Goblins were a curious handful of creatures. While they often resided within the depths of forests and caves, steering mostly clear of humanity, they did this because on some instinctive level, they were very much aware of their weakness and hierarchy on the proverbial totem pole that was Leraana. In a land of hunters, a lone goblin— even a small group of them— were often prey to creatures or humans... and so they often kept out of sight, stuck to their forests and caves, and went unnoticed on the main roads. Normally. There were exceptions to the rule, of course; lone goblins who broke away from the mold and made names for themselves across Leraana, as well as entire hordes of the creatures that weren't so easily denied taking to the civilized lands. This was a story in which both cases collided. A certain cursed elf just so happened to be caught in the middle of it. Midday, early Summer. The overbearing sun had thankfully been blotted out by rainclouds over Yermomstead, one of many small villages that dotted the base of the Thunderblacks. It was a quaint place; located to the south of the mountains, it contended with typically hot afternoons and cold evenings— a result of being located so close to the mountainside. For a blessing, miles south, east and west of the village were fairly clear, the Serha plains every bit as vast as they were flat. Raiders were often seen quite a ways off, and while the villages defenses weren't particularly impressive, the able-bodied hunters of Yermomstead often doubled as defenders at the gates when needed— their prowess with the bow and arrow allowing them to mark targets from afar before they could get within any dangerous range of the village. It was a peaceful town, one which enjoyed relative security and stability for several generations. Until today, at least. Who could say from whence they came, truly? The plains were quiet, tranquil... until they weren't. The hunters on guard, a pair of Adelan men— one a few years past his prime, the other in his early 20s— could feel it before they could see it. The rumbling. The vibrating earth beneath their feet, as if the ground itself were being trampled by a newborn, furious river's current. Raiders, they may have thought originally— yet with such vibration, surely the horses would've been seen over the horizon by now, yes? Yet there was nothing-- not a hoof in sight.

The rumblings, however, continued to grow in force and urgency. An earthquake, perhaps? Yet the ground showed no signs of faulting, nor did the structures within the village show any signs of failing. What was it, then?

"...Better call the chief. Go on, Serk-- I'll keep watch." Spoke up the older of the two men-- His blend of gray and black hair shifting in the ominous winds that picked up in the vicinity. His arms had instinctively drawn forth the bow and arrow with which he'd taken down several beasts in his time. 'Serk', the younger of the two, a red-headed man of considerable physique, did not contest his words-- It would've been folly to do so, in his eyes. The older man was his mentor, after all; He'd taken him on several hunts in the past, and of the man lessons the older man had forced into his head, disobeying an order in a time of uncertainty was one that stayed at the forefront. "Call if anything happens, then? I'll-- I'll be back as quick as I can." Came the redhead's rather uncertain words, though his body didn't move with the same hesitation-- indeed, before he'd even finished the sentence, he'd stepped down from his watchpost behind the village gate and begun making his way north, towards the residential's. His mentor was right-- the chief needed to know that something was amiss. With any luck, it was nothing and the tremors would stop soon.

Alas, luck was a two-sided coin.

"UNVEIL! ATTACK! TAKE THE SOUTH GATE AND CIRCLE TO THE EAST!"

A veteran rarely loses his edge. Under threat of beasts and raiders alike, it was natural to ensure that one's nerves were as steeled as a nocked and drawn shortbow. Yet as a therefore unseen stone javelin of relatively crude make quite literally materialized out of thin air, mid-flight as it spiraled directly for the hunter's head, his instincts won out; He ducked, thankfully in the nick of time as it just barely grazed his graying hair before landing harmlessly past the gates. As he cowered, the trembling silence gave way to a massive roar-- not a singular creature, but the symphony of tens of hundreds-- A rancorous, rallying battle cry. His eyes snapped open, and in spite of the unknown danger, he once more lifted himself up to peer above the gate from the watchpost... To find a sight most horrifying. For what now rushed forth at the gates was no mere raider party, nor flock of beasts... but a goblin horde. A MASSIVE goblin horde-- Lead from the front, it seemed, by a particularly unique 'chief'.

His armor was crimson and spike-covered; Likely painted red with the blood of his enemies-- And he wore the skull of a bear, fashioned into something akin to a warrior's helmet. Yet what caught the man's attention was neither his armor, nor the large warhammer he wielded in his right hand. No... it was the fact that in his left, he very clearly wielded magic. Magic that, as he made a singular gesture with his fingers-- like pointing a projectile weapon at the main gate-- pulsed forward with a horrifyingly surreal force. Green flames, as green as his skin, poured out from his hand and slammed against the wooden gate like a flood of water, shocking the older hunter and throwing him off balance besides. Before he could catch his footing, the unthinkable happened; The flames had burrowed a massive hole straight through the village gates, the sturdy wood giving way to unnatural, profane forces. It all happened in an instant-- all as if premeditated. Before the words "Goblin Horde Attack!" Could completely make it out of the hunter's throat, the little green raiders were inside-- and he was burned to a crisp by flames of green from their leader.

The rest of the village fell in short succession. A cascade of villager's screams and warcries echoed through Yermomstead within minutes of the horde's arrival, as they spread and terrorized the men, women and children alike in their absolute conquest. Those who could fight, did; Hunters took to their bows and spears, and though they valiantly defended their homes in the ensuing chaos, there was only so much they could do against the encroaching horde. Before long, the small town had gone up in flames; A pyre which could be seen far into the distance, even in the midday sky.

A pyre which a certain young Goblin heroine just so happened to be close enough to spot, as 'luck' would have it.

"...Teen years. Before that, probably not. You gotta consider how long it takes a wild dog to mature when—"

"Hey, sunshine, are you still with us or what?"

"Huh?"

Nearly dropping the ink quill in his right hand, Kinara looked up from the scrawled letter he'd been attempting to read over. It had gotten so dark now between the dense forest and the oddly moonless night that it took most of his concentration just to maintain his place on the page—that wasn't even taking into account the whole bumpy, barely existent road bit. Instinctively, he quickly folded up and put away his letter, as if it were under threat of being taken away; An odd enough reaction to being jolted to attention, as literally no one cared enough about the thing to do so, to his knowledge.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, sunshine. You plan on staying with us this time?"

The bunny-eared boy gave a quick look about. As far as he knew, he was still where he thought he should've been; In the back of the caravan's trailing carriage, seated closest to the exit, on the right. He was, of course, not alone; seated across from him, to his slight discomfort, was something like a giant of a woman. She had to stand at least 6 and a half feet tall, an educated guess on Kinara's part between having had her tower over him earlier in the day, and meekly looking up at her even now, as they were both seated. His own five foot and some odd inch frame seemed to shrink even more so in the shadow cast over her by a lantern just outside the carriage. And she wasn't just tall; she was coated, almost literally, in an admirable layer of muscle from neck to toe, the occasional scar here or there telling the tale that it wasn't just for show. Piercing emerald eyes bore into the smaller boy from beneath a short, wild mop of crimson red hair— not with intended intimidation, sure, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.

"O-Oh, sorry, I was just—"

"Ass-deep in that letter, again, for the... what—3rd time in a row, now?"

Kinara, flustered enough to bring a tinge of red to his cheeks, began to attempt explaining himself (again) but was spared by a soft hand reaching over from his side and patting him on the shoulder. "C'mon, cut him some slack. He's probably writing home to a sweetheart or something." Kinara's eyes averted from the larger-than-life lass to a much more realistic figure; A young lady, probably somewhere around his own age, with long, auburn hair and deep emerald eyes. She had a neutral, olive skin tone that gave off the impression that she took decent care of herself, yet sported a small tape bandage just along the cut of the left side of her face. What drew Liv's attention more than anything else, however, were the pair of goggles that sat atop her head—a style unlike any she'd ever seen before—and the small, bizarre-looking object—  like a rhombus, covered with strange symbols—  sitting in her lap. It looked like... some kind of relic? A key, maybe? Or the removed pommel of a blade. But surely it wasn't... right...?

"I think it's smart to keep up with your loved ones while you're away from home, anyway—If they need you, or vice versa, and all that."

"He's probably been gone, what, a few moons from home? If he's still that strung on his some girl's tits that he can't put her out of mind for more than a night, he shouldn't have left." Came the larger woman's extremely tactless reply, earning a deep flush and spot of panic from Kinara, and a much less impressive frown from the brown-haired girl. "Wha—No that's—How can you say something like that out loud!?" Exasperated, Kinara practically shouted at the woman across from him, forgetting himself in the process. This, surprisingly, didn't earn a scowl, nor a disapproving look in the least from his verbal aggressor... But a deep-bellied laugh, hard enough to rock the woman in her seat—slightly unnerving, as the carriage uneasily shifted under her merriment. The auburn-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Classy. Really."

"You'll have to cut her some slack as well, I'm sure. Usually, people don't tease others about their sex lives unless their own is fairly barren."

The laughter stopped cold. A chill ran down Kinara's spine as the rather jovial look in the larger woman's eyes turned nearly feral—like a wild animal, twice scorned. Her gaze, along with Kinara's and the brown-haired girl's, turned to the corner next to the giantess. There sat a young man, with dusky brown skin and black, locked hair. He likely stood somewhere between the giantess of a woman and Kinara himself in height, and his coal black eyes seemed so narrow as to avoid reflecting even the slightest bit of light under the canopy of the carriage.

What was most unique about this lad in particular, however, wasn't him at all; It was actually the serpent, coiling slowly around his slender, sculpted body which demanded the most attention. Near pure white, it was—  with cream-colored patches of scales here and there, and what seemed to be an onyx jewel, darker than the snake's amber slit eyes resting atop its forehead. As it comfortably moved from one side of his shoulder to the next, the snake eyed each one of the carriage's passengers, before nesting itself somewhere along the man's arm. This display, even if only slightly, unnerved Kinara; It did not, however, bother the likely moments-away-from-murder redhead across from him.

"...You wanna say that to my face, guy?"

"I'd have to get you down on your knees first, I imagine."

The woman hands slowly curled into fists as she moved to stand, eyes narrowing even further.

"Try it."

"Oooookay! So I don't think we properly introduced ourselves yet!" Kinara suddenly interjected, a last-ditch attempt to defuse a bomb on a very short wick. All eyes moved back to him; the redhead, albeit somewhat annoyed, gave one last glare towards the darker-skinned man, before settling back down in her seat. "I mean, we're all going to be a team on this venture, right? We should at least know a little about each other's stories, right? Or... or  just names?" He near-pleaded, defensively waving his hands as he did so. There was an odd moment of silence which seemed to stretch on into infinity, as all three (well, four) other individuals in the carriage gave him a once-over, as if surprised by this sudden outburst, before the auburn-haired girl, with a bit of a smile, spoke up again.

"Well I think it's a good idea, anyway. You never know; Getting at least a little personal might help if we got separated or something, and needed to verify identities." Crossing her legs, the young lady finished her words with a nod, rather content with her own reasoning. The young man in the corner nodded in agreement as well, his serpentine friend moving to coil about his neck now—loosely, mind you. "Good point. It might also help us out as far as working together in combat. Who's strongest in what spot, as it were." He chimed in, hand-waving his own explanation in. This left the crimson-haired woman alone, as far as agreements went, and while she did originally look about the group, a bit surprised by how quickly everyone got on the same page, her shoulders—and whatever leftover hostility they held—eventually gave way to reason.

"What, so he's the 'leader' now? Whatever. I guess it wouldn't hurt to get a couple juicy secrets outta you lot." She eventually replied, earning a collective sigh or eyeroll out of the group. Kinara in particular was just happy that no one's head was rolling—eyes were fine. Sitting back down, he cleared his throat a bit, took a deep breath, and nodded to himself. "Right! So, um. I guess... I should start?" He eventually spoke up again, as the collective carriage once again rolled their eyes and sighed, though now on a much lighter tone.

"Right, sorry, dumb question. So! My name is Kinara—  I'm from Summervale... kinda. It's a long story."

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Yang Lihua
Age 27
Gender Female
Species Shiji-ren
Ethnicity Songtu-ren
Height 5'8"
Occupation Lady of Grace, Judge Candidate, "Weaver"
Residence The Shijie Empire

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description She stands close to the average 'tallest' among Shiji-ren, with somewhat larger than average antlers compared to most of her kin making up the difference in season. Yang's face is soft, somewhat round, with a sharp chin and jawline that accentuate her high cheekbones and equally sharp, emerald eyes. Her eyebrows are threaded, with a high arch to them that almost makes her look as if she's perpetually looking down at you, no matter your height or status. Her hair is waist-long, and typically worn pulled back into a ponytail, which she then wraps loosely around her neck like a scarf or shawl.

She wears traditional Songtu robes of a bright, crimson red primary color with highlights of earthy green along the seams of her sleeves and legs, and above her robes rests an added layer of translucent-red threads which sit over her shoulders, hangs from her antlers across the back of her head, and covers her waist like a bride's veil. She can pull from the threads of this veil when employing her 'art of weaving'.


Personality

Complex—  like flawed, yet beautifully-crafted jade, or spider's web too intricate to be considered perfect. Yang Lihua embodies much of the best and worst of a person with a position of influence in how she carries herself and her beliefs. As an individual, she is kind and considerate of those she surrounds herself with, but not 'nice'. She believes ardently in the concept that sparing the rod means to spoil the child— a life lesson enforced upon her growing up by her mother following the tragedy of her father, and equally enforced upon the young and elderly alike in her care. This seems driven less through genuine strictness and disdain for a lack of discipline, and moreso from an old wound of self-inflicted guilt that she lives with every waking moment of her life. She is a devout believer of order—  of rules existing for a reason, though she is willing— if pressed enough—  to at least investigate the nature of those reasons for the sake of order. Indeed, she has a very inquisitive mind, and her innermost instincts drive her to question and learn as much and more about the world around her as she possibly can—  primarily to be of use to the empire.

Lihua has a somewhat classist outlook on the Empire, as well as its enemies and allies. She believes that nobility is nobility for a reason—  that reason, in her mind, being demonstrated usefulness to the emperor, and loyalty through action and study to the empire. As such, those who have not achieved such status still have much to prove, and those who have no intention of doing all that they can within reason to elevate themselves as such, are simply of lesser worth to the empire. To some degree, this—  alongside trauma of past experiences—  spills into her views on the empire's allies, and unknown elements—  a somewhat xenophobic perspective in which she believes that there are simply too many variables not yet known or accounted for in the non-Shijie-ren peoples of the continent to consider them well and truly 'equal' allies that should be fraternized with. Thankfully, she keeps this mostly to herself, and does not allow it to interfere with her role. She despises criminals, particularly those condemned by the empire itself, but is more than capable of putting her personal feelings aside when acting as an arbiter in such circumstances.

You might think she has a chip of a sort on her shoulder, and she does; She is quite prideful of herself and her kin, and has been known to chastise others for 'putting on a shameful display' in the presence of others. Despite this pride, however, it's clear in conversation that Lihua does not value the strength, skill or contribution of any single person—  not herself, not even the emperor—  over the collective prowess of the empire and its many achievements. To her, the empire is a foundation upon which Panzhong itself is able to thrive, and not vice versa—  and advancements of the empire only serve to advance and better Panzhong.

If that's enough red flags for you, then consider that in spite of all of that, she is in no way a confrontational or abrasive person. She sees needless aggression, flaunted arrogance and purposeless grandstanding to be disgraceful, and constantly implores and attempts to inspire those around her to rise above such notions to seek 'true beauty'-- which comes not from the individual and their personal desires, but from what everyone—  noble or otherwise—  can achieve and provide to the collective that is the empire. She also has a sense of humor buried somewhere beneath all of that stuffiness—  as well as a fondness for woven dolls, and tea herbs—  14 unique types of which she personally grows in her garden during her spare time.


Magic/Abilities

Relationships

History

Lihua was not born noble; As a child, she lived an austere lifestyle with little to nothing of her own, a beautiful seamstress of a mother, and a father who worked as a judge within their home of Jinshen. An inquisitive mind from a young age, Lihua often went on walks with her father through the woods, observing the flora, fauna, and the spirit beasts alike. One day, during one of those walks, she and her father were attacked—  a band of exiled criminals with intentions not of killing, but selling them into slavery and bondage to the bordering country-states. Her father resisted on behalf of his daughter—  creating enough chaos to alert nearby guards in the city, but costing him his life in the struggle. The assailants fled, and Lihua was saved, but the trauma of losing her father forever impacted her—  having to balance the rationality of accepting that her father protected her of his own will to save her with the emotional grief of feeling responsible for his death.

She went on to grow up alongside a mother who, despite knowing logically that her daughter was a victim in the events of her husband's passing, still held a slight resentment of her, and a younger sibling who was born out of wedlock. Her mother found solace in the comfort of other partners—  multiple other partners—  following her husband's death, drawing in 'client' after 'client' with her skilled seamstress work and natural beauty alike. Lihua, who grew up with the weight of her father's death on her shoulders, the disdain of her mother, and the gripping responsibility of looking after her youngest sibling, was only further disturbed by the occasional presence of spiritual beasts near to her—  likely drawn by the guilt and disdain she carried with her. It gave her mother another irrational reason to disdain her, and gave the girl more than enough reason to wander away from home whenever she could—  if only to avoid the eyes of judgment on her.

If only to leave the house more and avoid needless arguments with her mother, took on a number of roles in between her modest education—  both to support her home, as well as to bury the idle despair she felt at her lot in life. It was through this young, dedicated exposure to the workings of the world that several changes happened for Lihua, almost all at once. She found herself talented through hard work and dedication—  learning the guzheng without a tutor, using an antique she was only able to afford through working—  and outworking—  her own mother as a seamstress. Her talent with the guzheng became so pronounced through effort that sounds of her song—  the expression of her sorrows— was able to not only lure, but soothe the spirit beasts which previously watched over her from afar. In time, she learned to reconcile these emotions with her own sense of self, developing quite early on the ability to compartmentalize her rational and emotional thoughts as necessary. further her understanding of the world around her—  and more specifically, the empire.

Before long, it was simply the arts of 'weaving'-- be it threads of lotus silk, the chords of an instrument, or even sewing flesh to flesh, that she excelled in—  skill and feats alike that earned her the eye of a noble house, which proposed her adoption under their name in order to cultivate the skills that she had shown. It was hardly a choice—  Lihua neatly parted ways with her mother, thanking her for raising her as well as teaching her dignity, even in the face of relative poverty and sorrow, before leaving her former life behind.

Nobility brought a new series of challenges and learnings for Lihua, who dedicated 3 years of her young life toward adopting and indoctrinating herself with the standards and culture of the upper class that she'd been taken into—  sparing little time for frivolities, though she carried a small hobby or two over from her time with her mother, such as gardening. It was this devotion, in fact, that garnered her the merit of being named a Judge, and later a high judge—  a position which she only held for a year, though she held it with wisdom and temperance. She vacated the role shortly after an incident occurred in which Lihua's past once more confronted her.

She was on a leisure walk through the woods following a morning in court when she was once more accosted by bandits, who bound and kidnapped her, threatening ransom from the noble house she'd been adopted into. Lihua, however, had grown from a helpless child to a clever, resourceful woman—  and while detained, convinced the bandits to allow her to play music for them, as a way of entertaining them through the evening. And so entranced by her charm and grace, they agreed—  with Lihua pouring drink and playing songs, the exiles enjoyed a night of merriment and excess... For a short time. Unbeknownst to their lot, Lihua's fingers wove not mere tunes for celebration, but beckoning songs of the spirit beasts of the gallows woods, which—  drawn first by her song, then by their hearts, descended upon the criminals—  who rather quickly found themselves unable to defend themselves, their arms and legs bound by magically-reinforced thread. It was the first, and most visceral time that Lihua had ever used her 'talents' in self-defense—  and as she gathered herself, and her threads, before the remaining sight of the spirit beasts, she swore it would be her last.

It would not, in fact, be her last. In spite of her own guilt at the events that had occurred, she was not attacked next—  the creatures allowed her to pass, and she thanked them with another soothing song. Though she did resign from her role as judge out of a semblance of guilt— to the dismay of some—  she continued to refine her art of weaving, her tale of daring in the face of danger and unique magical arts inspired a generation of students willing to learn from her, and her contributions toward the empire in regards to her experience as one of the high judges of Jinshen, as well as her unique arts eventually afforded her an invitation to the seat of the Lady of Grace, a role which she currently fulfills while overseeing the continued development of her influences in the weaving arts.



__________________THREAD TRACKER
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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Bao Yanlin
Age 27
Gender Male
Species Shiji-ren
Ethnicity Songtu-ren
Height 5'5"
Occupation Former Alchemist— Currently unemployed
Residence Songtu

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Yanlin stands near-average height for the Shiji-Ren, with a slightly unconventional, sharpened look to his face and body atypical of someone who works in a craftsmanship profession. His face has two small knicks on it— one on either side of his jawline. One was self-inflicted to match the other, which was not. His antlers are somewhat jagged; As if constantly beaten against, or worn down by trees, large rocks, and the like. His eyes are a vibrant shade of yellow, piercingly-so, and he has dark, self-made eyeliner that causes his gaze to look even more serpentine, perhaps 'wild', than others.

His traditional songtu robes have been ripped and torn in places; the sleeves essentially gone, and the tailcoat shredded, yet still there; Like actual thin, lifeless tails. A collection of small, handcrafted satchels, some ingredients from the local flora and fauna, and an old notebook adorn his belt. Beneath his robes, his body is very well-defined; Not bulky, but quite muscular, and his hooves are, for whatever reason, painted a similar greenish-brown to the forest floor.

Personality Yanlin was eccentric by Songtu standards even before the memory loss; Afterward, his best and worst traits were left unfettered, and now he is an outright mess of impulses, inspirations and inclinations based on his previous life. Yanlin is, to most, a very kind and a bit too sociable of a person who struggles with the idea of personal space—  not because he likes making people feel uncomfortable, but because he enjoys getting to know anything and everything about a person, or a thing. Why? It fills some unknowable, bottomless pit in his soul to have all the answers to all the questions he can think of— and it also helps him achieve peace of mind, knowing no one is keeping secrets from him.

He of course keeps secrets from no one. He is spontaneous and free, and enjoys not only doing whatever strikes his fancy at a given time, but also gushing over what strikes his fancy at a given time. This can get annoying, even disturbing for obvious reasons, but it all comes from a good place. Despite that—or perhaps because of it, as a friend he can come off as extremely capricious and indecipherable. It's his love language, along with touching.

Yanlin has a fixation on fauna— a massive interest in the differing beasts of the realm that goes beyond a fascination. He has put himself in physical harm's way on multiple occasions just to observe creatures in nature up close—  interact with them, just as invasively, if not moreso, than he does with his fellow Shiji-ren. He has a dream of meeting, studying, and living with all of the native creatures of the Shijie empire-- those born of nature as well as the more magically-inclined. In his mind, beasts don't lie—  they're as honest as he is, so he doesn't have to worry about being wronged or harmed in any way he can't comprehend. Speaking of, liars—  or more distinctly, people who try to force narratives or agendas onto others—  are very, very much Yanlin's pet peeve.

Music is a hobby that Yanlin picked up at some point and never put down; As such, he can often be found filling the forest air with the surreal, serene sounds of a haunting guzheng tune, often from the tree tops. Yes, this implies that he climbs trees with a guzheng in toe. Yes, this also implies that someone was able to tolerate his weirdness for long enough to let him buy parts for a guzheng.


Magic/Abilities In his past life, Bao Yanlin was a talented alchemist, capable of weaving magic of the five great elements into flasks and enchantments alike. He spent many a year cooped up in his studies and devoted himself to that art, and in doing so forsook other facets of his magical talents. Living alone in the forests of the Shijie empire for so long has opened his eyes to the wonders of shamanism, however, and while he still retains some of the muscle memory from his time as an alchemist, he is far, far more adept at divining the words of the spirits of the... world, on the whispers of the wind. His greatest feat was once seducing a tree's roots into taking the shape of a Shiji-ren so that he could dance with them. Don't ask.

Relationships

History

Coming soon!

__________________THREAD TRACKER
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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Abelle "Abby" Edenmyre
Age 23
Gender Male
Species Human
Ethnicity Serenian
Height 5'9"
Occupation Humble traveling masseuse
Residence Ravensway, Serendipity

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description

Abelle's has a full head of long, black hair that drapes down to his shoulders and stops near the middle of his back. It covers half of his face, leaving a single amethyst eye and half of a face of light, smooth skin. He always has a melancholy look in his eyes, whether he's happy, sad, smiling or frowning. His lips are a soft pink color, and his face is hairless, which shows off his sharp, yet rounded chin and jawline. He has small ears, which are mostly hidden by his long hair, long eyelashes, and sharp, cared-for eyebrows. Quite the looker you would guess, amongst men and women alike, which is on purpose— being so consistently in contact with people for extended periods of time, he prefers his clients to find him aesthetically appealing.

To that end, he keeps himself in very good shape. He has a thin, slightly muscular build, with a tiny waistline that makes his hips seem to flare out a bit. His abs are very much visible when he's not wearing a shirt, or wearing a shirt that draws attention to his stomach. He doesn't have tattoos; He's always felt that they distract from the pure beauty of a person. He does, however, have very soft skin all over—  especially his hands, which again, is more for his customers than himself. He also carries a gentle, calming scent—  somewhere between lavender and orchids in bloom. Abelle clearly doesn't miss a moisturization date, or a proper bath.


Personality

Abelle enjoys his work—  and by extension, he enjoys working with people. For people. On people. There's something in a dialogue between two souls where nothing is held back that allows him to feels at peace with himself—  as if some aching part of his own heart is fulfilled in doing so. He has never questioned what that part was, and never truly cared to question it—  he enjoys it, and as a result he cherishes his interactions with his customers. He does have a habit of asking too many questions, as well as getting a little too personal with others when he isn't stopped, but for Abelle, that line isn't one that is meant to be presumed, it's meant to be found, tested, and then re-established once tested. As a result, yes, despite his job being to rub people the right way, he rubs people the wrong way, sometimes.

And then, sometimes, "Abby" just... isn't himself. Sometimes he's a bit more reticent. Others, he's much more aggressive. Demanding. Tempting. Manipulative. As if there's a switch hidden deep within him, he can, at any moment, go from the kind, wholesome healer that he seeks to be, to something very dark—  very 'wrong'. Interestingly, Abelle seems to be more than aware of this, and while he doesn't often bring it up, he has had to apologize and explain himself to others, as he has very little control over when his... "Abby" tendencies will come out.

Magic/Abilities

Abelle is possessed— physically—  by a greater demon from the depths of some foreign, incomprehensible plane of existence. He'd be normal if it weren't for this, but as a result, he is a human capable of demonic magic—  incredibly strong demonic magic. What's worse, however, is that the demon occasionally influences him as it pleases—  twisting his typically kind and docile personality into that of a perfect vessel for its dark designs. Only by sheer willpower can Abelle ever hope to resist its influence, but it's never happened before. Fortunately, the demon grows bored rather easily, and likes its host's humble standing (which allows it to spread chaos without drawing too much attention), so it rarely holds control over him for long, or forces him to do much that would put his life in danger. The demon's hold on Abelle is incredibly tight; As if it has worked its claws into his very soul. As such, very little— short of a divine miracle—  stands a chance of freeing him from his hidden captor.


Relationships

History

Abelle's story begins as most stories do— A child born in Serendipity to a pair of middle-class parents. He was second-born, with an older brother who would go on to join the mage-knights, and a genius little sister who possessed a photographic memory and from a young age showed great talent with alchemy and potions. Abelle, meanwhile, was pretty normal by comparison, and often got outshined by his siblings (but not really ignored, or anything crazy like that). Wanting to be capable of doing something to make her parents proud too, Abelle asked to be enrolled in the Wyrdwood academy of Arcane Science—  however that was a tiiiiiny bit too far out of their budget for a family of 5. Instead, his dad (who worked as a dockhand) would buy cheap books on magical basics for Abelle and they'd read them together, to help Abelle practice using magic. He learned how to manipulate primal energy through touch, for example, and found that he might have a talent for something akin to masseuse work!

One of those books, however, his dad got at a really good discount—  an old, dilapidated book that supposedly covered simple summoning spells. Said book, unfortunately, harbored a dark secret—  it was an ancient tether between the world of humans and another plane, where demons ran rampant and sought to find their way into the realm of mortals. One such demon, by the name of Abbizeus, was trapped inside the book for millenia; stuck between worlds with no means of escaping, until Abelle, in a freak accident, accidentally unleashed the demon trapped within one night, and it subsequently possessed him as a new host for it's bidding.

And then... nothing happened. Nothing immediate, at least. Abbizeus was a patient, cautious and calculating demon, who'd spent millenia trapped within a prison after having rampaged for a while in the mortal realm. It knew how dangerous humans could become to it if it made the same mistakes of it's past; So instead, using Abelle as something of a surrogate body, it bid— and continues to bide—  it's time in sowing the seeds of chaos across the realm of Le'Raana, from corrupting the pure and righteous into further vessels for demonkind to invade, or undermining those who work against its efforts, and the efforts of its kin.

All the while, Abelle was and still is blissfully unaware of what happened to him that night—  simply left with the slightest realization that something in him had changed that day... something bad.


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Ahem, ahem, pardon thee, caw, caw, pipipi.

The very nerve, this silly jest— To introduce at no behest the Second of the autumn fae? A greater slight I cannot say! And thus I cast a spell on thee— to steal both quill and pad for me to graciously acquaint thee with the Song of Autumn—  Pipipi. Worry not—  Neverlie never lies, and never takes for free—  I'll introduce myself proper and then set your writer free.

Caw, caw, pipipi.


Neverlie, my given name—  by Tynalhann was it proclaimed.   
900 Cycles have I sung
The mother's voice of sweet Autumn
The Fairy of Crows,
From Autumn's Lands,
A meter and a half I stand. I'd rather be a massive thing, though it displease the Autumn King...
Attendant to Lord Tyrnalhann, his beck and call I act upon,
The mortal realm, my stomping grounds when autumn's cycle comes around!

Very well, I'm satisfied—  Neverlie has never lied and never meant to take your dye and quill for long—  hope to die and cross my heart and poke my eye!

Have your silly writer back—  But know that such an errant lack of reverence for my time of year is blasphemy— AM I CLEAR?

Caw, caw, pipipi— go on, finish writing me!

Physical Description

...Sorry about that. Anyway, Neverlie is a fairy that takes her appearance from the concepts of the "Evening Sparrow", and the "Crows of Autumn"— because of which, she looks closer to a harpy than she does your stereotypical fae. Mostly human in appearance, her ebony-black skin, pure-gold, almost spiteful eyes and silky, feathery hair make her easily distinct from a normal person. Said hair bushes and flows from her head to her toes, almost making her look as if she were wearing a cloak made of crow's feathers.

Neverlie does wear clothes— typically, when alone she is in what humans would consider "a state of nature" ((Should I 'state' another way? I'm literally a nature fae!)I'm sorry, she wouldn't leave me alone unless I added that note in for her), but she can cover her body at will in a gown of black and golden feathers. A short gown, mind; she prefers not to obscure her bird-like legs, at the end of which are talons rather than feet.



Personality

As silly and spiteful as she might come off as, Neverlie takes great pride in her role as the "Autumn song". She's strong-spirited and somewhat domineering in practice, partly because she deeply loves her season— like a mother would love all of her children— but mostly because as the aide of the Autumn King, and in many ways his "First love", she is madly in love (and incredibly furious)with 'Dearest Tyrnalhann' and willing to do anything— even if it meant the end of the great cycle— to make him happy. This somehow both is and isn't a romantic love— or at the very least, it doesn't mean She's not open to 'sharing'.

She is incredibly prone to tricks and mischief, and finds pleasure in leading people down a path of decay or downfall. She sees these things as 'fun pastimes that every fae should partake in at least once', but never means any actual harm to anyone. She's not above helping mortals, or even other fae outside of her clan— IF her king wills it. Mostly, however, she keeps to her own clan, finding it hard enough to just watch over them in Tyrnalhann's stead.

...Which, by the way. Remember how I said she was both in love with and furious with Tyrnalhann? Yeah, that 'furious' bit is because while Neverlie is almost constantly adhering to the constantly-arising problems and discord between members of the Autumn clan, ensuring that the stories of Autumn are followed cycle after cycle, and ultimately "ruling" the Autumn clan in her king's place, he... is off goofing around with mortals, or other fae.

Be real. You'd be spiteful too.

Magic/Abilities

As the Fairy of Crows, Neverlie has some unique fae magics— she can commune through, with and across crows, wherever crows may be. She can see through their eyes, hear through their ears, and even command them as she wishes. She usually uses this to keep constant tabs on the Autumn Faelands— it lets her been in 2 (more like 200) places at once. Neverlie herself can transform into a crow— partly or fully as she wishes, and she possesses to ability to fly, even without wings.

More interestingly though, as Tyrnalhann's personally-assigned aide, she also has just about as much domain and authority over Autumn itself as he does— for so long as he wishes for her to. Again, useful for basically doing his job for him.

Unique to her, however, is her song— a beautiful, sorrowful song which brings decay and death to just about... well, anything within earshot. She only sings at her King's behest, however.

Relationships

Erstwhile - Neverlie's "Dearest Tyrnalhann". Most fae don't know or call him by that name, because it's the name of the Fairy of Sorrows, not the Autumn King. Most fae also don't realize that Erstwhile is both of those figures— but Neverlie knows his heart better even than he does, so she calls him by the name she knows he truly identifies as, deep down.

History

The story goes that when Tyrnalhann, the longing one, became the Autumn King, one of the first things he did— instead of his actual job— was admire Spring. "Oh, what a lovely song the morning lark sings" was what he said— and Neverlie (the "evening sparrow") was born from that statement.

The truth isn't far from that. Erstwhile— originally known as Tyrnalhann— became the Autumn King by default, after the prior Kong vacated the throne after an untimely demise at the hands of a human sorcerer, an unprecedented move that shook the foundation of the Autumn clan. The fear of the end of the cycle gripped the entirety of the fae clan, with none willing to take the crown for fear of the potential death it brought with it except Tyrnalhann, who, nearing the end of his time in the cycle as the fairy of sorrows, was little more than a curse-bloated, curse-drenched, curse-corrupted corpse of a fae, with little time left to live. Seeing the role of king as little more than another curse to collect, he accepted the role of Autumn King— restoring order to the clan— before retreating to the darkest depths of the faelands to die and return to the soil— along with the sorrows he had collected. As he lay down to rest and be reclaimed by the earth, his final thoughts were his absentmindedly remarking on how silent the Autumn evening was— and how he wished he could hear the Morning Lark of Spring one last time as he passed on.

And it was from THAT wish that Neverlie was born.


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Name Aubrey Davina Alvaros
Age 24
Gender Male
Species Human... for now anyway.
Ethnicity Adelan
Height 5'10"
Occupation Courier by day, THE MAIN CHARACTER by night
Residence Wanderer

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Physical Description

Aubrey places a great deal of care into his looks, from his lightly fluffed, auburn locks to his neatly kept eyelashes and trimmed fingernails. He's quite the attractive young man, with a smile of gold and a mirthful look in his eyes. His light, soft skin tone and high cheekbones give him a very aesthetically appealing look, which, with the proper makeup, might even see him passing for a handmaiden, in the proper light . He still sports much of his youth at the age of 24 despite his most harrowing experiences, and takes good care of his body, from eating habits to physical fitness, ensuring that his good looks will remain for some time. Hopefully.

He typically wears his standard inquisitor armor, dyed black. It's lightweight and mostly leather which allows for great flexibility, yet what plating the armor has is sturdy enough to protect against glancing blows, though a direct attack focused on it would likely shatter, or at least seriously damage it. He wears this in spite of (and knowing that) it's more than likely to draw the eye of any other inquisitor who sees it, primarily because bro literally thinks he's the main character.


Personality

Aubrey, despite everything, is a bright-spirited and overall enjoyable person to be around. He enjoys both the simplicity of life, like stopping to feel the wind in his hair, as well as more complex indulgences such as eating sweets while falling from a great height naked with a lover (citation needed). He is typically a relatively kindhearted individual with a flair for the dramatic, and enjoys a riveting conversation about the state of the world, where he can find one. Amusingly, the demon constantly whispering in his ear has done nothing to worsen his already rather textbook 'main character syndrome'.

Young and somewhat innocent at heart, yet stalwart and level-headed in mind and body, Aubrey has always held very strong, yet somewhat naive ambitions; He is a romantic, in a world filled with the eldritch unknown and 50 shades of jaded mentality. He holds true to a righteous fury within his heart which can at times cause him to lose his cool when faced with particularly heinous atrocities, and his genuine desire to make the world a better place can often times result in him losing sight of his own importance-- willing to sacrifice himself as necessary to see the world, or the people he cares about, into fruition, peace and prosperity. The demon has absolutely no qualms about taking advantage of this personality trait to its fullest, and uses it to trick Aubrey—  for better or for worse—  into pursuing more and more power for himself.
 
The combination of the demon's whispering and these traits are occasionally highlighted and exacerbated by his... 'Disdainful' upbringing, which can cause him to show more negative vibes than not—a lust for power, a lack of morality when he feels it necessary, and so on, but these are rare occurrences and don't truly reflect Aubrey's typically happy demeanor as a whole.

Magic/Abilities

Technically, it should be enough that Aubrey is a very, very well trained assassin; However, to add to his refined stealth and close-combat skillset, the demon Alvaros is constantly by his side, granting him some small sliver of her powers in exchange for his cooperation. In particular, Aubrey can take on certain attributes of the living things he touches—  be they other humans, creatures, or even other demons. These attributes change him, little by little; Granting him abilities native to those he leeches upon. Alvaros's grand scheme is to corrupt Aubrey so thoroughly through having him seek out so much power that he eventually no longer resembles anything close to a human at all—  at which point she will seize his mind and body for herself.

Fat chance, though, considering our boy's ego is so great that thus far she hasn't been able to even slightly dig her fingers into his thick skull.

Relationships

None yet. But realistically, who would willing put themselves through the torture of... this dude?

History

As a very young child, Aubrey was orphaned due to circumstances out of his control, and through chance of fate, he was captured by slavers and sold into a human trafficking market. It was from this slave trading market that Aubrey was eventually 'sold' to a group of unknown individuals of even further unknown origins known solely as 'The Darhanna Inquisition'.
 
The Darhanna Inquisition, as the boy would grow up to learn, was a nameless, leaderless clan of demon-worshipping 'specialists' for hire who, unlike mere sellswords, were fairly versed in the mysteries of the world, having taken jobs far and wide which require a more trained, precise agent of strength, speed, or cambrian prowess, while secretly collecting and hoarding any and all knowledge, forbidden or otherwise about the world. Each member of the Inquisition's elite were also granted the 'blessing' of being a host to a demon, conjured from another realm, as a part of some grand plan to sow the seeds of a demon uprising within LeRaana. Aubrey, young and impressionable, was one of many new 'recruits' that were taken into their fold as a means to replenish their ranks, a rather common thing as many of their jobs weren't exactly 'pleasant',  and often was it mandated that Inquisitors—members of The Inquisition—took on their tasks solo, resulting in great losses for the inexperienced.
 
Fortunately, Aubrey took to his training and studies like a bird to the air, or a fish to the sea. He absorbed everything that was thrown at him, from basic combat training to the bestiary of the Inquisition, and though life was hard for him (as it was for the others his age), he never complained or so much as showed signs of wavering from the path that was laid out before him. Why? A fine question, with an understandable answer.
 
Aubrey was the chosen one.
 
Well, that's what he convinced himself of, at least. Suffering delusions of grandeur as a result of the trauma of his past, Aubrey convinced himself that he was actually transported to this mortal coil from another realm, and that everything that was happening to him was a result of his being chosen for some great destiny which had yet to be revealed to him. Why else would he be subject to rigorous training to fight against all manner of threats? Why else would he have access to magical powers and adapt so easily to teachings of The Inquisition? Surely not because his delusions drove him to unhealthily devote himself to being one of the youngest inquisitors to 'graduate' into solo duty.

What did not help this, as one might suspect, was the demon he was chosen to play host to. Going by the name 'Alvaros' (Yes, the same name Aubrey eventually took as his surname), the demon was a cunning, patient woman. She whispered sweet nothings into Aubrey's ear from the moment she was bestowed upon him, further cementing his delusions, while gradually molding him into a child who would seek out power and chaos as she wished, all the more to grow her own personal plans and agenda. Yes, to no one's surprise, demons were not to be trusted, even by the evil cult that summoned them into the world.
 
He got (mentally) better, eventually. Most teenagers do. It wasn't, however, until Aubrey decided—  with a little nudging from Alvaros—  that a life under the Inquisition's wing wasn't enough for him, and he began to seek more that this change happened to him. Daringly, he cut all ties with his former 'family', and struck out on his own, something which did not sit well with the veterans of the clan, who sought to keep all of the knowledge that the Inquisition had attained over the years within their own circle. As such, on the fateful day that he intended to leave the organization, Aubrey was cornered, tracked down and assassinated for his crime of 'treason' against the Inquisition, his corpse thrown into some ravine somewhere in nation seven.
 
Supposedly. The truth of the matter is that on that fateful day, the ever-so-clever Aubrey actually faked his own death, using the 'fall' from the ravine as a means to escape the Inquisition more or less unharmed.  Thus did Aubrey truly begin his own adventures, a fugitive of a powerful organization with all the skills he needed to keep himself one step ahead of it.




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Name Sunxee
Age 23
Gender Female
Species Goblin-Fae (lol)
Ethnicity Serenian (Kinda)
Height 3'8"
Occupation Traveling cartographer, foodie and reviewer
Residence Wanderer

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Sunxee is a modest-sized goblin, well under 4 feet tall, with bright green skin, a bright, beautiful blue left eye, a sharp, piercing red right eye, and long, gray hair that she dyes an extremely vibrant purple—  same color as her mother. She keeps her hair tied back in a ponytail, with a single bang left free to cover up her left eye, which helps to cover up her unusual (and debatably off-putting) heterochromia— A common blue eye visible, and a bright, almost luminescent pink eye hidden. She wears purple lipstick that matches her vibrant purple hair, and though she has a mouth full of sharp teeth, she thankfully lacks any jawline-or-tooth-related facial traits— no teeth poking out of her mouth, at least. Ignoring her striking 'resting jerk face', she looks like an adorable little girl, almost. Her large, somewhat floppy, fae-like ears exacerbate her childish look.

She dresses closer to her age, which helps clarify her level of maturity at a glance. She wears glasses, for starters—  half-rimmed, and specifically designed to fit her face and ears. Her typical attire consists of a form-fitting, blue doublet with red embroidery across the chest in the design of sprawling flowers— Sleeveless, which allows her to wear a white dress shirt beneath— and a pair of form-fitting blue slacks. Sunxee typically wears a pair of black boots, but never with heels— Annoyed by the obvious boost in height they give that causes people to question if she may have gotten a "growth spurt". Not particularly big on jewelry, Sunxee only wears a few pieces; A flower- shaped earring charm on her right ear, an heirloom from her father's side of the family, and a necklace made of ivory, a gift from her mom.

Personality

Anyone who knows Sunxee knows that there are two Sunxees—  the 'normal' one, and the one that... well, call it the 'fun' one. Sunxee is a bit bi-polar, with her emotional outbursts ranging from outright manic to fits of absolute and utter despair. What sets these little episodes off? Why, her heritage of course! Sunxee is partially a wild fae, after all—  rational thinking isn't really something she should even be capable of. She SHOULD fully embrace her instincts, and wander about causing madness and mischief with her latent talent for wild magic— but she chooses not to. She's actually a fairly modest and simple woman who yearns to live like normal people do—  in a structured society, with a means to get by and a niche to carve out in human history.

The problem is that it's not so easy for her to just 'fit in'. When Sunxee goes too long without expressing her 'wild side', so to speak, she runs the risk of having what her colleagues have described as a 'manic episode'. A psychological forced expression of her wild fae heritage, Sunxee loses but rationality and morality while under the effects of her manic episodes—  resulting in much mischief being had, typically at the expense of others. Nothing too terrible, at least. She's never killed anyone, for example, and the last person she turned into a sheep was only a sheep for a little while—  not long enough for any long-standing consequences. These little episodes are typically visually identified by her normally unremarkable eyes glowing bright, bright pink, and can last for anywhere from a few seconds to a few days, and gods help us all when they last for days.



Magic/Abilities
Wild magic runs in her blood. It's a part of her that, since she gained a rational mind, Sunxee has fought to suppress as much as she can. Yet when she doesn't suppress it, magic tends to just 'happen'-- typically based on how she feels at any given point. To some extent, this is can be helpful in some ways if used or controlled in measures where her mind is focused and her emotions are steady. However, when she's having one of her episodes... chaos happens. Mushrooms the size of buildings, people turning into sheep, sheep turning into people, dogs granted human speech—  making them hard to differentiate between the humans turned into dogs. All kinds of madness, which only ends when her manic episodes do, or she's rendered unconscious.

Relationships

History

Soon to come!

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Grant Avery
Age 25
Gender Male
Species Human - Werewolf
Ethnicity Connlaothian
Height 6'2"
Occupation Craftsman
Residence Wanderer

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Physical Description

Grant's natural hair color is dark brown— He was born with a solid head of gentle, curly locks that his parents were quite proud of. Following... Recent events, Grant's hair has gone pure silver— Almost translucent in color, and grows into a long mane almost overnight. Due to a lack of willingness to care for it, one of his morning routines is to bundle it all up in one hand and take a sharp knife to it, leaving him with a short length of silver hair for the day.

Grant's a thin man, by Adellan standards; Very little meat on him, but also very little fat. He's not built for taking very many hits, though the scars on his back and body would tell you otherwise. He has muscle—  the kind built by working one's self to the bone without much care for their health and wellbeing... But that's about it. His fingernails are white—  which at a distance seems quite normal, but up close one can tell that they're not 'translucent' like normal nails but bone-white by default; As if made from the same material as his teeth. These, too, tend to grow far faster than they naturally should, and Grant often is made to 'wear them down' on objects in order to not stand out.

He is penniless, and thus lacks any real wardrobe or armor; His typical clothes are little more than rags or peasant's wear, a tattered, old, long-sleeve hemp shirt and fishermans' pants. He doesn't tend to wear shoes; Can't afford them, and can't afford to keep replacing them when... 'accidents' occur.

Personality

Given his particular affliction, it's no wonder that Grant is very distrustful of just about everyone around him.  It's not a slight against the people he meets, but a means to protect both them and himself. He only ever interacts with others if it's necessary—  and if others interact with him, he does his best to excuse himself from the situation or brush them off as much as he can—  All for the sake of keeping his distance from others. Despite this, he cares deeply for the people he does connect with, who know and accept him for what he is—  and to that end, works even harder to keep himself away from said people as much as possible. Guilt has warped his mind into believing that this is the only way he can find any peace, by living as a societal outcast.

The one thing he will put his foot down over, however, is injustice. No, he won't jump to save every little damsel in distress, or right every moral or political wrong that exists. He's perfectly capable of turning a blind eye to things if it's for the best for himself or people he cares about. However, he can't turn a blind eye to something literally happening in front of him. He sees it as the only thing that separates him from truly losing his humanity, and under threat of affliction or not, he will attempt to intervene.

Magic/Abilities

Grant suffers from a strain of lycanthropy. He has for the better part of his life, and despite living with it for years, he still can't control it—  only predict and work around it. Uniquely, he has learned that his lycanthropy isn't triggered by a full moon, or a time of the month; It's triggered by contact with silver, or skin-to-skin human contact. The latter isn't such a problem; The former, however, is difficult to deal with, and requires constant vigilance. For a blessing, while any physical contact with either can start the change, only prolonged contact can cause a full-on change. Any amount of change, full or otherwise, takes an entire day to regress—  hence Grant's reluctance to interact with others.

When only partially transformed, Grant is still mostly in control of his facilities. His human and werewolf instincts compete with each other for every decision he makes, but he at least has a say in it. When fully transformed, he is locked inside of his own mind; Aware of his actions but only marginally able to influence them. Be it slaughter of innocent civilians, destruction of landscapes, or otherwise, he is forced to watch from behind his own eyes and beneath his own skin as his body goes on an instinctual rampage for an upward of an hour, until the regression process begins to take hold. Scarily, the only way to quickly return him to his human form is to sate the beast within-- by feeding upon human flesh, Grant can regain his senses fully, and revert the transformation... but doing so comes at the cost of a life.

In his wolf and human forms alike, Grant's body heals very, very quickly—  but requires constant sustenance. As a result, to save energy, he tried to live as austere a life as possible, to avoid getting hurt, hurting others, and having to waste energy. Goes a long way to explain his gaunt-looking state of being.

Relationships

History

Grant Avery, born Einrich Evans, was a Connlaothian commoner before his current circumstance. His middle-class family lived in a small town just outside of Uthlyn, and made a living selling and trading lumber. He was the 3rd of 4 siblings, between his 2 older brothers and younger sister.

One afternoon, while returning from working the lumber in the fields just beyond his home, he and his brothers were attacked by a wolf-like man who nearly killed them all. Together the three of them fended the creature off, but Grant was bitten in the process, and had to be nursed back to health for a few days before he regained consciousness. His mother and younger sister were the ones to look after him, changing his dressings and helping him stay clean—  but neither would have expected that on the 4th day of his recovery, Grant himself would transform—  becoming just like the monster that had attacked him. In a blind, instinctual rampage, he killed both his mother and father, and gravely wounded his sister, but managed— somehow—  to regain enough control of himself to prevent himself from biting her, and transferring the curse further. Horrified and ashamed of his actions, he fled the village under threat of pitchfork and torchfire, and hid away within the forests at the edges of mountains throughout Connlaoth for 4 years.

Eventually, through trial, error, and fear of dying alone, Grant learned to re-enter society. He learned to manage his curse, and how to avoid setting it off, and also learned that at some point in those 4 years, two of the other were-creatures like himself had been slain; His village  (save for his family) believing he was one of them. With something akin to a cover story in that regard, he managed to quietly work a few odd jobs to buy himself citizenship in Uthlyn under a new name, and establish a very bare-bones, yet complete-enough life in the city. Though the sins of his past haunt him eternally, he has mostly removed himself from his prior life, and resolved to never set foot in his home village—  or harm another person—  ever again.


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Name Kolara Emberwing (Self-given surname)
Age 24
Gender Female
Species Phoenix-kin
Ethnicity Yoreiqi
Height 6'6"
Occupation Supreme Sun-Crown, Golden-Winged Beast of Worship, QUEEN of the Emberwing clan (Unemployed w/a benefactor)
Residence ALL THAT THE LIGHT SHINES ON. But technically Yoreiq.

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description From youth, Kolara was raised as a Yoreiqi, despite not being born of Yoreiqi heritage. If you give her a quick look-over, it's easy to tell why. She has dark skin, and large, golden-red wings with a reach almost twice her own regular arm span stretch from her back, reminiscent of the winged people of the islands. If you look closer, however, that's about where the similarities end. Kolara isn't actually Yoreiqi; She's part-phoenix, and her wings, unlike Yoreiqi natives, function as a second pair of webbed 'arms'-- complete with talon-like claws at their ends—  all the better to capture prey with, naturally. Her bird-like features extend to her even having long, beautiful phoenix tail feathers, which reach about as low as her mid-calfs when she's standing. Her hair isn't a highlighted mixture of black and other colors; It's crimson red, and by itself it loosely curls and twists this way and that— making her almost look as though she has a mane. Her eyes are a bright, glowing gold— so bright that it hurts to stare directly into them. At the shins, her otherwise human legs harden and transition into a digitigrade anatomy, with talons—  not unlike her secondary 'hands' yet larger and far more pronounced—  where her feet would've been if she were a Yoreiqi woman.

Personality You've never met someone so full of themselves that they could put out and egg and it'd hatch an exact replica of them until you've met Kolara, who, from birth, just knew she was better than everyone else. Technically, she wasn't... 'wrong'? She was definitely different, and those differences certainly gave her a chip on her shoulder when they began to manifest in ways that made put her typically ahead of her competitors (Having four hands is surprisingly useful in wrestling, for example). As a result, Kolara and humility are on a surname basis at best.

That doesn't necessarily mean she can't be humbled. And it definitely doesn't mean she's delusional, or spoiled. She worked— and still works—  extremely hard to be stronger, faster, and just generally more dominant than anyone around her. Why? She has a praise kink—  a huge one, which started when she was young and grew into the monster that is half of her personality. You want to get on her good side? Compliment her. You want to get deep, deep in her good side? Compliment her like you mean it. There's benefits to this, of course—  the biggest being that she IS able to back up just about anything she says, and for the people in her good graces, she's more than willing to bend over backwards for more praise.

Magic/Abilities Kolara has an innate aptitude for fire magic, as well as healing—  both thanks to her heritage as a phoenix-kin. She can set things ablaze with just a thought—  though her fires don't always burn for the sake of destruction. By wielding her natural inclinations together she can create what she calls a phoenix flame—  warm to the touch, and able to burn away wounds and illnesses in living objects.

Her feathers possess her innate healing magics be default as well, pulsing a faint gold with the power of life. The smallest and newest of them are able to mend minor wounds before they lose their glow—  the oldest and largest of them, like her tail feathers, can even restore life to the very recently deceased. You would think she'd be hunted for this, but... I mean, come on. She's built different. Having trained in both Yoreiqi hunting arts, as well as self-taught hunting from having lived on her own for a while, better believe you're not the one hunting Kolara—  she's the one hunting you.

Relationships

History No one's exactly sure where Kolara actually came from. Certainly not from a Yoreiqi mother. What is known is that one night, after what many of the tribesmen groggily reported as a "Strange firestorm, soaring through the night toward the Eastern sea", a crying infant was found off the shore of one of the islands. That child was Kolara—  named by the woman that took her in and began raising her as her own, despite some protest and concern by a couple of the villagers, after a vote.

You might wonder, why would there be such division over a child? Oh, Kolara was no ordinary child. Not one bit. She was 'quirky'. She had a bad habit of doing quirky things. Y'know, like climbing across the roof of buildings with her talons, setting things on fire with her mind, and flying. Like, flying-flying. Her feathers also turned out to possess unnaturally strong, dormant life energy—  the likes of which could cure grievous wounds, and more. Just quirky things.

Needless to say, Kolara grew up with a chip on her shoulder—  primarily because as unique—  in her mind, special—  as she was, the village chief did not coddle or treat her in any way better than the other plebian, normal natives. He did this for her own sake, of course—  feeding a young ego was a recipe for disaster, and also had potential to invite internal conflict among the village, but Kolara didn't see it that way—  she saw it as her being looked down upon, not being treated like the god-given gift that she was. And so, as she grew, she became more prideful, aggressive, and determined to be treated like royalty—  so much so that it earned her the collective disdain of her fellow youths, who were often on the receiving end of her dominant personality in sparring, hunting, or just about anything else.

Eventually, things came to a head between her and the village chief, resulting in the two having a heated argument practically in the center of the village. This was pretty normal—  happened at least once or twice a week. This particular time was abnormal, because it lasted almost an entire sun-up and sun-down, and only really ended because the chief started to lose his voice from all the yelling like the loser that he was.

He made the (in his mind) grave decision to, as a last resort, hold council over the village to determine Kolara's future with their people—  whether she would be allowed to stay and continue in her arrogant ways, or if they would exile her. Unfortunately for him, two could play at that game, and so before he could exile her, Kolara just declared him and everyone in the village 'unworthy of her greatness' before telling them that she would start her own village, with her own loyal subjects, and her own rules, et cetera—  and fled on her own accord—  choking back a tear or two as she did so—  making her way by sky to the mainland.

There, after fumbling about for a while in her attempt to learn the ways of non-Yoreiqi society, she met a female alchemist— one who desperately sought her unique feathers for their incredible magical effects, identifying them as genuine phoenix feathers. This was absolutely blasphemous for Kolara, who not only had no intentions of helping some inferior human for no apparent gain, but also refused to be looked upon as some marketplace-value item to be oogled and used as one desired. The alchemist was probably 13 seconds away from shaking hands with her ancestors in crematory heaven when, in a desperate, last-ditch attempt for her life, she made the ultimate play.

She laid on the compliments. And she laid them on THICK. Her wings, her feathers, her great aptitude for fire and life magics, even the way she carried herself—  the alchemist practically began kissing the ground Kolara stood upon. And for a normal person, this probably would've been pretty creepy—  but for the praise-starved Kolara? It was a critical hit. Darn-near fatal. She eventually let herself be talked into a rather lucrative deal for them both—  Kolara would willingly give the alchemist a few of her feathers every time they met (if she felt like it), and in return, some 70% of the profits of her efforts would come back to her. It eventually made her rather lush with gold, to say nothing of the continued praise it brought her every time they met, as the alchemist gushed over how incredible her healing properties were. Oh yeah. It was all coming together.

Having taken a few years to establish herself as something of a self-made celebrity, as well as further mastering her strengths as a phoenix, Kolara had it all. HAS it all.

AND since she technically wasn't banished from her village, she occasionally comes home to eat dinner with her mom and help around the house. Gotta take your praise where you can get it.

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The morning lark, the evening sparrow. The softest touch of frost before eternal slumber. The blinding brilliance of life's peak, the desolate void that is it's end.

He wandered the world, adjacent to them all. His footsteps bringing decline and decay, beautiful and sorrowful in their own ways. He was the king of the autumn clan, the golden-red throne in the southern reaches of the Unseelie Court. He was the heritor of the final days of life, who ushered in the season of gentle rest before the long night and the end of the cycle. He was the third of the Fairy Kings of Seasons-- The Fairy of Sorrows, known by his subjects as 'Tyrnalhann, the Longing One'.

"A-Aaahhh! Crap, it still hurts a bit..."

"It's not too late for him to just chop the leg right off, y'know-- And we've got the funds from that last quest. You'd look good with a stump!"

"Fuck off, Marlow! Ugh... Thanks again, doc. Dunno what you're doin' all the way out here, but you're one hell of a life saver."

"My pleasure. You two take care on your way back to town, now!"

Granted, Erste (as he much preferred to be called) didn't particularly care for such titles-- or responsibilities, to be honest. The seasons came and went with or without his presence at court-- so he made the most of the time he had and did as he pleased. He wandered the lands of Le'raana, often in search of the adorable little saplings that now littered the land with their intriguing structures and their silly little disputes. Mortals were such amusing creatures-- he couldn't fathom how so many of his kin were opposed to showing themselves before their ilk.

Take for instance, those two. As Erste waved kindly at the departing pair of adventurer-types, the brash, insecure boy... Hector, was it? And his doting partner, too afraid of rejection to share her own feelings, Marlow. They'd crossed paths with him on their way into... oh, what did the mortals call these lands... Featherfall? Yes, that sounded right-- and it was during their chance encounter that the autumn fae noticed the festering wound that Hector had received likely some few days prior. He could barely stand-- supported in body and spirit by Marlow as they prayed that they could make it back to civilization in time enough to save him.

It was always so tragic to see such young saplings wilting away before they had their chance to bear fruit, so Erste couldn't help but interfere-- applying the knowledge he'd accrued from his own time among mortal medicine-makers to draw out some of the poison that coursed through the boy's veins. Enough, at least, that he might survive the rest of the way to his home town. Erste smiled kindly as their silhouettes disappeared into the distance, before he closed his eyes, and took in the afternoon air, and the gentle breeze that seemed to caress and envelop his very being.

Yes, the boy would certainly die soon. He was quite familiar with the poison that he'd pulled from his wound-- It was born of the fangs of a wild fae-- primitive creatures that often dwelled within his domain. There was a cure, but retrieving it meant he'd have to return home-- and that would mean the most horrible of fates for him...

...Getting scolded by his subjects again. Oh, what tragedy... Yet, his endearment with the mortal adventurer-lovers was such that he had long-since made the decision to endure it for their sake.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Erstwhile of Autumn - Though some mortals have called him "Erste" in the past
Age 1103 Cycles
Gender Masculine
Species Unseelie Fae
Ethnicity Autumn clan
Height 6'2"
Occupation Wandering Apothecary by chosen trade, de-facto 'King' of the autumn clan by birthright, and the "Fairy of Sorrows" by destiny
Residence He's kind of a bum honestly
__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Erstwhile has a mostly human appearance, in the traditional sense (arms, legs, a head). He appears to be dressed in a draping, red and golden shawl, wearing a loosely-fitting  robe underneath it, but upon closer inspection his robes are actually nature itself; a blend of golden, yellow and red leaves in flowing patterns which cover him like a cloak and robe combo. Along his 'clothes', you can see signs of nature thriving; living, growing ivy vines wrap around his waist like a secure belt, green, healthy moss grows at the ends of his sleeves, and here and there throughout his attire, various fungi adorn his body, lining the arms of his robes as they would trees in the wild, or flourishing into mushrooms around his shoulders and along his shawl.

Erstwhile is a blonde with long, gentle curls that reach his shawl and nest there securely. He wears a crown of autumn leaves, which almost seems to grow from his head, and has a pair of branch-like antlers atop each side of his head. His skin is soft and warm, and a light brown color befitting of the gold-and-red themes that make up his attire. His eyes are a similar golden color, marking him as very much not human despite his otherwise appearance.

Erstwhile carries two items with him at all times; the most obvious of which being a staff, made of a large, winding birch branch, which is topped by red and golden leaves, which endlessly fall from the tips of their branches, yet never goes fully bare. He uses it for walking, mostly, but there is inherent magic— distinctly fae magic—  almost bursting from it's wood. The other item, typically at his waste, is a censer made entirely of wood—  not carved, not chopped or processed, but naturally winding into a ball-like shape with openings wide enough for Erstwhile to use.



Personality

He's nice enough, but clearly not human—  and likely never will be. In conversation, Erstwhile comes off as kind and considerate, if not somewhat mischievous.He has a bad habit of treating mortals like children, and requires reminding that they don't always need to coddled, or doted on, or reproached. Realistically, his fascination with mortals borders on dangerous to fae-kind as he doesn't often shy away from civilization—  yet he does wander, quite a bit in fact, so he's never in one place long enough to cause real trouble. As a fae, there are many different aspects and facets of human life that he hasn't yet grasped, but he does put a good faith effort forward toward trying. In particular, he finds mortal relationships very amusing— the good and bad times of them. He sometimes enjoys introducing a little trouble into otherwise stable and ongoing relationships, knowingly or otherwise.

It can also be said that Erstwhile doesn't take his actual 'job' seriously; Despite having a very clear and defined role to undertake as both the king of the autumn clan of fae and the Fairy of Sorrows, he tends to spend more of his time watching over humans—  sometimes interfering in their affairs. In his defense, humans and his 'job' tend to overlap quite a bit, so he justifies his absences from the faelands as keeping the mortals in check and focusing on the gravest of his duties in doing so. The truth is that he's just kind of lazy.


Magic/Abilities

The autumn fae have always held some level of dominion over nature, their fairy magics giving them the innate ability to breathe the life of autumn into the lands around them— creating decay and natural death where there is none, and giving of their own bodies to spread lifeforms that feed and thrive on living matter, such as fungi. All of this for a proper cause—  beginning the transition of the world into winter's embrace. Erstwhile is no different in this regard, and typically participates in this practice... when he feels like it. Honestly, the other fae tend to have it under control for the most part. What's more, often-times they have to reenact the stories of autumn, which is rather boring to him—  so he skimps on it.

His other role, being the Fairy of Sorrows, tends to take up more of his time. In addition to the living flora and fungi that take solace on his body, Erstwhile's other role is to lessen the risk of the Le'Raana's mortal and immortal inhabitants from destroying themselves through their sorrows. Curses, hexes, and grudges have a less prominent effect on him, both due to his already-always-decaying body and his role as the Fairy of Sorrows. Further, he is able to share in the sorrows of others by literally taking on, physically or spiritually, some of the sorrows that they have either self inflicted or had inflicted on them by others. He cannot completely take the sorrows, regrets, or curses of another living mortal away, however, and so his true purpose in sharing the burden of sorrows is simply to alleviate the suffering of others, until the day they die—  at which point he can take them on entirely. It's said that at the end of each cycle, the Fairy of Sorrows becomes so burdened by the sorrows and regrets of others that they no longer resemble a fairy, in body or spirit— Shunned by fae and mortals alike, the wretched creature retreats to the quietest, darkest depths of the Fey wilds, and there they perish, taking the sorrows with them as they become one with the land again—  only to be reborn in the coming cycle.

Erstwhile has done this over a thousand times.

Relationships

History


Don't be scared, come meet him and find out! (History pending)


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Thump.

Thump.

THUMP.

THUMP!

"It's hot."

"Shut up."

"I'm tired."

"Shut up."

"My joints are—"

"OH. MY GOD. CEASE!"

Many a miraculous sight was bound to be found off the beaten merchant's path of the Moraki desert. The shifting dunes and their wave-like courses across the arid lands revealed ruins of old civilization, shadows of bygone adventures and adventurers alike who'd wandered astray of the protected roads in search of fame and fortune, to never be seen again. It was a tale as old as time; those who did not heed the words of their elders who came before them were destined to repeat the mistakes and failings that they once found.

"Be more careful about your footing. You're getting sand into your greaves."

"But there's sand EVERYWHERE!"

"So be EXTRA careful, then!"

'Siege', as she had taken to calling herself, did not have this issue. See, the difference between a young, up and coming adventurer seeking fame and fortune away from home and a walking, talking mobile fortress of a suit of armor was that the young adventurer eventually left the nest of their elders to seek fame.

THE NEST WASN'T LITERALLY INSIDE THEM, NAGGING THEM THE ENTIRE TIME.

"You think I like being trapped in a half-assed suit of scraps like you?"

"OH MY GOD I DIDN'T EVEN SAY ANYTHING!?" What's more was the fact that the nest was also not intrinsically linked to the young adventurer's mind and soul, thereby almost literally letting it read the adventurer's thoughts the entire time.

"How sad for you. This 'nest' could care less about your private thoughts. Keep moving."

The armor sighed. It must've been nice to be a young, reckless adventurer.

Siege and Kiri, the 'nest' trapped within the armor, were journeying south, toward Essyrn... by foot. Why? Because the massive construct couldn't fit on a damn horse, couldn't fit in a damn wagon, and couldn't cross a boarding bridge on a damn ship. It was virtually impossible to get Siege into or onto ANYTHING that could reduce travel times, save a dragon— and most dragons were busy doing the flying thing. In the air. Away from Siege.

So with resounding thud after resounding thud, Siege moped her way toward Essyrn, one heavy footstep at a time, and groaned every time one of those footsteps was too heavy— knowing it would kick up sand and get it in her armor... thereby displeasing her inhabitant.

"Watch where you're going."

"What did I do NOW!? I'm basically tip-toeing at this poi—"

"I meant watch the road ahead of you, Siege. There's a presence ahead of us. A human. A singular one."

If the siege armor had eyebrows, it would've raised them in disbelief. "You... can't even see outside of my armor! How could you possibly know that?" A valid (in her mind) question, exasperated though it came off as. Kiri responded by sighing with the collective force of her entire soul.

"By tuning your senses, you can train your ears to recognize the sound of a human heartbeat. The smell of sweat on their skin. The—"

"Okay, nope, stop. You're scary enough as it is. Don't need the imagery." The armor cut in, returning Kiri's sigh with one of equal and opposite strength. Deciding that arguing any further wouldn't get her anywhere, Siege simply raised a gauntlet above her helmet and used it as a visor, peering ahead into the distance. Who else in their right mind would be out here, alone?

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Derry Evans
Age 26
Gender Male
Species Human
Ethnicity Essyrni
Height 5'11"
Occupation Translator-for-hire
Residence Niafi River Delta

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Derry is a young man, relatively normal human appearance, with a light brown skin tone. He stands about 5 foot and 11 inches or so, and pretty he has a lanky, muscles build. He has the look of a 20-ish-year old (puberty is mostly done, pretty clear complexion). He has a pretty sharp face, kind of on the thin/handsome side, and gray eyes. Despite what should be quite the piercing visage, Derry gives off fairly friendly, if somewhat pensive vibes in public— never one to glare or 'mean mug' others, even unintentionally.

His hair is a traditional black, with a lot of sheen to it (Takes pretty good care of it), and he wears it in a contrastingly long and somewhat unkempt fringe haircut, which kinda covers one of his eyes a bit but not so much that he can't see out of it.

As far as clothes, his outfit kinda varies a bit day by day due to him being a traveller, and having to visit different places around the world as part of his job, but he does have a strong passion for the "chic"-style, and he's huge into black and blue for colors. A common outfit for him would be something along the lines of a fitted white long-sleeve shirt, a black vest (depending on how cold it may be), a matching pair of black pants, and leather shoes— a go-to look for him. No matter what else he wears though, he's always wearing his trench coat. It's a mostly modern, black, two-layered coat, and the sleeves and bottom of the coat are embroidered with a pretty blue color. That coat was his dad's, and he's worn it so much that the coattail is starting to fray at the bottom, which kinda shows off how much wear it gets.

He's also always wearing his father's necklace, which is.. kind of an unassuming thing but it lights up if there's something or someone 'magical' nearby, which helps with his job (surprisingly).



Personality "Positive and pragmatic" is a great way to describe Derry, who's fairly 'normal' (for Le'Raana, anyway) life this far has mostly leveled him out as a person. He has a cheery outlook on life for the most part without coming off as delusional or self-absorbed. He believes that one good turn deserves another, and makes a habit of squaring away his debts— not because he's obsessed with not owing favors, but because he believes kindness is something that people should always pay forward, not back.

He has a good head of common sense on his shoulders, and doesn't typically seek out trouble unless it's unavoidable, or the path of least resistance. That said, he does have a set of morals, so he's equally likely to get involved in a problem if it's for the right reason— but give his lack of... well, any real "firepower" compared to some of the monsters of the world as he calls them (heroes, demons, elven sages and dwarven battle lords or whatever), he has to pick and choose his fights more carefully than others.

All in all, Derry is the type of person who tends to get dragged into things more so than cause things that people get dragged into— which he views as equal parts exasperating and fun. After all, what's life without a little bit of adventure sprinkled in?

Magic/Abilities Derry possesses the spectacular and seemingly innate ability to translate any text, any spoken language, and any interpretive symbolism into another locale. He claims this is probably due to the pendant that he wears on his chest— a leather necklace with a lapis lazuli jewel hanging from it— and the truth isn't extremely far from that. The necklace is a necromancer's foci— His father, and his predecessors before him, were all fairly learned masters of life and death, and the necklace holds within it the secrets and mysteries of their accumulated knowledge and power. This knowledge only reveals itself to the owner if two requirements are met— the owner is of the family bloodline and they truly require the power or knowledge within. In Derry's case, because his job requires him to understand and relay information of all sorts of origins, what's actually happening when he's translating is that he's unknowingly tapping into the echoes of memories of the deceased to comprehend the intent or messages left behind in words or writing.

In theory, the necromancers of his family line we're all adept mages— so it stands to reason that if he really needed the knowledge of magic that was left behind by his bloodline, the necklace would grant it... but that's just a theory.

Relationships

History They say that necromancy was originally created out of love, and that the pursuit of necromancy in its purest form is an act of love. At least, Derry was raised to believe so. His mother and father had always told him stories of their ancestors, and how they courted with spirits of the dead for power and knowledge beyond their kin— and with every story, they emphasised that those pursuits were always for the sake of others. Be it to gather the strength to cast magics that would save those they cared about or to find knowledge to resolve dreadful situations, the power of the dead was a means to protect those you loved. Derry grew up on such stories...

...Which is probably why he didn't get into magic, growing up. Although it frustrated his father and confused his mother, Derry— despite having an aptitude for magic, as his bloodline often did— never showed an interest in learning any sort of it. He had a dream of his own— to buy a house in Essyrn, own a cat (he loved cats), and be able to afford a day-to-day lifestyle on his own. Was he raised in poverty? No, not really; his parents owned a home, after all. No, Derry just wanted to be self-sufficient, like his parents were. So, he studied and became a linguistic translator— a fairly unpopular job given how boring it was, but a lucrative one as guilds were always up to their necks in requests for translations on artefacts or monuments around the world.

His parents... ultimately just let him be, but made him promise to always keep their family heirloom with him— a lapis lazuli jewel, which had always been passed down from generation to generation. Derry had no idea why, but did it all the same. And thus does our story begin...



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__________________QUICK STATS
Name "Thirteen"
Age 13 days old
Gender Presumed male
Species Human...?
Ethnicity Serenian, presumably
Height 5'5"
Occupation "Helping others"
Residence Wanderer

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Thirteen is most easily identified by his very peculiar hair and iconic, yet unremarkable cloak. A young man bearing the look of one barely 2 decades old (if that), Thirteen has a boyish, child-like face— the sort associated with someone who has seemingly never laughed a hardy laugh, or raged beyond reason. No creases or blemishes dot his golden-brown skin and yet, despite this, he bears rather unusual marks under his eyes. Like eyeliner, or mascara, this unremovable shadow draws out the sparkling depths of his large, silver eyes. He often wears an inquisitive, if not withdrawn look on his face, as if vaguely pondering the meaning of his existence. It is very difficult to determine if Thirteen is very well built, or soft and slender, due to his constant-clothed state and ability to change said clothes with a flick of his wrists; as such, no one has actually seen his body... yet, anyway.

Thirteen's hair is unique, and that's putting it lightly; A lifeless bob-like cut that normally sits just a little above his shoulders, Thirteen's actual hair color is hard to determine. It appears black at a glance, but the more accurate description would be "midnight", or "starlight". Why? Because his hair, like magic, reflects the sunless sky itself; clear as any possible evening could be, staring at his hair is a gateway into staring into the starry sky itself, in all of its cosmic glory. Granted, it is rude to stare, so most folk don't pay enough attention to notice, and for those that do, Thirteen typically wears a brimmed, black, and almost Victorian-esque top hat to cover most of his hair. Stray strands can still provide a glimpse into the outer unknowns, if one was perceptive enough to see them.

Thirteen's attire can vary by the day, in part due to the fact that with a simple spell, he can change it on a whim; however, he does have a strong passion and penchant for the more "Victorian"-style. A proper black or white dress shirt, a matching pair of black trousers, and expertly polished black leather shoes being a common staple for him. There are, however, two constants about his appearance that never change, and the first is his cloak. A rather fashion-fitting Victorian styled thing, the black cloak is two-layered, and its tails and edges are adorned with silken-black embroidery— designs of strange symbols and disorienting swirls that seem to shift under certain shades of sunlight. It has no hood, interestingly enough, and its neat, ironed-down collar gives it— and him— a look that borders on nobility.

The second of two constants, by comparison, isn't something he wears at all. It's the bunnies. Yes, wherever Thirteen goes, 2 or 3 little black bunnies are sure to be somewhere close within the vicinity. The bunnies don't seem to "obey" Thirteen; He, in turn, typically pays them no mind, lest it's to pet one for being the adorable little things he are. It is said that where the bunnies go, miracles follow— yet the little creature themselves never really do anything... or so it seems, at least.

Personality Thirteen is a gloomy sort. Not pessimistic or even self-deprecating, simply low-energy and seemingly unenthusiastic about every encounter he has. That's just his exterior, though. Truthfully, Thirteen is driven by his desire to help others. From the day he was born, he only knew this desire— "Make the impossible possible, for the betterment of the unfortunate"; And so, Without considering the consequences of his actions, Thirteen typically uses his unique magic without a second thought, in order to help others. The problem this causes is that more often than not, Thirteen works in excesses; His actions going above, beyond, and further still to help people— sometimes unknowingly at the expense of others, and other times unknowingly making situations worse than he started.

Thirteen bears a deeply inquisitive mind for all things magical— and is, himself, seemingly completely unlearned of the practice despite his incredible aptitude for the art. A theorist at heart, if Thirteen comes to truly understand how a sort of magic works, he feels a strange sense of familiarity— as if it wasn't the first time he'd done so.

Interestingly, being the broken existence that he is, Thirteen's daily memories themselves are quite spotty and hard to hold onto. As a result, he struggles to remember names, and in worse cases, faces quite easily— at random, he can simply completely forget a person's existence in its entirety. And yet, feelings born of experience never truly disappear, so those whom he bonds deeply with, he has learned to trust those feelings, and blindly follow or believe in those who inspire such feelings.

Also, sweets. Thirteen LOVES sweets.

Magic/Abilities Thirteen possesses but a fraction of his true self's power, and yet that fraction alone is capable of great and evil deeds. Each fragment of the magister's soul was possessed of a single aspect of his former selves' true power, from strengthening spells, to clairvoyance, to destructive magics— in the case of Thirteen, he retains the concept of "Thaumaturgy"— the magister's power to make impossibilities, possible. This unique magic manifests itself near and around both Thirteen and the locations in which his powers have been/are being used in the form of adorable, yet ominous little black bunnies, with piercing red eyes. The bunnies are a strange sort— he come and go as he please, seemingly meaning no harm to anyone, and while he can be touched and heard, he have no shadow— and, to the observant eye, no actually physical form— existing more so as tangible masses of magic, than anything truly physical.

Relationships

History

Long ago, in an age likely forgotten, there lived a powerful mage. He was born without wealth or weal in an impoverished home, bestowed a name no greater or meaningful than any other, and was poised to lead of life of mediocrity—  yet, he hungered. He sought knowledge, and in knowledge, power—  power the likes of which to change his fate, and more. That hunger bid them to seek out a life of strife, adventure, conquest and acquisition—  and through hardship, struggle, and tireless self-improvement, he gained the might to overcome his fortunes. Yet even this was not enough. Even still, he hungered.

The world was malleable in the hands of one who held power such as himself—  yet he did not destroy without purpose, nor did he bring undue hardship onto any who didn't deserve it. He sought to change the world—  recreate it, piece by piece, into a utopia in which no child need grow up like he did, desolate and in despair. In his ventures, he did a great many things; Some to the benefit of others, and others to further grow and consolidate his considerable magic. Before long, his prowess was recognizable as a threat to even the greatest of cities, states and kingdoms. His goals, in his mind, held positive intent, but his actions uprooted the foundations of cities, kingdoms—  threatening all of Le'Raana.

Eventually, a collective of great wizards and priests, blessed by the gods, assembled, and together, he stood against the mage—  and after a great and terrible contest, he used all that he had within them to strike the magister down, defeating and sundering his very soul. Shattered into fragments of the magister he once was, the alliance sealed away the aspects of the mage into 13 places of power— key locations across the lands of Le'Raana— and sentenced the consciousness of the magister to eternal slumber, never to be reawoken so long as the shards of his soul remained fragmented. And thus did the threat of the ancient magus come to an end, and the lands knew a semblance of peace once more... until recently, at least.

No one knows why— perhaps with time immemorial coming and going, the imprisoning wards weakened— perhaps some vile force or foolish adventurers stumbled upon something he shouldn't have. Whatever the case, barely a fortnight past, a disturbance in the leylines' magic occurred; one strong enough, and near enough, to cause one of the wards containing a fragment of the magister's power to come undone. And from that ward— a large, hollow tree within the depths of the Niahi forest— came forth a being of considerable magical power... and considerably lacking in both knowledge and purpose. It knew only a few things, almost instinctively— That it was the 13th of its kind, and that eventually, the others (whatever he was... whatever IT was) would also awaken soon enough. And with that revelation in mind, it wandered— away from its prison, and towards civilization... for some reason. It was fairly sure it wanted something to do with helping others...

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Lars Sycamonia XVII
Age 22
Gender Male
Species Human
Ethnicity Serenian
Height 6'4"
Occupation Farmer
Residence Darken Vel

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description

A humble-looking man. Lars has a full head of short, dark-red hair that he keeps cut just short enough to not get in the way when working and piercing blue eyes— the sort that reflect every color of the rainbow and might almost look silvery under the right lighting. His skin, tanned by toiling in the sun, is a little on the rough side— some scratches here and there on his body, mostly from mishandling tools or plying his trade in the field. He doesn't know enough magic to properly heal his injuries, so if he gets hurt, that's just another scar on the list unless he seeks out a talented healer. On the same note, his body has a good amount of muscle on it as a result of said toiling— nothing absurd, but he's in good shape for a man of his age.

Because of his work on the farm, Lars typically only wears blue collar wear at best; Sometimes overalls, maybe a light blue button up that matches his eyes and denim pants, but never anything too fancy.

Personality

Very bright. Very pure. He is basically the Serenian equivalent of a golden retriever. Lars likes people before meeting them, and doesn't dislike them unless given a good reason to. Even then, he prefers to put the work in to compromise or forgive people, because life is too short for grudges and petty disputes. He lives a very austere lifestyle, and so he doesn't have high standards either of other people, or of the world around him. As a result, it doesn't take much to get in his good graces, if you aren't already there.

Something like a social butterfly, Lars doesn't shy away from chatter— he enjoys the company of others, especially given the fact that he lives (technically) alone on his farm in Darken Vei. He has a certain pride in his work as a farmer, and he's never been one to shy away from talking about the benefits of his work for the sake of others, and the joys of earning an honest living.

He can be a bit of an airhead, and a clutz— occasionally nicking himself here or there while working with sharp objects, or forgetting to do things every so often, but he knows how to take decent care of himself and, in spite of his seeming cluelessness, can usually tell when someone is in need of a shoulder to lean on, a loyal friend, or just some good produce to lift their spirits.


Magic/Abilities

Lars is pretty adept at both life magic as well as something of a super novice in elemental magic— both practices run in his family. Their study of the arts are documented and recorded for future generations of Sycamonias to come, and lean heavily into nourishment of the body, as well as nourishment of the land. It wouldn't be too weird to see Lars manipulating large plant vines to adjust his crop spread, or healing sick plants that are infected with diseases or damaged.

While not necessarily "his" power, the star attraction of the entire Sycamonia family line is their farm— and more importantly, their renowned magicked produce. The pride and joy of the Sycamonia name, Lars's farm foods are grown with all the love a farmer could possibly give— alongside both magical soils, fertilizers, and elbow grease. As a result, many of their products exceed any believable expectations— from growing far larger and more nutritious than anything else on the market, to possessing magical attributes capable of imbuing strength and good health into those that partake of them— in some cases, even capable of curing curses or diseases.

Relationships

None yet, but as he's the last of his line, he'll be looking to settle down with a wife soon enough!


History


The Sycamonia heritage spans back generations— Originally a humble family of life-mages who enlisted in Serendipity's most humble military operations, hundreds of years ago, Lars Sycamonia IV, head of the family at the time, was found to be comparatively lacking in his magical affinity, and summarily dismissed from duty at a middling age. Without a proper source of income outside of the family's assets earned from their military career, Lars invested in fertile, untouched land out in Darken Vei. It was a risky, controversial move that split the family apart at the time, but Lars was fairly confident that by pursuing his true passion— that of a horticulturist— he could find true fortune and success for the family name that he'd somewhat sullied through his lackluster military career.

Lars spent many a year on that farm, putting all manner of elbow grease and magical muster that he could into growing top quality fruits and vegetables on a marketable level. It took years before he saw any real profit, but he did. With his wife and his son, Lars V by his side, the man established "Sycamonia Greens" as a local produce name, and poured his heart and soul into ensuring the knowledge and know-how that he'd gained over years of production didn't go to waste.

Literally.

Lars took a pumpkin one day, and cast a powerful enchantment on it— granting the gourd sentience, and filling it with all the knowledge and experience he had obtained over time. He named it 'Gourdy', and the two were practically inseparable— Gourdy essentially being another member of the family, one with all the knowledge on growing greens that Lars had. And as Lars IV grew old, and Lars V took on the role of man of the homestead, Gourdy— now affectionately called 'Ol'Gourdy' by everyone else— passed on the knowledge Lars IV left behind, which his son built upon to expand and advance the family name. Such was the case for the Sycamonia family line for generations upon generations— Ol' Gourdy would teach the head of the family everything it knew, and the head would take that knowledge and expand on it further, before transferring their accumulated wisdom to Ol' Gourdy as they grew older. This way, centuries of wisdom were preserved, all the way up to to present.

Lars— our Lars— being the most recent head of his family, happily took up the role as his mother and father grew older and less capable of tending the lands. Lars XVI, however, was a bit special— even compared to the first few generations of his family, Lars was incredibly talented from a young age with magic, enough to potentially one day become a great mage or member of the Court if he so chose. Such a thing worried the older members of the family— but such worries were needlessly placed, as Lars gladly turned down such an idea in order to live his dream of continuing the Sycamonia family name with pride and joy.

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The midday sun beamed through a singular set of north-facing windows into a relatively spacious, yet strangely cramped room. At the height of Ardal's capital, the duke's estate had withstood the test of time and the passing of the throne across multiple leaders-- yet it's facilities remained in sterling condition in spite of this. Perhaps that was due in part to the emphasis that Valen-- or at least Valen's family-- put on ensuring that the standards of the building were checked at least once every passing season. It was a symbol of pride-- not just for the Nox family, or even the council, but for all of Ardal. The least he could do was ensure it was properly kept up.

Yet that one room on the third floor of the castle, with it's long, north-facing window being the only natural light that illuminated it's wide scope, was comparatively 'homely'. It wasn't a dirty room by any means; Valen kept it fairly tidy, given how often he retreated to it. However, where the rest of the rooms were primarily void of signs of constant life, this one seemed fairly 'lived in'. It was the Duke's solar, after all; It only made sense that he would spend the majority of his personal time there.

The walls were lined with an impressive assortment of books; Most historical in nature, some autobiographies of former dukes, records of previously passed laws, edicts from the Grand Duke, and so forth. For the most part, it was all very, very boring-- especially for someone who valued literally anything other than knowing the goings-on of the duchy and it's surrounding events. For Valen, however, it was all very important information for him to spend as much time as he could set aside to study.

Court had just adjourned over another rather tiring series of updates regarding the state of the capital and it's surrounding villas, and Valen, having no further appointments planned for the remainder of the day, had retired to the solar in order to read. As duke, he was expected to be a strong, wise, and impartial leader of the duchy-- and while he wasn't particularly strong, nor did he feel he was the best judge of how impartial he was as a leader, he could at least work on the wisdom part as best he could.

The room itself was heavily candle-lit in the evenings, but with this much light in the sunny afternoons, only a few corners needed to be illuminated. Soft, artificial carpets covered key points in the solar; The large, rectangular oak table that sat strategically in front of the north-facing windows being one location. A fairly decorated chair seated Valen, who was lost in the midst of a document regarding upcoming proposals for the capital's seasonal events. "We should have the horses for that... but I worry that if the capital is the primary starting point, it may be too strenuous on the stable owners..." He absentmindedly muttered, his golden locks falling into his face due to an accidental shift in his posture.

He briefly wondered if other dukes took their roles as seriously or struggled with such issues as he did... before sighing, and mentally chastising himself over the thought. He was barely a duke in the first place-- it was much too arrogant of him to question such a thing.

"...And blonde hair. Have you seen anyone matching that description?"

"Hm? No, I'm afraid not, but while you're here, how about having a gander at my--"

"No."

Whitesands's 'humble' end of the trade city was always so filled with white noise, no pun intended. In fact, the city as a whole by sheer nature best described by any passer through or passerby as 'easy to get lost in'... Which made Mollia's current circumstances feel all the more hopelessly annoying, and somehow dampened her mood further than it already was.

She'd taken on a job at the Selevea Whitesands's adventurer's guild earlier in the day-- one that would have her pair up with a partner, she later came to realize. Though she typically worked alone, the woman had no particular qualms about hunting in groups, as such was rather common in areas such as Adela and Serendipity. She could recall the last job she took on-- tracking down a dragon that'd been spotted precariously close Ravensway-- and the group of fools she'd been paired with by the guild's request... They were a roudy lot, but they ultimately didn't get too much in her way. In the end, they never actually 'caught' the dragon-- or at least, that was what Mollia reported, given the fact that her 'partners' fumbled about the woods for nigh on hours while she dealt wit the actual issue. Since that day, she'd spent a good chunk of her time in the guild, taking odd jobs here and there to build up enough coin to fund a trip further south.

The problem, however, was that the guild was absolutely brimming with folk. Adventurers, workers, would-be heroes, even merchants plying their trade. You could stumble over three people moving from the front door to the reception desk, it was so busy. And as such, finding and coordinating with one's partners on a given job tended to be... frustrating, at best, for someone like her. With little more patience to waste on playing 'Where's Wilma' in the crowd of rambunctious folk, Mollia decided to instead wait for the guild to die down a bit-- these were high-noon hours, after all-- and see if she could spot this 'snowy-skinned lass from the North', as the description she was given implied.

In the meantime, she made her way towards the (relatively) quieter back corner of the guild's waiting tables, and found a small table for two, unoccupied, that she could rest at. The passive, death-like thousand-yard stare in her eyes as she took the time to, if only for a moment, stop thinking kept the table vacated-- And who could blame the folks that avoided it? Mollia was hardly the welcoming sight to anyone, anywhere. Between the faint scent of death on her clothes and the way her left hand, ever so casually, rested on her axe even now, one would have to be rather brave, or clueless, to even want to approach her-- something she relied on, in truth.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Mollia Cedenmyre, or "Mollia Ravenblood" depending on who you ask
Age 32
Gender female
Species Human, Cursed
Ethnicity Adelan
Height 5'10"
Occupation Sellsword
Residence Wanderer

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description

Mollia has a head of long, curly, unkempt black hair that reaches the middle of her torso if left uncombed and untangled; it likely touches her waist if properly kept, or pulled straight. It gets in her way during battle, so she often wears it in a loose ponytail behind her, or cuts it short— no longer than the nape of her neck. Due to the unique circumstances of her bloodline, it matters not; it grows back fairly quickly.

She has a conventionally beautiful face, save for a small, vertical scar from a cut she once took on the right side of her jaw. Full lips, high cheekbones, obsidian black eyes, and fairly thick eyelashes are the most striking features to anyone that takes a glance at her. Unfortunately, she almost never smiles; As such, Mollia's facial expression often sits somewhere between "Too tired to deal with your crap right now" and outright disdain. Light does not reflect back out of her eyes— she looks almost dead, or at least unfocused in that regard.

True to her Adelan blood, Mollia is built fairly tall and strong, with solid-set shoulders and well defined muscles across her torso and arms. Unlike most Adelans, Mollia is almost ghostly pale; her skin holding just enough melanin pigment to be considered skin in the first place. Her body is covered in the scars of countless battles; wounds that have healed, but taken their toll on her. Notably, there is a deep, heavy scar between the mounds of her chest, one which extends to her back as well; something pierced straight through her, at some point.

Regardless of the climate she finds herself in, it is uncommon for Mollia to be seen without her armor; A set of heavy leather armor, laden with various wolves' and other animals' fur and plated with steel pauldrons and tassets. The reinforced leather hauberk of her armor extends to her legs, not unlike a long coat, with fastenable buttons the entire way down the middle for ease of removal. Fur-lined, steel-reinforced gauntlets protect her hands, and similar sabatons protect her feet and ankles.

Mollia is equipped with a plethora of potions which line a blackened leather belt on her waist, as well as three weapons at all times; A fine iron dagger, enchanted with some sort of magic meant to reduce the rate at which it dulled, sits in a holster on the left side of her belt. Meanwhile, she carries a one-handed battleaxe, atop which sits a pointed spearhead, on her right side. Meanwhile, strapped to her back is a canister of crossbow bolts, and "Phirma"— a marvel of Connlaothian engineering. A crossbow somewhere around half of Mollia's own size, the weapon was commissioned with a composite design, instead of a traditional recurve design. With a split-limb setup, built-in adjustable bolt-cocking stirrup at it's front, and stern, heavy-set wooden base, Phirma is designed for consistency and reliability at a moment's notice over all else.

Personality

Mollia is a decidedly grim person. Small talk, socializing and even interacting with other people as a whole are things she keeps to an absolute minimum, focusing on herself and whatever her current objective might be. It doesn't mean she's incapable of holding a conversation, or that she's socially awkward— she simply chooses not to be a part of frivolous interactions unless pressed into them, or someone actively pursues conversation with her. She often lives in the silence of the world around her; Turning off her mind when she can, in an attempt to find something akin to peace, or solace otherwise.

She doesn't believe in her own happiness, or hope, or future. She has those things once, and now they're gone— irrevocably taken from her, never to be reclaimed in this mortal coil. As such, she doesn't pursue her own happiness; just her personal motives. She harbors no illusions of finding happiness, or a reason to live after achieving said motives, and doesn't see herself being convinced otherwise by anyone else. She's also already come to terms with her likely and inevitable end, walking the path she walks; however, even if only as a corpse, she'll not give up the course that sustains her.



Magic/Abilities

A brutal composite of a warrior, archer, and mage, Mollia is fairly capable with her axemanship, and can bolster her melee combat with a few simple, yet practical magical spells she has learned over the years, such as enchanting her axe with magical flames, or calling gusts of wind to kick up dust around her, creating smokescreens. She is equipped with a variety of potions, both designed to help mend wounds and poison enemies if need be. But perhaps most impressively, she possesses a curse— One which, under the right circumstances, allows her to transform into a large, black, bear-like monster capable of great feats of strength and savagery, oftentimes in an attempt to overpower her enemies where all else fails. The transformation doesn't last forever, however, and drains her of all her strength when it comes undone, requiring her to rest for several days before she can recover enough to be capable of fighting again.


Relationships

History


Mollia was born to a cursed Adellan bloodline. The Ravenblood lineage was of sorcery and secrecy; one that could trace it's history back to their Serendipity roots, and quite proud as such. The women of the Ravenblood lineage, however, were cursed by a great evil; Those who possessed the natural talent for magic were capable of, under certain circumstances, transforming into large, bear-like monsters, with strength enough to destroy their foes where magic might fail them. Often the dominant partner in a relationship, the women of the Ravenblood line seek out partners with enough magical compatibility to bear a strong, magically inclined child; Often resulting in loveless marriages. That was how Mollia was born, and raised to think.

She didn't subscribe to this logic, however; As a child, and even growing into her teen years, Mollia cared very little for the idea of continuing the bloodline, or becoming a strong mage. She grew up with a romantic heart; The oppression of her mother's dictations leading her to seek true love over something like magical prosperity. As a result, eventually, she ran away from home with enough gold to afford a road wagon away from Adela and to the outskirts of Darken Vei. There, she met the man of her dreams; A travelling merchant by the name of Levan. Mollia had gotten lost in the forests surrounding the Darken Vei, and before she could find any true danger in the woods, she found him. It was love at first sight, as they say, and Levan proved both a capable man and partner, helping Mollia to settle down in Serendipity, caring for her— and before long, the two became happily married, with a daughter of their own.

Mollia had everything she could've ever wanted; A life free of her mother's whims, a happy family, a partner that cared for and loved her every bit as much as she cared for him. It was, unfortunately, not meant to last forever; One evening, after having gone out into the markets of Darken Vei to shop for dinner, Mollia saw a dark smoke burning from the direction of her family's little home near the edge of the city. Her first instinct was to rush home, afraid for her family's livelihood; Yet when she arrived, she saw that all was fine, and the smoke had vanished. She entered her home to find her husband and daughter sitting together, enjoying a pleasant conversation. Everything seemed fine... Until she realized that they were not alone. No, a mysterious visitor had been seated with them, of pale skin and violet hair, with a mysterious smile... And as their eyes met, the change occurred. Mollia didn't know why; Not immediately. She could feel it in her blood, coursing through her veins, overwhelming her senses. She fell over in agony, her body twisting and growing, black fur coating skin, nails growing to become claws... And her life was changed forever.

It would've been a mercy if she had been lost in madness for what came next... But she wasn't. Her mind was quite clear, though her body moved against her will. Her beloved leapt forth, between herself and their daughter, in an attempt to protect her... Oh, how Mollia begged and pleaded, trapped in her own mind, that he would simply run away. Her claws ripped into him, slaughtering her beloved in so many blows until there was little left of him. Her daughter was next; Despite her best efforts, Mollia struck her down as well, leaving her laying motionless on the floor with a single blow. Her own family, gone, by her hands. Her monstrous body turned to the mysterious man, who merely smiled in glee before casting a spell of fire on her, meant to burn her alive, and the house along with it. Mollia could not move, and resigned herself to an agonizing death as the house burned down, with her and her family inside it.

That was where her story should've ended; It didn't. Perhaps it was the magic of her transformed state... perhaps it was the pure, unadulterated hatred she bore in her heart for what had become of her family... Perhaps it was her dying wish that the evils inflicted upon her be repaid 1000 fold. Whatever the case, long after the fires that destroyed her home and life were spent, Mollia awoke again. Weak, scarred, and broken, she found the strength to free herself from the debris of her fallen home. Her husband's charred corpse lay not far from her own; Her daughter's body, nowhere to be found. She mourned; cries and screams of her own pain, and the pain of all that she'd lost filling the night skies, until she could cry no more, and all that was left was a hollow vessel, fueled only by the drive to find out who brought this hell upon her, and make them pay for it. She buried what was left of her beloved's corpse, and with it, the last remnants of her former life, before setting off on a life-long journey of revenge.

It's been 5 years since that fateful day. Mollia had grown from a wistful widow into a cold-hearted weapon of vengence, forged by her many struggles and hunts in search of who, or what, had taken her life from her that fateful day.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Coda-Veras Sempris La'Caiides, or simply Coda
Age 19
Gender Male
Species Human
Sexuality Bi-curious
Ethnicity Serenian
Height 5'6"
Occupation Student, Minstrel, Poet, and all-around promiscuous magician
Residence Darken Vei

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description

Despite hailing from Serendipity, Coda sports a healthier tan than most folk of the nation. Sometimes short and tame, other times frizzy, large and in charge, his natural auburn hair is now often enough looking good on it's own that he can pull it into a bun or ponytail if he really needs to— but he normally doesn't. He's grown it as far down as his waist, and wears a sporty undercut while styling it over his left side, curly bangs covering part of his face in the process. Mirthful gray eyes and an often wide-lipped smile give him a youthful, sporty vibe.

Coda sports the practical beauty of the body of a lithe, well-toned athlete— despite being a mage— which often causes feelings of confusion (for all the right reasons) in those he interacts with. His golden brown skin seems kissed by the sun itself, and practically glistens in the daylight like fine rose gold. His full lips, soft, round cheeks and button-like nose do little to help reinforce any particular brand upon him—  which is just how he likes it. Beauty exists only in the eye of the beholder, and Coda has a talent for finding himself beholden to many a gaze among his peers.

Though his choice of clothing often varies depending on the environment he finds himself in, Coda's typical attire consists of a blue crop-top, sleeveless shirt, which he wears a sleeveless crop jacket over—  one with a darker tint of blue, and a shimmering, translucent and seemingly enchanted scarf of flowing silver across his shoulders—  He's fairly fond of such tops as they show off his toned stomach and adds allure and exoticism to his already attractive form. At his waist and on his wrists, he wears a silver sash and matching wristbands which match his scarf, and often sports either a pair of silvery-blue, loose-fitting palazzo-style pants, or a pair of very see-through silver harem pants, and matching set of flat shoes or sandals to go with either, as the weather dictates.

 

Personality

A well-mannered and good intentioned young man who's desire to help others find happiness in life and to provide a helping hand to his friends and loved ones. No, seriously. Unfortunately for Coda, his understanding of what that all means is a sliiiiiight bit skewed compared to your average sane individual.

Coda is what you might consider "chaotic". He is kind— very friendly and welcoming in conversation, perhaps too much so. A normal person might invite you to sit and chat with them if they were in a good mood, or had something interesting to share; Coda would go so far as to welcome company into the fires of hell or the gates of the abyss if it meant sharing a new experience with them. He is known for many things in regards to his overly-friendly, or unnecessarily extroverted antics— such as taking complete strangers to bed with him if willing, or sharing in very dangerous, experimental types of magic where he sees the opportunity. To Coda, this is what it means to be friends— to share in both love and labor, in pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow.

To that end, he is big on the concept of truly delving into what makes people tick; what gives them meaning, and what truly drives them in their day to day lives, not just what they superficially claim is their purpose. He hates lies; He's honest almost to a fault, and one of his biggest personal pleasures in life is stripping away the logic and excuses that others hide behind that prevents them from truly being "themselves". This is his idea of "helping others"; Be that to mean his helping someone become more comfortable in their own skin, or simply watching as the world around him falls into depravity and decadence under the weight of it's own yolks.

Coda has a minstrel's heart, beneath his more bohemian tendencies— a lustful, all-desiring minstrel's heart. Music, poetry and prose are his favorite pastimes, and he has linked his studies almost intrinsically to the arts. Why? He sees such performances as some of the only "truly honest" forms of expression in the world as it is. Music is an expression of the heart; Poetry and prose, of the way the mind sees and understands the world around it. Such honesty and beauty excites and stimulates him to such an extent that he is more than willing to put his life on the line for the sake of any such expressions of beauty. Dying for a sweet literary reference is not off of the table, by any means.

He is also, of course, a mage... and those self-same relentless desires for the truth extend to the very source of magic itself. It isn't unnatural for Coda to throw caution to the wind in an attempt not to gain greater power, but to understand and lay bare the secrets of magics the world over. Very much the sort of fellow that does not ask if he should, but if he can; And while in some cases this can lead to great discoveries, in others it can also lead to unparalleled tragedies. Such is the way of life, in Coda's mind.

Magic/Abilities

Coda is quite a capable raw primal magic user, though his talents shine best when paired with an enchanted lute with him wherever he goes, called "Dreamweaver". A gift from his parents and a labor of love, Dreamweaver is capable of spreading primal magic through the sound waves it produces through its user's strumming— for better or worse. In Coda's hands, having practiced with the instrument day and night, the boy is capable of producing a wide range of effects onto himself and others— from inciting and calming the minds of the unprotected to creating illusions that can affect all five senses. He often uses such magics to affect his appearance in the eyes of others, stoke less-than-acceptable emotions in his friends, and the occassional blood magic spell when and where he's not at risk of being killed for doing it. You know, normal mage stuff.


Relationships

Connor Mattherson is a fellow student of Airelos University, a year ahead of him in school seniority, but accessible enough in the student commons for the two to share a junior-and-senior relationship. Coda harbors a barely-restrained admiration for Connor's coolness in the face of trouble, be it self-created or from external factors, and often looks to him for guidance— not in education, but in life advice, typically when he finds that he has soured a relationship with someone else. Coda's jovial and free-spirited nature meshes well with Connor's trickster persona, and he often willingly helps with any pranks or jests Connor gets into; On the other hand, Coda also often can't help but keep his hands on Connor as much as possible; Coda's language of love and affection being physical contact, he can be overly touchy with Connor if the latter doesn't resist.

Ever Courageous Marchand could be considered an object of Coda's deepest interest. As Coda's senior, similar to Connor, Coda often finds himself drawn to Ever as a source of feedback and advice— in Ever's case, more for educational purposes than mere life advice. Beyond that, however, Ever's more by-the-book personality attracts Coda's personal need to lay everything— people included— bare. As such, Coda often inserts himself into Ever's life in any way possible... often to the detriment of his more scholarly goals. From trying to rope him into jaunts of extracurricular debauchery, to trying out new spells and primal magics in his vicinity, to physical teasing— All both for his own personal amusement, as well as to "help" Ever. It's in Coda's nature to see people struggling against their baser instincts in one way or another and think to himself, "I will help you learn to be comfortable in your own skin"; as such, despite being Ever's junior, he works to help 'educate' Ever in the joys of living freely.


History

"I must break you, and the entirety of this school with you."

So saying, Coda La'Caiides stepped foot into one mage's academy at the behest of his oh-so-beloved benefactors-- er, 'parents'.

Hailing from Darken Vei, Coda was born from the union of two nobles, wed not out of love, but of prosperity and political gain. His father, a talented mage in his own right-- his mother, a Essryni diplomat of some considerable import. From a very young age, the boy knew this on some level-- that there was no love lost between his birth parents, and as such, very little was spared for him in kind. His basic needs were attended to by maids and guardians while his parents focused much of their attentions on their own careers and lives, and so Coda grew up somewhat spoiled, and relatively uncontested.

One would think this would produce a worthless child, but instead, Coda grew up rather reclusive; Burying himself in literature and fine arts from a young age to fill the void that the parental attention and affection he craved had left. He discovered from a young age that he possessed his father's talent for magic and his mother's thirst for knowledge, but did not pursue magecraft or political studies further than what he could figure out on his own-- primarily out of spite towards his worthless parents, who in his eyes were just a pair of liars-- mostly to themselves. Instead of applying himself as a great mage, he pursued music, poetry, and found a happy blend of his own brand of magic mixed with his personal interests, and indulged in that lifestyle for the majority of his younger years.

Naturally, his parents couldn't ignore this forever, regardless of how they felt about each other, or how much they did or didn't care for Coda. He carried their name, and so he needed to apply himself as a proper member of society-- preferably a high-ranking member of society by his talents or learnings. As such, an eventually confrontation occurred between them, wherein Coda's mother and father agreed on forcing the boy to attend a school for magecraft-- threatening both to disown and condemn him if either he did not attend. Coda was appalled by the ultimatum, but not surprised; His family sought to use him to gain further political standing, by enforcing the standards of the world upon him. Such boorishness only drove a further wedge between them, as well as further disillusioned Coda that there could be any real value in a world or society wherein the esteem or prestige of the few mattered more than the freedoms and happiness of all.

He complied with his parent's wishes... Though from that day forth, beneath his otherwise unassuming and mirthful smile, a ravenous desire for change, and a plot most terrible had begun to brew... one which threatened to upend the foolish world his parents, and countless innocent others, lived in.



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