BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Dewdrop
Nickname: Dewy
Gender: Male
Age: 68
Height: 6' 8"
Race: Kulshedra
Residence: Ketra, Adela
Occupation: Slave


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Dewy is huge; very tall and solidly built. He is also very obviously not human with a long, thick tail, digitigrade legs with clawed feet, and patterns of cyan scales complimenting his copper skin all along his face, neck, shoulders, back, tail, outer thighs and arms, and lower legs and forearms.

On his face the scales run from the corners of his mouth along his cheeks all the way back to his large, scaled ears; the scales on his cheeks semi-obscure the splits that allow his mouth to open very wide. There is a peak that goes between his eyebrows, arches across his forehead and frames his eyes – which are a burnt orange with vertical slit pupils. A small strip of scales goes from the center of his bottom lip down his chin and connecting to the scales at his throat. At the base of his throat is a cluster of scales, slightly darker in shade than the rest, which resembles some kind of pretty blue gem.

His hair is black with bright streaks of cyan, matching his scales, which he keeps in a long braid that hangs all the way to his waist. As a personal slave, Dewy is kept clean and well-dressed by his master, often wearing finely made and even attractive clothing. His master even gives him pretty baubles – like beads and feathers decorating his braid.

Dewdrop requires a pair of glasses when reading and writing, they have delicate silver frames and he loves them because his master had them made just for him because of his farsightedness.



PERSONALITY

Quiet and loyal, Dewy has the size of a brute, but none of the demeanor. Knowing no other life, all he wants is to serve his master well and is very content for the most part. Yes, he has to stifle restlessness regularly; after all he is a natural nomadic predator with plenty of energy as he is still plenty young for his kind, but he refuses to be discontent.

For a slave he is treated very well and has been fairly educated, wanting or asking for more just seems rude and ungrateful. Besides, he has plenty of chores he can do to keep him busy, and his master even has a small library that he is allowed to use when he isn't needed.

Not that he lets it show or mentions it, but Dewy is a bit lonely. He has never met another of his own kind and his appearance has limited his options for companionship. It isn't like his master is poor company, but the older he gets the more aware he becomes that he sometimes longs for a different type of companionship.



SKILLS

Dewy is a personal servant or attendant, kind of like a butler. He knows how to serve people and be polite. As his master has aged he has also become something of a caretaker, helping the old man up or down when he struggles, dispensing medicines and remedies. When his master's eyesight began failing Dewy became a secretary, reading correspondence aloud or taking dictation for responses, helping with ledgers and anything else his master requires of him.

The big lizard creature is very strong and good at keeping things from hurting his master, so also sort of like a bodyguard.



RELATIONSHIPS

Ahuli Ravenspear: This is Dewy's very elderly master, both a warrior and a trader in his time, but at his age his health is failing and it is likely he will die soon. While never treated quite like a son, Ahuli did raise Dewy and has always treated him well and with fairness.

Tiwa Ravenspear: Ahuli's daughter. Dewy has fond memories of this girl, she was several years older than him and he played with her when they were both children. Unfortunately Tiwa was not a healthy child and died while still very young.



BACKSTORY

Born only with the title Cyan, Dewy has no recollection of his mother or his people. He has no memory of ever seeing another of his own kind, as he was only a baby when Ahuli's daughter, Tiwa, found him being sold alone when she was six. She was immediately fascinated and named him Dewdrop, and Ahuli purchased him for her. He followed her around like a puppy for the first four years of his life. Tiwa helped teach him to talk and walk, they played in the walled garden of Ahuli's home in Ketra when the girl was not too sick to go outside.

Sadly Tiwa succumbed to whatever strange ailment plagued her when she was only ten years old. With both his wife and only child dead, Ahuli was left alone in his home save the two servants, and Dewy. It was probably Tiwa's fondness for the strange scaled boy that caused his master to keep him and treat him so gently.

Dewy learned to do almost any task Ahuli set him. He was very eager to please the only parental figure in his life and quite faithful to his master despite being taught what a slave was and that he was one. It really didn't matter much to him that he wasn't considered a free person – some people didn't even consider him to be a person at all. Not only because he was a slave, but because of his inhuman appearance.

By the time Dewy was forty he had become the quiet runner of Ahuli's household. Not because he had any wish for authority, but his master simply trusted him completely to manage things to his liking. The meager serving staff turns to Dewy when they have questions, rather than disturb the master who spends more time resting and less time conducting business or leaving for soldiering.

Indeed, these days neither Ahuli nor Dewy leave the Ketra home very often. Ahuli is nearing a hundred, and he expects to leave this world soon, but hopes to make sure that his seemingly long-lived Dewy will be cared for after he's gone before that happens.

"I want that little trollop out of my house and far away from here, do you hear me Samuel?! I want her gone now!"

It had been many hours, but Noelle could still hear those words echoing in her head. Those were the last words she would ever hear the Lady Kreston scream. She tried to remind herself of all the ways being thrown out of the only home she could remember was a good thing. The Lady of the house had become a very bitter and spiteful woman in recent years, a woman who was constantly yelling and berating the servants – especially any who were young women.  That wasn't even considering that Lord Samuel would never try to touch her again; there wasn't a thing that could be better about the situation than that, right?

Noelle still shuddered to think about it. A man that she had looked up to as almost a father all her life had tried to so such things to her! Lord Kreston had certainly been old enough to be her father.

Even with that threat hanging above her head...The Kreston household had been her home for as long as she could even remember. What was she even supposed to do now? She had been tossed out with naught but the clothing on her back – a fine enough dress for a lady's maid, but that wasn't helpful beyond keeping her decent from leering eyes.

"This is where you get off, Miss Dupont." The sun had set and she hadn't even noticed the horse stop until the middle-aged retainer's voice cut through her thoughts. Where were they? Noelle didn't recognize anything, and her already fair skin blanched.

Did he really mean to just leave her there?

With nothing?

Noelle felt tears prick at her eyes as she slid off the back of the horse with as much grace as she could muster. It hadn't been enough to throw her out of the house. Lady Kreston had demanded she be taken away – and apparently just dumped like trash. At least it wasn't the middle of nowhere. This was a populated area; there were people and shops here. Maybe the spited woman wanted her to be a homeless beggar on the streets here.

"Wait! Please!" The man had turned the horse, but he stopped and looked at her coolly for a moment. She wasn't expecting any sympathy or mercy. The man worked for the Kreston family and would leave her there as he'd been told. Still, she could at least try for something, anything. "What am I supposed to do?"

Roger hesitated for a moment, looking down at the girl with a scowl. She'd been raised in the house alongside the lord's own daughter. He sighed and pulled out a little pouch with a few coins and offered it to her. "You might be able to get a decent meal, maybe even somewhere to sleep for a night, but for what to do? Well, whores make good money, and you're a pretty little thing. Do what you want, but I'd figure it out quick, nights get cold up here."

That was how Noelle ended up wandering down the streets of Northwatch with nothing but the clothes on her back and a tiny coin pouch – homeless and dried tear tracks down her cheeks as she shuffled along after dark in quite the daze, unsure at all of what to do.

[Fancy party at the Zylberdik estate. M because Lysander is a roguish scoundrel and dick jokes, so just in case. Open by request only, so PM or DM me if you have an idea for a character and plot direction.]

Who didn't love elite, high-society parties? The sparkling crystal chandeliers, the gilded grand halls, the ballroom dancers twirling in all their finery – there was nothing that quite matched the splendor and opulence on display when nobles were trying to show off how rich and powerful they were to other rich and powerful people. It was all insidiously vain and self-serving and there were few things in this life that Lysander enjoyed more than these disgustingly excessive parties.

Beautiful women were one of those few things.

Lysander was surrounded by a small gaggle of them as he loitered in a quieter corner of the grand hall, sipping very fine wine from a silver goblet. They were all lovely, in their silken gowns and glittering jewelry as they vied for his attention. It was his party, after all, and he was certainly a very handsome and very eligible bachelor. The way they tittered at any coy jokes as he tried to give them all equal attention was slightly droll, but what could he expect of high-bred ladies? Women of their caliber were after one thing and one thing only – an appropriately well-standing husband.

Marriage was the farthest thing from his mind, but he did enjoy the attention most of the time.

"Not a bad party, Silver dick. It's a shame you're always second class. Ladies you should always go for gold." Lysander turned his head with a slick smirk as a second man joined their private gathering. He knew the man, of course, another wealthy son, with a slightly nobler leaning. His family conducted a fair amount of gold trade, if Lysander remembered correctly (and he always did remember correctly, thank you). The women scowled and whispered disapprovingly at the course language, but boys will be boys.

"Zylberdik, actually, but aren't you so clever?" It was not an insult that he'd not heard similar to many times before, and he was more than prepared to match wits with someone that wanted to try to speak down to him at his own party.

"Ladies, it is quite true, gold might come first in business, but I should remind our good friend that silver always comes second." Lysander couldn't resist throwing a coy grin and wink at the lady next to him and the whole lot of them devolved into scandalized gasps and giggles. Not the interloper, of course, who opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if trying to think of something to answer back, but he simply gave up and stalked away red-faced.

Wolfram Hart - Puppy! Speciest! He likes other werewolves, isn't a super fan of humans. It isn't that he hates them or anything, he just doesn't think they could possibly understand him and wolves are far superior anyway.

Looking for - not even 100%. Maybe he finds what he wants and makes a wolf buddy? Or maybe he meets a human that endears themself to him despite his reluctance to deal with humans outside of business? Throw some ideas and characters at me.

Lysander Zylberdik - A Serenian Playboy from Darken Vei, heir to a family of old money, they own some very rich silver mines. He serves as a knight, but mostly his interests lie with flirting with women and attending elite social parties.

Looking for - Shenanigans? Romance? Arranged marriage because that's a rich people thing? IDK!

Open by Request - Sterling Silver [M]

Dewdrop - A quiet, well-learned Kulshedra slave raised by an Adelan merchant. His aspirations are just to serve his master well and maybe to not be left all alone.

Looking for - His current master is extremely old and hopes to find someone to take care of Dewy after he's gone so a new master is needed. Open to other possibilities too. The poor thing might have to learn how to fend for himself.

Victoria Walsh - A young female soldier from Moonspear. She takes everything seriously and feels that the only way to prove she is good enough is to hold herself to absolute perfection. Knighthood is her ultimate goal, despite female soldiers being slightly outside the norm.

Looking for - Trouble. Pairing her with characters that would annoy her, that would poke and challenge, is ideal. Teach her to lighten up, show her another side of the world and that there are more colors than black and white.

Aralysr Yvel - A giant, grumpy, very red elf. He just trekked all the way from Hyoite down to Adela with the rest of the Starstrider Envoy, searching for his Resonance (soulmate). He's extremely unhappy with just about everything. He hates the heat this far south, and the food is awful, bland and hard to chew.

Looking for - Oh boy, someone bother the grumpy elf, please. Just annoy the ever-loving shit out of him. Make him regret leaving home even more than he already does. Eventually will need to sort out that whole Resonance thing.

Howland Hart - A free-spirited werewolf with grey morals and a roguish streak a mile wide. He is impulsive, unpredictable, and selfish but not really bad or evil. If you aren't bothering him he is not going to go out of his way to make trouble for you, but there's a good chance he won't go out of his way to help either.

Looking for - Shenanigans? He goes where he wants and does what he wants. Mischief is his bread and butter. Casual hook-ups are the norm and will be until he finds his mate, after that he'll be unwavering in his loyalty. He isn't in a hurry to settle down, but it will happen when it happens regardless of his consent or lack thereof.

Open by Request - Howl-n-Run[M]

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: None
Nickname(s) or Alias: Bitch
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Height: 5'3"
Build: Slender
Race: Werewolf
Occupation: Accident
Residence: A kennel



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

A slip of a girl, underfed but not starving. She has a bit of a boyish figure, with only small curves and is a bit short. Her hair is a dirty blonde, usually dirty and tangled these days. Her eyes are a soft brown. She's not a stunning beauty, but not ugly either.



PERSONALITY

Bitch is aptly named. She is bitter and angry with a burning hatred for the church and especially for the monster that she blames for stealing everything from her.



SKILLS

Turns into a large, shaggy wolf with white fur and red eyes.



RELATIONSHIPS

According to the Church, she no longer exists, so her family ties have been severed.

Fluke - This motherfucker right here ruined her life.



BACKSTORY

Bitch was a perfectly plain young woman of common blood. She worked hard as a maid at the local inn and kept her head down. A young soldier was engaged to her, but that was all left behind. Bitch had the severe misfortune to be walking home from work at the same time what she has come to know as a handler was walking a large, muzzled tracking hound.

The beast broke free from his handler and despite his muzzle attacked her fiercely, managing to rip a gash in her hip. Bitch learned later this hound was called Fluke. Her screams caused a scene, but someone from the church quickly came to take her away, promising to see to her care.

A big, fat lie, of course – the watched her turn into a foaming monster, a werewolf and then told her family she had died from infection.

Now her name is Bitch and does her best to live up to that name.

Usually The Dancing Star made port in Yoreiqi, but for Aijuno  this year his mother had been called to the other side of the world, they had docked in Thanatos several days before the festivities began and Rajko enjoyed the shore leave immensely. His wings stood out in any crowd, but mostly the reactions were simply curiosity by locals and tourists alike. He was proud of the wings and always happy to show them off, letting more than one person pet them when asked.

There was a bit of a language barrier. Rajko only spoke Yoreiqi and Common, but was quickly picking up a handful of words quickly. He wasn't completely ignorant to what the holiday was all about, but he wasn't really aware of it either. Inima was the God of these people, and he understood it all had something to do with her and luck and fertility?

That all sounded fine to him! Being mixed race, Rajko had never completely fit in with the Serenians his mother called her people, nor the Yoreiqi that his father belonged to. However he fit pretty close with the island people of the man that fathered him.

Fertility was a major part of their culture too. Children were blessings and it was a joy to have them. Things were a bit different here, but it was close enough to make him feel somewhat comfortable with the whole thing; especially since everyone seemed so very excited about some event that was taking place at the height of this entire party.

Being ever curious, Rajko immediately plunged head first into the goings on. He caught enough to know men and women were putting their names on papers and then into jars. Not knowing why they were doing it didn't stop him from also putting his name in.

The only way to learn was to do.

He recognized when names were beginning to be called, and obediently stepped forward when he heard his. A pretty, and really short, woman stepped forward with him. His eyes looked around excitedly as the elderly woman continued speaking after the names had all been drawn. The candles blew were blown out and he looked down at the woman beside him curiously.

"I'm Rajko." Of course he had no idea that those were the first words he would ever speak to his wife.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Lysander Zylberdik
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Height: 5' 11"
Build: Lean
Race: Human
Occupation: Knight, Heir
Residence: Darken Vei, Serendipity



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Lysander Portrait
Art Credit:  kitsuneha

Art: Lysander
Art Credit:  Spiffeigh

Lysander is an excellent specimen; young and handsome, with aristocratic features that draw attention. Perfectly arched brows seated over expressive silver eyes, a finely shaped nose that is neither too large nor too small, and pursed lips that are just slightly larger and thicker than perhaps the average expectation of masculinity. Intentionally unruly silver hair falls just past his pierced ears and frequently into his face.

Standing at a respectable height and not overly broad, Lysander cuts a trim figure. The years of training to be a knight have wrapped his frame in lean, toned muscles without making him bulky. Living a life of relative ease and ludicrous luxury, there are few scars to mar his soft, pale skin.

Nothing but the best for Lysander when it comes to clothing, everything is made of high quality materials, whether it be silk, velvet, satin, or fine wool in the winter months to protect from the snows of Darken Vei. Anything less than stylish is unacceptable. His preference is for large collars that stand up, but remain open at the front. He rather likes a somewhat dipping neckline on his shirts, showing off just a little bit of his magnificence.

His gear is usually adorned with silver or golden stubs, quilted and thick doublets provide padding, but little actual protection. Lysander wears thin, delicate chainmail beneath the outer covers, but hates overly heavy armor because it slows him down, and his speed and quick reflexes are beyond a doubt his best strength when fighting.



PERSONALITY

Charismatic, witty, and intelligent – everything you could wish for in a young man of such a socially high standing business family. Dealing with people socially is something of an art form, and he has different methods for different people. When it comes to business Lysander is fortuitously pragmatic, but allows his heart to prevail over his logic in his generosity and follows the family tradition of being a philanthropist.

He routinely donates money to more rural and less known schools that are always pitifully short on funding. On more than one occasion he's personally volunteered at food distribution events for the poor and needy.

Lysander typically is very easy-going and quick to make friends no matter where he roams. He enjoys laughing immensely, and is a great sport about non-malicious jokes at his expense. Teasing from his peers is normal and to be expected, right? Don't think he doesn't return such verbal jabs, but always in an equally playful tone. He'd never intentionally offend or insult someone that didn't deserve it. Most people don't deserve to be disrespected.

That said, the handsome young man is extremely self-aware about just how good-looking he is and shamelessly flirts with pretty young women, regardless of their station or standing. Noble women are equally fun to make blush as the innocent little farm maids he's encountered. Of course he finds most women beautiful, and doesn't discriminate much when it comes to age either. Older women are also fair game to pursue. He's fairly good at it too. Given his reputation for being a good man, his family's wealth, and strikingly handsome face many women are more than willing to engage in flirtation and more.

Women that are uninterested in his advances need not worry. Lysander is actually quite a respectful gentleman. While many of the women he encounters are willing to engage in harmless dalliances with him, those that reject him are not harassed or insulted. Usually he will stop flirting altogether with that girl if he thinks that is what she wishes. Some he knows are just playing hard to get, and he's gotten pretty good at telling them apart.



SKILLS

Knight – Lysander has been extensively trained by the most highly recommended knights and warriors, educated with the most intelligent and talented tutors to be found, and outfitted with the best equipment that money can buy. His specialization is with dual wielding twin scimitar in a very quick, fluid style that is practically art in motion. Some have chastised him for being too flashy and showing off too much, but swordplay is almost a dance for Lysander, and he loves it.

They taught him mounted combat, with lance and his shoulder shield. He's fair enough at it, but he prefers his swords, feeling that lance and long weapons like spears and polearms are unwieldy and lacking in the finesse he prefers.

While his family is not true nobility, their wealth lends good social standing. Outside of his pursuits of knight training Lysander received an expensive and comprehensive education in such subjects as history, business, literature, military strategy, alchemy, enchantments, and a smattering of other assorted minor subjects like astronomy and art.

One of his favorite subjects was actually dance. Lysander is naturally graceful and he very much enjoys the activity beyond the simple ballroom waltzes a young man of his caliber and social standing is expected to know.



RELATIONSHIPS

Tybalt Zylberdik – This is Lysander's father, the patriarch of the family. For the time being all the major assets belong solely to him. They have an amicable, if distant, relationship. Father and son get along fine enough when actually in each other's company, which is an infrequent occurrence.

Lyanna Zylberdik – His beloved mother. They were very close when he was a young boy, but sadly she passed away a few years ago. It was a particularly harsh winter and despite being advised against riding through the mountain passes she did so anyway and perished when her horse slipped on some ice, throwing her from the saddle and smashing her head upon a rock.

Tabitha Zylberdik – His younger, and somewhat pesky, sister. Lysander does love her, but she is a little spoiled and enjoys giving him a hard time. It doesn't help that they are so far apart in age, as his sister is twelve years younger than him. After the loss of their mother she has been acting out more than ever, especially now that they have a step-mother.

Olivia Zylberdik – This is a nice woman that only very recently came into his life, she's beautiful and kind-hearted, but Lysander has little to do with her. It is understandable that he might have mixed feelings about his step-mother. His father remarrying was not the easiest thing to accept, but he understands that his father is just a man, and men have their needs and wants for companionship. While he doesn't feel able to become close to her, he is happy that his father is happy again.

Oscar Wilkins – His new six year old step brother. The kid never really had a father, and he feels kind of bad for him, but it is hard to watch his father become close to this boy. Still, he has nothing against him, and tries to be nice and a big brother. The huge age difference makes it hard. Lysander protects him from Tabitha when he can, because his little sister goes out of her way to be mean to the poor boy.



BACKSTORY

Lysander was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. His father inherited the claim to three silver mines from his father and that claim goes back at least several generations. The family is considered old money, and very wealthy, but they've never held any actual noble titles; a point that is either inconsequential or annoying, depending on who in the family you cared to ask about it.

His father was mostly consumed with business, often away from the house to inspect the mines and meet with his workers. If nothing else, Tybalt was always working hard to ensure the silver flowed smoothly from the mines and into the family coffers. The miners were always well compensated for their labor as well, lending to the family's reputation as benevolent philanthropists. An opinion that the Zylberdik family prides itself on almost as much as it does the reputation for being filthy rich.

Concerning himself with family business wasn't a priority for Lysander until his early teenage years. His childhood was consumed with his education – which his mother was most adamant about. There were few things that brought him more joy as a child than sitting in his mother's lap and having her read to him. It was something she insisted she do herself, instead of allowing the nannies and maids to see to his complete raising and care. They were there to help her be a good mother, not to completely take over the job so she could be hands off and nothing but a simpering socialite.

Lysander's other favorite thing to do with his mother was dance. Lyanna was a wonderful dancer; it was something she was very passionate about. That love and passion rubbed off on her son, just a bit!

Sadly the other great passion of his mother was horseback riding. A fine hobby, to be sure, but not when it ends in tragedy. His mother went out riding on a cold winter morning during one of the darker seasons they'd had in years, and when her horse slipped upon some unseen ice, Lyanna fell from the saddle and cracked her head upon the mountain rocks.

A man by that point at the age of nineteen, Lysander was devastated by the loss. The entire family was.

This thread will be open by request. PM with your suggested character to join.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a truly lovely time of year. A crisp early spring breeze teased through the fresh green leaves of the nearby forest, lightly rattling the branches when a particularly strong gust rushed over the mountain passes. Everything was green and alive, and swaying to the gentle chorus of a bubbling mountain spring while the lilting voices of a million songbirds rose around the quaint little town nestled at the base of The Thunderbacks – on the north side away from the plains, of course.

Could there be a more idyllic setting? A cozy, peaceful village tucked away, sleepy and forgotten by the rest of the world and the woes therein. It was any normal person's dream. There could hardly be a safer place to live out your days without a care beyond plying your trade of choice and raising your happy little family.

It was a kind of unobtainable vision to someone like Blair. The place was too small, too peaceful, too perfect. How could someone like her, a person who had seen the world and all the horrors it could offer, ever settle themself to such an ordinary little life? If nothing else, the quiet would have driven the mercenary mad within days. Although some might argue that she'd long since lost her mind – and maybe they were right.

Blair wasn't really one to argue about her state of sanity or lack thereof.

No, the little village was definitely not a place she could ever live, and she'd never have been able to handle that much quiet for that long, but as a little reprieve, well you couldn't beat it could you? Besides, a little quiet and peace was great for her current activity. Blair was perched on a weathered tree stump, one leg thrown over the other and a book open in her lap. It was a beautiful story about a princess and a knight.

Except the knight wasn't really a knight. They were just some nobody that had stolen a fancy horse and some pretty armor from a dead one. Truly, an inspirational tale about overcoming prejudice and proving your worth or something like that – Blair didn't really know or care that much about the philosophy or morals behind the story.

Plus it was growing harder and harder to concentrate, what with all the screaming and people running past her, casting their shadows over the pages. They were being so very dramatic. Honestly, it was just one little fire wyvern! Who cared if the thatched roofs were catching fire or that the fire was spreading all through the village? If it weren't for the fact she was reading Blair might even have enjoyed the sound of crackling fires reducing any wooden structures to little more than ash and embers.

Actually no, she still enjoyed it.

Fire was such a soothing sound, wasn't it?

Blair deftly turned the page with her free hand, and brought the ruby-skinned apple to her lips with the other, taking a delicious and crunchy bite while ignoring the roaring of the beast wreaking havoc just a few dozen feet away.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Blair
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown
Height: 5' 6"
Race: Immortal Human
Occupation: Mercenary



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Blair
Art Credit:  SoNyaNeko

Blair has infamously wild, untamed hair that flows haphazardly down her back like a great mane of bright, but light pink. Her eyes are also pink, but a much darker shade, like a dusky rose. Both hair and eyes go well with her pale, smooth skin and clear complexion. Forever frozen in time, regardless of her actual age, she has a youthful and almost innocent face.

With a bit of a slim build overall, Blair's got feminine curves enough to make it clear that she's a woman, but not much beyond that. Her hips aren't wide and her breasts are small.

Her clothing choices are unique and often draw attention. Dark leggings paired with white knee-high boots and gloves, quilted doublets that fit well and are long and flared slightly at the bottom, with pink leather belts pinching at her waist. A metal headband is usually keeping the bulk of her unruly hair from falling constantly into her face. Although her long, choppy bangs totally do.



PERSONALITY

Blair is Blair. Full of energy and full of herself, but if you couldn't die you'd have every right to be as cocky as you pleased too! Overconfidence is something that the woman just oozes with, and she talks way too much sometimes because of it. She's got a vocabulary and abundance of insults that would make a sailor blush or cry.

To make you even more confused about an already confusing girl, Blair has two modes, like opposite sides of a coin. On one side she's almost annoyingly bubbly. Super easy going and quick to befriend, she's not a bad person to have on your side. And a very, very bad person to have against you, because on the opposite side of that coin is a woman that can be viciously vindictive and full of petty tantrums when things don't go her way.

Oh right, there's one more side. Blair is a total, brazen, and shameless flirt – at least when it comes to women. Blair is super good at wooing and seducing the ladies, but terrible at flirting with men.



SKILLS

Blair has been a lot of things in her life. There's an endless line of things she can do, and just when you think you've seen it all, she'll surprise you all over again. She retains information very well, so teaching her something means remembering it for a long, long time even if it goes unused.

A small selection of the things she's been taught in her years – sewing, needlepoint, knitting, cooking, farming, star names and constellations, horseback riding and training, dragon riding and training, about every language she's come across, sword fighting, fishing, hunting, tracking, trapping, ballroom dancing...

She gets bored, okay?

How does she get time to learn all this, when some of these hobbies take months or years to master? That's a bit complicated and she doesn't have a clue how it really works or where the gift, or curse, came from. To put it in the very simplest of terms, Blair is immortal. She just can't die. Not only in a way that makes her not age from early adulthood on, but in a burn her in hellfire and while the pain would be excruciating Blair will just bounce back like it never happened kind of way.

To put it into words, maybe the best explanation is that Blair's body is stuck in a strange sort of physical time loop. When she goes to sleep at night, by the time she wakes up in the morning her body has just kind of reset to default.

It's great when you want to cut your hair and try out new styles! If she hates it by the next morning it'll be fixed to her usual messy pink mane of gloriousness. She's just glad she lost her virginity before this weird immortal thing started. Having that reset every damn day would be the worst!



RELATIONSHIPS

NONE! D8



BACKSTORY

Blair doesn't have a special history. She was born and raised someplace, had two nice parents that loved her, and four younger brothers and a little sister too. Don't ask for their names, and don't ask when she was born.

Blair won't tell you. Well, she might, but it'd be big fat lies!

The girl has a thousand stories to tell you all about her origins and none of them are likely true.

Honestly, nobody that knows her is even sure the nice parents and five siblings are even real, but at least those seem to be mildly consistent in her tall tales.

All you need to know is that she looks like a young, pretty girl and if you pay her enough she'll do just about anything. What more could you even need to know about a person's history? Nothing! It's all about what someone can do for you, right?

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Chase Flynn
Gender: Male
Age: 16
Height: 5' 10"
Race: Human
Nationality: Connlaothian
Residence: Folkswell, Allar



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Chase Flynn
Art Credit:  rinnyleep

At just sixteen Chase hasn't really finished growing or filling out, which is saying something since he's already considered tall for a Connlaothian. While his shoulders are broad enough, he's a bit leaner than most other men around him. Those are traits that run through his family, though, probably from some non-Connlaothian ancestry somewhere back in the bloodline. The poor boy is actually a little self-conscious about it, thinking himself too tall and lanky, but the girls don't seem to mind one bit.

Part of that might have something to do with his obviously very youthful, but handsome face. Chase has a serious case of adorable.

His nearly silver blond hair is kept short, with an uncontrollable cowlick in the front that spikes his hair up a little, coupled with green eyes flecked in silver and you've got yourself a seriously attractive young man.

Typical of his Connlaothian heritage, Chase is very pale and even working the farm during summers couldn't tan his hide more than a few shades. Speaking of working the farm, he's been helping his mother since he was a toddler in one way or another. Hard labor trying to keep even a small plot of land with just two people lent him to lean cords of muscles and strong, calloused hands.

As a poor farm boy he's usually in plain leather breeches and linen shirts or on really warm days no shirt at all. His father always found the money to make sure he had good, sturdy boots, though.



PERSONALITY

Chase is that guy. You know the one I'm talking about. The guy always lighting up a room when he walks in because he's got a thousand and one smiles to give; that's him. He's a man not afraid to laugh at himself to make others smile and will easily make a fool of himself if it means cheering someone who's having a bad day right on up.

This is especially easy since Chase is hardly the most graceful young man and is prone to being just a little bit clumsy!

Aside from being just a little bit of a clown, Chase is protective, loyal, and unfailingly kind. He makes for a great listener and a very hard worker thanks to his dedication and strong belief in self-sacrifice for the betterment of those he loves.

He's a sweet, loving person that probably isn't really cut out for the life laid out for him with the war and service to the church, but he'll endure for the sake of his mother.

Last thing of note about his personality is that while very friendly and easy-going, the boy is still just that – a boy. He's not really fully matured into a man and definitely hasn't found his self-confidence. Chase is shy around pretty girls. Forget flirtation, the boy might die of embarrassment in a most humiliating shade of red. He stutters, blushes, and tries to hide from young women that show any interest whatsoever in him.

Thank God that his best friend Dahnny  is such a tomboy, she never makes him all nervous like other girls!



SKILLS

Mordecaism – Chase has a field of about half a mile. Pretty average.

Swordsmanship – Most of the boys in his village practiced hitting each other with sticks to improve their form and learn to wield a weapon. Now he trains with real blades and is still very much a rookie, but improving quickly.

Horsemanship – Chase is actually pretty good on horseback. Not so much at fighting on horseback yet, but again, he's improving greatly. He likes spears and shields more than swords, to be honest.



RELATIONSHIPS

Dahniva Quills – Born in the same village and on the same day as him, Chase is only a few hours older than Dahnny. They've almost been inseparable all their lives. As youths he's always acted in a protective and caring way for her, almost like a big brother, despite the very tiny amount of time that separates their ages. It still counts!

Carmen Flynn – His mother, who he loves and respects greatly. She raised him mostly alone, since his father went away to war while he was still young and never returned. Understandably their current relationship is strained, with his mother quite distraught that the war has stolen her husband and is about to steal her son as well. Chase constantly promises that he will come home, no matter what, but again, it is a strain.

Laurence Flynn – His father, a man he barely came to know, because he went off to do his soldiering service to Connlaoth and Allar when Chase was only five, almost a year before the war had even truly broken out, and he never came home. The family was notified of his death and that was the end of that. Technically Chase inherited the family farm from his father, although his mother is the one that keeps everything running smoothly.



BACKSTORY

Chase has lived a relatively normal life for a boy born to a poor, rural farming family. From a young age he's helped his mother with the farm work and when not working, has played with the other local children in the fields and creeks surrounding their small, sleepy village. He did lose his father at a young age, but in the last decade or so a lot of children have.

For the past ten years he's watched boy after boy be drafted into the army of Allar to support the Grand Duke's war. Unlike the other boys, though, Chase would have been forced into military service whether there was a war or not because of his Mordecaism.

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Sand
Title: Sand
Gender: Female
Age: 37
Height: 5' 0"
Race: Kulshedra
Residence: With her tribe wandering the desert.



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
Art: Sand
Art Credit: Draco!
The Kulshedra are an odd-looking people to outsiders.

Large, long ears, somewhat like a deer, poke out from a shaggy mop of sandy blonde hair. For Sand they are usually drooping, unless she has them perked for listening. You can hear much when you listen close enough. She's also got big, doe eyes, though they are a lackluster shade of yellow with little vertical black slits for pupils.

There is nothing particularly deformed or monstrous about her face, so in a conventional sense you wouldn't think her ugly – unless you're a Kulshedra. For them it is all about the colors. The rarer, more vibrant the colors, the more attractive the individual is considered. Sand is unbearably dull and plain. Her scales, which frame her eyes, forehead, cheeks, and travel down her neck and throat to little splatters across her collar bones, are a shade of pale yellow that blends perfectly into the sands of her tribe's desert home.

Even her skin is dull and sandy in color! Further detriment to her attractiveness is that Sand is pitifully small for even a female of her species; even the normally short end of the spectrum loom over her noticeably.

Her form is lithe and athletic, well-suited to her desert habitat, but without the thicker, stronger appearance denoting better health and suitability for mating.

Scales are smattered in patterns across her body; notable patches are on the sides, hips, thighs, and lower legs leading down to her scaled and clawed feet. Her hands are likewise mostly scaled, with claws tipping each finger. The long, powerful tail sweeping down from the base of her spine is excellent for balancing and completely covered in those dull sandy scales.



PERSONALITY
Since Sand is painfully dull in all other aspects, she has put extra care into making sure she is at least useful to her tribe. If she cannot be considered beautiful and desirable, she must at least be a good contributor. The young female works very hard, always willing to push herself that much farther so that someone else doesn't have to.  She would happily fill any role the Elder asked of her or the tribe required of her.

That being said, she is a reclusive female. Sand prefers to be hunting, because the only time she feels good about anything is when she is serving the greater good of the tribe by bringing home her kills. She is not a pretty female, and she knows this. Her scales and colors are all dull, not bright or vibrant or colorful. Every season is dreaded and she despises the ceremonies. No male really wants to be picked by her – a dull, ugly, small female. Even that she has failed at, and figures she will continue to fail. In the seven years she has been old enough to breed, she has only had two seasons, and both were unsuccessful.



SKILLS
It is odd for a female to be a hunter, but given the way she blends into the desert so well there are none in the tribe better suited to stalking and ambushing prey among the dunes of their home. Both hands and feet have sharp claws for a natural hunter, but Sand uses spears and bows as well.

She is smaller than and not as strong as her larger kin, but what she lacks in brute strength she makes up in speed and agility. There isn't a faster hunter in the tribe. Sand also has very, very good hearing, and her sense of smell is pretty good.



BACKSTORY
Sand was born to her mother out of season. The pregnancy was hard and too short, producing a very small young. Of course any birth is celebrated, but Sand's mother was definitely given looks for being so selfish. So was her father, a bright yellow male who wasn't particularly huge, but not small either. He actually was killed while hunting sand worms when she was still very young. Her mother exiled herself shortly afterwards, obviously unhappy with the tribal life.

That left Sand to be raised by the tribe as an orphan. Not that young weren't usually raised communally, but her circumstances were definitely unusual.

From a very early age this left the small young one with serious self-worth issues. She was smaller than any other young, even some of the younger ones! Sand never did catch up to them in size, growing into a very small adult. As her adulthood neared there was a lot of debate about her role. Not a large number of females became hunters, as they were too valuable to risk, and worst still, Sand was smaller and considered weaker than even the other females of a similar age.

Her father had been a good hunter, his death withstanding, and the dull color of her scales, skin, and hair proved to be near flawless camouflage. Prey could never see her coming, and she quickly learned to stay downwind so her scent would not alert them either. Hunter became her role, and it is one she takes very seriously.

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Kartok
Title: Teal
Gender: Male
Age: 71
Height: 6' 7"
Weight: 289 lbs
Race: Kulshedra
Residence: Essyrn



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
Kartok is a large Kulshedra male; tall, muscular, with long, powerful limbs. His scales are a somewhat unique and uncommon color. Darker teal fades in a somewhat gradient pattern to a lighter teal blue. Like all Kulshedra these scales cover his throat to his chest, arch over his cheeks and lightly frame his eyes, which are a beautiful violet color. The pattern extends to all the patches of scales that extend down his body, all the way to his clawed fingers and toes.

Choppy black hair is streaked through with the same variations of teal. What skin isn't covered by scales is a rich, golden bronze. As typical of males, his cheeks have splits that allow him to open his mouth very widely, his jaw appearing to almost unhinge to allow him to bite large chunks out of big prey.

In the jungle he wore no clothing, nor did any of the other members of his tribe. Now that he has been outcast and lives among humans a sarong is usually secured around his waist.



PERSONALITY
Nothing if not dedicated. Before his exile the sharp focus of his dedication was on tracking, acquiring, and protecting females in the name of his tribe and the Fire. Now he's turned that energy onto winning fights in the Coliseum and earning money so that he can purchase females he tracks down through the Essyrni slave trade. Protecting and caring for them will give him his purpose back!

The only upside to leaving the tribe for him is that should he come across his Mine there will be no Elder to tell him he can't have them.



SKILLS
Kartok is an exceptionally good tracker. His nose was always one of the keenest in the tribe, able to sift through a plethora of different scents and pick out individual ones of interest. This was used to find any number of things, but the most important, and the thing he was best at tracking, was females.

Like many Kulshedra, Kartok is very large and powerful, his claws are like daggers, and his jaw is powerful enough to crush bone – not to mention the razor sharp teeth. A swipe of that powerful tail will easily break and crack and rupture your insides.



BACKSTORY
Kartok comes from a very violent and war-like tribe of Kulshedra that makes their home within the Kishahn Jungle. Many tribes are very peaceful, but not his. They are particularly ruthless about hunting down other tribes, dousing their fires, killing their males, and stealing their resources, territory, and most importantly their females. For that reason the gender ratio is actually skewed slightly in favor of females, because they have stolen so many from other tribes.

From the beginning life was promising for Kartok. At birth he was assigned the title of Teal, and was the young of one of the tribe's best trackers. His two-tone teal scales were uncommon and therefore drew him a small amount of special attention, as did his violet eyes. As he grew his size got him more attention, for he became a large and powerful male.

As a still young adult, he led his tribe's warriors through the jungle to another tribe, helping them to conquer it. Many females were acquired, and he was given his name by the Elder as reward for his contribution.

Kartok made many, many contributions to the tribe through the acquiring of fresh females to bring new blood and more young into their tribe. The females honored him frequently by choosing him during their seasons. Not always, of course, but often. Like many times, no young would be produced, or when they were it was not his, but he was proud to be chosen regardless.

Eventually he did produce young –twice. Both were strong and healthy girls. The tribe praised him and honored him greatly – as well as the two females that bore them.

Life as a prime male within the tribe treated him very well, even if his reputation for being quite viciously protective of the females did make some wary of him. More than one male felt the sting of his claws and bore scars for daring to even accidentally injure a female. Kartok considered every tribe female to be "his" in a way, to protect. Not selfishly to breed, but just to keep safe.

This zealous protectiveness was what leads to his downfall. He caught an overly eager male trying to force himself on one of the females and lost it. Kartok didn't mean to kill him, he really didn't, but the damage was done. For the murder he was cast out, regardless of the circumstances.

As per tradition, he was forced to leave the jungle upon pain of death should he not comply or ever return. Being outcast from his tribe caused almost unbearable stress and heartbreak. All he had ever lived for was to find and protect his females. Without females to keep safe he had no purpose or reason. The exile almost killed him as he wandered the desert until finding Essyrn.

He had no idea that Kulshedra females were sometimes captured by humans and kept as slaves. It was a disturbing revelation. Kartok quickly found an answer to his problems. Gladiators made a lot of money fighting, and they were not so tough. No human warrior could stand against him! So as a free and voluntary gladiator, he's been earning the gold with the intention of using it to purchase females so that he can protect and care for them.

What was she supposed to be feeling in that moment? Probably sad, that seemed like what a young woman about to leave home for the first – and last – time might reasonably be feeling. All Pyria could feel was a low-burning anger like coals and embers in her gut.

How could her parents really do this to her? Never in her life had they indicated that an arranged marriage was something they were even considering. It was all that damn Nathaniel Fairhall's fault. The man was her distant cousin on her mother's side, she thought. Why should some stupid lord from another part of Ravensway have a say in her life? Sure, the Fairhalls had a lot more money than they did, and they held a lot more respect and influence in the court, but that shouldn't mean that she had to pay for it!

Pyria didn't even look back as she rode down the forest road on the back of a dapple grey mare. The horse was stunningly beautiful, with thick, powerful legs and feathering. She was a beast bred for long steady treks along treacherous terrain. They'd tried to give her a sleek roan mare with long legs, but she'd refused. The young woman didn't need a show horse; she needed a stalwart mount that would carry her as long and far as necessary.

Nobody had really questioned her choice. She'd always been fond of Ashland; the mare had been her mount of choice for at least seven years. Pyria thought she'd seen a flicker of disappointment from her parents when she'd rejected the roan, she figured the animal had been an attempt to bribe forgiveness out of her. At least they didn't suspect the other reason she'd chosen Ashland.

Neither did the four men escorting her down the winding trade road.

They all watched the forest, but barely looked at her. She supposed that's what they were there for. Not that anyone anticipated trouble on the relatively straightforward trip, but bandits, brigands, ruffians, and all manner of ill-bred men could ambush travelers on any road. Theirs was one not heavily trafficked, most preferred the wide roads designed for carriages and wagons to pass easily. Forest paths weren't ideal for trade routes, but they could be safer for lightly burdened journeys for small parties like theirs.

Four days out from her former home, that was when Pyria had figured they'd be far enough from home, but not nearly close enough to her future husband, to make her break for it.

The men had begun preparing for the night's camp, and Pyria stood off to the side, fiddling with Ashland's tackle and stroking the patient mare, but not actually removing the riding gear. Nobody else noticed, and as soon as they'd hobbled their horses she was back in the saddle and racing through the trees off the beaten path to a chorus of surprised and distressed shouts.

They'd never catch her! Even if they rode bareback, with the failing light only Pyria was able to see through the twisting undergrowth of the northernmost edges of the Draconi forest. Her guards risked injuring their mounts trying to navigate through the darkness of night.

It was exhilarating for a while. What was more exciting than riding through the forest at a breakneck sprint when you weren't supposed to? This would teach them all. Her stupid guards, her dumb parents, and definitely that jerk from Adela that thought he could own her! She almost wished she could be there to see their faces when they got the news that she'd gone and run away. Maybe that would get it through their thick heads that she wasn't something to be given away or claimed or owned.

After a while, well, it got less fun. Once the initial excitement wore off and Pyria truly stopped to take in her surroundings, well, she was totally lost. The dense forests between Serendipity were wild and overgrown, places were dangerous creatures lurked and though not really afraid, as a sheltered young woman of noble birth she didn't really know how to take care of herself this far from home.

There was at least one thing she knew – poor Ashland needed rest and a nice drink after all that running. Good thing the rivers branched into countless streams and tributaries, so finding a clear flowing creek was not difficult. There even seemed to be some kind of pathways leading to the water.

She thought that they might lead to small forest settlements.

Or they were game trails.

Ashland had barely started drinking before the animal was tossing her head and stomping her hooves in fear. Pyria tried to scramble back into the saddle, but a clawed paw came out of the dark, snagging her boot and dragging her to the ground as she screamed. She was able to glance back at some cat-like monstrosity and screamed again.

Great, run away for freedom and just end up eaten!

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Pyria Dornelis
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Height: 5' 1"
Build: Curvy
Race: Fae-blooded (Nymph + Elf)
Nationality: Serenian



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
Art: Pyria
Art Credit:  Ryltha

There's really no doubt that Pyria is Serenian and of heavy fae blood. She just barely reaches over five feet in height, making her a rather short woman. Her body is tiny, but on such a short frame her hips look wide and her breasts heavy. So while not overweight, the way she carries herself gives her just enough of a healthy vigor about her build.

Straight purple-black hair falls down past her mid-back, just barely touching the top of her rounded rear end, with the tips of her pointed ears poking out of the dark curtain. As to be expected of those with rich fae blood, Pyria has something of an ethereal beauty to her face and sports large eyes that are a vibrant, unique shade of blue. Light purple markings move across her cheekbones from one side to the other in a sort of line, and black dots decorate the skin under her eyes.



PERSONALITY
An intelligent, willful, and fiercely proud woman, she values her independence and autonomy above almost all else. Pyria was always a vivacious girl, full of life and energy and love. Oh, but those sweet summer child ideas of days running wild and free through the forest she was raised within. Getting a taste of the real world, through learning of her arranged marriage and as she saw it the death of her freedom, matured her and darkened her view of everything.

Perhaps childishly, Pyria feels like she must lash out at the changes in her life. Her engagement has caused a lot of anger and resentment towards her family. She feels abandoned and cheap, as if her only value is to be sold off to some man who will undoubtedly stifle her freedom and most certainly will not love her.  To be forced into a stranger's bed with the expectation of bearing his children is the ultimate insult to her intelligence, value, and individuality. So a once happy, fun-loving girl has been turned into a combative woman always on edge and defensive because to her she's under a nightmarish assault.

Maybe she's just a touch dramatic about the whole situation, but to her the marriage feels like the end of the world.



SKILLS
Light magic, it's good for illumination. In rare form, Pyria has the ability to create light so intense it can blind and burn. This is a mostly unexplored level of ability, as her life has been mostly sheltered from situations where she'd need to use her magic in self-defense.

Physical self-defense is another matter entirely. While not considered particularly feminine activities and remarked as odd choices, she took fencing lessons near daily for most of her life and also learned some basic hand-to-hand combat styles. It was figured the knowledge was unnecessary, but would provide good exercise, which is important for a young lady as much as it is for young men.

Pyria is an accomplished rider, feeling very comfortable on even very spirited horses and even on more magical beasts used as mounts.



RELATIONSHIPS
Lord Edgar Rickson – A young Adelan lord with a fierce reputation. He likes conquering his peers in war games and has an ongoing conquest of eligible young women in his employ and who simply live within the lands he lays claim over. Pyria has been promised to marry this man and is extremely unhappy about it.

Lord Nathaniel Fairhall – A distant cousin she's only met on a handful of occasions. He arranged her marriage for her, and she suspects that her upcoming nuptials are only happening because the man has no daughters of his own to offer up.



BACKSTORY

Distant cousins of the noble House Fairhall, the Dornelis are regal and proud, but barely considered highborn by most of Serenian society. This is due, in large part, to the very nature of their lineage. Certainly it is not considered a bad thing to be descended from fae in Serendipity, but the Dornelis family and those families living in their small holdings retain a high concentration of these fae bloodlines, even mixing with pure fae as recently as a single generation.

The community still heavily follows fae traditions and rituals, even going so far as to practice forms of fae worship in secret. One of the most prominent among their lands is the light maidens; girls from respected families that have light magic and use it to illuminate the safe passages through the thick forests of Ravensway.

Some have light that can heal the body and soothe the mind, but it is a rare gift and considered especially precious. All the light maidens are considered sacred and blessed by the moon goddess.

Pyria Dornelis was born to the very minor noble family, which in their remote corner of Serendipity simply meant her family was the most respected and spiritual leaders to the rest of the small holdings of her family. It was no surprise when she was found to possess the lunar blessings of light magic at a young age. Her family groomed her from childhood to carry on the sacred duties of her family lines.

However, despite their secluded position in the world, the Dornelis family is still Serenian nobility by law, and so when young Maiden Pyria turned nineteen it was her distant cousins, the much more wealthy, powerful, and influential Fairhall family, that insisted the girl fulfill her other perceived duty to be married into an acceptable family – thus creating important political alliances and business partnerships for the good of her people, of course.

So at age twenty, a very disgruntled young woman set out on a journey far from home to marry a young Adelan lord with business ties to the Fairhalls.

@Lion
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Selevea was such an interesting and colorful city. Truly one of the jewels of trade in the riverlands. There were always people coming and going from all reaches of Serendipity - and beyond. Even better was that it wasn't an arduous journey from his home in Arca. Just far enough away to make him feel as if he'd stepped into a whole new world.

Although he did occasionally bump into one of his clients here.

This wasn't Arca or Cerenis, though, and they didn't disturb him. Most of them wouldn't have acknowledged his existence outside of one of his private rooms anyway. Discretion was key in his business, after all. Couldn't have spouses finding out about scandalous affairs with courtesans. It really amused him sometimes.

All the tangled little webs of secrets. He wondered if his clients ever became exhausted.

Personally, he was enjoying a quiet moment, watching the ships sailing in from all over, and taking off to who knew where. Roman liked watching the people more than the giant wooden monstrosities carrying them, though. People were the most interesting part of life, an endless source of both amusement and frustration.

@Viscount Rhi-Rhi
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Takoda wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Ketra was terrible. It stank of human shit and a plethora of other unsightly aromas. Although he had to admit the bread and pastry places smelled tantalizing, even to his normally meaty palette. If it weren't for the looks he kept getting he might have wandered over and seen about getting one, but oh, he didn't have that thing the people were so obsessed with.

Money was a strange concept.

People kept staring at him and he found it annoying. Was it his paint? No, that couldn't be it. He looked at the strangers walking by and finally it clicked. They were all wearing clothes. Lots of clothes. The decorations of wool, linen, or silk baffled him. Wasn't it hard to move and breath in all that cloth?

Strange creatures. No wonder he didn't venture among them very often.

Now he couldn't wait to leave. First he had business, though! He found a street stall. The man that ran it was some kind of soothe-sayer and he always traded things for tiny cleaned bird bones. In exchange for the small pouch he'd gathered he got more paint and some beads.

Major trigger warnings!!! There will be enormous amounts of vulgarity and subjects of sexual violence in this thread.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Go fuck yourself." Cole spat in annoyance as he fixed his tent. His group had been working the desert for months and had learned very well how to flit from one oasis to the next. They were on the far end of a rather nice one. It was odd that there was no permanent settlement here.

The tents were being erected in a circle, some by men and others by women who did not look up from their work, did not look at the armed men, and absolutely did not glance in the direction of the group of shackled men and women kept in the center of everything. Mostly pretty young women of any color and variety you could wish for - from more than one country. Some of the girls sobbed, some cried silently, and a few were staring at nothing at all - broken, stoic, and numb. Or maybe just in shock.

"C'mon Cole, you gotta scout. You're the best at being all sneaky." It was Jarvis, trying to coax him into doing the dirty work with a bit of flattery.

"You mean you're a lazy bastard that doesn't want to do it. I've scouted every night this week. You do it." He was tired and he mostly wanted to crawl into his tent and sleep. If at all possible, but it wouldn't be. The other men would expect him to cavort and join in their nightly games and fun with the poor sods that were all tied up waiting to be sold.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder jovially and he looked up to see his father, the man in charge. "Son, just go already so we can relax. I'll nick your guard duty for two weeks." When it looked like Cole was still going to protest taking scout duty for the night he spoke up again. "Aaaaaand I'll let you have first pick of the girls tonight. Whichever you want. I won't let nobody touch one of the little cunts until you get back and choose yours."

It really wasn't a huge incentive for him, but he glanced in the direction of the weeping women with an irritated sigh. They expected him to love torturing the girls as much as they did. "Fine, fine, but seriously, I'm going to stab you if I get stuck with any sloppy seconds."

Both Kaleb and Jarvis rolled with laughter. "Deal."

It was dark and Cole blended in well with the night, nearly entirely covered from head to toe in dark blue-grey linens to protect him from the sun in the day and the plummeting temperatures at night. They also protected him from being seen.

Shockingly there was actually someone out there. Cole didn't think anyone would be out here in the middle of the desert alone. There she was though. He could tell she was a woman, easily. Although really getting a better grasp of what she looked like was impossible from his hiding place in the dark at this distance.

He crept closer until he was within striking range. One of Cole's hands came down over her mouth to silence any screams, the other pressed the blade of a knife against the delicate skin of her throat. "Shhh. No sounds now, sweetling. Just nod your head yes or no. Are you alone?"

His tone was low and dangerous, making sure that his words would be both threatening and unheard by any unseen companions nearby.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Riza
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Height: 5' 8"
Build: Pear
Nationality: Essyrni



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Riza
Art Credit:  LadyOwl

This woman is all legs. Long, long legs with thick thighs and wide hips leading up to a flat stomach, slim waist, and narrow shoulders. Her breasts are smaller, but firm and perky.

Riza has a strong, but beautiful, face. Long, thick eyelashes frame soulful green-grey eyes. She's got full lips and straight, white teeth. Surprisingly her thick black hair is long and straight, falling past her shoulders like a dark mane.

Oftentimes she'll be dirty to at least some extent, as the sweat baths are expensive and bathing in the river would be both wasteful and dangerous. Her clothing is really just ragged, linen scraps wrapped about her chest and waist to maintain the most basic of covering.


PERSONALITY

Afraid to sleep and afraid of herself, Riza can come off a bit skittish. Also, because she is always sleep deprived her mental functionality is not optimal, leaving her judgement impaired and making her often seem slightly loopy.



MAGIC
Riza is a Dreamer. Prophetic visions plague her dreams. Sometimes they are as clear as if watching them unfold before her and other times her dreams are purely symbolic making them difficult to decipher.

Nightmares are a real and present danger, for the monsters her subconscious conjures in her sleep have the nasty habit of invading the waking world. These beings become corporeal and are extremely dangerous. However they do not attack Riza as she is their only link to the world. If she wakes from the nightmare they usually disappear immediately.

Every once in a while she'll have a waking nightmare and the monstrous beings will linger for several minutes.



BACKSTORY
Riza's mother was branded an adulteress and cast out of her home after being caught in bed with one of her husband's slaves. In his rage the slave was executed and Sephora was cast out before anyone even knew she was with child. The disgraced woman became a beggar living off the mercy of others or scavenging enough to survive.

She gave birth to her one and only child on the streets of Essyrn.

Despite her innocence of any wrongdoing, Riza was raised as an outcast, scrounging on the fringes of civilized society. Her mother considered giving her to the temple many, many times, but bitter over her branding and shunning she selfishly decided not to give her daughter over to a possibly better life out of spite each and every time the option either occurred or was presented to her.

With their lack of any money or position in the city, as Riza grew older there was no prospect for making a marriage match. Of course by this time her mother had a very, very low opinion of marriages on principle.

Sephora considered many times selling her daughter with the reasoning that some slaves were treated well enough and at least the child would be fed.

Everything about their lives caused tension between mother and daughter; their relationship was extremely strained, with Riza attempting to run away more than once, but quickly was driven back to her mother out of fear.

It was when Riza began puberty that things took an absolute turn for the worse. She had always had vivid dreams, and horrible nightmares, but with each passing day they seemed to become worse and worse. Her powers began manifesting and her mother became afraid of her – and she became afraid of herself. Sleep became something to incite terror for them both.

One of the nightmares came to life and killed Sephora even as the woman held a knife over her sleeping daughter with the intention of killing both her and whatever evil had taken residence in her mind.

Riza has never truly recovered from that trauma. She spends her days and nights fighting off sleep any way she can. When it is apparent that she can simply stay awake no longer she ventures off deep into the desert where her strange power can't hurt anyone. There have been incidents were she passed out while still in Essyrn, and her monsters caused horrible harm to innocent bystanders nearby.

It had been a long time since Lillian had seen her family.

Not just the two months since Blaith had taken her from the tower, because before that she had been stationed in the capitol. No, by now it must have been close to a year since she had seen either of her brothers, and months longer than that since she had seen her father. The occasional letter from home didn't provide a great deal of connection and contact.

She missed them dearly, but at the same time Lillian sat upon her warhorse stiffly, fear and worry gnawing at her gut, growing steadily worse the closer they came to the meeting between Blaith, her rebel husband, and Micah, her dear father.

This was not going to be a pleasant affair. The last that her family had heard from her, she had been taken prisoner by Blaith. She had assured them she was safe and being treated with dignity and gentleness by her captor, but that still wasn't an arrangement her family would have been pleased hearing about. Having now married Blaith it was going to be even worse.

Writing an update on those developments for her father had occurred to her on many occasions, but Lillian couldn't bear to actually send such a letter. Micah Coleridge was going to learn that his youngest daughter had married an enemy of the crown face-to-face.

The meeting was taking place at a minor lord's home, she could see the small manor house. A few beads of sweat marked her brow as her stomach twisted into knots.

Daddy was going to be so cross with her.

~~~~~~~~

Micah was sitting at a long table, drumming his fingers impatiently upon the wooden top. It had been far too long since he had seen or heard from his daughter. A single letter saying she was alive, but captive was hardly satisfactory news. Despite her urging him to take advantage of the situation his first instinct had been to immediately declare war upon Turgall and Blaith Harmond – how dare that crazy fool make a prisoner of his daughter!

As if there wasn't enough on his plate. A new wife, running out of excuses not to send more troops or funding to feed Calent's war machine, and mounting pressure from the extended winter storms to keep everyone fed and housed adequately.

He was getting to be an old man. His old bones were tired.

Still, Micah Coleridge would never bend or break beneath the weight of adversity. His family was too proud to allow for failure. A Coleridge sitting upon the throne had always been his life's ambition – if not him, his son should wear the crown. There was still time.

Using Blaith to reach those ends was why he was even here. Reports said the madman had actually managed to amass an impressive army; one that if combined with his might actually pose a deadly risk to the current regime.

Even outrage over Lillian's capture could not quench that lust for power.

If this was a trap, well, Gabriel was safely at home, overseeing the running of things while he attended this negotiation. Cyrus was standing behind him, and although stoic, he knew his son was as anxious to see the return of Lillian as he was.

His scouts said that a small party was within view, and that it seemed as if Lillian was among them.