game free to follow them to their homes, but she never protested against the quick deaths of the small creatures as long as she hadn’t gotten to the trap first. She had always wondered what happened when they got trapped, what they would do to get home. Cyrus told her to not worry about such things. 

During this winter, their mother would finally pass in the night. This broke Cyrus’ heart, growing distant and quiet, but he was receptive to the efforts to distract by Ismae and Francis, Ismae now offering conversation instead. Long winded philosophical discussion about how creatures feel to be trapped and hunted, where do spirits go after death, and more. 

The pair continued to grow together, their sister working as a seamstress as the winter finally ended, the queen's coronation passed. Ismae, now reaching 18, had gained a fondness for tracking and trapping with her brother, making some coin off the pelts and meat. Her wandering had purpose now, finding game. 

With the Queens wedding approaching, Francis would pick up in work but for ease had herself and her two siblings move to Falkvard so that she could seek the market of clientele looking for clothing for the celebration. Cyrus and Ismae, now nearing adulthood would begin getting familiar with the forests near Falkvard, though Cyrus wasn’t keen on staying single like his older sister, now deciding to spend more time with work inside the walls and be social with the community, which Ismae was never too keen on, only ever speaking with her siblings, even having them talk to others for her. So alone in the woods she spent most of her time, wandering but always close enough to return to the city

The cult attacked. Ismae was returning, entering the walls again when the alarms were raised, to which she found herself lost in the streets to find refuge. She needed to find her siblings, but instead found herself despondently calling for her father, wandering aimlessly until she was dragged along to find cover. And repeating as she had almost two decades previously, she slipped away, this time wandering to her home with her siblings. Francis wasn’t home, but Cyrus was, beckoning Ismae in and barricading the door. The two would only see their sister again to confirm a dead body, the body of Francis. Ismae reacted little to this, distant, while her brother was deep in the throes of grief, losing yet another mother figure in his life. He secluded himself, refusing to speak with Ismae, disappearing into obscurity in the distractions of lower society. 

Ismae once again alone, wandered aimlessly most days. Receiving odd looks and whispers as she took the same paths over and over throughout the weeks. Looking for a home she remembers but not quite, seeking absently the nostalgia she had grown to cover with her siblings and hunting. 

The void began to make itself present in that of strange phenomena across the city and outside of it, one such instance Ismae would be witness to in the woods. A shadow speaking to her, copying her. She followed, intrigued until it vanished with the sun. She’d continue to wander the woods for a time, seeking out the friend in the woods. Someone to talk to. It never talked back again after that. 

The mystics returned. Talk of impending doom. Ismae wanted to answer to the strange shadow, to the talk of ghosts unable to find their way home. She wanted to speak with them but speaking with people had proven a difficult task as her thoughts tended to wander. Hunting. She knew hunting. With the closing of the void tears, Ismae decided now was the time to try and seek people. Seek people who knew things she did. The hunters guild was her goal now.

Other/Extra

Minecraft account: hauntedchevy

Player: it’s me, chevy

Other character(s): Oakley Pebble, the late Vanilla Yardstick

Race: Half Dwarf

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Character Description: 5’6, Pale amber-green eyes, long black hair, stocky build.

Donor Items request: Father’s stonecarving kit

Player Plus Items request: A small glass figurine in the shape of a humming bird from her mother.

Known Languages: Dwarven, Common, Player Plus: Orc

Character Occupation: An aspiring hunter 

Character Personality/Traits: Confident in everything except romance. Fairly even tempered, though prone to bouts of depression.

Name notes: Steenvoorhoofd - Loosely translated as stonebrow, a clan of stone shapers. The clan claims the name is because of the focus, care, and determination they have towards their craft, though the truth is that the name comes from a particular dwarf who was particularly inattentive and had a bad habit of letting stones fall on his head.

Family:

Mother: Summer Ismirasdaughter - Human age 50, born in the year 64

Father: Thuldor of clan Steenvoorhoofd - Dwarf, Born in the year 48 (Deceased at 42 in the year 90)

Brother: Mikael - Age 30, Born in the year 84. Dwarf. Adopted

Sister in Law: Tasdish of Clan Diepetroon - Age 34, Born in the year 80

Character Biography: 

Family Origins:

  Summer and Thuldor were married in secret in Barkemsted in the year 85 AW. Thuldor was unashamed of his marriage and wanted to do it openly, but Summer was nervous about how their families would react, and insisted on keeping it secret ‘until the right time’. Her family having been silver smiths during the pact war and being in constant competition with dwarven businessmen and no love for the shorter race, and his family being racially proud as well. Though the two lived predominantly apart, just over a year into their marriage, Summer began to show signs of pregnancy. She, against her husband’s wishes, traveled to Falkvard and stayed until her daughter was born, to avoid the shame of having born a child supposedly out of wedlock. She then returned home with Lydia, claiming she had adopted a child while working up north.

Thuldor lived as a dwarven shaper, smith, but died early in Lydia’s childhood. He was a worshiper of perities, and hunted often, He never intended to have a child but loved Lydia very much regardless.

Summer worked in glassblowing, specifically in the working stained glass. It was partially her skill in this that attracted her husband.

Early Childhood: Born in the Autumn of 87, to Summer and Thuldor Steenvoorhoofd, Lydia. She was born in Falkvard, but grew up in Barkamsted being raised by her mother. She never knew her father, and believes her mother to be an adopted mother rather than her biological one. Her mother, saying he was a man she had met who had been badly hurt and unable to care for her. Her mother told her stories of her father, heavily edited to avoid revealing his identity. She was raised on stories of mighty hunts and men and women of honor. Her father, feeling that she had a right to her heritage, gave her his first chisel and hammer, as something for her to practice with. The gift was presented by her mother, with a heavily edited story.

Growing Up: Lydia’s Father, thought to be a close friend of her mothers, disappeared around the time she was three. She doesn’t remember much of him, but has vague memories of there being times when her mother seemed to be grieving.

The year long winter was tough on Lydia and her mother, but not nearly as tough as it would have been for a farmer. Her mother continued working in her glassblowing shop, though demand was scarce, they still scraped by. A few months after her seventh birthday, Lydia’s Older brother, Mikael (Kael), a dwarf is adopted. The two do /not/ get along. Frequently getting into fights that mostly end in a lot of swearing and frustrated her mother. Her childhood is otherwise fairly normal. She plays with other children, learns to read, and even picks up a few orcish curses from Daml, an orc friend of the family, and close friend to her father who lived near them in Barkemsted. Lydia is barely aware of the sons of Itiris attack, though around that time she starts working with her mother in the glassforge, mostly helping clean and watch the shop when her mother has errands to run.

Tween and teenage years: 

After the loss of the crossroads when Lydia is 11, the glasshop begins to suffer. The loss of trade from the crossroads increased the cost of materials and decreased the profits her mother could make. This meant that Lydia’s mother had to go into debt and start working as a farm hand to keep her business afloat and her children fed. The two kids had to start finding ways to make money or help provide food. Lydia started setting out traps outside Falkvard to catch rabbits under the guidance of the orc family friend, on her own soon moved to other very small game to help support the family. Her mother was not a fan of her exploits, but working two jobs left her little time to control a headstrong child.

By the time she turned fourteen, Lydia had started helping much more with the glassblowing business, and started collecting colorful stones and making collages out of them and broken glass. She and her brother begin becoming closer, both of them having matured both because of age and of necessity. Her brother started taking more and more care of her, as her mother had less and less time.

After the restoration of trade following the reclamation of the crossroads, the struggling family was really hopeful that business would pick up. Lydia continued doing small bits of trapping, and helping in the glassblowing shop. Her older brother joined up with the Barkamsted guard to help support the family. She grew more quiet in these years, but stayed focused on helping her family. While out trapping during the early Autumn, she encountered a black bear stealing the rabbits her trap had caught. She tried to scare it off, and was badly hurt in the aftermath. The flooding in Barkamsted luckily passed the family by, though her brother was very busy helping out in the aftermath

After the onset of the deep winter, and as it became clear that crops would likely fail, the farm Lydia’s mother was working on let her go, depriving the family of critical income. Her mother lost the glassblowing shop, despite Lydia and her brother’s best efforts to save up to pay off debts. Lydia promised her mother she’d get a glassblower shop again for her someday.

Adult life:

In the spring of 108, her mother falls ill with a severe fever and cannot work, and though she recovers, her mother is sent to debtors' prison. Lydia and her brother visit her regularly. Her mother insists she will find a way out of this and urges the siblings to take care of one another. Later that year, in much happier news, Her brother marries a young dwarf woman named Tasdish of Clan Diepetroon. 

As the long Winter ends; Lydia finds herself falling for a young man who works for a cobbler she sells fur to, and he falls for her as well. The early days of the romance are a whirlwind of flowers, dancing and joy. They eventually grew apart. After a nasty fight and a breakup, they separated permanently. She didn’t take it well, and with her mother in prison, her brother focused on a new child, few friends, and the glassblowing business gone, she left Barkemsted and the broken dreams there and set out into the east of Angel creek. She found a small cave and lived out of there for a few years, occasionally traveling to various towns to sell her hunting results, or art pieces she had made by gluing stones into collages. She mostly saved the money she made during this time, hoping to have the money someday to pay off her mother’s debt. Her time in the wild was hard, but she learned much quickly. Among the hardships she faced, nearly freezing in the winter, the isolation of being far from family, and one year A large spring storm blew down a tree while she was out in the forest trying to get back to her cave. The pinetree’s fall broke her leg. Unfortunately for her, she was far enough from civilization that returning wasn’t an option, so she treated it as best she could

Having spent years out in the wilds, dealing with her frustration, she encounters a couple of injured hunters who teach her more about the worship of Perities, something her mother had told her of, and that she knew her father had followed. The hunters stay with her for a few weeks until they are well enough to travel home. When she sees the falling star, and hears about those who have gone to fight the void, she determines to seek them out and learn more about how they survive.

Character Timeline:
Year 85 (-2 years old) - Parents married in secret

Year 87 (0 years old) - Lydia born in Falkvard

Year 90 (3 years old) - Thuldor, Lydia’s Father dies, executed after having gone feral. 

Year 93 (6 Years old) - Year long winter: The year long winter was tough on Lydia and her mother, but not nearly as tough as it would have been for a farmer. Her mother continued working in her glassblowing shop, though demand was scarce, they still scraped by.

Year 94 (7 Years old) - Lydia’s Older brother, Mikael (Kael), a dwarf is adopted. The two do /not/ get along. Frequently getting into fights.

Year 97 (10 Years Old) - The sons of Itiris attack Falkvard. Lydia is fully unaffected by this, and is barely aware of it. This year she starts working with her mother in the glassforge, mostly helping clean and watch the shop when her mother has errands to run.

Year 98 (11 Years Old) - Crossroads Lost, Ravine Assault; The loss of trade from the crossroads being lost meant that Lydia’s mother had to go into debt and start working as a farm hand to keep her business afloat. The two kids had to start finding ways to make money or help provide food. Lydia started setting out traps outside Falkvard to catch rabbits, and other very small game to help support the family. Her mother was not a fan of her exploits, but working two jobs left her little time to control a headstrong child.

Year 101 (14 years old) - Cultist attack on falkvard. Lydia at this point had started helping much more with the glassblowing business, and started collecting colorful stones and making collages out of them and broken glass. She and her brother begin becoming closer.

Year 102 (15 Years Old) - Liberation of the Crossroads; The restoration of trade gave the struggling family a lot more hope. They were really hopeful that business would pick up. Lydia continued doing small bits of trapping, and helping in the glassblowing shop. Her older brother joined up with the Barkamsted guard to help support the family.

Year 103 (16 Years Old) - Bear attack. Lydia, while out trapping, encountered a black bear stealing the rabbits her trap had caught. She tried to scare it off, and was badly hurt in the aftermath.

Year 104 (17 Years old) - Ocean Strangeness. The flooding in Barkamsted luckily passed the family bye, though her brother was very busy helping out in the aftermath

Year 106 (19 Years old) - Deep Winter; The farm Lydia’ mother was working on fired her, as there was nothing being produced. Her mother lost the glassblowing shop, despite Lydia and her brother’s best efforts to save up to pay off debts. Lydia promised her mother she’d get a glassblower shop again someday.

Year 108 (21 Years old) - With mounting debt and an onset of severe fever, her mother is sent to debtors' prison. Lydia and her brother visit her regularly. Her brother marries a young dwarf woman named Tasdish of Clan Diepetroon. 

Year 110 (23 years old) - Winter ends; Lydia has her first romance. It ends badly. she left Barkemsted and the broken dreams there and set out into the east of Angel creek. She found a small cave and lived out of there for a few years, occasionally traveling to town to sell her hunting results, or art pieces she had made by gluing stones into collages. She mostly saved the money she made during this time, hoping to have the money someday to pay off her mother’s debt 

Year 112 (25 years old) - The large spring storm blew down a tree while she was out in the forest, and landed on her leg, breaking it. Unfortunately for her, she was far enough from civilization that returning wasn’t an option.

Year 113 (26 years old) - Having spent years out in the wilds, dealing with her frustration, she encounters a couple of injured hunters who teach her more about the worship of Perities, something her mother had told her of, and that she knew her father had followed. The hunters stay with her for a few weeks until they are well enough to travel home. When she sees the falling star, and hears about those who have gone to fight the void, she determines to seek them out and learn more about those involved.

Race: Dwelf

Age: 30

Gender: female 

Character Description:Shiloh stands at three feet four inches, a head of long, curly red hair tied in three braids to keep off the ground, her eyes are green and she has  a bit of a twinkle in her eye, like she knows a joke you do not. Typically she wears a white chemise under a greyish brown vest, a red skirt split in the front, brown boots and in her hair a felt sunflower flower crown. Be cautious though, attempting to grab her hair without looking carefully might get your hand pricked, since you never know when a fight will occur, she also wears spiked straps in all three braids to keep people from yanking on them. 

(At least one to two paragraphs describing your character’s physical appearance, including height, eye color, and skin tone.)

Character Occupation: She is looking to join the guard, wants to own her own smithy and wants to become a champion of Uldir

(For us to understand your characters starting skill set, your character still will need to contact the Kingdom to purchase any property)

Character Personality/Traits: She is the mischievous sort and loves to flirt with people, the bigger they are the better. She does have romantic commitment issues and will do her best to avoid them. She is a bit of a hothead who will get into fights to defend her friends but does not fight just to get into fights, she has to have a reason, because if there is no good reason, then you're just a bully and she hates bullies.

She will drum her fingers on herself, tables, and even others if she knows them well enough to get away with it when she is thinking. And she enjoys crochet and knitting, likes to make special metal wires when she has the materials to knit or crochet with. She can often be seen with her knitting needles or crochet hooks making little things for people she cares about, her favourite things to make are dragons, flowers and clothes, she finds the process of counting and moving her fingers relaxing.  She also will sing under her breath when doing things and she is in the zone, be it swinging a sword or doing dishes, she is very vocal.

(At least one to two paragraphs describing their personality traits and/or quirks.)

Character Biography:

Shiloh's story begins with the plague of 81, where her mother and father first meet, her mother, a dwelf hunter of Perities who was in quarantine with a handful of others  and her father, a healer who worshipped Aderoth who was attempting to keep them all safe and alive. As the sickness gets worse they fall in love, vowing to do whatever it takes to stay safe and to be together no matter the cost, she finds out that his mother is also in the city, an elf who ran away when she found out she was pregnant, and had kept in contact with her dwarf lover. He finds out that she was raised by a human couple who could not have children and were hunters of Perities themselves.

Eventually, in year 83, after much trial and error they managed to get married, their parents were able to attend and the elf and the dwarf couple go into hiding in Barkamstead with the human couple, where they opened a store together with a forge, selling the hides, meat, knitted and crocheted blankets and winter gear and forged weapons of excellent quality, the dwarf and elf hiding their heritage as best as they could as to not raise suspicion. The dwelf couple establish their own lives in Barkamstead, the father working to heal other and advocate for the better treatment of those who were less fortunate in life, the mother going picking up her bow and hunting again, in blissful matrimony.

In 86 Shiloh was born, and she lived a relatively normal life for the first 8 years till the year 94, when the snows came. Her family struggled to stay safe and warm, being proud of not needing much help from her family, her mother risked her life to make sure they had food and went out frequently to hunt, but scarce hunting ment dangerous wilderness, the predators, animals and people, were starving and a small one with less strength was easy pickings.... Her remains were found by another hunting party, ravaged by wildlife and only identified by the size and the weapons, all of them marked with the forge’s symbol.

Loss of her mother left her father scrambling, unable to focus on raising Shiloh; he sends her to her grandparents, where they begin to teach her their trade, as well as dwarvish and elvish, she falls in love with smithing seeing how love manages to break someone so thoroughly she is cautious of it, she also begins to learn how to knit and crochet. While learning to forge one day she asked her grandfather if they could make string out of some scrap material, intrigued it took a few tries over the course of weeks and by the end of two months she had herself a light string she could manipulate with her needles and hooks, the first project she made was little hearts she made for her grandparents for teaching her their trades and helping to raise her.

As she grows up, she manages to make friends and in her late teens she meets a human boy who she falls hopelessly in love with and begins dating. It was a cruel prank though, for the boy did it just to break her heart, and she swears off dating and love. She finds out her supposed friends were all in on it and were bullying some other kids to boot, she manages to fight them off and also swears to fight bullies wherever she may find them. As the years grew on, she became restless, seeking out fights more often, coming to blows with those who would harm others.

As the years passed, in her early twenties, her human grandparents passed away from old age. Soon after, her dwarvish grandpa got sick from constantly working the forge and overexposure to dangerous chemicals, eventually passing away. Soon after, with no one else to help her keep up her disguise and Shiloh scrambling to keep them afloat, her grandmother was found out and forced to return home, and the next thing she knew? Her father turned away from healing for the city, leaving her to join the Cult, anger at the city for allowing his beloved to twist his heart to hate....and that was her last straw.

She needed to grow stronger, faster, harder, so she buckled down, donning her grandfather's apron and gloves, she got to work, smithing herself a sword and she now seeks training and after careful consideration, she seeks to become a champion of Uldir, seeing it as a way to not only honor the grandfather and grandmother who taught her their trades, but as a way to find the strength to show everyone that doubted her that being small does not mean that one cannot be mighty. Her first test of her strength and will came when she was out, going to seek her fate, she was in Falkvard, seeing what there was to see, when she saw something flit from shadow to shadow, and she gave chase, when she stopped to look for the movement again, she saw a cat, shadow within a shadow, and it watched her, trying to lure her closer, the colours of the world dimmed around her, the shadows grew longer, and she felt like she was almost sucked in...but before she could do anything, it dissipated, chased off by a crowd of people approaching.

She decided to stay for awhile, taking the shadow figure as a sign that something was going to happen, and it did! She was not there to see the portraits being fixed, but when the mystics came home with the news of the void and what had happened she could not just stand aside and do nothing, and thus, her first trial came, defend the world from the void invaders. She borrowed armour of dark material and a short sword of the same material and practiced for weeks, and when the time came, she moved out with the rest of the people, going with a group of guards who had space and she did her best, managing to help kill a few void creatures and survived with minor injuries, using her height to her advantage to avoid most attacks and to hit in hard to reach spots. However, she felt like she could have done more and is more determined than ever to prove herself.

Other/Extra:
Voice claim: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgC-rNaBh7Y

(Images, notes, etc.)

(Optional, this form must be filled out if you want your character to have magic at all.

Magic Biography:

Her grandmother on her dads side has strong magical abilities, but had left her trinkets behind when she fled to protect her son from prosecution. Her grandfather on her mothers side also possessed magic, but since her mother had been given up for adoption there is no knowing of who he is or where he even could be. And for quite a few years of her life she did not know if she had magic.

She discovered her abilities one day in her late twenties, she had watched as a tall elf woman had stood over a group of smaller beings, threatening them with her fire magic. Enraged, she had leapt at her and started attempting to fight her off, getting burned a few times until she noticed the magic coming from her brooch.

She snatched the pendant from her body, and with the strength of her fighting spirit, she managed to summon a small flame and caught the hem of her cloak on fire. While the elf was distracted with attempting to put out the immediate danger to her fancy cloak, she pitched the brooch away from them into a small nearby pond. While the lady screamed and tried to fight off a murder of crows who lived near said pond who had taken a shine to the golden object, she led the misfits away to safety and managed to evade capture. Fortunately for her, the Elven woman was not much liked and the effort to get her was half assed at best, and eventually it was ruled as just not worth it to chase her down.

She has yet to discover her ability with earth magic.

(At least three paragraphs about your character’s relationship to magic, and how they may discover their potential.)

Please describe the magic system, including its limitations in your own words:

The magic system of saphriel is mostly freeform with minimal limitations. Each character with magic needs a trinket to cast. Casting is like working a muscle, you have to keep working with it to get better and to do more with what you have. Each level from weak to divine takes time and patience to make it do more. The more you work with an aspect, the better you can use it, for the magic is only limited by your ability to imagine and it can do many things.

The flip side is that you must be careful, for if you are not you might end up harming your character and causing fatigue and pushing past it will be overcasting, something you should only do if it is a last resort.  The pool of magical stamina is shared between each aspect, and you must be careful with dual casting to ensure you don’t overdo. Ignoring your magic and being separated from your trinket for a long time can also lead to decay of your abilities, meaning you’ll be weaker and able to do less, as if your inner muscles were atrophying. How good a character can get at an aspect is entirely dependant on how much they train and work their magic to get better, full mastery of an aspect could take a long time, but the amount of things one can achieve is only limited by your imagination. (And staff oversight.)

 

(Two Paragraphs, please mention how one would cast, the limitations to casting and specific races, and the consequences of overuse)

Please describe how you would use a weak trinket with your characters first/only aspect: Shiloh would use the ability to flicker the flames of a nearby torch to fool the eyes of someone seeking her out by making them think she moved in a different direction from where she was hiding. (Try to be creative, while acknowledging its limitations and utility uses)

-Please note that some aspects are set when a character is born, while others are up to practice. The number of aspects you have is limited by your character’s race, but they may have less than the max should you so choose, but they will not be able to regain that lost aspect naturally-

Character Name: Avyanna (Avvie) Turner

Race: Half-Elf

Age: 33

Gender: Female

Character Description: Avvie has naturally purple hair, but barring a long streak that makes up her fringe she dyes it regularly into a very muted, purplish-black that is swept back. With sharp, purple eyes, a slightly rounder jawline, an upturned nose and a fine frame, she's very short for a Half-Elf, standing at 5'7 (170cm), making her much closer to a Human in height. Her skin is fair and she likes using makeup at times, but usually doesn't bother. She's also shortsighted, but has no idea of that fact, often squinting when having to look over longer distances.

Character Occupation: She wants to be a writer, an artist, and a doctor!

Character Personality/Traits: Extremely outgoing and friendly, sometimes a little too much and improperly. She loves seeing people smile and laugh, and she can be a little clumsy about it at times. She's really into theatrics and loves a good performance.

Character Biography:

A mistake was made.

Not the sort of mistake that ends worlds, though it was certainly enough to end someone's world. An accident, or the whims of capricious gods, it was impossible to say.

Avyanna doesn't remember being that mistake. She neither remembers her biological parents, nor her early years in the orphanage. She assumes that she was discarded and unwanted, as that was the fate of many Half-Elves, though with her birth coinciding with the Ca'Liar invasion of Barkamsted where she was found it was impossible to say. Not that it bothers her too much; though the orphanage wasn't an ideal place to grow up in, it was the only place she knew until she was 11, through the years watching her many siblings come and go. At 11 she was adopted by the Turners; a shoemaker by the name of Patter and a laundrymaid Sally, a pair of humans who couldn't conceive their own child. Though they weren't the wealthiest, they still gave their Avvie all that she wanted. She received an education, learning to not just read and write but to truly love it. In turn she's doting and caring towards them, wanting to help them move out of their hovel once she has landed on her two feet.

Things got even harder for her family during the Blight. With crops dying, people were forced to slaughter a lot of their livestock. This, in turn, lowered the prices on leather initially, before raising them substantially. Her adoptive father first had to compete with lower rates, and then again with higher ones, and this nearly destroyed his business as it struggled to source the materials. They pulled through the crisis, in part thanks to Avvie helping out her mum as a laundrette for that time, though it delayed and slowed down her studies further.

The attack of the Sons of Itiris changed things drastically for her. At 15 she watched Falkvard burn, and her heart hardened. Something of innocence was lost, and with that she resolved to helping people. For a time she helped out scribes, but she failed to become a scribe proper herself due to the strict requirements. She continued to apprentice for them for a while afterwards, the money wasn't bad, but she was no longer interested in that pursuit. Instead she pivoted; Avyanna loved helping people, and wanted to learn how to do that.

The Long Winter was actually a slight respite for the family. Due to the frosts, more people needed clothing and good boots, and so her father could earn a little bit more money. Though that, once again, eventually led to higher leather prices the family was this time much better prepared for the knock-on effects of that, having saved up some money in the meantime, especially with Avyanna's work as an apprentice scribe.

The opening up of the university presented an opportunity that she was initially ecstatic about, but she couldn't justify moving away from her parents for so long, especially as they were in their 60s and required more care. She wishes that she could go, but at present it doesn't seem feasible, especially with the steep rates.

Other/Extra:

Picture attached

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Magic Biography: Avvie has no idea that she has any magical potential. She's never interacted with magic, nor did she have any special interest in doing so. Even if she touched any magical artifacts in the past, she wouldn't have noticed anything amiss with them.

Please describe the magic system, including its limitations in your own words:

The magic system is broken down into 11 aspects, separated into three categories: Soul Magic, Outlier Magic, and Elemental Magic. The last is the simplest to understand, as it's all the Avatar elements plus ice and lightning, and each works essentially as you'd expect from that, though with creativity they can also do a lot more. Soul Magic is broken up into Dark and Holy, with Holy being the magic of Aderoth, of healing, protective barriers, and dispelling darkness, and Dark being the magic of Behmos, of dark tendrils, dark gates, and dark shields.

Each character is limited to a specific number of aspects, based on their species. In the case of Avvie, a Half-Elf, that'd be three aspects. Notably, you can still cast up to Medium in any magic except the opposite of the soul magic you are aspected in (if you have a soul magic aspect). Having aspects alone, however, isn't enough. You also need trinkets to channel the magic through, and all trinkets have a specific magical level that they can (generally) cast up to. A Powerful Fire trinket can only cast up to Powerful level Fire magic. Even if you have a trinket of a specific level, you may not be able to cast with it regardless, as you still need to spend months training up magical level. This process is slightly sped up by the presence of another mage who is already aspected. The strength of trinkets starts at Weak, then goes Feeble, Moderate, Medium, Strong, Powerful, Wondrous, and Divine.

Finally, you are given a set amount of spells based on your level of magic. You always get 5 spell slots for your highest level of magic, ten for your next level down, and 20 for the level below that one, which means that as you get higher in levels you can cast more spells of lower levels. Once you reach a certain level, you can indefinitely cast magic at much lower levels, called cantrips. At Strong level, you can cast Weak spells, and so on.

Please describe how you would use a weak trinket with your characters first/only aspect: Avvie would use her weak alteration to change the taste of regular water to taste sweeter.

IC Information

Character name: Hasha

Race: Half Orc

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Character Description: A 7ft tall half orc with dark turquoise skin. She has long, very fluffy but tangled brown hair with small trinkets (feathers, beads, etc.) and bright blue string braided into one side. She generally has her hair tied up in a large bun. She has icy blue eyes, she is also incredibly near sighted. She has small tusks which can and sometimes do protrude out when she’s comfortable but she has spent a while practicing hiding them. She has a septum piercing made out of bone and a dangling earring on her right ear with a small fang on it. She has a ratty shawl that might have been a cloak at one point pinned to her shirt with simple bone pins with purple painted flowers on the end. She wears a ratty sleeveless tunic, some trousers that are covered in patches  and soft heavily worn leather boots. She has several scars across her arms and one across her face. And she has a purple scarf made out of a baby blanket of hers. She also has several scars littering her body. The bigger ones on her arms and torso are from ‘being trained’ to fight. The smaller ones on her hands are from defending herself in bar fight style fights or bullying. The one above her eye is from being hit with a glass bottle. The knife and burn scars on her thighs are self inflicted. The small ones on her back are from punishments.

Character Occupation: She was once a guard for a merchant but is currently unemployed. She has good enough fighting/defending skills. She loves to make trinkets out of bits of wood and/or bone and paint or draw flowers.

Character Personality/Traits: She is incredibly shy, she barely speaks full sentences in common out of nerves. She is however an attentive listener. She will pretend to be confident and keep up a strong appearance in front of people. She likes to hum to herself while painting or drawing. She doesn't like talking about her own experiences or feelings due to anxiety. She also is quite scared of men. She also walks slowly as to not bump into things and has had to learn to rely on other things like hearing and touch more than sight. That being said she flinches when being touched without warning.

Character Biography:
Pre-Hasha: Her mom was an orc who came to the kingdom in search of peace and more of a calm life. Spent her time bartending where she could trying to make money where she could. She worked as hard as she could to make herself a good life. It just went wrong when she stayed late one night at work to clean up after a brawl that had broken out. One of the men in the fight was a constant source of annoyance towards her. A retired mercenary who would go on and on every time he was in there about how horrible orcs are and how they were violent and killed anyone for no reason. She was followed home by that man, he was absolutely wasted, and hit her over the head with a bottle when she cut through an alley on her way home, knocking her out and then taking advantage. She was too tired to realize she was being followed until it was too late. She still worked her hardest to take care of herself once she started to feel worse. When she realized she was pregnant, she didn't stop her efforts to keep working and to try and give the child the best shot she could for their life. One of her only gifts to the child was a purple striped blanket made of yarn.

Childhood: When Hasha was born her mother decided she was going to help her child the best she could until the child could walk and talk well enough, teaching her both orcish and the bit of common she knew. She didn't want to think about what happened to her but wasn't going to leave the child to die. Then she left Hasha in a town at an orphanage and never turned back. Hasha has been quiet and ‘shy’ since she was a child. When she was about 5 she was picked up by a human travelling merchant because she was spotted as someone who would be strong and a useful tool even as a small kid. She was trained to help move cargo around and fight to protect him despite her young age. She wasn’t treated that great because of a) racism and also being a living being and b) needing food to survive and not just a tool who could work. Many of the people the merchant would work with or sell things to would also not be that great. When the year long winter hit she was even more restless than 6 year olds usually are, they were forced to stay in one place and she didn’t like it. In the town/village they were staying in was where she became embarrassed of speaking. She was made fun of for having a slight stutter and sometimes struggling with words in common. She also got into ‘fights’, trying to protect herself and get people to leave her alone (she was not successful in getting away without injury or bruises at the least). 

Late Teens: When she was around 18 the merchant decided she could ‘help him’ through the loss of his wife because she was unfortunately very gullible. The wife didn't die, she just left him due to many circumstances but two of them being that the merchant couldn't support her and their kid enough monetarily because of the three year long winter, which was making it very hard for him to travel to sell or trade anything, nonetheless send money home, and that he was never home. Hasha unfortunately thought this was normal having been taught and ‘raised’ by this man. So she thought she wanted to help. But she felt awful. She pushed it aside constantly. Until one night when they had stopped at a tavern, she met a lovely and kind woman (who worked in a pillow palace type job, not at the pillow palace, im but bad with words) with whom she opened up to. Telling her about what little childhood memories she had, her life with the merchant, how she was trained and used as an employee/guard from a very young age, how she never felt safe around people or felt scared to talk to anyone, and how now the relationship with the merchant had changed, to a different type of use. Hasha had a little bit more than usual to drink (she never drank) and hadn't realized she had started crying. The woman had listened quietly and gently had taken her hand to comfort her, eventually telling her that the sort of treatment she had gone through wasn't good or right. And also that the change in relationship dynamic she had dealt with the merchant wasn't normal or good either. She had given the sad and crying Hasha a hug and would tell her that she would be okay, trying to tell Hasha how to stand up against her treatment. But Hasha couldn't find it in herself to stop him. She however became colder, more distant, and secretly more scared of the world. In which the merchant became harsher, and trying even more to make her instead of respecting him, afraid of him.

Now-ish: When she was around 22 she was ‘let go’ from the merchant because she became too intimidating according to him. She was too tall and always looked at him with “a murderous look” according to the pitiful short fuckass man. She spent time travelling and trying to be hired again. Struggling to find work or only getting a job for a few weeks. She also struggled with her mental health and took it out on herself. She finally landed in Falkvard when she was about 24 almost 25, trying to find work and making small trinkets and decorative bits and bobs to sell. When the cult attack happened she did some fighting to try and help but she got some injuries but nothing too bad, at least she has some cool scars now. She has also found some safety in occasionally going to the pillow palace not for activities but just to talk and because she finds the environment safe and comforting. Gerran being basically the only man she isn’t afraid of (anymore). Now she’s back to trying to make little art pieces and make ends meet. 

Other/Extra (Images, notes, etc.): She’s always wanted to have a pet bird and hopes to maybe have a family one day. She also wants to be a guard again.

Race: Ash-Elf

Age: 150

Gender: Male

Character Description: A disheveled appearance, thin and long in for, he was a robed figure wearing stained clothes. Rags of ruined colors and torn bags covering an ashen form with various straps assisting. His face was long, with silvered hair that snagged and draped around about his shoulders like a rat nest poncho. Beneath the hood were eyes of golden brilliance, resting over a perfect smile.

Character Occupation: Artist, painter, a crafter of scavenged things new and old they could make a lot with very little. A reader of tarot.

Character Personality/Traits: They are an erratic sort, timid and quiet at times while manic and grieving at others. They by no means have a steady heart but do hope for love. A romantic for life, they are disillusioned from belief and yearn to find something greater beyond themself. A being of contradictions, they do enjoy dramatic presentation and can have some fun with various interactions.

They hold onto courage of the self, despite the pain of a cruel or difficult situation they become determined even to their own detriment or emotional outburst. All of it for their muse, their inspiration beyond reason.

Beyond this they find comfort in small enclosed spaces and dislike any and all physical touch or intimacy. 

Character Biography:

Long ago, before the pact war, there was a bold elven lord who was still a young adult and inexperienced. He sought glory for his house and life, and found enjoyment in the hunt of great foes amidst that. During this he hunted with a dark elven woman, who taught him ways of conflict, survival, and more. Companions of passion and glory, their meetings would become more risque and secret, they would bridge a gap that was taboo amongst their peoples and find intimate comfort amongst each other.

While extremely rare a child would be formed and their bonds between one another would be broken even before fully developing. The elven Lord would not forsake his house with further inaction to such interactions and news, he and the dark elven woman and left her with the burden of its potential. She herself conflicted with keeping the child, and the hurt of being left alone by the lord, would carry on mostly as she did until it was born. If it was a dark elf, as expected to be the most likely outcome, then she would raise it in spite of the lord and if it was not then she would cast it out amongst the humans and other races. There was no desire to hold onto something beyond that, so she detached herself from the situation and held strong.

When the unfortunate truth of the situation became true she set out with what was planned and abandoned the child outside Manadh Caladh, amongst the humans who prattled and bickered for one reason or another. The burden no longer held, she was free to return to her life and continue her grudge against the lord as she wished.

Born with golden eyes, he was given the name Sulien as a reference to their elven ancestry in an ironic sense as if burnt to ash from the sun itself. Though amongst human folk they did not carry the same grudge or hardness towards the Ash Elven child, simply being seen as an unfortunate child more than anything he would be given to the orphanage local to an old and lost settlement which no longer existed. Here he was raised, partially, amongst many other outcasts and lost things. Abandoned, the death of a parent, or other unfortunate circumstances that brought children to such a place. But at the same time there was hope, a desire for family and more that shined with the hope of Aderoth present. The orphanage Sulien was raised at being both a church and place of worship, there was a great effort from its worshipers to instill positive upbringing and values befitting such a place where possible.

While a family in its own right, most were quite strange or foreign feelings to a young Sulien, only one priestess being a memorable and positive force that would instill well upon him. A younger human woman, with red hair and white robes befitting the sisters of this church. Sister Maria having been the one who stuck with the youngest, or troubled, and guided them towards the light while assisting in their care taking. She would read, sing, play, and connect with Sulien far more as a mother than any other one he’d ever know from then on. Their duties were beyond that though, and the sister by no means was a leading authority within this house of worship. It was through creation that they shared some of the fondest early memories, works of clay and painted depictions of nature that he loved to share. Sulien would be 15 when a new family would claim him, the uncertainty and fear of a new life coming so soon being an overwhelming sensation for one young. Despite truly wishing to stay, he could only wish to hope that there was truth in the words others spoke in regards to a true family. 

A family amidst a human caravan would take him in, a family of half-elves by the name of McDougal. They were a mix of dark and blonde haired people who had some trade skills in carpentry and animal handling. They were in the process of settling somewhere new, and the couple that wished for him were struggling for their own child and took pity upon him being an ash elf. These times being harsh towards both ash-elves and half-elves they believed a sense of kinsman-ship may be present amongst them. It was something that Sulien did not fully understand just yet, having not been around any elves or similar, they at most were teased for looking different while being told to avoid public markets or places that dark elves may wander towards for trade. 

The travel would enlighten this as they moved towards Angel Creek and encountered new strangers along the way, the looks and glares building a sense of fear while the McDougals encouraged a ‘seen but not heard’ mindset between all of them. They could not prevent the hate that sought them out, and had work of their own to continue towards so would simply be non-confrontational where possible and hope to not provoke cruel actions. His adoptive parents having him assist and work with simple labor efforts that he barely could do, it was hard but not a bad life it seemed. Even if Sulien himself felt deeply disconnected with his mother and father, a part of him blaming them for taking him away from a place he felt more comfortable at, there was love between them. As strange as it was, and with conflict between them all, they would connect and fine care between one another. Sulien would see them as mother and father as time grew distant from earlier life and ten years would pass.

At the age of twenty five he had found his own passions with art, something which was seen more as a hobby than something respected amongst his family but he found great enjoyment with it. It reminded him of long ago, figures of brilliance and nature being brought to wood board and canvas. It was a curious thing for the McDougal’s, they did not know how to deal with such desires or interest and did not have the resources and currency to truly put forward teaching or efforts. But so long as Sulien did his duty, his work and chores, he was free to pursue it through his own means. Taking advantage of his situation he had two desires while saving bits of coin here and there… First he desired teaching regarding art, and second he wished to head back to the church he was from. To him it was his place of origin, a place where he felt there was a true connection, where his true mother resided. The thought of Sister Maria still being present to this day.

It wasn’t an unrealistic goal either, the travel being far more capable to approach than the lessons he would focus on the more expensive thing given how it felt more tangible. That and there was a desire of getting to paint with Sister again and show just how much he’s improved in such a short time. So, with some coins saved from work with his family, he’d find a number of brief tutors to detail the more pragmatic and technical aspects of art. Ironically it was something that felt rigid, and painful to experience… As if being rejected by passion itself, there was a considerable gap in knowledge and struggle with staying in line with the expectations of art at the time. So rigid, lifeless, it was nothing like the feeling’s enjoyed when painting something natural. It felt like math, calculated and cold in some strange way. The efforts were not given up either way, he had ambition to do well and would seek it out despite the difficulties. He simply needed more time... 

Five more years passed, he was now thirty and considered a fully grown man. Along the outskirts, Angel Creek being the closest, with the McDougals he would have learned to become more proficient in his art. It was something which he had a tinge of pride and fear for, pride for the efforts struggled and fear for the thought of failure. The thought of dismay that could be felt on presentation done poorly, it took far more than learned skills to paint and draw well after all and the self was one of the greatest critics. That and, while his adoptive parents supported the ventures by allowing him to work with them they showed little interest beyond that. Painting was more of a thing for ‘privileged’ or something to ‘pass the time’ and they’d talk about it with dismissive tones. It was not that they did not care, to them Sulien was their child after all, they simply were far too pragmatic and saw little value in the arts. It was simply something to grow the rift between them, to convince him that he wasn’t their family and had to return to where he came from to find what was better. Distant memories that were sweetly blurred.

He’d take his leave from the McDougals to head out for a bit… The working season was slow, it was a prime time to do so and it’s not like he wouldn’t be back. The McDougal’s would need him around the house more soon as they were soon to have a child together through natural means. Despite so much issue between the two it seems they finally hit a string of luck. Or well… So they thought, Sulien couldn’t help but feel he was being replaced. No matter that feeling he did enjoy the thought of a younger sibling, someone bright eyed that he could share his passions with. So he set out the year after turning thirty and would head towards the edge of Manad Calad where that church he was from was originally present, a somewhat daunting sensation to travel alone but ultimately not that far in the grand scheme and his mother did make sure he had simple rations and equipment to care for himself in the effort. The father even suggested coming with but it wasn’t something that Sulien desired, he felt firm that he had to do it himself. He never wanted to admit the rift between them that he felt, and held it close within.

While the distance was not great the travel was surprisingly rough. On the second day out he was attacked by a dark elven brigand who beat him senseless, the ash elf only barely getting away with his life as he lost portions of coin and rations. It was one of the first few times he tasted life, the blood in his mouth that reminded of iron. The ash elf continued with more care after a period of mending his injuries, he had been incredibly lucky and a part of him wondered if they simply didn’t realize he was an ash elf though that wasn’t something he’d have cared to confirm. His parents ensured he knew of the dangers, how to pass himself as a human with proper coverings and careful speech so that he’d not be immediately outed. He would move more carefully on the road from there on out, and avoid contact with others as much as possible. He held regret being alone.

After such a bumpy road he would reach the small village that housed a familiar church, it was a splendid thing that pulsed with nostalgic purpose… The light of Aderoth felt strong within his heart, the thought of reunion becoming great within him he’d move to the space to try and find familiar faces. It was a public space, the humans of the village were often around it and when he arrived it was during a weekly service of some form being held by an old priest. The ash elf avoided causing disturbance, socialization was a bit difficult at times in truth as he mostly only ever spoke with his adoptive parents. Even amongst his art teacher he couldn’t help but be a tad shy… This crowd didn’t help so he simply stood in the distant back to watch and listen, taking advantage of an offering of food for the poor. He did lose supplies after all.

It was all so unfamiliar, yet familiar all the same. A pained experience as he began to feel disconnected and distant from it all, and Sister Maria was nowhere to be seen. What’s worse were the eyes, the mistrusting gazes from the strangers abound him that were even present during this act of service. The only saving grace being the fact that most were focused upon the priestly figure and ultimately that he was simply no one. Eventually it all ended and he found a corner to hide within, his head held low as he blended in amongst what one would expect for a homeless man. At least he was not accosted.

He spent the next few days lingering around… Looking, searching, and vaguely attempting conversation before squirreling away. It was not until a younger human priest approached him to speak directly did he have a chance to speak properly. He didn’t catch his name, but this man gave word of Sister Maria’s whereabouts and that she wasn’t mobile. Heartbreaking news, he heard that she was ill somehow and asked to meet her. It wasn’t something that could be done immediately, they did not know him after all so there was little trust, but with kept records confirming his story as being a past orphan he’d eventually be given access.

The room smelled rotten and sick, a putrid scent that burned into his nostrils. Upon the bed was a haggard woman of considerable age, seeming to be slowly withering away. Sulien couldn’t recognize her, her body was broken and falling apart and his memory from so long ago simply didn’t match. It was only after stepping close and examining her closely where they saw an ornamental piece of religious jewelry around her neck where his doubt was swayed. The sight of it seemingly reminding of her visage and voice, it brought him to tears within moments. And at his sound, his clamoring, she looked at him with milky eyes and grasped his hand. She spoke as if familiar, with kindness to the grieving, that death was not the end. Her voice course and pain, like breath, could barely be reached, as she spoke prayer to him. It felt like a lie, like he was tricked, he had considered her age but his memory recalled her being young and sprightly. The memory of a child offering such a rose tinted view, it made him feel disconnected with reality. Even more so when she couldn’t remember his name, his memory simply faded from her history.

By staying for the next few days he’d see her off, she was already so close to the end as is and some commented that maybe she had been waiting for him in spirit. Of course that was absurd, he was simply lucky, lucky to see the first motherly figure he could remember become something more distant and painful. Her sickly wailing burned within his mind as he attempted to offer aid in her care, as well as around the church itself. Those words were simply attempts to aid in his grieving, grieving for a woman he barely really knew. Conversations attempted before he learned that she simply was not aware of her time, her surroundings, and that her memory had been failing for some time. It felt cruel to let her fade like this, and he regretted coming here. He didn’t even get to paint with her one last time.

With a heavy heart he sought to return home, and would prepare on how he would explain it to his family. His adoptive family, though who he had thought were so distant to him. He couldn’t help but yearn to return after such an experience, the comfort of home aching within him as he remembered them fondly. It had only been a bit over a week, but it felt like a lifetime. Unfortunately his return would not make things better, as he’d find the banner of an elven house staked in front of the burned remains of his adopted home. House Arrynlocke’s flag desecrating the ground in front of the ashen home, a brilliant gold amongst sundered land. From what could be examined it seemed having not been within Angel Creek itself allowed them to have been an easy target as no one came to their defense, it’s even possible that someone from town sold them off for some easy money though there was no way to confirm such thoughts. Sulien was not one of revenge, he was simply heartbroken.

The ash elf wept and cried for the lives lost, the needless slaughter and hunting of his family causing him to reach a limit unexpected. He found their charred bodies, he took their ash, and he buried his mother and father in nameless graves. There were no prospects to be found here, no sibling to come that he could find joy in helping raise, and no paintings to be made as passionate displays of love and interest. It all felt so desolate, and he felt alone. The effort to bury them took the rest of that day, and once the next day came he scavenged for anything useful within the burnt wreckage. Little was found but partially ruined clothes, bags, and pottery that could be half used for storage and travel utilities. He didn’t know what to do, where to go, or what he even wanted out of life anymore so he simply went somewhere distant.

From there he roamed and time became hard to track… The ash of his family kept with him as he lived as an outcast, and years would pass. He had to stay hidden, be careful, and avoid most folk where possible. The only others he spoke with beyond begging or trade being other homeless folk, other distant outcasts similar to himself. Within small towns that meant very few, though larger settlements sometimes had folk on the outskirts that could be reasoned with very briefly. Ultimately he found little joy in life, but felt a drive to continue on. The ash of his family kept as a reminder of how fragile, painful, and beautiful life can be.

Years continued to blur on, a number of close calls, fights, and painful encounters keeping him on his toes as he gained a hardened view. Murmurs, rumors, and talk of war began to spill about the lands as many places were under attack across the lands. After the fall of Falkvard, the Capitol that they visited only a couple times before the conflict truly heightened, he’d seek to leave civilized space. Him and several outcasts that knew one another simply as a means of survival banded to head somewhere distant and away from the conflict, a conflict he did not want to see come to him as he knew the lesser would die first. No one cared for them to do any more after all, or at least most did not.

He went to the swamp, past it, and about a peninsula that was mostly abandoned and forgotten by the world. The swamp itself was hell but the forests past it weren’t too bad… A small homeless encampment started here, some others even having similar ideas as well. And the war would ravage on, as people went and came while Sulien simply found a corner to huddle. He carved, scavenged, and helped where he could with little heart found in the efforts beyond simply living. So many years wasted in despair while more people began to show up within the space. A lord Barkam starting their own settlement here, it was a surprise to see given how out of the way the space was. Though less surprising as the war raged on, and with a proper settlement came news of the outside world.

It was almost poetic how the people of the garden cried out as city after city was lost, a cruel thought that Sulien would not spare a second glance. He did not wish to kill, to harm, but to simply live. Something which he wasn’t sure what that meant anymore, and if the war would have ended soon maybe he could have eventually found it but things only seemed to get worse. Elves, Dwarves, the people of all races beyond those of the pact began to crowd in Barkamsted and Sulien found himself in the lower depth of its gut among others. Such a horribly crowded space, a space of filth and forgotten people that starved and ached to live. It was a pristine emotion, something that felt almost inspiring to him… While he had come down here to avoid the cruel gaze of those up top he never thought he’d find such a direct representation of life itself. The struggle to live was inspiring, it gave him pause.

The Gut was a ghetto within the poorly designed sewers of Barkamsted, a lawless space of those rejected by society where one had to present strength above all else to survive. For most it was not ideal, but for Sulien it was a chance to survive beneath the crowds above as the hatred given above would have been likely far more dangerous or worse. He had to band with others and fight amongst gangs to even have a chance to survive, the ash elf not much of a great warrior still knew how to use a blade and was at the very least light footed. Sulien would act as the ‘thief’ of a small gang here that comprised of those he had known from before the mucky city would form, in a way having been a group before that beyond the few odd ones that came through briefly or may have died. 

The group lacked a specific leading figure, but held several key members that made the larger decisions and kept cohesion together. There was Dirk, Cat Man, Milana, Fluke, and Sulien… Though at times he was called Pluck instead, a nickname name of camaraderie that was given in jest. Something he earned after being stabbed, falling over, and then proceeding to have gotten back up and retaliate despite the injury. Dirk himself referring to Sulien as a ‘plucky fuck’ towards the effort, and while the nickname didn’t wholly stick Sulien took it as their second name. A title from a newfound family… One that he wasn’t sure would last but at least could count on.

Dirk was an older dwarf, he left Thonduhm before the war and didn’t like talking about his time there. Most though he was just some criminal in hiding though he never had much reason to hide his crimes to those he trusted, and it could be told that there was something personal regarding it. He was a shaper of some kind, good with his hands above all else, but didn’t enjoy the work. Not that he wasn’t skilled, he just didn’t have passion for it and usually needed to be convinced for work regarding that which wasn’t required. Commissions could pay well, but it didn’t matter if he didn’t need what they had to offer. And he was good at not needing excess.

Cat Man was… A weird figure more than anything, he was a Dwelf that had some unhinged passion regarding cats. Specifically training cats, caring for cats, housing cats, hoarding cats, and anything cat related. He wore the hides of the cats he loved, and moved around like a feral cat himself. Despite his oddity he was incredibly sticky fingered, and good at hiding in plain sight. Some believed he had a network of tunnels that he made for himself and his cats that only he knew about but that was never confirmed, especially as he liked his secrets. As a Dwelf Dirk and him often butted heads but it never became too hostile thankfully, and at times seemed closer to one another then expected given the hatred between their respective races.

Milana was a half Elven woman with a painful scar across her face that left one eye partially blinded, a surprisingly butch woman that had a fierce hatred for any form of Elven nobility. She didn’t care for men much either but was less harsh at the very least… Incredibly standoffish at first, she joined their group through Sulien before any as the two related some regarding how their people have been treated or hunted. A considerable bit of heart beneath the rougher exterior, she cared deeply for each member of the group and was seen a bit of a ‘battle mom’ in some way, especially when she would fight with blinded rage that an orc might have been proud of.

Fluke was a mistake in almost every way. A meager human, almost sickly at times, he was often in a state of panic and couldn’t really hold his own in a fight at all. In fact during a lot of physical bouts he was a partial liability given how he could panic… But his value was elsewhere given how Fluke was a pretty decent medical man, having had some kind of official learning in the past before coming to the Gut. He ran from his home and responsibilities as the war raged, often speaking of the pyres of flesh that burned around Tenifae as the city fell, and couldn’t bear the thought of battle anymore. He just wanted peace more than anything, and to a degree found it here within the Gut. He had a profound kindness within him.

The group of five strangers grew to support and cover each other where possible, even having their own hideout amongst the ruined town and off shooting caves that allowed for a comfort resembling home of some kind. They didn’t always get along too well, and sometimes they worked amongst others where needed, but they always came through as well as could be done. Dirk and Milana acting as their main brawn, Cat Man and Sulien work on more stealing or infiltrating, while Fluke would patch up wounds and manage their health. And it did become more than something that was simply pragmatic, there was a genuine sense of care between them.

Sulien hadn’t ever really considered or thought to remember what intimacy between another could be like, let alone the connection between a family. For him it had felt so long to ever have something like a family that it was scary to think of losing another, that it was easier to consider that these joys and comforts were temporary more than anything. Despite that desire to stay shielded from pain that felt inevitable he still opened up to them and shared passions that had once been forgotten. His passion to paint being reignited some as the Ash-Elf shared their interest with them. He painted Cat Man’s cats, Dirk’s imposing silhouette, Milana’s scars, and Fluke’s smile as he slowly form impressions of their personality onto canvas. They were immortalized before him with his brush, and it brought him emotions that let him cry without grief. A powerful feeling, the imagery never exact to their form as it was more so an impression of their person.

But still the war raged on, the world outside being squeezed more and more as time went… And the people of Barkamsted became more desperate, the city and Gut both on the edge of falling apart. Not all of it was understood but many heard about the largest changes, or the potential attacks that might have came forward in some way or form. From the Reclamation of Falkvard to the brimming Demon Wars that saw the Pact come to work with the Alliance against demonic forces as conflict came forward to the Gut itself. A werewolf by the name of Saga, some agent of the Rogue’s Guild, came to the Gut to remove it and its people as she would see to burning it all down.

The Gut was a city of trash held together with wood all throughout it with the pleasant aroma of a sewer… It was a tinderbox that burned quickly and killed many in the process. What’s more was that there was little option to escape as Rogue’s Guild assailants cut off the official exits out into the city of the Barkamsted to kill those that tried to get away from the flames through the safest route. The only escape was to head deeper within to uncharted areas, deeper caverns that twisted and traveled around in strange places with stranger monsters that would love to eat the panicked resident while they moved to flee.

Fluke was the first to die, his panic got to him as the home they built together burned and he tried to save himself in the last second. Such a foolish man, it was sad to see his last mistake consume him wholly. Cat Man tried to save his cats, the fire burned him greatly in the attempt as he was pulled from the flames by Dirk during their escape. Milana saved Sulien from being trampled by a blazing crowd, she never did find love again as she was stomped to death by a hoard of scared exiles. Sulien himself was dragged off after that into the caves with Dirk and Cat Man, his will seemingly broken by the horror’s witnessed. The fire reminding him of what he saw long ago, the remnant’s of his adoptive parents having been burnt to nothing… He hadn’t been there before to witness how much they suffered in their deaths but he felt he could hear their screams echo amongst the panic of those who ran from the burning of the Gut. All he could keep with him were a number of personal affects and the ash he held on him from that horrible incident long ago.

Many came to hide with them, many holding injuries that would not see them to live… Fluke would have had medicine with him, known what to do here beyond sit and seemingly wait to die. Sulien would regret not being able to guide the fool to safety, he knew how the war scarred that man but he couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t do what Milana did, he wasn’t strong enough to put himself in the way and push him to safety even if it meant his own death. The Ash-Elf could still see her pained face as the crowd swallowed her, that calm fear just before death overcame someone. Dirk meanwhile tended to Cat Man almost dutifully amidst Sulien’s state of shock. He could see it clearly now as he stepped out and away from his point of view, the dwarf loved this strange Dwelf… It was so obvious now, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was always the case or not? And Cat Man, Cat Man could barely move after being significantly burned in the process of saving many cats. Before the flames consumed them he had opened up tunnels all throughout that supposedly lead many cats to somewhere safe, and even now he had some with him that had been carried amongst a bag of supplies. Still he smiled to the dwarf as one of the cats huddled close for safety amongst the uncertainty of the space. Sulien couldn’t help but focus on it as he saw the others around him in despair, no one was happy yet here there was comfort found and clutched upon. Even if it was done in desperation it was strangely beautiful to see, all of it washing over Sulien as they waited.

Dirk would speak with Sulien, he did all that could be done for Cat Man and still held care for the Ash-Elf. He did what could be done to assure him, to hold courage, and remember his name. Sulien was a man of Pluck, he could not forget the courage and determination beneath him. He must hold onto the will to live and push forward towards the good that remained in life, especially so we could make those that did this pay where possible. The Ash-Elf couldn’t bring himself to respond well, still seemingly stunned beyond all else, but those words would not be forgotten. There was beauty in the world and it deserved to be clutched and held like the loving embrace from a mother, deserved to be cherished as inspiration for life to continue. At least that is somewhat what he thought...

It took days for things to settle, and those that rose from the ashes did not celebrate their survival. Those that survived followed behind a man named Bright and would find the will to survive and rebuild. He seemed kind, but strong, and held a will to prevent such pain from happening again. A firm belief in the strength of those here, and would not give up the independence they shared away from the world above that had forgotten them. Together the people of the Gut organized to defend against the Rogue’s Guild influence, and ensure that they could be enough of a problem to ever be directly faced. The Rogue themself were always more equipped on the matter, but they were pragmatic and had no interest in wasting resources against a more unified front even if winning was assured. It was not a personal problem for them, but simply business… So as long as business stayed profitable and the Gut didn’t become a true threat they wouldn’t care to further the tension between them. The Ash-Elf would add the ash from his home to that of his past adoptive home, to keep them all close and remember.

Sulien stuck around Dirk and Cat Man for a good time after… And relied on them more than before. While he always tried his best to stay true to Dirk’s words, to hold will, there was immense struggle within him. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the memories and thoughts of so many struggles of the past becoming one great one meant that he wasn’t as reliable as before. It’s not as though he wasn’t physically capable, or couldn’t fight, he just simply couldn’t manage stressful situations as well for whatever reason. The only saving grace being the light stability found as the Gut became more unified, it allowed him to work to offer support at the very least.

He painted for others, and gave fortunes from tarot as a means to make earnings… Art had a strange value, and while he couldn’t find the passion from before he tried to seek new inspiration beyond himself as an attempt to gain stability and motivation. It started with one of Cat Man’s cats, specifically… An injured tabby that he would paint over and over again, its personality and rugged natures being presented through strangely vague impressions of art, things that people may find confusing to look at. It was art to invoke more than display, he wanted to display emotion in its purest form and a number of people amongst the Gut would see such displays. Most were interested in Tarot Card readings more than anything.

One of the first few things to truly test the Gut’s newfound unity was when the plague hit, the effect being more immediate to those below the city than above as plagued rats, undead, and confused people stumbled in mass. It was something that Dirk wouldn’t survive in his extended age, while Cat Man would go off into hiding and isolation after the fact. Sulien himself took shelter amongst others as he aided fighting off the undead, the sight of Dirk’s undead form tearing into a fellow exile causing the grip of his blade to slip as he sought retreat. Holy water came from the city eventually, poured down and into the sewers to give aid, as the Kingdom worked to purge the plague threat. Despite their efforts it would continue to be a risk for years to come though… Curfews were brought forward, people were checked, and roaming away from the settlement became more of a risk than anything else. Many believed it’d never truly go away even years after the plague had ended.

Cat Man would say goodbye before leaving, he didn’t feel at home anymore and couldn’t bear to stay within the Gut anymore. He’d take a tunnel out of the Gut along with many cats and Sulien believed he’d likely never see him again. The Ash-Elf was alone, even amongst others in this space he felt distant again. His work became moire vague, more distant, and he spent a lot of time scavenging things to create things for himself or others. He found himself finding many valuable, and strange, things amongst the trash and actively found ways to put it to use either as some form of paint or just a physical structure of some kind. It was… Strange and ramshackle work, but something that many would learn to experience within the gut itself, and everyone had to find a use if they wanted to eat.

Time drifted, he joined with other people and fought or worked amongst them but never regained connections. At times he yearned to find a new muse, a powerful need that grounded him from the dread he felt, but otherwise it all became a blur. Life had lost a lot of meaning beyond that, and to a degree he drifted. Above ground there were always hums of conflict and activity that drifted down below, the wars, the blight, the long winter that choked the lands, advancements growing slowly, and that things didn’t always get better either. The Cult for one only ever grew stronger, and people were scared more than ever of the influence from them or the Rogue’s Guild. It had only been in recent years that the Rogue’s were seemingly handled for good, though many held doubts despite how thoroughly done it seemed to be handled.

Sulien found himself one again in need of a new muse… And the Gut no longer held him as it did before. After breaking ties with another group, saying goodbye to those that aided him or who he worked with, he’d step away to drift above bit by bit. A slow effort, he didn’t always go for long and came back several times, but he desired to see the world as it had became. The last time he’d truly been outside of the Gut being the beginning of the war itself. After hearing about the Royal Wedding he prepared to head to Falkvard in hopes to find his muse, and gain new found inspiration. To seek life as he was advised to do long ago.

Magic Biography:

Milana and Cat Man would often bring Sulien various ‘goodies’ or things as they didn’t have Bothimir’s Gift, and assumed he would. Milana especially a bit more familiar with the oddities of Ash-Elves as they had encountered others on her journey before and learned that their magic was rather strange. Though magical items were by no means hard to come by… When one was found Sulien thought it incredibly strange.

Cat Man brought a specific ring that had interested them as it held a cute little animal marking upon it, a small rat… They didn’t know if it would be valuable, but it was /always/ good to double check for something magical. Sulien finding that this device was indeed magical, and could allow one to communicate with rats of all things. Cat Man thought it funny, thought it strange, but was ultimately disappointed in such a thing… He had little interest and simply would go to pawn it off, the Dwelf grumbling about his desire to be able to talk with his cats being much better than talking with rats. Ironically years later a ‘Rat King’ would come forward as some delusion man wanting to rule the world with rats, so perhaps it was best that the ring had been ultimately sold.

For Sulien… It was a curiosity beyond anything else. He didn’t have a great passion for magic, and had even been taunted by others in the past on how limited he was with such magic too. It reminded him of who he was, at the very least.

Please explain, in your own words, the limits Ash-Elves have placed on them:

While Ash-Elves are given Bothimir’s Gift they cannot use it in the same way that other races can, and cannot cast aspected magic even with trinkets available to them. Despite this they are able to interact with magical items, and still sense magic, through general examination as it comes easier to them than others.

Please give a description of the magic system in your own words:

The magic system in Sahpriel is a system that allows someone with Bothimir’s Gift to cast and sense magic. Any casting of magic requiring the proper trinket, training of that trinket/aspect, and a following of the limits within the system or aspect of magic chosen. Each mage only having a specific amount of spells available depending on what level of caster they are in a given aspect and how many aspects they may have trained to a certain level. The level of trinket limiting the mage in their efforts to cast.

Other/Extra:

Ashen Stained Urn

This was an old clay Urn decorated with dark, faded, colors that was heavily stained with ash. Hand prints firmly marking all around it, the ash was practically caked into portions of the paint for a very strange presentation. If one took time to examine it they could take note of the markings along it, and how the colors came together in a strange manner that made it hard to follow what was wanting to be expressed.

The Urn was sealed with bands of rope and metal, the inside holding loose bits of ash and charred remains of some kind as a Urn should. 

Character Name: Stake

Race: Orc

Age: 21

Gender: Female

Character Description: Stake is above average height for someone still growing, and will likely end up a bit over six feet tall. Their skin is a demonic red color, as are their eyes, and their wings. Said wings are thickly muscled with leather-like flesh between bones. Of course their most notable feature is what may be mistaken for a mask.

It was actually an extension from their skull made of blackened bone that looked like it had been scorched. A mended crack was over their left eye. Their clothes were well suited for travel and labor, and with the visible muscle they had they were used to it.

Character Occupation: Once a performer, then a taker of odd-jobs.

Character Personality/Traits: Is angst a character trait? They often look angry, but that could just be the angular shape of their boneplate and the fact most of their facial features are largely unseen as a result. They get tense when talking about themselves, not wanting to talk about it. More likely to lash out than get personal.

They don’t want to be seen as weak, and are very standoffish as a result. Either ignored, or avoided is the hope. Gets legitimately flustered if seen as kind as well, so honestly it’s a real case of ‘what the fuck do you want from us’ situation. Classic angst.

Heart often in the right place, which is funny because they have Situs Inversus. 

Their half demon traits are:

• Leathery wings on their back, very thicc, very muscle.
• A blackened, scorched looking bone plate over most of their face.
• Their blood is black, very spooky.

Character Biography: 

It really should be of little surprise they were abandoned, though perhaps the greater surprise is that they weren’t simply killed. Maybe Stake’s mother lacked the will to dash the newborn monster against the rocks, or maybe the complicated birth meant she lacked the strength. Left to the wilds, that should have been it. Fate is a funny thing though, isn’t it? As large as the world is, a troupe of performers got lost and one of their foragers stumbled across this baby. And perhaps even more unlikely, they found pity for the hungry cries and brought the child back with them. 

Were they all happy about this? Maybe not. At the very least, this baby was another mouth to feed. At worst, she would seek to kill them all. But it’s also the simple question several people asked themselves that night, one of them lifting a rock before pausing; did they have it within themselves to murder a child? A babe? Alive through pity, spared through others lacking the will for murder. That was the undertone for Stake’s life as she was raised by these traveling performers. She ended up liking to sing, and would play the part of the silly devil in some of their acts. To ensure her safety, she was outfitted with fake horns so if anybody suspected what she was… pop! See? All just clever costuming.

Her name is an odd thing of course. One of her most ardent detractors for being brought in called them a Mistake. Miss Stake was the play on words that interjected for her destruction, confounding them for enough time for them to hesitate. In the end, Beatrice was the one who made her costume. It takes a village, and through their efforts she was afforded some modicum of normalcy. She was strong, and helpful. And despite everything, they took a liking to her. She was part of the extended family. It was of course not always great to be a traveling troupe.

The crossroads were a nightmare, which severely limited their ability to move around and perform for new people. So, new performances had to be made up. Simple, they were a creative lot! Her somewhat-adoptive-father was a man by the name of Benjamin. He had a daughter a few years younger than Stake, and the two of them were often paired together. Susie’s mother hadn’t gotten better after her birth, and steadily withered away. Because Stake was stronger and through sheer trust, she was largely assigned as her guard dog when they went out. This naturally culminated in Susie playing the Angel to her Devil.

Then the winter didn’t end. It was getting harder to find warm places to perform, or even places willing to host them. More and more people were squinting at the girl who always seemed to be in costume. They were quite happy when the weather returned to normal, allowing them to move around more. Spire’s Crossing was a good stopping point for them. Central, and with a steady flow of people. Stake quite liked the sights, but her getting older made things get more heated. She had always wondered what she was, exactly, but it made her more angry than it did before.

It wasn’t that she felt pitied. She knew they loved her, yes, but… she hated that she was pigeon-holed into the singular role in their acts. Always the monster. Sure they all got to bow at the end, but how many stories ended with people clapping over her losing? It made her start to resent her step-sister and she hated that too! But nobody wanted stories of demons winning. Demons were the bad guys. Demons were villains. Except she was a demon. So what the fuck did that make her?

Every story she was in, she either died, or was proven wrong, or needed to be redeemed. But why? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She followed all the same rules, yet she was judged all the same. She had to hide, and act, and be given wary looks. She didn’t hate being a half demon; she hated that being a half demon meant she was bad in the eyes of others.

She honestly expected that her life would change drastically because of some drunk or zealot deciding they knew what this world needed less of. Wouldn’t be the first time someone had too much beer before or after or during a show and she’d need to shove them away.  No, it wasn’t a drunk. Some hothead teenager from Spire’s Crossing wanted to prove he was cool so decided the best way to do that was to harass Susie as a pretty young lady and then draw a knife on Stake when she intervened. He thought the pretty little thing would deter her.

What it did accomplish was getting lodged in the bone above her eye, blinding her for a moment as black ichor spilled out and over it from knicking the fleshy bit nearby. It did not, in fact, stop her from breaking his jaw with a single punch. She worked for a living. He was just some merchant’s son. He was just some merchant’s son. Shit. She realized the mistake as soon as it was made. No matter what way it was put, she and Susie were the travelers from out of town, and the attack had revealed that not all her demonic features were so fake.

Maaaaybe it was theft to leave with the knife, but it was still embedded in her skull extension and nicked some of the fleshy bits around her eye. Nothing to impair her sight, but she was more worried about the inevitable heat it’d bring on everyone than letting them tend to her face. She was never going to be pretty, so she wasn’t too worried. She didn’t even know if she had a face under the plate or if it was just all skull. Benjamin spoke with the troupe master and they agreed they’d talk to the guard about it. Attacking their girls was not going to fly, damn the politics. They insisted Stake watch out for Susie while they were gone, but Stake had the feeling it was less to keep her safe and more to keep her from leaving.

She packed anyways, sorry Susie. Moment she saw guards approaching it’d be too late for her. Even if she was found innocent, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t bring danger to her family. All it’d take to cripple their income is one guy paid to axe a few wheels in the night. And if they couldn’t leave, it’d be easier to point fingers at her. At them. She told herself she wasn’t being scared, and that she had to do this. All her life she’d been typecast as the monster. As she set out for Falkvard with a promise she was just fetching water, she thought about what Benjamin’s wife had said before she died; art imitates life.

Other/Extra: 

One fancy looking but chipped dagger? The one that got stuck in her face.

Magic Biography: 

“What’s happening?!”

The day had started out normally for her. Maybe she woke up wrong and was a bit annoyed at how bright it was out. Maybe it was the memories of why she’d gotten to bed late. Ugh. Another argument she knew she’d never win. She expected a repeat of it later. She grunted as she walked by Benjamin as he tended the cooking pot. She had intended to walk by and go about her morning chores when she heard him rising to walk after her. She sighed, turning with half a scowl visible on her face. “What do you w-”

She was surprised by the hug. Her wings flexed against the arms holding her on instinct, but the words he said made her freeze. “I’m sorry for what I said. Being worried about you, it- it doesn’t excuse being angry at you. I love you.” She didn’t know what to say, and after the moment the hug broke off and she was left confused. Her step-father had gone back to tending the fire and getting breakfast going. She herself was distracted from her work splitting logs because her eyes kept blurring. Ugh, fucking tears? Really?! She was fine! She was-

The axe came down. A clean split. That felt right. Easy. Distracting. It's always worked before to help her vent her frustration, but this time it didn’t help. No matter how many logs she split, her jaw wouldn’t unclench and she wouldn’t stop feeling like screaming. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been seething until she heard Susie’s voice. Looking up, she blinked in surprise at the wispy shadow that had been wrathfully whipping about around her. And she felt… tired. More than she should have for the work she’d been doing.

Her step-father and a few others had come running over at the commotion, seeing the last of the shadows recede to normal as her little sister looked on in fear. Susie ran to her to hug her before any feelings of loathing could rise. “Are you okay? Are the shadows going to take you away? I’ll- I’ll fight them!” More blurring to her eyes as she hugged her close, axe forgotten on the grass. “Nah. Nothing’s going to take me away from you. Not for a long time.”

Please describe the magic system, including its limitations in your own words: 

A character with the gift is able to cast magic. Now, being able to is different from actually doing it. To actually cast magic in most cases, you need a trinket. With proper training, you can cast at the maximum capability of this trinket. This takes time and is often equated to being like training muscle.

You have 5 spell slots. Casting any of your magics at max level drains a full spell slot, even if you cast weak water and have Strong Earth. Without line of sight, you can only cast through touch. Touch spells tend to be more expensive and less effective.

Exceptions for these rules are rare: Dark gates, for example, only require you to have seen the location before and to be in range. Beastial races, half demons, and half angels can also, with the gift, innately cast their associated aspect up to medium.

Please describe how you would use a weak trinket with your characters first/only aspect: 

Legitimately, she cares little for magic. It was something other people did, and her only real experience with it was flares. It’s exhausting to make shadows wiggle, have them skirt about. And doing so feels like something terribly oily sliding down her spine. She doesn’t really practice, but it’s there. Looming.

Character Name: Hastiin (The nickname given to him by the Eastern researchers. Means man/elder.)

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: Appears to be in his mid 20s, but he can’t confirm it.

Character Description:

      6 feet tall, 190 lbs, short(ish) curly black hair and striking green eyes. He currently has his beard trimmed to only stubble, but that’ll change soon enough without maintenance. His hands are calloused and his skin is a dark, sun-kissed tan. He has a handsome face with a square jaw, and looks to be in his mid 20s. He doesn’t have a single scar on his body.

      He has to relearn how to speak (he currently can’t even understand any languages), go through physical therapy to allow himself to walk (and do everything else) on his own again, and start from the ground up as far as his knowledge about the world goes. He truly remembers nothing outside of staring at the inside of a stone container with glowing runes for what could potentially have been centuries, unable to move his eyes, to breath, or do literally anything outside of think. After all that time of complete helplessness and utter isolation, his mind has basically gone blank. All he’ll ever know about his past outside of certain things that feel familiar to him is what’s told to him ic.

Character Occupation:

      None!

Character Personality/Traits: 

      As his personality comes forward, he will unerringly become a caring man who’s fiercely protective of others and feels a deep urge to take the fight to that which may threaten the lives of those around him. He will retain an extreme case of claustrophobia for some time. Outside of that, much will depend on how he’s rehabilitated, but it’s very likely that more aspects of his past personality will also come forth.

Character Biography: 

      In the deserts of the East, an excavation team worked on clearing a buried ruin that’s easily over a thousand years old. The entirety of weeks of excavation seemed fruitless as the ruin proved to be in terrible shape and possibly looted in the distant past. That is, until one of the workers noticed that there were carvings on the floor of a mostly collapsed chamber. Eager to get proper sketches and rubbings of whatever these ancient carvings depict, the team worked painstakingly to clear the immense amount of rubble from the room. After a few days of a whole team’s work, they realized that there was a subchamber beneath the rubble, likely still sealed after all this time. 

      While the laborers on the team worked to clear the remaining rubble in order to access the subchamber, the researchers worked hard to record and decipher the damaged carvings on the main chamber’s floor. Said carvings seemed to convey the history of a great evil that ate away at the land, leaving only growing desert in its wake before being sealed away. The researchers came to the conclusion that this was an account of the history of the Forbidden One known today as Rura Kul Tal when it ravaged the land thousands of years ago. As the carvings got more and more damaged from the fallen rubble as they got closer to the entrance of the previously buried subchamber, the end of the history was impossible to determine. But the carvings that were still visible appeared to depict a warrior that was present for the sealing of the great evil, but then was sealed away themself for reasons unknown.

      With the rubble cleared and the subchamber entrance finally ready to be opened, the excavation team was excited to see what lay hidden away for all this time. And when they opened the severely cracked stone doors that sealed it, they all got a glimpse of countless arcane glyphs on the inside of the doors and all throughout the surprisingly small interior container vanishing in a flash of light. There was no subchamber to be explored. Instead, what lay in front of them was a naked man in a stone box. The man took in a sudden breath, like it was the first time he’d been able to breathe in ages, then just… laid there. His facial expressions seemed random, and as he tried to move about his container, it immediately became clear that he was unable to accurately control his limbs. Some of the excavation team ran, some of them stood in shock, and some of the researchers immediately began to call out to the man with many various questions. But the man seemed unresponsive, only really able to focus his eyes on movement in front of him and occasionally let out a soft grunt. He didn’t seem to comprehend any language they spoke and was unable to move of his own accord, so the team very cautiously removed him from the container he was laid inside of. There was a final carving of where he lay, and its meaning was perfectly clear: A warrior was raised from his slumber to defeat Rura Kul Tal.

      The researchers drew the conclusion that this man had been sealed away after the containment of Rura Kul Tal to be later released to do battle with the Forbidden One, but had likely been forgotten after millenia had passed. The spell that kept him alive seemed to either have been flawed in some way or perhaps disrupted by the damage to his stone container, which resulted in his current mental state. With no way to question the man and not being equipped to care for someone who needs constant care to stay alive, the excavation team was left with little choice but to send this man to be a long term hospital resident for rehabilitation. It wasn’t long before he was sent to the Falkvard hospital for care.

Notes:

-I’d like for this character to already be aspected into Holy magic! (I understand that won’t give him any kind of benefits coming in and will only serve as a remnant of his past.)

-I’d like for this character to start off with absolutely no starting equipment or money!

Images:

      I will try to post them in the comments since they're not working here!

Magic Application

Magic Biography:

      Having used magic in the far flung past but since forgotten, he still retains residual positive feelings for when he’s affected by Holy magic, in which he is already aspected. More than that, simply seeing magic cast and hearing about its effects (especially Holy magic) gives him a slight sense of deja vu. So after one of the researchers on the excavation used Holy magic on him, that sight and feeling became a strong memory for him.

      What he remembers about that moment is seeing that man’s eyes begin to give off a soft glow, and then immediately feeling like out of all of the people watching him and talking at him, that man specifically was seeing something deeper inside of his core being. He felt completely exposed to that man’s magic, and it somehow felt naggingly familiar to him. Besides familiarity, the man’s gaze also gave him a feeling of reassuring warmth, and strangely enough, a sense of pride. It will take some time for him to learn the words to explain this situation to others and seek out answers for what exactly that effect was, but it’s absolutely something that he’ll want to get to the bottom of. And should he ever look over a magical item or a trinket, his gift will become apparent, explaining at least part of the feelings that came with that memory.

      He’ll mainly come to think of magic as a blessing to mortals that is intended to inspire and protect, as well as destroy that which is unnatural. To him, magic will be a source of pride and something that is not to be taken for granted or misused. This comes doubly so for Holy magic, which is only accessible to those of faith. As such, he will strive to put his gift to good use in the ways he believes are best.

Please describe the magic system, including its limitations in your own words: (Updated!)

      There are three different categories of magic; Soul Magic, Outlier Magic, and Elemental magic. Each of these categories have their own subcategories, or “Aspects.” Characters are limited on how many aspects they can choose by their race, but these chosen aspects do not have to come from any specific category (unless otherwise stated in the racial key features), so it’s possible for some characters to have aspects in multiple different categories. A character with the ability to cast magic may have as many trinkets for different aspects as they want and use each of them (with the exception of Holy magic and Dark magic, which are mutually exclusive), but only up to Medium level. To cast at a Strong level, a character must become “Aspected” in that specific aspect, which is normally done simply by practicing up to Strong spells and then casting a Strong spell for the first time, which locks in that aspect.

      To channel any kind of magic, one must first possess a trinket (unless otherwise stated in the racial key features). Trinkets are aligned to specific aspects, so characters will need separate trinkets that align with different aspects in order to cast each of them. Trinkets also have predetermined levels of strength that dictates the maximum amount of magical power that can be channeled through them. From least magically potent to most magically potent, these levels are; weak, feeble, moderate, medium, strong, powerful, wondrous, and divine. Mages must practice an aspect’s magic in order to grow in magical power, and each level of magical potency not only dictates how effective a mage’s spells are, but also unlocks new abilities for that aspect and determines how many spells the mage can cast and at what tier of power those spells will be.

      Mages are also limited in casting magic based on their sight. If the target of their magic is not something they can see and isn’t in physical contact with them (like the mage themself, an item they’re holding, or a person they’re grabbing onto), then they can’t use spells on that target. For example, a mage cannot cast a spell on a person or space completely obscured by a wall even if they know a person is there, and a blind mage will only be able to cast spells on themselves and whatever they come into physical contact with.

      If for any reason a mage goes a long period of time without casting spells from a certain aspect, their progression towards the next tier of spells will begin to roll back, which is called “Decay.” Having multiple aspects at and beyond Strong level will begin to grant mages “Mastery,” which allows those mages to cast even more spells of their highest level.

      Outside of what I’ve already said, the spell effects in Saphriel are very open-ended and up to interpretation. While each aspect has example spells that are appropriate for each tier, those are not the only things that mages can accomplish. Those spells also serve as guidelines for roughly how effective spells of those tiers should be. It’s up to the player’s creativity and the GMs rulings to determine the endless possibilities!

Please describe how you would use a weak trinket with your characters first/only aspect:

      Should my character get his hands on a weak Holy trinket, he’d begin by making a simple holy light. He’d practice how bright or dim he could make the light, how far away he could send it, and how long he could make it last with a single spell before it fades away. Of course, it has other applications that he’d practice as well, like healing itty bitty scratches and making Holy Water. And very importantly, with each spell he casts, he’d give a silent prayer of praise to Aderoth for granting him the power of Her healing light. Weak Holy magic may not be able to yet make Holy shields or grant restorative blessings, but one cannot hope to eventually cast those spells without first starting off by practicing the basics.