Sulien of Pluck

((This is for the MC account HaloHantis))


Character Name: Sulien of Pluck – The Stained Painter

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.