__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Currently goes by Carvaine Ayleward
Age: Estimated to be in his thirties
Gender: Male
Species: Appears to be human
Ethnicity: Unknown
Height: 5'6
Occupation: Teacher of light magic at Wyrdwood Academy
Residence: Wyrdwood

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description:  Carvaine looks like a typical Serenian human - small, with a lithe body, soft hair and light skin. The only thing setting him apart from other Wyrdwood fellows is his colourful clothing - every day he shows up wearing something else, unique and varied enough to make others suspect that he's using his illusions to achieve that effect.

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Image from Legends of the Cryptids game
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Personality: Most Wyrdwood staff and students know him as an eternally cheerful fountain of smiles and positive attitude. His trademark smile almost never disappears from his lips, and he seems to be almost physically incapable of feeling negative emotions. Some find it unbearable, others consider it a pleasant attitude.

Carvaine takes a progressive approach to his amnesia. Rather than search desperately for his lost memories or any remains of his past, he chooses to look forward and focus on his present and future. An insightful person could recognize it for the avoidant behaviour he frequently employs. A less perceptive one would just judge him as an open-minded and curious sort. His attention is easily caught, but rarely held for long. Some clever students take advantage of it to distract him from their lack of homework or preparation.

Beneath this pleasant exterior lie hidden a few more disturbing elements he remains unaware of. His tendency to deal with problems by avoiding and running away is one. A keen-eyed observer would be able to connect this habit to his lack of search into his past, perhaps even suspect that his amnesia is a lie he made up to get away from it. His recklessness can sometimes border on self-destructiveness, as he's far too willing to undertake actions that put him at risk.

Magic/Abilities: While most people would think of healing and sun-powered spells when the topic of light magic is brought up, Carvaine's power is a little bit more literal. He manipulates light - a rather versatile ability that is only limited by one's knowledge and understanding. While one might expect an amnesiac to find his power unfamiliar, Carvaine's experience was not touched by whatever targeted his memories - he wields his power with skill and confidence, capable of making the best of his gift. He's able to, among others:
- Manipulate the visible spectrum to create illusions, keep enemies blind and keep whatever he chooses invisible
- Transmit information through waves, should he find something to receive it
- 'See' through most obstacles
- Find traces of substances no longer visible in normal light
- Capable of mimicking heat vision
- Technically capable of wreaking destruction with another aspect of his powers, but doesn't. There's plenty of reasons - he's not fond of overkill, it would be risky to the point that it could kill him, etc. The simplest reason would be that, as knowledgeable and skilled as he is, it might still be outside of his capabilities.

Relationships:
- His fellow staff members at Wyrdwood
- Also students

History:  Carvaine was brought to Wyrdwood by the Broken Seal. They paid for his Fellow membership and installed him in the academy for the sake of convenience. Of course, the true nature of his presence isn't known by people outside the cabal - to most people, he is just another quirky teacher.

The versatility of his abilities made him enough of an asset that the leaders decided to make sure he wouldn't be able to do anything stupid like betray them or try to leave the cabal. A skilled command mage known by a simple codename of 'V' played a critical role in it. While most of the time, their ability was used to provide the golems with rudimentary actions and behaviour routines, they were just as capable of influencing the minds of people. V created a few shortcuts in Carvaine's mind, allowing anyone with the right keyword to activate a variety of functions, ranging from complete obedience to manipulating memories.

Unaware of the truth of his situation, Carvaine spends most of the time teaching at the academy. Whenever the cabal sends him on an assignment, he has a suitable cover story - visiting relatives, research trip, getting out of the sight of Professor Zinc to prevent a catastrophe...

Character Limitations: His involvement with the Broken Seal is not public knowledge, and is unlikely to be known by people. If you want your character to know, I would require permission and a good excuse.

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-  Visiting old acquaintances and new relations with Neese, Rianharr Thalance, Aahva Chatterjee, Beatrix Evans, Lulu Von Grimmelshausen and Kassandra Eimhar

 Aisha looked the establishment over three times before entering. She wasn't paid for wasting time and she wanted to make sure she got the right place. Essyrn's darker corners were full of... enterprising souls who were eager to take advantage of those too unskilled or too careless. But then again, the Nightshades seemed professional enough not to let potential clients get stolen or murdered by charlatans.

She wasn't the potential client, of course. She definitely did not have enough money to hire mercenaries. She was just one of the many middlemen employed by those who wanted to keep their interests from being traced. She didn't even know how many men were before in this chain of assignments - and she didn't really care. It was a job, she wasn't going to complain if someone rich gave her coin to go and order some people around in their place.

Well, she wouldn't be getting anything if she didn't go in. Gathering her courage, she pushed the door open. No trap sprung on her, no sudden ambushers surrounding her - looked like this was the place. She cautiously closed the door behind her and headed to the desk. There were probably eyes on her, but unless she caused trouble, she shouldn't be worried.

She walked up to the bar and gave the passphrase.

 The Defenceless Old Ladies scattered as soon as they entered Zantaric. At this point, they were a well-oiled team where every lady gear knew her role and could perform without further instructions. Rivan and Hilya headed for the ironically named white market to resupply. Britannia was the one who got them the last assignment, so she went to report on the progress. High time - the severed heads were starting to rot and some of the sisters with enhanced senses were beginning to complain. Tarroth and Invis went on a mission the couldn't agree on naming. To Invis, it was job acquisition - to the ogre, it was all about drinks.

Invis was short for 'invisible', of course. Her minor magical ability allowed her to temporarily disappear from people's perception. She insisted that it wasn't true invisibility, that she just made them forget she existed - even if she stood right in front of their eyes - but the nickname stuck. Invis stopped minding.

She was sent to act as a sort of a handler for Tarroth - someone to keep the ogre from punching a potential customer if they had the misfortune of being, or looking male. As soon as they entered, she began to look around, careful not to stare for too long in order to draw attention. She didn't want to cause an unnecessary brawl - although her struggle sister had a tendency to do so anyway.

As Invis investigated the tavern, Tarroth headed immediately for the bar. Some of the patrons saw her coming - most moved out of the way. Their sense of self-preservation outweighed their sense of entitlement, it seemed - and she did not look like the kind of a person to be concerned with running someone over.

She crouched down over the bar, looking at the very frightened elf tending it, before turning back to Invis. The human tossed a pouch over to her - while most of the time, being so careless with money in a shady tavern, would end up badly, the presence of an ogre at the receiving end made even the greediest regulars keep their hands from reaching for the pouch.

"You could start carrying your own money" Invis muttered.

"They could start making coins that I can hold, not this... sand" the ogre commented. She would probably start ranting about how the tiny people made equally tiny money, but Invis activated her power, fading from everyone's perception. Tarroth found herself starting at an empty space with no clue about what was just going on, shrugged and turned her attention to the bartender again.

"One bucket of dwarven ale."

The elf blinked. "Bucket?"

"What, are you deaf?" she threatened, hunching over his bar. "What am I supposed to do with your tiny mugs, wear them as thimbles?"

Invis reappeared, poking her on the hand. "If you kill or hurt him, you won't be able to get your ale."

"I will" Tarroth grumbled back, but didn't move. "It's right there, I can just pour myself some."

Invis groaned. "We're mercenaries. We kill when we get paid. No one paid us for for killing him, and he hasn't attacked him. I swear, if I wanted to babysit a toddler with no impulse control, I'd have stayed home and gotten married."

The elf realized that he was probably not about to get smashed by an ogre and sent a thankful glance at Invis. "I will go get a bucket right away!"

The human disappeared again, off to continue her task hopefully without any interruptions. Tarroth leaned against the creaking wall and waited for her drink to come. She didn't even try the chairs - the Defenceless Old Ladies did not have an infinite budget to cover the destruction of all furniture that was not built to withstand the weight of an ogre in heavy armour.

The door creaked open. Tarroth turned her head to look.

 The elf didn't look prepared at all. As a matter of fact, Siana would be surprised to find out that he even thought twice about his audition. He stammered, went on unrelated tangents, and looked terrified at the prospect of questions. She was sorely tempted to just kick the idiot out of the room, but it was better not to create a precedent. The rules she set were clear - if she didn't leave herself an avenue to dismiss people earlier, she had no choice but to listen. She could as well give him a chance.

"And what application do you see for your ability?" she asked, tapping her fingers against the surface of her desk.

The elf looked positively surprised. "Uh... application?"

"Do I need to provide you with definition?"

"Ah- no, no need, Highmaster Whitechalk! There's... plenty of application! In everything!"

"I would require a more defined example" she commanded. "Can you give me one, for example, in industry?" Perhaps narrowing it down would help the fool. Siana herself already had some ideas, but she had no intention of doing his job for him. He hasn't earned it so far.

"In industry? Uh, of course, Highmaster! For example, there's... well..."

"Time's up" a servant announced, mercifully cutting this pathetic display short.

"What? I mean- Please, wait! I just need a little more time!" the elf shouted. Apparently he lacked self-awareness as well as preparation and... pretty much everything she was looking for. Siana waved for one of the guards to escort the idiot out.

"Next, please."

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Alvius Ferrus Graminis da Nutuvus
Age: 60
Gender: Ashmen are male only
Sexual Orientation: No information yet, due to lack of information
Species: Ashman
Ethnicity: Iron
Height: 5'6
Occupation: Soldier
Residence: Nutuvus

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description:
Alvius' position and caste are reflected in his strong, muscled build and the gray iron veins running across his skin. For his young age, he's been in many battles, and he has scars to show for it. He has uneven hair of differing length, as his philosophy in this matter has always been to grab a strand and cut it the moment it gets in the way, with whatever sharp object is around. Most of the time, his expression is a variation on a smile - a friendly one, an excited grin, or a feral grimace worn in battle.
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Personality: Alvius is a very sociable person, one that has a lot of friends and easily connects with strangers. His charismatic nature makes him popular among his fellow soldiers, and even the other castes enjoy interacting with him. While some more cynical people would dislike his simple way of thinking, most are rather endeared by his easygoing manner and willingness to help.

Raised from birth in Ashman society, he developed a lot of the traits characteristic to his people. His love of battle is one - Alvius deeply enjoys fighting, both during raids with the Silver caste and dueling his fellow warriors. Another is a sense of filial responsibility - he deeply admires his father, Commander Graminis, and is aiming to make him proud.

Magic/Abilities:
- A capable warrior, trained to fight both aboard ships and on the dry land
- An excellent tactician, able to adapt to any combat situation on the fly and choose the best option
- He's just good with people

Relationships
- His father Graminis Ferrus Ascarinus da Nutuvus, a highly respected Ashman commander

History: Like all of his kind, Alvius was created out of the rich ash of the isles and the blood of his father. He was raised in a supportive, fair environment to become the man he is now. His father's influence made sure that he was given the best training and opportunities he needed. But for every cynic who would think that his success was only brought about by Graminis' reputation, Alvius had more than enough talent and personal charm to prove that he was worth this extra attention.

As soon as he was old enough to join the Silver caste on raids, he began amassing victories and acclaim of his peers. Both his combat ability and his easygoing manner won most people over. He behaved more like just 'one of the guys' rather than a son of a great warrior throwing his weight around. While he was still very sensitive about his father's accomplishments and wanted to make him proud, he didn't let it get to his head.

Character Limitations: Don't transform him, and that's all I can think of.

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  Baron Yvelines was wasting her time, it was plain and simple. Siana was half-tempted to just up and leave - but the High Priestess promised to be back soon. Asalawana was a renowned entropymancer, assigned as the Thanati's ambassador's spiritual guide. Talking to her was a pleasure, and the mage would rather suffer through Yvelines' drivel than leave and not finish their conversation. Unfortunately, the baron wanted some input and wasn't just content to drone on and be ignored. Well, Siana saw no point in making enemies, so she was willing to entertain the fool a little.

"... to be honest. Mercenaries should just do their job and leave - won't you agree, Highmaster Whitechalk?"

"Well, most mercenaries usually come back for their pay in between those two" she pointed out. He just stared at her.

"But they just stayed and... And what am I supposed to do?!"

"I recommend giving them a mission that would take them away from your lands" she spoke. Why did everyone in the world expected her to solve their problems?! Was she the only capable person in the entire country?

"But then they would come back for their pay" he pointed out. He still fixed her with an expectant stare. High Priestess Asalawana was nowhere in sight.

"Then send them on a fool's errand that would get them killed" she countered. How could a man so incapable of finding solutions to his problem ever become a baron?

"It probably won't work" he sighed. "They're very capable, what if they're survive?!"

As much as Siana wanted to limit interacting with Yvelines to the bare minimum possible, she would not violate one of her most treasured principles of making the best of every opportunity she saw. Granted, it was possible that the Baron simply lacked imagination to properly get rid of unwanted mercenaries - and compared to him, pretty much anyone could be considered very capable. But she was rather used to disappointment and people not meeting her expectations, so there was no harm in trying.

She didn't exactly have need of mercenaries. The Whitechalk family had a diverse array of vassals and servants that were more than enough to provide for her demands. But Hysminai did, and Siana made use of the dwarf's resources enough to make her feel obliged to at least make an effort to pay back. Especially since she could benefit from this as well.

"I can handle this" she offered. "I will give the  mercenaries a request that would take them off your lands."

The Baron immediately perked up. "You would do it?! I would be in your debt, Highmaster! Thank you so much! And to think people say that you Whitechalks never help anyone!"

Siana didn't feel a burning need for approval of her lessers. "So you'd exchange my actions for your words? I would expect the leader of the Yvelines family to have more business sense." The Yvelines were proud of their merchant roots, this argument should find traction with him.

His expression quickly changed. "I would never say that! Of course, I wouldn't demand that you do me a favour without any repayment... I promise I will assist you and the Whitechalk house to pay my debt..."

She nodded. "We can make a contract, then."

 The elderly alchemist carefully peered at the murky fluid through the magically treated glass vessel she provided for the purpose of containing it. "Well, it looks like what I ordered..." She frowned, her emotions clearly echoing through. There was the salty taste of awareness, she knew even before placing the order that the only way to truly know if she wasn't cheated would be through a series of tests - tests she had no intention of conducting. It would take time, ingredients, and most important, use up some of her precious reagent. She really wanted the creepy mercenary out of her lab, but at least she wasn't willing to make costly mistakes because of it.

She ruffled through her pockets, then groaned. "Figures. Give me a moment to get your pay. Don't touch anything!" She carefully placed the vial on one of the shelves and charged off into the repository.

Perhaps it was to be expected. Mad scientist types usually kept dangerous things in their pockets, rather than convenient things such as money. It was probably time to wait.

Someone knocked. The door of the workshop opened slowly, revealing a suspicious-looking redheaded boy. "Hello?" he asked. "Is Arcanist Ivis here?"

 "Well, Doctor, I believe I may have an useful offer for you" the dwarven information broker began. "It was hard to find something, considering your caution and secrecy requirements, but I believe it's promising. A contact of a contact of a con- I get it, I will hurry up - found someone who could support your work. Funds, resources, workshop, overall a pretty good deal. Of course, it would depend on your ability to convince them."

The dwarf handed her a silver disc with a serpent emblazoned on it. "Two streets away, by the Sleeping Hog inn, there is a small carriage waiting. The driver is wearing a hat with a red feather in it. Show it to them, and they'll take you to the place. Sorry for the cloak-and-dagger, but I suppose this is the nature of caution in those times."

***

Meanwhile, a small stag beetle was labouring bravely through the air, buoyed on gusts of wind and desperately flapping his wings. Unlike his brethren, he was black and unassuming, with nothing going for him but his noble goal. The risk of being lost, squashed, or failing to deliver his message, was great and the odds were stacked against him. He was an unsung hero, a miracle, a statistical improbability, an outlier so far on the Gauss curve, he couldn't even see the apex.

Dauntless, he flew on, with his mission wrapped snugly under his wings. The small letter had to make its way to Juniper Whitechalk, trusting in his blind faith that she would find it before making the ultimate decision to squish him.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Rhuneth
Age: Hard to estimate, probably young
Gender: Apparently female
Species: Halfling
Ethnicity: Adelan
Height: 4'2
Occupation: Freelance necromancer
Residence: Nomadic

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Rhuneth is a short, dark-skinned halfling with stark red hair. It is clear at first sight that she spends a lot of time and effort on her clothing - she wears colourful, elaborate dresses with a lot of ribbons, ruffles and bows. She looks like she stole some little noblewoman's wardrobe, and that's probably what happened. How she can keep looking fresh and pretty while on the road and fighting is a mystery.
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Personality: Rhuneth is this kind of a person who is very hard to get down. Her cheerful and positive demanour is something that can get under people's skin, but most just get used to it. The source of it would be probably her curiosity towards the world, as well as a healthy dose of pragmatism. Crying and getting angry never solved any problems, so why waste time on it?

Combined with her necromantic abilities, it's no surprise that most people find her strange and creepy. She doesn't really care.

Magic/Abilities:
- Enough combat ability to be able to travel unmolested
- Medium-level necromancy, including but not limited to: animating the dead and commanding them, shaping the dead flesh and communicating with ghost

Relationships:
- Her friendly cohort of reanimated monstrosities decorated with ribbons

History:
Rhuneth was born in a small town in Adela. Her childhood was mostly unremarkable and passed uneventfully, until one fateful day. A wandering circus visited her birthplace, enchanting all the children and bringing some colour into the dreary lives of the adults. Like a lot of other kids, Rhuneth really enjoyed the performance, and even came out of it with a desire to join the circus. Unlike all the other kids, she actually succeeded. She stowed away in a crate and was pretty much overlooked.

She woke up on Thanatos, where the circus made a stop. The performers caught her and weren't really pleased. Since they visited a lot of towns populated by halflings, they had no idea where to return her - and she refused to tell. In the end, they dropped her off in a nearby temple, trusting that the priests would be able to help her. Since the priests recognized the magical potential she had, they were willing to give her education in exchange for her later joining their ranks, as the law required.

This new arrival drew the eye of Gayatri Sunsorrow, a powerful Soul Speaker of the priest caste. Unbeknownst to her fellow priest, her closeness to the realm of the dead led her onto the path of necromancy, which she's been practicing in secret. She wanted an apprentice, but couldn't trust anyone in the temple - every child was raised from birth to obey Thanati laws and abhor her art, they would all give her secret up to the high priest. Except for the familyless, foreigner child that was just dropped on their doorstep.

Gayatri took Rhuneth under her wing, and once the child swore a magical oath, began teaching her necromancy. They established a positive relationship of mutual respect and fondness. Rhuneth never felt the need to try and return home to Adela - she far preferred her current life.

A few months before Rhuneth came of age, everything went to hell. Gayatri's art was discovered and everyone even remotely connected to her - including her personal apprentice - was of immediate interest to Thanati law-keepers. Throwing all caution to the wind, the two necromancers fought to the best of their ability to flee, leaving their reanimated pursuers to slow down their brethren.

They ended up in Hyoite, where they spent several years in hiding and perfecting their art. However, neither liked the place too much - especially the cold - and decided to leave. Sticking together would be too dangerous - their pursuers would be on lookout for two women of their description, but alone, they could disguise each other and fare better. They made a pact to return to their hut in two years' time and share their experiences - then departed, each in her own direction.

Player Limitations: Do not think/feel for her, do not assume your action immediately succeeds. Moving her is acceptable, if within reasons (i.e. if they're playing ball and your character throws it, you can write 'and when Rhuneth catches the ball, I detonate the bomb hidden inside'). Also, it's acceptable to find out that she's a necromancer by telepathy, auras/other magical means, or just plain common sense :3

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Alvaro Narvaes
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Adelan
Height: 5'7
Occupation: Officer
Residence: Whatever outpost/camp/fortress his army resides in

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: It is enough to just see Alvaro once to know pretty much everything there is to know about him. His dusky copper skin, bright quicksilver eyes and dark hair are what most people imagine when thinking of an Adelan. His strong build, pronounced muscles and the scars scattered on his skin make it clear that he's a warrior, someone who's seen many battles and is rather able to take care of himself. Finally, the worn armour in the national colours indicate both his occupation and rank.
Image from Legend of the Cryptids game
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Personality: Alvaro is a fiercely patriotic man, one who loves his country and king deeply and is willing to do anything to protect them. To his family, he's their great pride and joy, and a chance for the Narvaes name to be spoken across all of Adela. To his fellow soldiers, he's a commander who leads them to glory and is well worthy of their loyalty. To the other citizens, he's an object of both intense admiration and burning envy. He is a rising star of the army, one that a lot of hopes hinge upon.

Naturally, such high expectations have a way of affecting a person. Fortunately, rather than go to his head and make him an insufferable arrogant prick, it just imposed a heavy sense of responsibility on him. While he appears to be a very considerate and compassionate person to the people around him, he doesn't extend the same understanding to his own actions, and holds himself to the highest standards there are - ones even he has trouble meeting.

The curse placed on him is a cause of constant concern. His days are literally numbered, forcing him to work under a time limit. At this point, he's gone past frustration and repressed any fear or anger, and is focused completely on the practical aspects of his incoming demise. It fuels his intense dedication even further - many have mistaken his complete devotion to his craft for a burning ambition. Being forced to acknowledge his mortality, he is driven to accomplish as much as he could in the time he has left.

Magic/Abilities:
- Leadership
- Excellent grasp of tactics and greater battle strategy
- Trained in combat with many weapons, although his favourite is a spear
- Unknown to almost everyone, he has a minor magical ability that enhances his thinking ability, allowing him to see patterns and flow of things, while boosting his mental speed

Relationships:
- His family
- Fellow soldiers in the Adelan army

History:
His family were minor nobility, very fixated on raising their station in life and spreading their influence. His father Estavan used to be a dragon knight who lost his position in a tough battle that claimed his partner's life and left him with an injury spelling the end of his military career. Estavan sent all of his children to the military, deciding to live vicariously through their successes.

Alvaro was clearly the biggest success. His natural talent in battle, combined with plain luck and diligence, contributed to his high rise through the ranks. He quickly gained a reputation that only grew, and resulted in more promotions. The soldiers under his command developed a fierce loyalty, and his superiors were divided between those were pleased with his skill, and those envious of him.

His perfect life was soon ruined. An enemy clever enough to hide himself managed to place an insidious curse upon him. It was simple and effective, set to activate and take his life on the first day of summer. Alvaro was left with less than a year to live. The time limit forced him to reconsider his life up to now and speed up his pace. He could no longer afford to take his time - if he was to claim the title of a Commander, he would have very little time to achieve it - and even less to actually enjoy his success.

Character Limitations: Since he's a capable warrior, I would request that you refrain from landing automatic hits/assuming specific responses. If you have something in mind, please let me know and I can figure something out. Moreover, his curse is not something I want fixed - I made him specifically in order to play a character with an irrevocable time limit.

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 Val regretted not knowing more about Serenian art. The directions seemed clear when he received them, but now he saw the flaw that he failed to notice before. He was supposed to turn right at the portrait of the founder. While there were plenty of paintings in the hallway he was in, none of the subjects looked even barely humanoid. He tried reading the plaques for some information, but his eyesight started getting blurry. He didn't want to take a risk - usually, whenever there was some chance element, his curse had a way of skewing the probability towards the worst possible outcome.

Val heard footsteps. Was his friend back already? He turned around, but even with his eyes affected, he could easily tell that the student who just showed up probably was someone else. His skin was green, for once, and he was far larger. Nonhumans were far more numerous here in Serendipity - or was it a result of some spell gone wrong? It would probably be rude to make assumptions either way. "Excuse me" he began. "Might I ask you a question? I'm new here, and I believe I'm a bit lost..."

 Coriander thought that owning a full drawer of gloves would be enough. It wasn't such a popular element of clothing that it had to be changed too frequently, unlike all the major parts. He thought that in this aspect, he had enough variety to pick and choose for any necessary purpose. But he just couldn't find an appropriate pair, or to be more precise, a pair made out of appropriate fabric or leather. The green dragonskin gloves should be thick and insular enough, but the texture was so rough that writing with them on would cause the text to smudge.

Perhaps he should take the risk anyway. Smudged text might be inelegant, but it might be enough of a hint for the Baron to suspect that something was going on. It was bad form to aim for a complete victory, without letting one's target make a counterplay. He picked the dragonskin pair out of the drawer, but inspiration struck before he managed to put it on. There was really no reason to wear gloves in the first place! After all, if he got poisoned, perhaps the Baron would hear of it and connect the dots - maybe come to a wrong conclusion that Coriander himself fell victim to a similar plot, perhaps even seek him out! Falling victim to the Malice venom would be worth it!

Coriander closed the drawer and picked Malice out of his poison cupboard. He was about to begin writing when a servant knocked on the door. How unfortunate!

"My lord, someone came to see you" the voice reported.

Well, he couldn't help it. He could always finish writing the letter later. He put Malice back in the cupboard, shuffling the bottles a little. He kept his poison carefully mislabeled, just so that anyone messing with it would meet an unpleasant surprise, but it wouldn't help against those knowledgeable enough to recognize that. So, just in case, he changed the positioning every once in a while. It couldn't hurt, after all.

Coriander made his way downstairs, heading to the drawing room to receive the guest.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Siana Whitechalk
Age: 54
Gender: Female
Species: Fae-blooded human
Ethnicity: Verdan
Height: 6'2
Occupation: Noble, researcher, mage
Residence: Atlas Verde

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: She was never beautiful, and never cared. While she does pay attention to her appearance in order to present an imposing image and not bring shame to her family, she doesn't dress to impress or seduce, just to prove her wealth and position. Most of the time, she wears mage robes woven with protective runes and useful enchantments. Her skin is dark for a Serenian, enough to pass for an Adelan in the eyes of someone who's never seen an Adelan before. She doesn't use any makeup, and most jewels she wears usually have a hidden meaning, or an unknown function. An exception would be her spirit stone - fluorites are too soft to risk putting it in a ring, so she usually wears a necklace with a gem safely encased in it.

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Personality: A woman of logic and pragmatism, she follows her common sense and practical applications closer than any religion or code of morality. Her intelligence was honed through detailed education by the best tutors money could buy, making her into a fearsome opponent, an irreplaceable ally and a boon to progress, all at once. While like most of her family, she was raised to revere magical power above its other forms, she is not blind to other avenues, as many scholars and inventors she founded would attest to.

One might expect from a noble of Serendipity, a descendant of highly capricious and whimsical fae, to share their aversion to order and duty. This one stereotype couldn't be further from the truth of Siana's character - her actions are guided by her sense of responsibility to her family, her province and her country - not always in the exact order. She takes it very seriously, and approaches it with a systemic method of management that seems brilliant to scholars and a headache to most courtiers. She has no silver tongue or particular grace in navigating the meanders of social interaction - others usually yield to her logic and presence rather than sweet words.

Magic/Abilities:
- Chronomancy: Progression. Siana's magic winds time forward, aging her target. It isn't an enchantment, but a natural process - just the catalyst forces it to complete faster. Because of it, it cannot be dispelled - although chronomancers and other forces capable of rewinding time and/or bestowing youth would be able to undo her work by applying their own.
- As a member of the prestigious Whitechalk family, she has an impressive knowledge of magic theory and science
- Knowledge of Serendipity and Atlas Verde's political landscape

Relationships
a) Her family, including but not limited to:
- Some husband
- Children: Julius Whitechalk, <free space for whoever wants to play them>, <free space for a player that wants to play them> Sarah Whitechalk
- Hypatia Whitechalk, a fat cat who may or may not be her familiar.
- Coriander Whitechalk, brother
- Rosemary Whitechalk, sister in law. They don't get along
- Sage Whitechalk, nephew
- Juniper Whitechalk, favourite niece
- Basil Whitechalk, nephew
-
b) 'Allies'
- Hysminai, a dwarf
c) People under her patronage
- Evan, nuclear mage. Researches physics of magic

History
Siana Whitechalk's life was shaped by the circumstances of her birth. Her family is one of the most powerful nobles in Atlas Verde, dwarfed only by the power of the Feyals. Before she even drew her first breath, her parents were already making plans for her life and future. She had a childhood anyone would envy, a life full of luxury - and it was just beginning.

The affinity of her powers, although limited, was enough to turn heads of some, and have her family agree that it is indeed an ability worthy of someone bearing the Whitechalk name. Having displayed an interest in magic already as a child, she learned from the best tutors, frequently hired from all over Le'raana.

Most noble children are sent to Wyrdwood to hone their magical abilities, but the Whitechalks saw no point to having their offspring mingle with those less gifted and potentially risk the quality of their education. Instead, they hired personal tutors perfectly tailored to every child's abilities and talent. Siana excelled at studying and adapted an extremely quick pace that had her cover a year's material in only months.

While the focus of her education, as always, was on magic, she also learned enough of history, politics and all other related matters. Her love for scholarship remained undaunted as she grew up, soon matched by fierce dedication to her family and a developed sense of responsibility. She was willing to give back to the Whitechalks and prove worthy of all the time and effort invested into her. She married a man her parents carefully selected for both political advancement and the magic in his bloodline, and produced expected heirs.

<describe the rest of the kids here once they're made>

One of her children in particular proved a disappointment, a black mark on otherwise unmarred excellence. Sarah Whitechalk's ability seemed promising at first, but soon its limitations outweighed any possible potential. Siana shed no tears when casting her waste of a daughter out - the girl was not worthy of the Whitechalk name, and there was no point wasting further time and resources on her.

She threw herself into work and research. While the political aspect of her position still takes a lot of time, she still puts a lot of effort into maintaining her magical power and expanding her knowledge. She is also known for spending some of her substantial funds on financing promising enterprises.

Character Limitations: I think she's the most limited one I'll ever have. Please limit yourself to only your character's actions and do not describe an effect on her. If you want her to do something, just poke me via pm and we can discuss it.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads

Complete Threads
- Whereabouts Unknown with Juniper Whitechalk, Clarisse Aldenshine and Rosemary Whitechalk

Discontinued Threads:
- Terror for the Future with Juniper Whitechalk and Esna Variqan Te'Vaal (One player AWOL)
- All that Withers with Perendi Kestra (Player on hiatus)
- Dangerous Virtues with Evan (Player AWOL)
- Circumvent the Infinite with Ezequiel Santiago Santiago (Player AWOL)

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: His previous master gave him the name Hadrian, but he would accept anything a new master would choose.
Age: Hard to estimate. Probably numbers in hundreds, but his mortal life ended slightly over sixty, and his active service in his master's army lasted about a hundred.
Gender: Was male as a mortal, and it probably stayed that way.
Species: A skeleton reanimated by necromantic magic. The shape and size of his bones indicate that he was probably a human before death.
Ethnicity: As a mortal, he was a man of the tribes from the area of the modern Adela. Now he's a skeleton.
Height: 5'9
Occupation: Former minion
Residence: Vagrant with no permanent residence.

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Well-preserved in the ice of Hyoite, Hadrian could easily make a living as an anatomy model of a human skeleton. His white bones bear the necromantic runes carved into them by his master's apprentices in order to strengthen them. He is held together mainly by magic, but also by catgut* in place of tendons. In order to disguise his true nature, he usually wears full heavy armour.

* A type of fiber used for instrument strings and futures. Not made out of cats (usually)
music


Personality: As a proper minion should, Hadrian is - or rather, was - irrevocably loyal to his master. He has nothing but the greatest respect for him and his actions. Having now woken up in a greatly unfamiliar world, he is lost and his main priority is finding a new lord - or lady, or whatever title would they prefer - to serve. A lesser priority is not being burned at stake by people needlessly prejudiced against the undead.

Magic/Abilities
- Hundred years of experience
- Mordecai fields have no effect on him. As Night's Hate has slain a goddess in his quest and took her power for himself, acts of his magic from this point onwards - including raising Hadrian - no longer qualified as mortal magic. Should Hadrian attempt to learn magic himself, his spells would still be nullified, but he wouldn't die just by Mordecai presence.

Relationships:

History: Hadrian's first memory of undeath is being awakened in the ruins of a small village, called to serve a great necromancer Arawn Night's Hate. A more insightful mind would be able to put together the truth of his circumstances - clearly, his new master razed the town in order to gain more unwilling soldiers for his army. But Night's Hate saw no point in raising men who would fault him for their death, so he didn't bother binding their mortal memories back to their bodies. Hadrian and his fellow undead were all blank slates, clay to be molded into whatever their new master desired.

What he desired was an army. Arawn, like many storybook villains, was after conquest - the only challenge worthy of someone wielding such power. He commanded his armies with ruthless utility and a spark of brilliance. Whatever losses he sustained, he made up for by not only commanding his fallen enemies, but also raising both his own dead again, over and over until the repair of their broken bodies was too costly. He could afford to throw countless troops at his foes - troops that could not be truly defeated, just temporarily stopped.

Bored of this mindless calculus, Arawn sought to sharpen his mind by exploring different possibilities with his soldiers. The legion Hadrian belonged to has long since lost the last shred of rotting flesh, leaving only the bare bones animated by the will of their master. As it made them rather vulnerable to weaponry, they were given heavy armour taken from enemy knights to protect them. They soon became the backbone of his troops, the stable core of his army.

Hadrian developed sentience and personality later during Night's Hate's campaign to conquer Le'raana. At this point, the army has grown so large, not even Arawn's impressive intellect could command it alone, so he resolved to enchanting his soldiers with at least the basics of independence - and, of course, unshakeable loyalty. Hadrian in particular grew to admire his master's scope and keen tactical sense.

He served Night's Hate faithfully until one fateful day. A particular thorn in Arawn's side, a weathermancer of considerable power bearing the title of Roargale, has been consolidating her power in preparations to face him. A span of water kept her fortress from the undead armies, and she burned all the ports nearby to slow her enemy's approach.

Of course, water isn't such a great obstacle for the undead. Unwilling to wait, Night's Hate sent his armies on a slow march towards his foe. Skeletons walked on the bottom of the sea, protected from the crushing pressure by their master's power, wraiths and ghosts flew undaunted towards their target, some entrepreneurial vampires bound a few zombies buoyant with their gases into a makeshift raft, and their voyage across began.

Roargale waited until her seers informed her that the entirety of Arawn's armies was straight in the middle of the sea, before casting a spell to finish a ritual prepared for this singular purpose. Her effort changed the climate in a flash, freezing the entirety of the sea and trapping almost the whole army Night's Hate amassed.

Her stratagem was very effective in slowing his march towards world conquest. Night's Hate was forced to waste time freeing his troops from their icy shackles. In the end, he decided against combing the massive glacier for every single undead, and just abandoned the rest, confident in his ability to raise more soldiers, should he need them. Hadrian was among those unfortunate souls that were left behind.

Hadrian remained trapped in the ice for longer than his mind could count. Countless centuries passed as the new glacier slowly moved. Finally, it traveled far enough to free the unlucky minion. The spells securing his existence were good enough to keep him alive, no matter what happened to the one who cast them.

Even though Hadrian couldn't tell how long he spent trapped in the glacier, he had enough sense to realize that the world he knew was long gone. So much time had passed, it would be probably impossible for him to find out anything about the past. Even if Night's Hate had succeeded at conquering the world, by now only the most devoted historians would be able to find traces of his great empire - and research was not what Hadrian was raised and trained for.

He had some time to consider his lack of direction and what to do in this new world. As he wandered around, he found a well-preserved corpse of a knight about his size, who probably died to exposure, hunger, or other environmental hazards of Hyoite. Hadrian took his armour in order to disguise himself, just in case of unjustified prejudice against the undead - being chased with torches and pitchforks wasn't something on his agenda.

He spent a few months creeping around the small towns in order to stare at people and listen. As he expected, the language has drastically changed and it took him a lot of time to learn enough to at least be able to talk to others. It also gave him plenty of opportunities to learn about this new world and consider his situation. To no small relief, he found out that the noble art of necromancy survived the test of time, and there were probably a lot of capable people who could use a minion - for that was what he decided to do with himself. It was better to stick to what he was familiar and comfortable with - and in his case, it was serving a capable master. His decision made, Hadrian left Hyoite, ready for this new world and whatever it brought.

Character Limitations: I would request the standard hands off approach - that the other players stick to describing what their characters do/attempt and leave it up to me to depict the outcome of their actions/Hadrian's response. Therefore, no moving him, no deciding whether any blows land etc. That doesn't apply to those who play his necromancer master - in this case, feel free to take complete control - you have the consent from both Hadrian and me.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads
- Night on the Town with Nepaket

Complete Threads

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Tarroth Lennarien, surname courtesy of a friend
Age: Doesn't really keep track, probably in her forties.
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual homoromantic, really doesn't consider men people, but good for satisfying her libido.
Species: Ogre
Ethnicity: Born in Adela, but isn't on any census and doesn't have any sense of national identity.
Height: Over nine feet tall
Occupation: Mercenary
Residence: Not really

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Tarroth is a hulking mass of muscle, bound in thick green skin. She towers over most people and frequently has to stoop down to pass doorways. An experienced fighter, she usually wears heavy armour and carries her weapon everywhere.
music

Personality: Spending time around her fellow mercenaries in Defenceless Old Ladies made Tarroth develop a curious brand of sexism best described as baffling misandry. While she considers men to be barely at the same level as animals, she views all the women in the world as fellow sisters she should do her best to help. It's very easy for a clever woman to take advantage of it and get her help for free.
Apart from this peculiar trait, she's pretty much a simple woman. She likes fighting, good food and having fun.

Magic/Abilities:
- Resilience. Ogres are tough to begin with, but one armoured in heavy metal and trained in combat is very hard to kill.
- Ogre Physiology. Tarroth is immune to most diseases and several poisons that target humans. She is also significantly stronger and larger.
- Defensive Fighting Style. In order to best capitalize on her natural fortitude, she has developed a fighting style based on blocking and parrying enemy's blows. While she sometimes does get a blow in, most of the time she focuses on keeping the enemy's attention while her allies take advantage of it.

Relationships:
- Her 'struggle sisters' from Defenceless Old Ladies

History:
It all began with an ogre colony living in the village of Wicklow.

It was a good arrangement. Yeah, the travelers passing through found it weird, and there were always idiots who thought that ogres were going to eat the humans (As if! A chicken has more nutritional value!) and wanted to attack them. But it really worked for the people of Wicklow. They got good money from bridge tax because it's hard to try tax evasion when the enforcer is a towering colossus and has the muscle mass of a small platoon. They were never attacked by bandits, because most bandits were smart enough to pick their battles. And kids loved being swung around by strong giants who never got tired and didn't even notice when some of the smaller ones tried to climb them. A good solution.

Unlike some stupid scholars thought, ogres had no interest in kidnapping human females (or males, or those humans who preferred different labels). What's so appealing in a tiny skinny thing? No, they kept to themselves and kept their population reasonably stable. They lived side by side, mingling in society, but not in bed.

Tarroth was one of the many ogre kids born in Wicklow. Unlike the others, whom their parents managed to raise into stable people, she was never content in living in one simple village and was aching to get out and crack some skulls. Her chance soon arrived in the person of an army recruiter, seeking prospective soldiers. While his plan was to get humans, after some thought he was convinced that having a giant ogre smashing the enemies for him had potential.

Tarroth's stint in the army didn't last long. She didn't even make it to the barracks, as she got in a drunk fistfight with the recruiter. He didn't make it. She left and has been making a living ever since as a mercenary.

After a few years, she ended up with an all-female mercenary group with an ironic misnomer of Defenceless Old Ladies. Her new battle sisters ended up infecting her with their particular brand of misandry which was rather simple. Men were only useful for one thing (doesn't apply if you're a lesbian or asexual, then men are useless and have no right to exist) and fellow women were to be always aided. This philosophy has served them well.

Character Limitations: Considering her misandry, if you have a male character who tries to touch her without her permission, I will take it as you consenting to her chopping the offending limb off. Female characters doing stuff to her are more acceptable and not likely to get violence in response. Please don't have her do stuff without consulting me first.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads
- Summer Shivers with Tarlaz Skagg
- Sundust with Nerizanna Hyll

Complete Threads

 I have read the updated art policy and I have a question regarding the newly added edit rule. Does resizing an image/using just a part of it (for example, the original image is of the full character, but the player cuts off half and only uses the part from the waist up) also fall under the umbrella of 'edit', or does the word apply only to altering the image?

 Hello! I've been thinking of making an army officer character, but I don't know where to put him. What countries have an established army with a lots of activity and potential (Not Connlaoth)? So far, Adela and Essyrn seem promising. Adela is described as a warlike nation, and one with a strong army. Essyrn has an established wish to re-conquer the world, and already a conflict to participate in with the slave rebellion. Any recommendations?

 That man was awfully loud. First he loaded himself inside, heavy armour clanging with his every move. Then he argued loudly with the bar owner, claiming that as a knight of the realm, he should get free drinks, or at least a discount. The owner in question - a sturdy woman with copper skin indicating Adelan descent - looked him straight in the eye and told him that if he wants special treatment, he can ask her dragon for it. The man quietly ordered a beer and paid full price.

"I didn't know you had a dragon" commented a gnome resting so comfortably against the counter, she clearly must have been a regular patron.

"Just for your benefit, Jael: I don't" the owner grinned. "But this idiot doesn't know it, and that's what counts. And if he orders two more cups of Burning Whiskey, he'll start seeing dragons all right."

The knight either didn't hear the admission, or didn't want to start a brawl over it. He plopped down on a chair with enough creaking to make one worry about the poor wood. "This week is just one nightmare after another. First I have to guard this cursed prince, now I can't even drink in peace..."

A travel-weary halfling sitting nearby raised her eyebrow at that. "As a knight of this kingdom, should you really speak of your prince in this manner?"

"What? Oh, 'cursed'?" He scoffed. "It's the truth, not just wishful thinking. He's literally cursed - and not by me, I barely have enough magical power to light a candle."

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Valerain Torverath
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Orientation: No idea, had no relationships so I don't know
Species: Mostly human, with traces of fae and elven blood further in his ancestry. Probably one of his predecessors married a Serenian noble.
Ethnicity: The prince of Astanill, a very minor kingdom somewhere on an island on the Hivan Ocean, close to Thanatos.
Height: 5'8
Occupation: Prince
Residence: Currently Wyrdwood Academy

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description: Like almost every child of the Torverath house, Valerain's hair is deep red. His Serenian ancestry is clearly betrayed by his delicate features and thin eyebrows. But any attractiveness he might have once possessed was undermined by the curse upon him, an insidious spell that turned his skin pale as a ghost, with dark shadows playing under it and running through his veins.

Spoiler

credit to LAS-T on deviantart
music

[close]

Personality: He was raised to think of his people first, the family's honour second, and himself a distant third. Despite what one might expect from such a small and distant kingdom, he is familiar with etiquette and politics. As his curse prevented him from taking swordplay lessons, he spent most of this time reading in the library and listening to the stories of diplomats and travelers passing by, and developed a curiosity and love for the wide world.

Magic/Abilities:
- Training in diplomacy, etiquette and politics
- Probably at least middling magical ability, since he managed to be enrolled in Wyrdwood. No further information available so far.

Relationships:
- The royal Torverath family of Astanill
- Kassandra Eimhar, a childhood friend and a knight protecting him

History:
A third child of Astanill's royal couple, Valerain's childhood was rather unremarkable. As his older brother was to inherit the crown, and his sister the leadership of the kingdom's small army, he was left as a backup plan, or a spare to marry to someone significant in order to cement an alliance. His childhood was mostly uneventful, and the rest of his life would soon follow, were it not for the curse placed upon him.

The court mage to the Torverath family, one Rinne Linus, discovered the truth of the matter when he was six years old. She was growing suspicious of the strange string of misfortunes surrounding the youngest prince - the detailed nightmares plaguing his sleep, the poor health and condition of his body, how everything he tried turned to calamity. After some research, she found a ritual that would confirm her hunch.

She was right - a nefarious curse was responsible for all the prince's troubles. As skilled as she was, this enchantment was something too powerful for her to remove. The royal family was rightfully concerned about the situation - if that persisted, not only Valerain, but the entire kingdom may soon be in danger.

Fortunately, Rinne was in correspondence with a colleague from Serendipity. She believed that the kingdom of magic can find a solution and a way to contain, if not completely remove, the curse. She convinced the royal couple to send Valerain to Wyrdwood Academy, a place of research where there were sure to be answers to their problem.

The Silence Without:
An excerpt from Rinne Linus' notes on his curse, detailing some of its effects:
- The Misfortune: I can no longer attribute the strange string of bad luck surrounding him to mere coincidence. If there is a random chance something can go wrong in his life, it will. Every shot he takes with a bow either misses or hits someone he didn't intend to, his clothing tear at such a rate his servants suspect sabotage, he almost choked to death on a small bone twice during today's supper. I have personally examined many of the elements his curse subverted to its purposes, and couldn't find any cause that could be called natural, making any attempt at prevention impossible. All I can recommend is careful surveillance.
- The Physical: The curse has been affecting the prince directly, weakening his body considerably.
- The Corruption: While my investigative spells cast upon the prince were not affected, I cannot say the same about the other forms of magic. Magical healing in particular seems susceptible to being twisted: a spell quickening the production of blood to counter its loss, suddenly grew so prolific that it overflew and burst a vein, causing a subdermal hemorrhage, a simple charm to mend a cut generates tumour cells I spent months getting rid of. For the love of Kia, do not use healing spells on him, it will cause trouble for everyone. Granted, his natural healing ability of his body is stunted by the curse, but I assure you, just waiting longer for any injuries to heal is the better way.
- Shadow of Hate: It may be the most insidious and hard to grasp part of this curse. It slowly, but certainly corrupts his relationships and the way people view him. I avoided him for months before finally being cornered into researching his case, on the basis no more serious than a bad feeling. It wasn't just me - the servants hated interacting with him, even though he's been unfailingly polite, his siblings took every excuse to avoided talking to him... I only realized the truth of what was happening when I began to meticulously catalogue everything I knew about the prince and I couldn't find a true reason for my dislike. There was only one conclusion I could come to: the curse was corrupting the way others viewed him. There is only one person that seems to be immune to its effect: a knight I've convinced the royal family to send along.

Character Limitations: Feel free to move and hurt him to your liking. If you have some idea of what you think his curse might do, it's probably okay too, as it's a rather big thing, but if something's not okay, I'll say so.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads
- Ripe for Ruin with Perendi
- Ashes from the Sky with Brahgo and Laeni
- Circle of Stars with Kassandra Eimhar

Complete Threads

 "Whatever it is you want, I can procure it" Faysal assured Mirza. "We are the sons of a Merchant Prince, there is nothing we cannot buy. You don't even have to go to the markets - we can send slaves and servants to handle our affairs. Why did you even want to leave the palace? You can be robbed here, or worse."

"That's what the guards are for, aren't they?" the boy grinned. "And there's another benefit to going personally. You see, a slave will buy what I tell her to, and leave without even taking a look at all the various goods here, while we can choose and pick treasures that we didn't even know existed before we lay eyes upon them. As you say, we are the sons of a Merchant Prince, we owe it to our noble blood to train ourselves to spot such hidden gems!"

Faysal laughed. "When have you become so eloquent, little brother?"

"Blame my rhetorics teacher for that" Mirza responded.

Faysal leaned back against the pillows, casting a glance around the busy bazaar. Despite the tight circle of armed men in the colours of a Merchant Prince's personal guard, the crowds were thick enough that it was hard to move. Perhaps he has grown paranoid after his late wife's poisoning, but he worried that a trained blade may still slip through and bury itself into the flesh of its target. "I would feel much safer if you joined me in the litter. There's enough space, and a better view of our surroundings."

"I spent the entire morning sitting and listening to my history teacher drone on" Mirza pouted. "I need to stretch my legs!"

"Shall I call for your swordplay instructor, then?" Faysal jested.

"I'm bored of all the lessons and tutelage, brother. Isn't experience the best teacher?"

He wasn't wrong. It would be ideal of Mirza was content just staying within the safety of the palace, but that was a pipe dream - pleasant to entertain, but impossible. Amani was cut from the same cloth: a free spirit who suffered not the vain attempts to contain him. Faysal was resigned to just count his blessings and be glad that his brother at least had the sense to take guards with him. If he followed Amani's path and began sneaking out of the palace alone...

They moved at a slow pace. The guards pushed through the crowd, not above employing their elbows and boots to get them across. This whole trip would have been faster without the large and cumbersome litter Faysal was occupying, but there was little he could do. His father would not suffer for his heir to be seen in public hobbling on crutches. Litter was acceptable - a symbol of wealth and unwillingness to mix with the masses.

"Wow! Look at all those... wares!" Mirza exclaimed, staring at a shady stall. "I can't even begin to imagine the use of most of those!"

Faysal glanced over the merchandise. The sheer variety in the quality, nature and state of the items offered by the scarred woman could lead him to only one conclusion: a fence pawning stolen goods. He frowned, but didn't speak. He didn't want to get Mirza in trouble - and none of the items he saw looked important enough to belong to someone who could harm the children of a Merchant Prince. Just the usual curiosities, nothing more.

"I should get something for my mother..." Mirza mused, searching for some jewelry. "Do you think I should buy gifts for other of Father's wives as well? I remember Lady Khalida sulking for weeks when Father didn't get her a present from his visit..."

"Well, since you're not married to either Lady Khalida or the others - unless there is something you're not telling me - I don't think they would expect gifts from you."

Mirza turned his attention back to the merchandise. Faysal summoned the naqib of the guards and quietly instructed him to keep an eye on the shopkeeper - her robes were vast and she could be hiding weapons on her person. There was little he could do about it - should it come to that, he was barely capable of not getting in the way, let alone protect someone.

"I'm done shopping!" Mirza announced cheerfully.

"Shall we move on, then?" Faysal asked.

The boy nodded and presented a small locket. "This is for you. You're neither my mother, nor my wife - but we're still family. That's what counts, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it does" Faysal whispered, his voice suffused with genuine warmth.

Mirza grinned at him. "Now come and help me pick something for Father, too."