'If there's a thing worth doing, it's worth doing well' an ancient proverb proclaimed. There was no place where it applied better than in Essyrn. The ancient empire lost most of its land, but retained its keen and exacting eye. Few wondered why it still dictated the flow and direction of world economy - it accepted nothing but the absolute best, no Merchant Prince achieved or kept her position by offering goods of subpar quality. The competition was cut-throat, frequently literally, and manipulations on the market could easily be compared to the dangers of noble courts.

And he wouldn't have it any other way. Even before he took this name, Eltanin ash-Shiliyaq lived his life according to the principle of the ancient proverb. He always preferred to regret having done something than the alternative. The Mosaic Reverie was his great pride and joy, and while he couldn't deny that there was a sentimental edge to his feeling, most of it was well-founded. He didn't just own one gambling den among many, this palace of fortune was to become Essyrn's prime house of entertainment. He's already hired and fired most of the builder guilds, purchased decorations that were sure to amaze even the Merchant Princes and surveyed the entirety of the slave market to find just the best staff. Nothing but the complete perfection would satisfy his ambition.

It gave him no small amount of pride that the opening day was a subject hotly talked about even before he announced the date. He even took the liberty of sending personalised invitations to the Merchant Princes. While some would definitely consider this to be an act of an arrogant upstart who was forgetting his place, it was something he didn't expect to bring him too much trouble. The elites of Essyrn were very busy, and only few prized their pride over their reason to the point that they would rather waste resources on punishing him rather than acting against a rival. And Eltanin enjoyed making those invitations. There was quite a lot of fun to be found in arranging what he knew about the movers and shakers of the desert city to create the desired effect. It could be compared to a puzzle, if puzzle pieces constantly changed.

The positive reply he received was quite unexpected, but he could allow himself the luxury of surprise, as he was alone in his study whilst breaking the seal on the scroll. A Merchant Prince visiting as early as the opening day was sure to raise the prestige of Mosaic Reverie even higher. He instructed his staff to prepare a place of honour for this esteemed guests. It was definitely worth it to hire some mercenaries to waylay a caravan of wines and steal the cargo. All was fair in love, war, and Essyrni business.

He glanced out of the window, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of the crowds waiting for the great opening. This would be the night to remember. He put a great amount of thought into everything, including his manner of dress. While he had a preference, he was willing to sacrifice it for the sake of Mosaic Reverie's prosperity. His coat was long enough to trail on the floor - impractical, but acceptable, as there would not be a single speck of dirt to stain it. Cut out of midnight blue damask heavily embroidered in traditional Essyrn style, in intricate geometric patterns, it was perhaps too tame for his taste, but it would be bad form for a host to try to outshine his guests. Beneath it he wore a pair of long billowing pants, almost covering his boots entirely. His shirt was almost too simple, pure white fabric with no adornments. It was a good, stylish choice - while his wardrobe was full of more colourful choices, too rich an outfit would appear garish and gaudy. It was a good background for the rest of his ensemble - and the immaculate snow shade was just as clear indication of wealth - too easy to stain.

Of course, fabric and thread were just a part of the greater whole. He had the jewellery to match, each piece chosen with as much care and effort as everything else. His left wrist was encircled by a delicate golden bracelet, a weave of gems and metal - a rather modest decoration, catching one's gaze but not holding it. Much bolder was the brooch in front of his coat, a filigree of gold holding a bed of leaf-shaped boulder opals. Upon it lay a smattering of pearls of different shapes and sizes; at a first glance they seemed chaotic and crude, but held a more complex beauty.

A recent fashion fad in Essyrn saw the rise of ear cuffs. As it was a young industry, Eltanin did not have as much to choose from, but still managed to make a choice that satisfied him. His right earlobe was cradled by a lattice of gold, shaped like a small fairy with wide, glowing blue wings. The final pick was a ring resting on his finger, a masterwork mosaic that alone would be worth wearing, but it concealed a greater beauty. Beneath a glass shaped like a cut gem lay a tiny miniature city, its domes and palaces a perfect rendition of one of Essyrn's districts. While Eltanin was certainly the kind of a man who would like to have the whole world in his hand, this evening he would settle for less.

He sauntered down the stairs, his gaze aligned towards the front door. It was time for the grand opening. This shall be a night to remember.

 "Here lies a boy
Victim of pox
  They cleaned his corpse, put it in a box.
I'll let him stay in his grave
He's no zombie material.
Here lies Old Bess
Died of her age
At the play's end, she exited the stage.
Alas, she won't behave.
She's no zombie material."

Rhuneth was lucky to have found this cemetery. Gayatri warned her to stay away from the more popular, still visited grave sites - that could have ended up with her getting caught. The halfling believed she could handle herself - she still had one capable ghoul at her side, after all. She wasn't some amateur that only started replenishing her group after she's run out of undead! And this overgrown, abandoned graveyard was perfect for her purposes. No one would miss a few dead bodies from here, would they?

"There is the tomb of the family Wright
By this pile of rubble and stone.
Should I raise Uncle William?
He was a knight...
Cut in half?
Maybe not.
Not the one..."

She prepared the ritual tools already and was ready to raise the moment she got her perfect zombie-to-be. The ghoul bedecked in ruffles and ribbons, Annie, was following her dutifully, ready to carry the chosen body to the summoning circle. Her arms were not strong enough to dig her future friend out of the grave, but that was Rhuneth's responsibility. While the main purpose of her grave robbing excursions was making friends, sometimes she found a thing so nice and handy that she just had to take it along. Two of those surprise treasures was a dress she wore, pastel green with ribbons tied in the shapes of flowers; and the ring on her thumb. It was clearly designed for a hand with bigger fingers, but she was more interested in the enchantment than its appearance. When the probably fake gemstone was depressed, the spell created a large phantasmal paw that followed the movements of the wearer's hand, but with greater strength. It was a perfect tool to dig up a grave!

Perhaps I'll bring her back from the dead,
Maybe this one
Or one over here.
She was executed,
For political crime.
But zombie have no need for a head
I'll just put a cute hat on her short neck.
Wrap some ribbons around
Wash away dirt and grime..."

She stopped singing. Something was moving near the entrance, and it wasn't Annie. Had she miscalculated? Was this cemetery still visited by people? That put her in a pickle.

 The young girl threw her arms into the air in a gesture of frustration. "Who does she think she is?"

A badly shaven boy stared at her with an incomprehensible expression. "Our Gracious Lady of Ruin."

"I didn't ask you to recite one of her stupid titles!" she shouted. "My mother and I put our hearts and souls into making this cloak for her. We've slaved over it for weeks. Everyone in the village said it was the prettiest thing they saw since Lord Leon's army passed through. And then she looks at it, laughs and says 'I asked for a cloak, not a rag to wipe my tail with'!"

The boy winced, clearly uncomfortable with her words. "Well... your family are the best weavers in the village, but maybe they're not what she is used to. I mean, if we compare it to... what did Our Lady say she lost? A mantle of sunlight?"

"Then she can catch the dawn rays and make herself a new one" the girl grumbled. "I'm tired of catering to her every whim."

Those words probably crossed a line the boy was not willing to. "Don't say things like this, Jana!"

"Or what?!"

"Well, she might set you on fire, for once!"

That got her attention. She considered it for a few seconds before huffing in anger and turning around. "I knew talking to you was a bad idea! You're all so hung up on giving her what she wants! Toledo was doing just fine before she showed up! It's-"

"Jana!" the boy shouted again. "There's a stranger behind you."

The girl turned around, her face going through a variety of expressions. First was the frustration clear in her voice, then quickly changing to surprise and curiosity, finally covered up with bland tiredness. "Oh. Welcome to Toledo. Are you passing through?"

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: She's known by humans as Vesyll - pretty much an accident of a mistranslation
Age: ???
Gender: Probably female
Species: Leprechaun passing for a gnome
Ethnicity: Green
Height: 4'5
Occupation: Student at Wyrdwood
Residence: Wyrdwood

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description:
Image from Might and Magic: Heroes VII
Vesyll is one of the students who don't care enough for their clothing, or just don't have the means to fight against the uniform. Because of her size, she wears the robes designed for the young underclassmen. The underside is covered with protective runes - a necessity in Wyrdwood, as she has no intention of falling prey to a misaimed spell. The only expression of individuality that she - and the regulations - allows, is a golden-red fez. Every now and then, she wakes up to find that Ria Thalance has added some extra tassels or ruffles to it, but she pretends not to notice every time. It drives him nuts.
music


Personality: Vesyll has a very no-nonsense, straightforward approach that makes her a pleasure to deal with professionally, and an odd one out among the... colourful personalities of other Wyrdwood students. Her greatest strength is undoubtedly firm knowledge of her own strengths, weaknesses and limits - she rarely misjudges her capacity and only takes on challenges she can meet.

Magic/Abilities:
- Vesyll has the ability to alter, create and destroy colour, and the world is transformed with accordance to her changes.
- She has also been taking a few artifice courses and has been apprenticed to a mageforge professor
- Under her tongue she has planted the seed of the two-lip flower. As long as it stays there, she is able to communicate her meaning clearly, no mater the language.
- A skilled cobbler... for the fae. She has no idea how to make shoes for mortals whose legs defy all understanding

Relationships:
- Thomas Margatroid, a mortal who won her pot of gold. Deceased
- Rianharr Thalance, a Wyrdwood friend
- Doomfang, her goose familiar

History: She used to live a pretty routine life, one any fae scholar could use as a model leprechaun. She gathered the coins buried in the earth to store them in a large pot at the end of the rainbow; it was quite a simple task to someone with the power to draw colour from the soil and turn it transparent. She also made shoes for the nearby faerie; she kept a whole garden of lady's slipper orchid to work from.

Her life was turned around when a Verdan man by the name of Thomas Margatroid found her pot at the end of a rainbow. The rules were clear on the subject, but she was unwilling to give up the fruit of all her hard work. She tricked Thomas into challenging her to a competition - and, being a young Verdan boy, he challenged her to Monster Mash. The leprechaun had no idea what she was getting into, but accepted nevertheless. She was promptly defeated and had to give up the pot.
This event changed her life - and not just because she had to work from scratch. She traced her defeat to her ignorance of her limits - had she accepted that she probably could not blitz through something new and complicated; and held her ground, Thomas would have to come up with something different and maybe she would still have her pot. Because of this, she spent a lot of time in introspection to know herself better.

Even though she lost her pot of gold, there was still a tenuous connection in place - and it was that connection that allowed to sense Thomas' death. He fell to his death in a gem mine shaft, becoming a cautionary tale against greed for young Verdans. As he has not yet spent the entirety of the gold he's won from the leprechaun, his family ended up donating it to Wyrdwood in his name.

That was a loophole she could capitalise on. While Thomas won her pot fair and square, neither his family nor Wyrdwood earned it and they had no right to use it as they pleased. She assumed the name of Vesyll and used the gold she's gathered in the meantime as her fee to enter in the college to recover what remained of her wealth.

Character Limitations: Please don't write her thoughts or reactions.

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 As I tend to do every year, I will be participating in this November's National Novel Writing Month. For those who are not familiar with it, I will brief: it's an initiative that involves the participants writing 50 000 words in one month - about 1 666(6) per day. Because of that, my posting speed would slow down - I should still be able to write replies, just not as frequently.

 "What in the name of all that's fancy is THIS?!"

Vesyll rolled her eyes, already used to her sidekick's outburst, and slowly slipping from frustration into acceptance. "This is a dress, Ria, and I'm surprised you can't tell, with your fashion prowess."

"This is not a dress!" the boy floundered, almost frothing at the mouth. "What's wrong with this cut?! It hasn't been in fashion for years! And those ruffles look like pressed paper! Who's been ironing them?"

The gnome allowed herself a chuckle over his oblivious nature and decided not to remain a part of the audience for now - she was getting hungry, and it wasn't like Ria would get angry at her. "Well, I'll better stand in queue before they run out of goldflower salad. Want me to get something for you too?"

"No, my complexion might be affected by ill-chosen diet" the boy refused, turning his attention back to the object of his bafflement.

 Val wasn't meant to attend the ceremony, but he sneaked out anyway. It was simple enough to send the guards away - they would jump at any opportunity not to be around him. He was bad luck, after all, and others didn't want to risk being infected with it. The servants were quick to get out of his way as he walked through the hallways of the castle. He managed to make out some whispers and warding prayers muttered as he passed by. His hearing wasn't the best at the moment - even if he focused, there was still this strange ringing in his ears - but some voices just seemed to get through. He should tell the Court Magus about it - but he'd visit her later.

The ceremony took place in the castle's throne room. The guards posted at the door were surprised to see him, but didn't bar his passage. He might not have been meant to be there, but he was still a member of the royal family. Val slipped inside without announcing his presence - he didn't want to disrupt the others. He could see his mother the Queen giving the speech to the squires - well, he should probably stop thinking of them as squires, they would all become knights when it was over.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: He goes by Moryandal
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Species: Looks like a human, talks like a human, walks like a human.
Ethnicity: ???
Height: 5'6
Occupation: Hypnotist
Residence: Nomadic

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Being a part of the circus, Moryandal spends most of his time in a costume that makes him look far more original than he otherwise would. His face is usually covered in elaborate makeup put on by imaginative circus members. His long dark hair is done up with ribbons and beads, with some strands frequently dyed in vibrant colours. Considering how creative and resourceful the costuming department is, his official attire changes very frequently - in one town, he can wear a wizard-like robe with long sleeves, in another he'd put on a tattered red cloak to play up the mystique angle.

  Under the trappings of his position, he's actually pretty average-looking - short, nondescript enough not to draw attention in most situations. He's an open book, someone who wears his heart on his sleeve - it's very easy to read him and guess what he's thinking or feeling.

Spoiler

credit to Legends of the Cryptids game
music

[close]

Personality: Moryandal is a rather simple person, easy to get to know and straightforward to understand. The best word to sum him up could be 'guileless', or perhaps even 'naive'. He always believes whatever people tell him, and is eager to help with anything they might need. His only defence against being taken advantage of is his mind - which, luckily for him, is sharp enough to spot inconsistencies and put things together.

He would probably have a much easier time in life if only he lacked morals. He's adamant never to use his psychic abilities on people who did not consent. "whenever circumstances force him to compromise on that, he struggles to nevertheless respect the target's mind and refuses to read their thoughts. His ethics extend beyond the use of his power - he refuses to force his will on people, and always tries to find a solution that would benefit everyone.

As respectful and concerned he is for everyone he meets, there is still one person Moryandal doesn't extend this regard to: himself. He's willing to help others despite any danger it may pose, and is eerily willing to put himself in the harm's way. It turns into clear hypocrisy when psychic powers come into this: as adamant he is about immorality of forcing them on someone, he never defends from any attempt to read his thoughts, and would even cooperate with any attempt.

Magic/Abilities:
- Your standard psionic package, including hypnotism and suggestion
He only uses it on people who gave their consent, and is very forthright and honest about the process and its effects.

Relationships:
a) The fellow Cirque members

History:
He was born to an ambitious noble family. Most of the time, it would mean he would share his siblings' fate of walking a path his parents would choose, carefully planned to increase their standing. But there was one thing setting him apart: his psychic powers. The ability to read and influence others' minds was the game changer of politics, and something no one would resist the temptation of using.

He quickly became their favourite child, the genius who would spearhead their rise to power, and bring glory to their name. Keen to prove himself to his parents and make them happy, he eagerly plundered the courtiers' minds for truths and hidden weaknesses. Always staying on top of every conspiracy, blackmailing their rivals with secrets never spoken aloud, their success was all but assured.

As he grew from a guileless child into a cunning youth, he had all the pleasures of the world at his fingertips. He would probably have remained, living a happy life of luxury and privilege, had he not found the courage to say no.

It is unknown what exactly caused him to rebel, but he was unyielding. he refused to follow his parents' directions, swearing an oath to never again violate the sanctity of someone's mind. Needless to say, they didn't take it very well. He ended up fleeing the country, taking the new name of Moryandal to throw off pursuit.

He decided to make the best of his gift and use it to help people - make victims of trauma heal, and support those who wished to grow.

Character Limitations: He's psychic, but feel free to read his thoughts - he won't resist. When it comes to compulsion/magical coercion and fights, I'd like to discuss steps case by case. Also, since he extinguished his libido, he wouldn't be interested in sex or romance.

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 The guards who delivered the boy took security seriously. They were wearing full body armour that hid all their features, and lacked any identifiable heraldry or symbols that could be a hint to their master - or even the smith who supplied them. They never spoke, communicating through hand signals barely visible in the gloom.

They only took Basil's blindfold off when they reached their destination: a small room that was clearly meant to house prisoners. It was an alcove chiseled in stone, sectioned off from the dark hallway by thick iron bars. The furnishings were sparse, but acceptable: a small bed with covers that seemed to be a part of the mattress, a small hole in the corner for dirty purposes, and a table with a stool, both hewn out of the stone floor.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Born as Carmine, currently answers to Athanasia, Dragon Goddess of Toledo, She who Slumbers Between Sun and Stars, Our Gracious Lady of Ruin
Age: 68
Gender: Female
Species: Kulshedra
Ethnicity: Deep red scales, with a hint of purple
Height: 6'3
Occupation: Goddess
Residence: A village of Toledo in Adela

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Athanasia is an imposing figure - it's easy to see why she's worshiped as a goddess. Her dark skin is completely unblemished, save for the dark red scales. They plate over her back, cover the whole tail and creep over her body. Her hair was originally dark brown, but she's since dyed some strands in a variety of colours, creating a rainbow effect.

As befitting a goddess, she only wears the most beautiful and rich garments. Her natural vanity is hard to appease, especially by the simple people who worship her. Plenty of traveling merchants made quite a profit selling rare textiles and threads in Toledo. She's equally fond of jewellery, wearing necklaces, earrings, rings, bracelets on every limb and tail, even some tiaras. Her keen sense of beauty stops her from crossing the line between stylish and gauche.
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Personality: Athanasia's core trait is her vanity and pride. She enjoys being worshiped and has no intention of leaving her lair - save, perhaps, for a better one. She loves luxuries and comfort, and has a particular love for beauty: art pieces, fashionable clothing and jewelry. She's also lazy - she has no intention of working to earn her living, and a simple existence of a goddess suits her just fine. She is easily taken in by compliments, and while she has some cunning, she can be also quite gullible.

Magic/Abilities: Athanasia has a minor ability to conjure and control fire. She uses it mostly to awe her worshipers.

Relationships:
- The tribe she originally came from
- The people of Toledo who revere her as a goddess

History: She was born to one of the Kulshedra tribes wandering the land. Her beautiful dark red scales were the envy of many, and her people expected a lot from her. She was given the name of Carmine to honour her unusual colours, and was given a lot of privileges. Unfortunately, it went to her head. She grew to expect the people around her to give praise and gifts, while she did nothing in return. By the time her tribe realized that their hopes had the opposite effect, it was too late.

Despite their best efforts, Carmine's pride has been bloated to the point that she now believed everyone owed her their respect and work, with her giving nothing in return. There was nothing that could be done, and the other Kulshedra ended up making the difficult decision to exile her. They couldn't just keep someone who contributed nothing - even someone with such beautiful colourful scales.

She probably would have had learned some hard lessons, had she not found her way to a small village of Toledo in Adela. The simple folk were very devoted to the spirits, and have never meet a Kulshedra before. Carmine's appearance: her shining scales, her thick tail, even her minor ability to shape fire led the people of the village to a simple conclusion: she was a powerful spirit that took physical form to bless their lives with her presence.

She was very pleased to encounter people willing to give her the worship she rightfully deserved. One of her first acts as a goddess was rejecting her former name - those who called her 'Carmine' were not worthy of her presence, not worthy to mark her with a name. She ended up choosing 'Athanasia', for no other reason than it sounding elegant and worthy of her.

Character Limitations: I would ask that you don't do any permanent harm to her.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Faeyia Whistlewind
Age: Around twenty, but can look and have the physical capabilities of pretty much any
Gender: Currently female, subject to change
Species: Human, also subject to change
Ethnicity: Whatever she picks.
Height: 6'2 at the moment, subject to change like pretty much any physical characteristic
Occupation: None
Residence: Nomadic

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description:
Faeyia's current body appears to be one of a young woman of hard to define ethnicity and origin. She crafted it to lack any sort of defining characteristics, and fly under the radar of most people. As desire for anonymity is no excuse to forego advantages, she packed her body full of muscle mass to increase her athletic abilities. Her skin is ambiguously dark, hair mostly unobserved and eyes dark enough to obscure any colour.

Due to usual shapeshifter problem of 'why the fuck should I bother when my transformation rips through clothes', Faeyia varies between buying perishable garments designed for utility rather than appearance, and simply manifesting bone or fur to mimick the effect. At the moment, she's wearing a pair of comfortable boots, dark pants, and a simple shirt rounded out by a tight vest and a leather belt.
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Personality: Faeyia is a highly playful and cheerful person, always up to enjoy something fun and making new friends. Of course, most sensible people frown on things such as sprouting three additional arms to make the best high five ever, which gets in the way. Despite her travels, she also lacks knowledge of other cultures and customs, which frequently causes misunderstandings. Her playful nature can also make her appear naive or disrespectful when more serious matters are concerned.

Faeyia hates hard work and effort that go against her easygoing nature. Despite that, she's willing to learn new things, especially if they're interesting and useful. She enjoys traveling around the world and seeing new things. She doesn't really have any ethical standards that would raise problems with her way of making a living.

Magic/Abilities: Faeyia was trained as flesh shaper, and most of her spells and abilities resemble those of Thanati masters. However, while they can shape the bodies of others, she cannot. Her ability is limited to only her own flesh, save for a way she developed to absorb biomass by touch. While her magic is restricted by this as well as the conservation of mass, she has otherwise complete control over her flesh. She can shapeshift at will and alter the composition of her body as she pleases.

Relationships: Nope

History: The temples of Thanatos prized knowledge and skill; it wasn't uncommon for them to ensure the education and training of talented children who otherwise were not in position to earn them alone. It is regarded as a worthy investment, as the students end up repaying the debt they accrued many times over, frequently becoming priests or servants of the temple that took them in.

The child who would later go by a consonant-starved name of Faeyia Lennarien was not one of them - she was a dud, a failure. Her gift for flesh shaping was undeniable - she could easily mold her body in any way she desired. But that was not enough - a true master of the art would be able to extend the same effect to others. Her inability to achieve this marked the limit of her usefulness. The moment the last teacher gave up on her, her time at the temple came to an end.

After being kicked out, Faeyia set out on a journey to see the world.

Character Limitations:  Finally, I have a fighter! I would ask you to stick to describing your character's actions and let my judgement make a final call on whether your attack/spell lands - I would do the same. I promise not to abuse this compact and make Faeyia invincible - I am not opposed to her taking hits and getting her ass kicked. If you definitely want to describe the effect in your post, please poke me in a message.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: He is known in Essyrn as Eltanin ash-Shiliyaq, but most people suspect it's not the one he was born under, merely one he chose to fit the place
Age: In his thirties
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Unknown
Height: 5'7
Occupation: Owner of a palace of fortune
Residence: Mosaic Reverie

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Eltanin is a man who takes his appearance very seriously, and it shows. His wardrobe is filled with stylish outfits of many lands and cultures, suitable for every occasion. He commissions them only from the best tailors, and spends a small fortune on both fabric and the craft, willing to stop at nothing to make his style a reality. He completes his outfits with well-chosen jewelry  and accessories.

Physically, he's a handsome man of rather average height and build. His skin colour hints at Adelan, Verdan, Essyrni or Thanati birth - or just a mixing of blood of many nations. In his dark eyes there always glitters a sparkle of mirth and joy, a spark of the fire burning within his soul. Most of the time, he keeps his long auburn hair tied back in order not to get in the way. He moves with a grace and purpose, but mostly with a sense of showmanship and flair of a professional entertainer.

Spoiler

  credit ( artist's policy )
music

[close]

Personality: Eltanin is never seen without a smile on his face and a charming line on his lips. He loves his current life with a passion few people can match. He's well-known as the gregarious master of  Mosaic Reverie, and few can connect him to his past. He's charming, he's friendly, he's always the star wherever he goes.

He takes games of chance and gambling very seriously. A risk-taker at heart, he never turns down a bet or a challenge. As it is a matter of pride to him, he refuses to cheat when playing - he considers cheating an admission of defeat, proof that one cannot win by their own abilities. Anyone caught employing dirty tricks in Mosaic Reverie incurs his wrath. Eltanin's retaliation is twofold - first he humiliates a cheater by beating them fair and square, then bans them from a casino.

Magic/Abilities: Eltanin has a magically enhanced potential for math and physics. It manifests as an instinctive knowledge of the world, so accurate that he can dodge arrows by predicting their path and aim with perfect accuracy. However, he can only access this power when under the effects of poison.

Relationships

History: Eltanin's origins and background is by all accounts shrouded in mystery. For all the people of Essyrn know, he just showed up one day with a great wealth at his disposal, won a plot of land in a bet with a Merchant Prince, and paid laborers generously to build a grand gambling house - or, as he preferred to call it, a palace of fortune - there. A lot of people with no better things to do, or just curious patrons, keep speculating on his past. Some theorize that he's some kind of a djinn that would grant a wish if someone beat him in a fair game of chance. Some think he's some Merchant Prince's bastard child who cheated his father out of family wealth to use it for his own gains. Eltanin himself is mostly irked by those theories - he's far too focused on enjoying the present to see the merit in exploring the past.

Mosaic Reverie quickly became a fixture in the city, offering a dizzying variety of games of chance and entertainment. Eltanin takes his establishment very seriously, and makes sure to supply it with all the paraphernalia and tools of the trade necessary. He doesn't go cheap either on matters of secondary concerns such as proper security, rewards for the patrons and minor entertainment like musicians.

Mosaic Reverie: The palace of fortune is Eltanin's livelihood and greatest pride. It is built in traditional Essyrni style, with perfectly round domes and ornamented tiles. The building is three stories tall, protected by a wrought fence. To enter it, a prospective patron would walk a road of white stone, kept pristine by a gaggle of slaves. The way is surrounded by intricately crafted fountains and garden plots blooming with a variety of exotic flowers. The beauty of the approach is kept fresh by a throng of gardeners and mechanics.

Inside, the Mosaic Reverie is not any less impressive. The floor tiles are decorated with intricate geometric patterns, so fascinating and detailed that it almost feels a waste to step on them. The lamps keeping the interior well illuminated are a work of art as well, commissioned at the best glassblowers. The first floor begins with a small entrance hall where the security guards make sure that no suspicious types slip in. The patrons are allowed to proceed further, to the huge main chamber. It reaches up through all three floors - the second and the third are mostly balconies overlooking it and a few private rooms on the side.

Character Limitations: None that I can think of.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Holwantha-Sat
Age: It would take a whole college of mathematicians to calculate it. Suffice to say, she's ancient.
Gender: Somewhat female-aligned. She uses female pronouns, but more out of habit and laziness than identity.
Species: Vahlok Kaal
Ethnicity: RizUn of the tundra
Height: Varies, as a shapeshifted. Her dragon form is relatively small, only ten feet in height. Her bear form measures up to nine feet.
Occupation: Guardian of the tundra
Residence: Hyoite

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Hol's preferred form is that of a giant polar bear. She is a hulking mass of muscle and fat, armed with razor-sharp fang and claws. There is a small, almost imperceptible aura effect - her white fur seems to shimmer with all the colours of the aurora borealis. It is a stylisation of Monah Sathurra, shared by all of her Riz.
She does have a dragon form, but has almost forgotten it due to lack of usage. Dragons aren't exactly common in the tundra.
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Personality: Holwantha is quite focused on her work. She takes her mission quite seriously, and has little regard for other things to busy herself with. The other guardians of the tundra would find her an useful ally on the job, and an insufferable grump outside of it. She has, however, a soft spot for the Vahlok Kaal of the ocean.

Unlike the others who interact with mortals enough to have a specific form dedicated to this purpose, she sees little point to it. A single person's life is but a blink in the millennia-spanning existence, and mostly inconsequential. She prefers the silent, constant company of nature. While she has fashioned some RizSeins out of snow and stone to aid her in her task, she is mostly content to leave them to their duties and avoid oversight.

Magic/Abilities: She's a natural shapeshifter, capable of altering her body at will, and not beholden to laws such as conservation of mass.

Relationships
- Her Monah: Sathurra
- Other Guardians

History: As one of the first RizUns created by Sathurra, Holwantha is pretty ancient. She has lived in the tundra before any humans ever came to its wilds and knows the entirety of it like the back of her own paw.

Through the millennia of their work, she and her mother Monah, Sathurra, developed a good working relationship. Out of all the RizUns, Hol needs least instructions to do her job, and can understand the implicit and the unsaid the quickest. They rarely interact - not out of any unprofessional dislike, but out of respect and confidence that the other can handle the mission without need of oversight or checking in.

Every now and then, she ended up in need of creating RizSeins of her own. She gave them strong, tough bodies, and enough directions, but wasn't so fond of social calls that she would keep in contact later. She was never loved, or even liked, but she was respected, and that was enough.

Unlike other Vahlok Kaal who interacted with mortals enough to even have a special form to match theirs, she never saw any point in that. Their lives were too irrelevant, too insignificant, too short for ever to see them as fellow sentients. This led her to developing a rather reclusive nature, and avoiding any contact. She made her lair in the deepest wilds, where few dare tread.

Character Limitations: I don't think she'd get into combat threads, so I'd ask for the standard hands-off approach. Feel free to move her if the thread is building up to it.

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 The moment Lanfearys opened Ithan's diary, he realized the error of his ways. He saw her write in the book every now and then, binding it with a chain and closing it with a key afterwards. She insisted it was a necessity - the King of Winter had power over minds, and she needed a way to etch the truth into something he could not affect. According to her, the fae was tricked into giving away his dominion over flesh, so it was flesh she used when making her book. Garbed animal skins for the pages, sinew to bind it, her own blood to write in it.

She tried to keep it safe, especially from Lanfearys - no wonder, considering what he told her - but even she needed sleep. Unfortunately, he failed to convinced her to sleep with him, and the traps she set always woke her up whenever he tried to sneak in. That called for Plan B; he pretended to be injured and unable to escape to Faerie - the latter even wasn't a lie. She bound him with a cold iron chain, a really kinky-looking gag, and placed him in a circle that could probably hold a fae, but wasn't a problem to him. After a really spirited interrogation, she left to gather herbs for some ritual, leaving him alone.

That was his chance! He slipped out of the ropes, carefully left the circle and rummaged through her bags. Fortunately, she left the book there rather than take it on her hunt. The moment Lanfearys opened the book, his satisfied smirk vanished, replaced by confusion. Of course. She was writing in a language he was not familiar with.

He would have to look it up later. He carefully turned every page, memorizing their contents quickly. His nearly eidetic memory would be of help, and perhaps one of the libraries had a dictionary of barbarian tongues. He was worried that Ithan would return soon and find him, but his fears were unfounded - he finished the entire book. The original plan was to get back into the restraints and see what she had in store, but he wouldn't be able to slip back into the rope. That was troubling. Unless...

He flung wide the window, letting the frozen air of the north inside. The wind blew in, throwing the salt making up the magic circle into disarray. Lanfearys smiled, a new idea coming to his mind. The dwarf would come and find that the King of Winter has freed his servant. Now, for a final touch... He picked up one of Ithan's knives and closed his hand around it, opening a vein. He used the blood to draw a warning on the door. It would be his grand finale - he was already growing bored a bit with her.


His performance was a resounding success. Ithan left so fast, it left the Starstriders quite surprised with her sudden absence. Lanfearys had to work hard to stop himself from smirking whenever she was mentioned. His reputation really didn't need another hit - it was hard enough finding new targets as it was. He was getting bored.

After seven more rejections and no hope for proper entertainment, he headed to the library. Of course, he had to wait for the lorekeeper to be distracted in order to sneak in - after what happened, she threatened to cut some choice limbs off if she ever saw him again. Mutilation was not on today's schedule.

Of course, it meant that he would get no help searching for dictionaries. He always preferred getting his information from people rather than books, but at least books wouldn't refuse him because he lied. Or tricked others. Or did a variety of amusing things that they had narrow-mindedly considered wrong.


Translating the pages took him a few weeks, but it kept him busy. It was engaging enough, but couldn't really compare to playing with people. He was a socialiser, not a scholar. He was only doing this out of boredom, and to try to wring every last bit from Ithan, even after she was gone. He hoped for some insight into her thoughts, but it was mostly a record of her pursuits and notes on the King of Winter.

But there was one tidbit that he found especially interesting. A ritual to see into the Faerie and possibly spy on its denizens. That intrigued him. The fae did not share his people's morals, perhaps they'd be more interesting to play with. An entire new culture, with its own intricacies, customs and ways... Perhaps this was an avenue he should take.

Finding most of the items required for the ritual was simple enough, but one was problematic. A mirror that has never reflected anyone. The only solution he could think of was having it made from scratch - and it wasn't something he ever learned. He ended up commissioning a glassmaker - put on a good show of paranoia, too, ranting about how this mirror was meant to see him and him only, and reflection of anyone else would 'spoil' it. It was wrapped in cloth when delivered to him, and he hoped that the craftsman was careful enough. It was time to put the mirror to the test.

The ritual was to be done under an open, clouded sky. He carefully set the mirror on the floor of his balcony, circling around to avoid being reflected in it. The necessary herbs were being burned in a nearby brazier as he chanted the incantation, his voice low and betraying some of his expectations. The smoke was low, coiling against the floor, covering the surface of the mirror wholly. The final word out of his lips, he completed the ritual and looked down.

Into the Faerie.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Lanfearys Fellanell
Age: 328 "human" years old
Gender: Starstrider. Appears male
Species: Starstrider elf
Ethnicity: Procyon
Height: 5'11
Occupation: A member of the envoy to Adela
Residence: Ketra

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: He appears to be a figure chiseled out of pure alabaster, but smooth in movements like flowing water. Even by the standards of his people, he is considered attractive, with high cheekbones and comely features. Aware of the effect his presence has on people, he supplants his natural beauty with graceful movement and well-chosen clothing that accentuate his body and bring out the best.

Spoiler

Art by Botanica (artist's art policy)
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Personality: He's a monster, plain and simple. Even before leaving for Adela, he had a love for intrigue and manipulation. Those who disliked him tended to keep their distance, those who cared for him hoped that his Resonance could change him, those who didn't know better ended up embroiled in his schemes.

There was a short-lived, brief time when it was not so, when he was so dazzled by the radiance he touched. When the shadow within his soul was burned away by the light, leaving only reverence. But its illumination could not be replaced, everything was just a pale imitation. But he'd still try to find what he knows cannot exist. What else could he do?

Magic/Abilities: He's immortal. His wounds heal very fast, and there is no injury severe enough to kill him - even if he was decapitated, or incinerated to ashes, his body would pull itself back together.

Relationships:
- A family left behind. They're happy to be rid of him.
- Victims
- Neese, the fae responsible for his immortality

History: He was a troublemaker to begin with. He started out a problem child that grew into a problem youth. His lack of morals was dangerously supported by a silver tongue and a gift for words. It was a dangerous combination, and handling him could be condensed to maintaining an equilibrium between being drawn by his charm and listening to common sense.

As it is usually in societies of long-lived beings, soon Lanfearys found himself out of targets. His fellow Starstriders either avoided him on principle, or were already burned and wished nothing more to do with him. He needed others to manipulate and play with, and so turned his eyes to the rest of Le'raana. The insular communities of Hyoite were too primitive and small for him to really spread his wings, but what truly tempted him were the great kingdoms that lay beyond. Full of mortals with their short lives, too short to remember him, too short to exact any sort of consequences.

In a spot of tremendously bad luck, or an ironic twist of fate, it was this desire that let to his downfall. One of the first mortals he actually met was a scholar researching the mysterious beings called the Fae. She was pursuing one of them, the King of Winter, far past Hyoite, and that chase brought her to Starstrider lands. Lanfaerys tricked her into believing that he was one of the royal retinue, hiding among the elves - just for the fun of it. For a while, it entertained him.

From her, he learned about the Fae. While Lanfaerys was wary of dealing with long-lived beings, she claimed that their morality didn't resemble other races' in the slightest. That intrigued him, and he decided to try and give them a chance. He attempted to draw the attention of the fae, and the one he got in contact with was Neese.

Neese was charming, manipulative and brilliant. He was everything lessers like Lanfearys aspired to be, and more. In the end, the Fae lord lost interest and moved on, but not before making one final deal. He gave the mortal immortality, in exchange for three favours to be done in the future. Of course he accepted, tempted more by the price than by the reward.

A few decades later, an expedition was launched into Le'raana - ostensibly, for diplomatic purposes, in truth to allow some outliers to find their Resonances. Lanfaerys qualified, and he was pleased to be counted among them, if only to find some short-lived mortals to mess with. They set out on a journey to Adela.

On their way, Neese called in the first favour. Lanfearys broke off from the main envoy force and received his assignment: he was to deliver a package. Irritated by the mundanity of his task, he broke the seal to check what's inside. He didn't have a lot of time to enjoy his uncivil disobedience, for he was set upon by bandits.

Was it fate, someone's design, or just providence? His adventure away from the others put him straight in the way of his Resonance - a wandering human priest. Lanfearys followed him, forgetting everything about the mission, his deal, the entire world. He had no use for religion, but the way the priest spoke about his goddess, the elf wanted to believe him - if only to share his vision. If only to see the world through his eyes. If only to listen to his voice.

Lanfearys returned to the envoy mission a month later, even more twisted and cruel than before. He saw the only person in the world who mattered die in his arms, and he's been powerless to stop it. And the immortality he accepted so readily now prevented him from joining his Resonance in the afterlife he believed in. He tried summoning Neese again, to bargain, to beg him to take it back, but all he received in return was cruel silence.

Character Limitations: In his case, it's like morals - he has none. Go ahead and do whatever you want to him - he's immortal, he'll live :3

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 The waiting room was large and spacious, enough to accommodate a diverse array of applicants and whatever they brought for their presentation. There were strange tech gizmos whose functions no one could deduce or even guess at, bizarre arcane apparatus that sparkled and hissed - one even brought a golem along to carry all that he needed.

Apart from the discreetly placed guards, there were three servants in Whitechalk livery handling the processing of the applicants. One of them was taking down the names in the registry, signing everyone up. His book must have been magically connected to the list a gnome was holding, for every line written there appeared on both sheets of paper. The gnome was loudly calling the names when their turn came to enter.

The third servant was an elven-looking man of dark complexion. His task was simple: he was explaining the audience. "For those who haven't heard of the process before, or are new here, please listen" he began. His voice sounded tired, but was probably magically enhanced for this purpose. "You will have five minutes in total - yes, that includes getting your equipment inside. You-"

"How is five minutes enough?!" a halfling wearing a curious looking armour shouted. "Wouldn't a Highmaster know that a proper scholarly discussion lasts longer than just five minutes?"

"I was getting to that" the elf responded. He didn't look phased at all - clearly, he was dealing with such interruptions the entire day, and had enough patience to do his job properly. "The purpose of the audience is not to have an in-depth conversation about your work - it is to condense it into a pitch and propose it. Now, if the Highmaster finds your research worth funding, you will be referred to one of her stewards who handle the patronage. You can have your scholarly discussion then. Any questions?"

 The musicians were really giving it their all. Coriander wished he knew more about music, just to appreciate their work properly. Maybe he should learn anyway - it could be another avenue for him to approach people. He saw some of his guests staring at the players in a way that implied interest in something different than their talent. He wouldn't mind drawing such looks.

This party was something he felt rightfully proud about. It was months in the making, and took far more work than he felt comfortable about doing. He wanted to make it a celebration to be remembered, not just another social occasion. And so he made sure that everything would be of the highest quality. He stole Count Varai's prized chef to prepare the refreshments, wrote to the most famed musicians, paid enough money to the entertainers that his mother took notice and threatened to stop supporting her useless firstborn. He convinced her, of course.

He had one of the most renowned tailors in Arca make his costume for that evening. Long coats were back in fashion - it was a bit annoying, as it would drag on the ground, but he just had to pay extra money to an artificer to get it enchanted to repel dirt. He wondered if the fashion movers and shakers were colluding with the utility wizards, bribed to keep them relevant.

His coat was made out of softest nighttvelvet - a fabric conjured into existence by skilled sorcerers, impossible to find in the limited natural world. The dark violet was accentuated by golden threaded embroidery that took months to finish. It was worth the wait, he reveled in the jealousy and attention of his guests. He would be the talk of Arca for months to come.

He noticed his parents around, shambling around in barely fashionable clothes. They were probably boring everyone with their business talks, trying to make a deal. They never knew the proper value of just having fun. Avemai wasn't here, and thank Kia for it - he would ruin everything with his numbers and calculations!

His gaze lingered on one person. It took him a moment to realize why - that was someone he didn't recognize. A part of him was pleased - the party must have been really going well if it drew uninvited guests. He headed towards the stranger, words springing to his lips like fine wine.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Vitiatus Ferrus(?) Salvinius da Ventus
Age: 93
Gender: Ashman
Species: Ashman
Ethnicity: Formerly Iron, now Bismuth.
Height: 5'5
Occupation: A raider
Residence: Ventus

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: His muscled form is bound in gray skin, one of the darkest tones among his people. It is marred with scars and marked by veinlike incrustations of metal. Once only distinguishable from the ash by the characteristic gloss, now it treacherously spans all the colour of the rainbow. Terrified by this change, Vitiatus covers it always with either armour or cloth, desperate not to have anyone notice the difference.
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Personality: "Shocked" would be the best word to sum him up. His change is constantly on his mind, forcing him to re-examine his sense of self and his role in society. He's paralyzed by indecision about what to do. One part of him drives him to hide his new colours out of fear for being ostracized or cast out. Another is desperate to seek help from Bismuth shamans, hoping that they would provide some desperately needed direction. He tries his hardest to act the way he usually does, and not let anyone know what happened, just in case his transformation is temporary and about to pass.

Magic/Abilities:
- A skilled fighter
- It is possible that with his transformation came a gift of magic the Bismuth caste is known for, but he hasn't experimented with it yet.

Relationships

History: Vitiatus used to lead a rather unremarkable existence, not different at all from his Iron Caste brothers. He lived on the small isle of Ventus, every now and then conducting raids on the mainland of Le'raana on the ships of the Silver Caste. While unmarried, he was considering making a son.

His life was turned upside down by a shocking event during one of his raids. While fighting the defenders of a small town he was pillaging, he faced a traveling wizard who was passing through. Before retreating through a portal, the wizard hit Vitiatus with a strange spell. The raider thought he shrugged it off, but soon learned the truth as he saw his reflection in the waves. The gray iron incrustations in his ashen flesh turned colourful in an instant.

He acted on an instinct, covering himself with a cloak. Luckily, none of the metal veins were in any visible places, such as the face. He could easily hide his problem with just a change to his wardrobe.

But should he? His transformation left him with quite an existential crisis. Could he just carry on with his life, if he was no longer a true member of the Iron Caste? Was the change permanent? Was he meant to become a shaman of Bismuth now? How should he repair his identity?

Character Limitations: None that I can think of!

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Lavinius Aurichalcus Illicius da Lume
Age: 89, a mature Ashman
Gender: Ashman
Species: Ashman
Ethnicity: Brass
Height: 5'8
Occupation: Blacksmith
Residence: Lume

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: A foreigner could easily mistake Lavinius for a soldier in civilian clothes, considering his muscular build he owes to many hours spent in the forge. Every islander, however, would be able to correctly identify his caste by the veins running across his light gray body and broad brass bracelets that could easily double as pieces of armour. Most of the time, he wears traditional flowing garments in non-metallic colours - a habit he picked up from working with the Kulshedra, as most Ashmen prefer more muted shades.
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Personality: Lavinius takes a lot of pride in his craft, and doesn't let anyone give him shit. Any poor fool who looks down on the Brass Caste would get a fight punctuated with a lecture. After all, every caste relies on his work - the Iron-blooded soldiers need armour and weapons, his fellow Brass workers need specific tools, and the higher castes want jewelry and ornaments. And they better treat him with respect for it!

Like most of his people, he has a strong sense of responsibility towards his role and doing right by his father. There is just one thing setting him apart from the rest of the Ashmen. As he works frequently with the Kulshedra, he developed a healthy respect for other species. Beneath it lies a well-hidden curiosity about their lives and nature, especially the strange customs and properties that the Ashmen do not share.

Magic/Abilities:
- An expert blacksmith, capable of crafting and fixing the armour and weapons used by his people, as well as a variety of metal equipment and appliances

Relationships:
- His fellow Ashmen
- He works on daily basis with the Kulshedra living on the islands.

History:  Already as a child, Lavinius displayed curiosity towards the other races. It originally began as preferring to play with the little Kulshedra rather than his fellow Ashmen. It wasn't exactly uncommon - a lot of youths went through the phase of fascination with the shimmering scales and pretty colours, especially when compared to the less wide ash palette. Yet it was something he never grew out of.

Lavinius enjoyed his work alongside Kulshedra craftsmen, and was the first to offer the raiders free repairs of their gear in exchange for stories of their adventures. He was eager to hear about all the strange people inhabiting Le'raana.

He put a lot of hopes on one particular friend - Ultramarine, a trade envoy to the other Kulshedra tribes. As he was to interact with others in capacity different than raiding, Lavinius hoped to learn more through him. However, Ultramarine's travels took months, leaving the inquisitive blacksmith in a need of more ways to satisfy his curiosity. The temptation to try and leave and see the world for himself is there, but he still refuses - he knows it would only bring shame upon his father.

Character Limitations: Nothing!

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: His original name has been lost to time. He goes by Cassander Tremaire now
Age: Also unknown. Time in Faerie doesn't flow the same way. Physically, he appears to be around thirty
Gender: Male. Probably. Hasn't checked since.
Species: Looks human. Could have been altered, but he has no way of telling at the moment
Ethnicity: His appearance suggests one of three kingdoms or Hyoite
Height: 5'8
Occupation: Fugitive
Residence: Not applicable

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Cassander hides himself within a thick cloak he's stolen upon fleeing Faerie. Underneath it, his body is pale and twisted, covered in scars and marks - mementos from his captors. The stolen clothes do not fit his figure, and their motley, mismatched appearance makes him look suspicious and strange. His uneven, dark hair is still tangled with the thorns and leaves of the other world. But the most striking 'feature' would be the half-mask that covers right part of his face. Held in place by no straps or wires that eye can see, it seems to be fused to his skin and despite his best efforts, couldn't be removed.

Spoiler

Source: Legend of the Cryptids game
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Personality: His personality could be described in three words: paranoid and desperate. He's just escaped from the Faerie and is driven not to let his captors have him again. He's suspicious of every person he meets, believing them to be an agent of the Fae; and is wary of every shadow. Having returned to Le'raana only recently, he finds it hard to adjust - and his lost memories aren't helping.

Magic/Abilities: Infused with Fae magic, Cassander is able to draw on their power to some extent - glamour, manipulating emotions, a few contracts. He prefers not to use it, as he fears that it may draw attention of his captors.

Relationships: When he lost his memories, all the bonds he might have had were severed. Considering that time passes differently in Faerie, it's also possible that anyone who might have known him is long dead.

History: His memories are filled with pain and horror. He remembers being a captive of the Fae, held in a land that seemed familiar but couldn't be more alien. He remembers his jailers - creatures of unspeakable wonder and indescribable cruelty, whose beauty could only be matched by their horror. He didn't even have the relief of knowing their mind - they weren't motivated by hate, ennui, or even curiosity, but what a mortal could never comprehend.

He remembers the staggeringly incomprehensible world around him, where flames tasted of green and smoke fell instead of rain. He remembers drinking barrels of water until his stomach almost burst, but having his thirst never quenched for he never made contract with the drink to do so. He remembers burning in a middle of a blizzard, yet freezing to death for no flame would warm him. He remembers the capricious air of the Faerie that refused to nourish his lungs until one of his Fae masters forced it to.

He remembers being passed from one Fae to another - sometimes as a gift shaped to their liking, sometimes as a slave thrown away once his master saw no more use, sometimes as a bet in a game with no rules that he could comprehend. He remembers the Fae cutting him open just to see the colour of his blood, again and again, and  their anger when it remained red. He remembers how great their beauty was, so overpowering that he wasn't even allowed to feel fear in pain rather than devotion and wonder. He remembers thorns growing from the seeds planted under his skin, watered by his blood, nourished by his flesh. He remembers all that he's lost and all that was done to him.

He remembers all the times he's attempted to escape, charging through the ever-changing realms of Faerie in search of an exit that never existed. He remembers how his captors pretended to pursue him, toying with his hopes, just before they snatched him again and punished him. And he remembers the miracle - his actual successful escape. He remembers the vicious thorns that would not let him through, that demanded a toll. So they tore into him and took the memories he had of his life before his capture - his friends, his family, his past. He remembers fleeing to the world he could no longer recall.

Character Limitations: None that I can think of atm

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