Kat, the Perceptive Conspiracy Theorist and 'Alien Abductee'MadTop-notch ◇Explorer-Class PilotFrontierswoman who and somehow survives?Explores Dark Places
Name: Katerina Yevgeniya Polzin, "Katya", "Kat", "Kitty", "Katyusha" Date of Birth: 2874-02-21 Story/Thematic Role: Token madwoman who used to be a well-respected explorer Preferred Piloting Role: Support, maybe Sensors
Call Sign: I'm sure being the madwoman is going to directly influence this. Any plays on 'Kat' or 'Kitty' that are PG-13?
Description: There's nothing immediately off-putting in Kat's appearance; she's on the younger side of middle age and dresses the way most people out here dress: for function, not style. Her long, grey-threaded brown hair is always braided, though not severely. Her green eyes see more than they should. Yet there's definitely something off about her. Which came first, the changes to her personality or the oddness, it's hard to say, but the end result is still the same. She has near-manic bouts of energy, during which she can be very defensive, if not outright aggressive. Then she has euphoric swings during which nothing anyone says or does could bother her, and it's not unheard of for her to wander around in the nude, and to hell with what anyone thinks. Lastly, though currently rare, her depressed days. She's convinced no one believes a thing she says, accurate or otherwise, and this might be concerning if there wasn't a desperate attempt to connect with others around her involved. It's enough that some people don't look closer than "she's mad". Yet those who spend more time with her tend to find that she's hyper-intelligent, for all she's often doubting what her mind tries to tell her, and Torq, the scavenger mechanic who hooked her up with her current employment, swears Kat isn't mad at all, just misunderstood. Even by the people who might share blood ties but who aren't her family, if the rumors are true.
QUERY: Polzin, Katerina
found: [CONTRACT]
Joined the mercs as a support pilot about three years ago.
found: [CONTRACT] Polzin & Sons Salvage
Her family broke ties in all ways possible, even buying her out of her share in their business.
found: [POLICE REPORT] Brawl Broken Up At Mason's Mill, Instigator Arrested
It didn't take long for her so-called "wild tales" to make her a laughing stock in her hometown region, but she put up with it at first, trying to find others who might listen. The longer she failed to make anyone hear her, though, the more defensive she got, and there was a bar brawl in which she injured several of her more outspoken opponents and got herself tossed in jail for a couple days to cool off. At that point her family told her she had to leave.
found: [MEDICAL RECORDS] Gilead Clinic
Aside from some bruises and muscle problems from being shoved into a box by someone much stronger than she, Kat was mostly fine when she was rescued... physically. Mentally, she was a mess. A combination of being kidnapped, held, rescued, and disbelieved made her a powder keg.
found: [POLICE REPORT] K. Polzin Found By 'Oddity Knocking'
Rescued from a drifting craft about five years ago, literally in a box, sole survivor--wild claims about alien abduction, her ship missing and still never accounted for.
found: [POLICE REPORT] 2898-12-6 Missing Person: Katerina Y. Polzin, age 24
Reported missing by a cousin/business partner when a full six months overdue.
found: [CONTRACT] Polzin & Sons Salvage
Became full partner in family operation at age 21. It's not quite stock options when most of the income goes straight back into the business (ship upgrades, overhauls, additions to their fleet), but there was income to be had from being partner, and some slight operational control.
found: [DEED] 'Siren's Song' Explorer-Class Ship
Successful enough to purchase her own explorer-class craft, the 'Siren's Song', at age eighteen and a bit.
found: [TAX RETURNS] Katerina Y. Polzin
Began working for her family's scavenging/salvage/acquisition business at 13 (what's the space-age equivalent of a cabin boy?)
RP Sample: If you don't know my posting well enough by now, nothing I can do is going to change that.
Character Name: Margherita Carrara (“Rita” or “Meg” depending on source) Actual Age: 92 (born 2 March 1923 in Venice, Italy) Apparent Age: Her mortal driver’s license says she’s 22. She probably could look 17 to 25.
Sire: Nikolai Sokolov, now Primogen in Portage. Clan: Toreador (Neonate) Haunts: Manager-curator at By the Sea, Portage’s art gallery and current Elysium, and due to cosignatory status, likely now its owner following the death of Haydn Hughes. Also her studio, a windowless room over By the Sea, where she keeps most of her paintings, art supplies, and spends a lot of her time. Haven: Downtown apartment where she lives with her live-in housekeeper (and ghoul), Amelia Barnes.
Flaw: Though unendingly grateful to Sokolov for rescuing her from the horrors of World War II, Margherita still would prefer to be human, and frequently ignores her Kindred heritage. (Rarely considered of more status than a basic neonate because of this, despite her age and being the childe of a Primogen.)
Biography: Not much is known about Margherita Carrara before she arrived in Portage with Nikolai Sokolov in the 1960s. It has been assumed by a few that sought more information about her that her name was changed, making a background check next to impossible in records before the digital age. Since they came from Moscow, not her native Italy, it is likely her name may have been changed several times over the years to better fit as Sokolov’s childe in whatever he was doing. She claims to have been the daughter of a wealthy museum curator, and her talent and skill with art and art galleries may attest to that. Over the years she has accidentally dropped hints about some sort of personal upheaval that coincided with World War II, both of which Sokolov rescued her from.
What is known is that she bonded with Haydn Hughes early in her time in America, and he with her. He became something of a mentor, for all she was slightly older than he at the time, and he helped her become more American over the years so she wouldn’t endlessly have to be the Italian immigrant. Now she goes as easily by “Meg” as by “Rita”, her accent is negligible, and only in professional interchanges does she use her full name. She has worked hard over the years, faithfully doing anything her sire asks of her as well as seeking out her own goals, one of which has helped ‘By the Sea’ become the attraction that it is. Less widely known but still known enough for there to be rumors is that she is one of the proponents of Golconda, though she doesn’t know anyone who has attained it. Whatever the cause, she’s definitely seeking something “else”, for which many have maligned her. It's an odd combination, ultimately, of a professional art gallery curator completely happy with the mortal world and a reasonably well-adjusted neonate comfortable enough to be social in the Kindred world.
Margherita couldn't help but be caught up in the beauty of the storm -- a violent, earth-shattering beauty that kept her in thrall nearly as much as any of her clan around fine works of art. It was fascinating, the raw artistry of nature tracing patterns in the skies that lingered longer in the afterimage than they did in reality. The glass wall of her living room, most of the way up the side of a high-rise, gave her a wonderful view of the downtown area and the skies over the whole of Portage. Sleep be damned, she'd watch this as long as it lasted. When she sensed someone moving behind her, at first she smiled. "What're you doing up at this hour, Amy?" Then the darkness after a flash of lighting let her see the reflection of the very empty living room, and she spun. What had alerted her? Had someone discovered her haven? She sought any movement in the shadowy corners of the room, certain she was in imminent danger from someone or something that could hide in the dark. And then a flash and she felt it, even before the thunder rattled her building. It was not just nature's power, perhaps lightning striking her building, that she felt now, there was something more at work.
She stood, trembling, in the darkness as power outages turned off even the small lights of her smoke alarm, the dim security panel by the door, the backlit wall clock. Only the continued flashes of lightning lit the space as she turned a full circle, trying to shake the feeling of something else at work behind the storm, something that resonated with her in a way she'd rarely, if ever, felt before, and then, usually in dreams. Am I dreaming? she wondered idly, looking out across the storm-wracked city. Then she heard something further into her apartment, a whisper, perhaps a cry? The feeling of being caught in a dream continued as she sought the source, through the bedroom where her ghoul slept peacefully, a smile on her face; through the false-walled closet, and into her pitch dark sanctuary, which all of a sudden was neither dark, nor safe, as she began falling through mist. Please tell me I'm dreaming. The thought reached her as she squinted against the light, tumbling down a rabbit hole of mist and nothingness. The light grew, making her flinch, but when she found herself falling no longer and there was no pain of sunlight, she slowly relaxed, turning her head to look around.
Rita saw shapes, like auras, but different. What does this mean? her mind wanted to know, even as it tried to match the silhouettes of ruined buildings to either her current Portage or any city she had been in recently. Swirls of inky darkness seemed to make their own way along the street -- if street it was, and not some construct -- and she shivered slightly, preferring not to consider ribbons of darkness while viewing anything like Kindred auras. The sense of others present was a welcome relief, allowing her to turn her mind away from dark things, but they seemed different somehow, farther away and not as clear as the colored shapes. She wanted to deny it, but the only thing that made any kind of sense was that others were seeing what she saw. That couldn't be possible, could it?
As the mist cleared, what she saw confused her, never having been to any desert that might have influenced this dream. The forest. The lake. Strangeness. But she was unable to ponder the setting when the painful chuckle of one of the figures made her return her focus to it in time to hear its last words. The words shook her, beyond her immediate understanding. She tried to ask for clarification, feeling a sudden, desperate need to learn what this failure was, or what it meant, but another wave of power pulled her from the dreamscape and she woke with a start, her whole body shaking as if she'd been hit by electricity herself. She placed her hand on her chest, trying to convince herself that her heart hadn't just raced in panic. Glancing at the clock, she reached for her iPhone and quickly navigated to one of her frequent contacts, wishing her shaking would ease.
The other end of the call was answered, but she cut the assistant's voice off. "I know, but it's urgent. I know what time it is, thank you very much," she snapped when the other tried to put her off. "I need to talk to him now." Luckily something in her voice must have signaled her sire's aide to not deflect her further, and she waited, as calmly as she could force herself to. When her sire's voice answered, some part of her eased. "Колья. It happened again.Это случилось ещё раз."
Last edited by Aethera; Oct 11th, 2017 at 05:50 PM.
Race: Cyrean Human Alignment: Lawful/Neutral Good Class: Oracle (Apocalypse mystery, Powerless Prophecy curse)
Physical Description: As a refugee and now a simple devotee of the Silver Flame, Kylie doesn't have much in the way of material possessions, only what she needs to survive. This also is reflected in how she dresses, though she has spent some time embroidering the sleeves of her simple blue dress to match the gray overdress emblazoned with the Silver Flame over her heart. She is rather plain, her red hair hanging limply past her shoulders rather than styled in any particularly flattering way. Her eyes are rather striking, however, a pale blue-grey that at times makes her eyes look nearly all white... she doesn't try to use this to her advantage, but more than one person who has met her gaze dropped their eyes quickly. She's slender if not outright skinny, though the layers she wears conceal that somewhat. It's quite possible that with some guidance on makeup and fashion that she could be pretty, fine-boned as she is, but that's not part of her current plan as traveling Sister of the Silver Flame.
Personality: Kylie is rarely easy to analyze, as her failures (in her mind) have led to a considerable lack of confidence she once held in abundance. (She practically raised her siblings when her parents went to war.) That has led to a rather timid presentation of herself, every inch the devotee of the Silver Flame, taking whatever guidance or direction others offer rather than making suggestions herself. She's not completely mousey, as she will fight off any who try to take advantage of a young woman on the road, and she will work till she drops if the needs of others are so overwhelming. She's hesitant to use her divine magic, but not so hesitant that she won't heal someone in dire need. Most of her actions have both the reserved and unreserved aspects, leaving her in a position where perhaps one day she could act more decisively, but not yet. At present, she goes where she thinks she is needed, and that's as decisive as she can manage.
Motivation: Primary motivation is (and likely will remain) her guilty feelings regarding the Day of Mourning. Having her oracular abilities awaken just in time to provide her with a slight forewarning of danger only makes her feel like she had something to do with the magical devastation that destroyed her homeland. This guilt has led her to seek out ways to do good, and she joined the Silver Flame due to the same underlying guilt. People have tried to rationally talk her out of that belief, but it still weighs heavily upon her. Repentance is an active pursuit for Kylie, going where the roads take her to help those in need. She tends to avoid New Cyre, despite the number of people in need there, for it is a reminder of her guilt, and the related drop in her confidence levels that led to her leaving her younger siblings behind. There is much to atone for as far as she is concerned.
Though less of a conscious motivation, the simple fact is that Kylie knows very little about her own abilities. She tried to deny them outright for some time, and has only taken to using them now that she knows that healing is something she can assist with. (If her abilities can help those in need, who is she to deny them?) There have been slow discoveries during her time in Thrane as well as on the road, but they tend not to sink in consciously. She needs to learn more about her abilities if she's ever going to find a way to clear herself of guilty feelings.
Background: Kylie was born in the western Cyrean border region, the oldest of four children. Though originally farmers, her mother and father were both capable enough with weapons to be of use to the army in the Last War, so there was a gap of seven years between herself and her younger twin siblings (Rachael and Raphael), and then another five years before her baby sister (Aysa) was born. By that point things were getting hard, and Kylie had to take on the duties of parent/nanny very early on, with responsibilities added to her life as early as her baby sister's birth -- she was 12 when she started helping around the house and with the twins while her mother was on 'maternity leave' -- and becoming the responsible adult in the house within three years of that, with both parents leaving for the army and leaving her in charge with little to no support system outside what the local villagers would offer in good faith.
She witnessed the Day of Mourning. She was seventeen at the time, and once again alone with her siblings. Though she had neighbors to call on for advice or concerns, she was left in an uncomfortable position when she suddenly had to flee Cyre with her siblings and nothing but what they could each carry. She had no idea where her parents were, or even if they were still alive. Her pessimistic side doubted it, and she was too distraught at the idea to be able to muster an optimistic defense. So she fled, and never saw her parents again. Her siblings she slowly found places for, apprenticing the twins to people she trusted, and giving Aysa to the loving, childless neighbor who had helped them out so much. She no longer felt up to the task of being mother to her little siblings on the road or in the refugee camps, at which she had no status to barter with as she had within her small community before. Grief led her to wandering, seeking out some explanation for what had occurred to her family, and why it had happened to her. Eventually this led her to the Silver Flame, and she threw herself into the devotions with all her might, hoping somehow it would offset her grief about her parents and her lack of confidence thus loss of her siblings. She knew where they were, and has visited them once since then, but that was all she could manage. Her new goal in life was to stamp out evil in all its many forms.
"Fire?" Kaylie asked the attic at large, wondering where the scent of burning was coming from. Nothing up here was burning, she had enough light from the open skylight trapdoors at the moment without a lantern to work by. That left only...
"Dammit!" she swore under her breath, racing for the ladder down into the rest of the house. "What did you little monsters do?" she cried before she was barely one step down. "If you think you'll blame this on me, I'm not going to make your beds or dinner for a week. See how you like being stuck with things you didn't ask for." She reached the ground floor and saw nothing at all amiss. She padded into the kitchen, but her younger siblings weren't in the house at all. She spotted them out the kitchen window, playing in the garden instead of picking the vegetables she needed to make dinner, but their play looked harmless enough. Certainly there were none of the expressions she'd grown accustomed to while playing nanny to her own sibs. None of the "I did something awful but I'm hoping you won't notice" looks were on the face of the twins, which was good. Kaylie had to crane her neck to spot the youngest out the window, but she, too, was playing calmly in her own little world of imagination. That ruled out the obvious sources of trouble, but what did that leave?
Somewhat concerned, Kaylie walked through the house, looking for anything that could explain the scent in her nostrils of raging, unabated fire. When she found nothing, she went out into the sunshine to search the outside of the house. A call came from Aysa, but she didn't comprehend it in that moment. Nothing was wrong or went any lengths to explain what it was she smelled, or why the hair on the back of her neck prickled with fear. For she was afraid, and that above all things told her something really was wrong.
"What's going on?" she asked herself aloud, scanning their village for signs of anyone else concerned in any way. Aside from one mother down the road upbraiding her son for who knew what, it seemed the rest of the world was unaware of the fire that worried her so.
She took herself back inside and went over herself, wondering if she'd somehow managed to singe her hair or smock in the hearth fire earlier today or something like that. Yet for all she could tell, nothing was amiss with herself, and the hearth wasn't even lit anymore, she'd been too busy trying to keep up with her three siblings' assorted messes. For easily the thousandth time, she had to wonder if she was falling apart herself, trying to do what her absent mother could not. "Dammit, I can do this," she whispered, moving closer to the hearth to make sure she had enough wood to light another fire when she finished her other chores and needed to cook dinner. The hearth was well stocked with large firewood as well as smaller kindling, leaving her at a loss what to do next. It smelled like fire, and even though she was all of fourteen, her parenting instincts were at full roar, trying to make her solve a problem that didn't seem to exist anywhere.
Though she wanted to call her brother and sisters inside and lock the door, she made herself stop and confront her fear logically. If there was nothing obviously amiss, whatever her fear was must be something she only intimated unconsciously. That didn't make it less real, but it meant she could do nothing about it until some sign became clear to her. She straightened, tucked flyaway strands of her red hair behind her ears, and counted three deep breaths. The fear wasn't gone, but she was master of herself once more. She walked outside, checking on the children, but looking for her neighbor. She didn't immediately spot the widow next door, so she walked as calmly as she could over to the next house and knocked on the door. "Mrs. Holmwood? Do you have a minute?"
The door was opened promptly and Kylie was greeted with a wide smile. "Good to see you, gal! You been working yourself too hard, hiding in that house by yourself. I haven't seen you in a week or more. Come in, come in!"
Kylie had to smile back at the woman despite her inner turmoil. "I'd rather stay here where I can see my brother and sisters, if you don't mind. They're out in the yard and I expect trouble soon, they've been far too good today." She gave this the brief grin it deserved; Mrs. Holmwood knew how well-behaved her siblings usually were. "Speaking of which..." How did one ask about something that wasn't there? "I've had this prickling on the back of my neck today, like something's going to happen, but I can't for the life of me figure out what. You don't happen to have any advice for figuring out if you're imagining things, would you?" Mrs. Holmwood always had good sayings for any number of predicaments, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to believe she might have something that would reassure Kylie now. "And now I smell something burning, but I don't see any fire."
Her face must have been knotted in a particularly poignant frown, because Mrs. Holmwood burst out laughing, trying to apologize even as she did. "I'm sorry, dear, it's not you, I... you look just like your mother when she'd worry about something." It took the widow a moment to calm her laughter, at which point she shook her head. "I can't say I do have any advice, except if you can't figure out what the source is, you're likely letting your imagination get the best of you. I can tell you that I have neither felt concern this morning nor noticed anything like a burning smell, outside my hearth, that is. I hope that might help?"
The optimism that inspired was minimal, but Kylie wasn't going to say as much. "Yes, thank you. I'll try and send Aysa over to help you out if she's willing to leave her dollies till later on." She knew her littlest sibling had a strong bond with the woman next door, a motherly figure she'd seen far more often than her own mom. Kylie wasn't going to do anything that might detract from that relationship, in fact she was glad her sister had attached herself to someone as kindly, especially since she'd figured out over time that Mrs. Holmwood could have no children of her own. "I will also try my best to not hide in the house for weeks at a time."
Mrs. Holmwood nodded, giving the teenager another kindly smile. "I'll see you when I see you, then. I wouldn't mind making you all dinner at some point, you know." Before Kylie could try to argue, the woman added, "It's not a pity meal, gal, don't fret yourself. I like your family and I get lonesome without Mr. Holmwood at home, hey."
Kylie couldn't argue with that logic, even if she knew that part of the woman's motivation was entirely a pity play for the stranded teenager trying to be mother to her siblings even without knowing fully how. Mrs. Holmwood wasn't the only one in town who went out of their way to be generous to her family. "Yes, ma'am," she replied instead, nodding her goodbye rather than actually saying it. What point was there of goodbyes when she would see Mrs. Holmwood as often as many times daily?
She walked back to her home, the breeze whipping strands of her hair about her face, enough so that the first thing she did upon reentering her home was to remove the tie from her braid, finger comb her hair back into place, and then tightly rebraid it so it wouldn't bother her more. All of a sudden, her roiling gut dropped, like there was suddenly a bottomless pit beneath her feet. Half a second later she heard a cry from Rachael outside.
Kylie ran out to assess the damage, expecting a skinned knee, but instead finding the horizon ablaze, dark clouds smearing the sky. When she could tear her eyes from the sight, she turned to see many of her neighbors also standing, staring. This couldn't be what had worried her, could it? There was no way she could have known. Right?
She backed up, back into her house, trying not to pant for breath. The hearth was her rock, and she moved to it mindlessly, seeking the comfort of the norm. Inside, however, the little worried voice that was always concerned about something was rising to fever pitch. Something horrible has happened in the cities! Nothing short of all-out cataclysm would be so visible on the horizon! Outside, her baby sister was crying her name, but Kylie could not move. I must protect my family! With that, her shaking hands blazed with fire, lighting the wood she'd stacked in the hearth ablaze in seconds. Kylie stared at the fire, then her own hands. This isn't happening! They've done something to end the world! The next time her sister cried her name, Kylie ran out to pick her up, trembling as she did so. Her other siblings came close to her, seeking comfort of their own, but she had nothing to offer them. The black clouds were boiling across the sky, coming closer. If they came much closer, they would all be in danger, but from what, she could only guess.
Yet the little voice inside her head reminded her, You knew. You're tied to it.
What brings you to Sharn?
Kylie travels. In the four years since the Mourning, she spent a year in Thrane (mostly in Flamekeep) before her mentor suggested that perhaps she ought to try a more active approach to helping others. With so much she feels she needs to repent for, Kylie had trouble coming up with an argument or excuse to stay in the sanctuary that she had found in the Silver Flame. With the intention of at least checking in on her brother and sisters, Kylie has wandered south, doing her good works as she can along the way. New Cyre was hard on her, so she left as soon as possible. Needing to resupply along the way means she does take the major roads now and again, and this time her feet led her to Sharn.
Some notes about Kylie...
Name: Kylie took the surname Argente when she devoted herself to the SIlver Flame (Argent being silver). She doesn't feel worthy of her family name (Yorick) anymore, so in focusing her life on the pure lifestyle of the Silver Flame, she would've talked with someone of higher learning than herself to find a new surname that would remind her of her goals in life every time she heard it.
Alignment: It's a toss up between LG, NG, LN, and N. She's confused, and rather than explore the possibilities (including the possibility that she is somehow tied to what happened to Cyre), she's just glommed onto the morality of the Silver Flame. Yet she still sees a lot more than she admits to herself, so I'm leaning toward NG. It might end up LG with her own code of morality instead of that of the Silver Flame, but it's going to vary within that region depending on how adventures go, or what she learns about herself or Cyre along the way.
Class: Oracle (Apocalypse mystery, Powerless Prophecy curse). I very nearly took the Seeker archetype, which is basically an oracle with a rabid need to understand the origins of her mystery, but I don't think she's there yet. She's still going to be within a stone's throw of trying to negate any powers she may have, despite what her mentor may have taught her.
Questions for GM:
I don't know if the Silver Flame has other temples/shrines/local conglomerates besides the central one in Thrane/Flamekeep. Kylie would originally have fled Cyre with the locals, becoming one of the multitude of refugees flooding the local lands. If New Cyre was founded soon enough, I expect she would've headed that way with her siblings. However, grief and guilt gnawing at her would make her less than confident in her continued parenting ability, and without her parents she would likely have turned to those in her village for aid. Once divested of her responsibilities, she would've made a beeline for the closest church of any faith, eventually learning more about the Silver Flame (which she'd only vaguely heard of before that, being Cyrean) and heading in that direction. If there is a location in southeastern Breland that was of enough import (not just a waystation), that'd be where she ended up. If not, her feet would lead her on a wandering sort of route to Flamekeep.
I would like her to have eventually found a mentor, someone she would trust implicitly (ideally someone outside the hierarchy of the Church of the Silver Flame so there would be less of an outranking piece to their relationship). This person would be the one offering advice and counter-proposals about her talent's origin. I'm happy to draft someone unless you'd rather do it. I don't know if the NPC would ever show up in-game or not, but I'd like to have a name and personality for any potential flashback scenes or talk of her life.
What's the hierarchy of the Church of the Silver Flame look like? Would a devotee have a title of any kind if she pledged herself to the church, or would that just qualify as being a devout follower? I kinda like the idea of being "Sister Kylie", because it allows me the room to consider breaking that commitment and having a crisis of faith later in the game.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Elfman6
1. Thrane is definitely the seat of the Silver Flame and it's largest following. There are smaller temples and shrines throughout The Five Kingdoms. Breland itself, is split fairly evenly amongst Silver Flame worshipers and worshipers of the Sovereign Host. New Cyre itself was a refugee camp that was set up almost immediately in the aftermath of The Day of Mourning. It's grown into it's own little town in the 4 years since. Kylie could have easily left her siblings there. The closest non-fort, non-small town would be the capital of Wroat, closer to the South West. It would have been simple enough to flee north directly into Thrane for enlightenment in the Silver Flame's seat of power. As I'm centering the start of the game in Sharn (for it's cosmopolitan mix and status as an adventurer's city moreso than it's location far to the south of nearly anything else), you have quite a few options for why Kylie headed there.
2. I would love to hear about a mentor.
3. Based on my readings, it sounds very Catholic. There is The Keeper of the Flame (currently an 11-year old girl named Jaela Daran), beneath her is the Council of Cardinals. They oversee operations. From there, the organization splits into 3 different brances: Templars (the easiest to be an adventurer as they have the greatest amount of leeway in their decisions and travel), the ministers (which are far more priestlike as we would picture priests), and the friars (the missionaries). Sister works absolutely fine for a low-ranking member. Templars gain the Title Sir/Lady.
Concept: 31-year-old Aasimar Oracle of Life Role: healer and party face
With only a few ribbons to hold her cascade of golden hair back and little to no makeup, Viola is still one of the lovelier ladies this side of Dorseilles, and one might never guess at her station in life with such simple garments and lack of any of the fripperies which the more local ladies of the night drape themselves with. Her skin is naturally pale, but lately has been tending toward a pleasant golden tan while she's been traveling. Her eyes are a gold similar if not even richer than her hair, giving her the overall color scheme of a lioness. She's of average height and weight and the simple if well-made clothing she wears does little to detail the lady's origins, goals, or means. What the woman might be doing in Diamond Lake is anyone's guess.
Known Information:
- has been asking about in town seeking her brother, several sketched fliers have been put up asking for his whereabouts
Background:
Viola is the eldest daughter of a dying merchant family in Dorseilles seeking to win their fortunes, rather than make them. In this, Viola played a very large part; from a young age she was brought up with the education of a noble and the understanding that she was expected to marry well to take care of her parents in their old age. There were a number of rumors that their family had originally come into its money with the patronage of the church, or if not the church itself, a money-making bargain of some sort with a local hero who fought for the good of the people. But over the decades, whatever divinity might have been a part of the family ethic was cut back with an eye for marketable function and better interest rates. By the time Viola was born, the family which had spanned countries now had all its hopes resting on the first son and daughter.
Her brother Sebastian, while the eldest and the heir to the family Cesario, saw much more value in the appearance of wealth than in actually making his family wealthy, and the earliest business ventures of his tended to be failures in every way, for all they made him friends in the upper families when one wanted to finance a poorly thought-out idea. This brought her brother the wrath of her parents, not to mention the whining of their younger siblings, and he tended to act out in response.
For all the heartache this inspired in the rest of her family, it seemed to only drive the young Viola to really learn her gifts, and of all of the things she has been granted, a healing touch is perhaps the most important, yet least likely to make her parents proud. Her parents would have preferred she spend more time on her looks and the art of wining and dining noblemen, but she ultimately found a match with one Count d'Affinalais after having done what she could to aid his ailing first wife. The match was a boon, for it both suited her family and offered her enough room to continue working with the sick and needy. Indeed, the Count's attention to her did wonderful things for her underlying mood and independence, a feature she had rarely seen flourish under the expectations of her parents.
Name: Rozalina Dzosi (Dzosi: Romani surname from/for astrologers) Race/Class: Half-Vistani (Zarovan) Warlock (Great Old One)
Appearance
Rozalina looks fairly regular by non-gypsy standards or when compared to the bright colors favored by most gypsies, perhaps even dull at that, choosing deep indigo, purple, and shades of grey instead of jewel tones. Yet even when compared to her kin, it's clear the traditions are the same in spite of her color choices (all her garments match the Vistani styles) and in spite of the fact that her wildly curly hair is a rich chestnut with lighter highlights instead of the nearly-black brown that is almost universal among the gypsies. Her grey-blue eyes also stand out; Vistani are typically dark of hair, skin, and eye. It's possible her tanned skin tone is just that, a tan, but at a glance it's hard to tell if her natural skin tone is also unlike her kinsmen. Those that know anything of the Zarovan clan may know more than others that they have associations with the colors purple and grey, but few indeed know much of the Zarovan.
Her clothing is stacked purple on grey, starting with a grey blouse beneath an indigo tunic which has the drape of a garment over something heavier, like armor. A ruddier plum purple decorates the tunic in an all-over pattern like those often seen on Vistani. A sash of grey-decorated plum purple is wrapped around her waist, a black belt atop that to carry her sword and dagger. A similar scarf oftentimes hides the jeweled headband on her head. A fringed gray scarf is wrapped lower around her hips, ivory beads swinging with every move yet making no noise to give her away. The ruffled skirt she wears is the ruddier plum purple she has decorated herself with, and the stacked ruffles at the hem might have been tantalizing where they reach a knee-level high point, except that Rozalina wears unremarkable (but likely more serviceable) grey leggings beneath, and dark grey boots which lace up nearly to her knees. The same dark grey leather is used for her archer's arm-guards, and her quiver is dyed a similar color. She even fletches her arrows with grey, though not quite so perfectly monotone.
Personality
Rozalina has been on the sidelines of her mother's culture since she was born, though when she was eleven and started developing visions, she was quickly initiated into more. This has led to the rather biased personal belief that she has only a few talents that make her worth being around. When she is working in her element, she is confident and even witty; on the reverse, she barely speaks if another has the experience (even if she only assumes as much). This has only been exacerbated by her ranging in the wilds, leaving her with two distinct personalities that rarely shift from one to the other. If she is consulted as a seer, she is every bit as imposing as any gypsy witch-woman; if hired as guide, she says the minimum to do her job well and enhance the status of herself and her people and is very much a wallflower. Where non-Vistani are concerned she has a rather obvious chip on her shoulder (not unlike many of her kin) which she tries to moderate if she's being paid, but others are still likely to catch at least one sour remark.
Forseen Birth
Rozalina's birth was contrived by her mother, Aishe, after a vision. The sixteen-year-old Aishe had an elaborate vision that saw the end of a generation-long feud between a family of her tribe (a cousin) and the local district's richest family. By taking a friend's place serving at a local tavern on a key night, she was able to insinuate herself into the household of the family patriarch as a serving girl. With care she put herself into a position of being attacked by one of the sons, whereupon she returned to her vardo. When four months had passed and she was visibly pregnant, her father returned to the town, raging about the rape of his youngest daughter. Since it had been obvious what had happened to most of the house, the rich family had no choice but to agree to several valuable concessions to the Zarovan in reparation for the fierce breach in both cultures' customs. There was also a stipend paid to take care of the child and not come back.
Troubled Youth
As a half-blooded Vistani, or giomorgo, Rozalina lived on the fringes of her caravan, never included but not quite excluded either. Out of kindness, her uncle taught her how to use a bow, and she began hunting and fishing at his side. That all changed the day she got lost in the Mists. The Zarovan traveled through the Mists with ease, but were still cautious enough to keep children inside their vardo during the journey. So it is a poor explanation to say Rozalina "got lost"; when the caravan entered the Mists, eleven-year-old Rozalina was asleep in her bed. When they left the Mists, she was no longer with them. While they didn't like to think of it, her family could come to no other explanation than that she had been taken from the vardo by some creature of the Mists. But surprisingly enough, she stumbled out of the Mists three days later, feverish and barely able to keep her feet. She was bruised and scraped as by animals, but she would say nothing about what happened. Rozalina spent a week in bed, and maintained her silence on the whole matter. Her family could only speculate.
It was after this event that she began talking about things others could not see, or predicting small events accurately enough to bring a good deal of attention her way. As her mother had some ability, she attempted to train her daughter as the diviners of the Zarovan were taught, but it seemed Rozalina's gifts came not from the forces of time like her Vistani kin, but from some other source. It was yet another stumbling block between the giomorgo and her full-blooded kin, and led to her spending more and more time away from the caravan, wandering in search of some missing part of herself, or perhaps for a person who could understand her in her entirety.
Rozalina still remembers her days as an outcast among her own kin, and fears the day she becomes superfluous. Having trained both as guide and seer, she works her hardest to ensure that her abilities are always at the peak of perfection, making sure she is invaluable to whomever she is traveling with, Vistani or giorgio. Failures are the path to living as an outcast forever, and that's not something she wants.
Though it's far from her conscious thoughts, buried under years of trying to ignore it, Rozalina was scarred by her childhood encounter with the creatures of the Mists. She doesn't revere the Mists as some tribes tend to, but she does believe that they are very much a part of her life, if not the true power behind her being. Her worst fear is that if she cannot keep herself at her best, one failure will lead to another and eventually she will end up so far outcast that the Mists might take her again. This childhood experience has also led her into the Mists in search of other children, and she will speak vociferously against leaving anyone to their fate, if not volunteering first should a child be taken by a creature of the Mists.
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Last edited by Aethera; Feb 22nd, 2018 at 08:24 PM.
Name:Puma (doesn't really use his birth name much) Concept: Human Circle of the Moon Druid (Emerald Enclave)
Appearance: When looking like the species of his birth, Puma is a tall and tanned younger man in his mid-twenties. His hair is jet black, but seems to have differing brown undertones that sometimes are revealed when he's messed it up by running his hand through his hair repeatedly. His eyes are a light amber, bordering on yellow. The clothes he wears are the clothes of an outlander who visits towns, but rarely stays in them. Any leather looks tanned by hand, and there is a collar of fluffy fur that might be fox fur under all the uncleaned detritus that could land on it and not be brushed off by someone who is unused to thinking of what others see of him.
Personality: Puma had once been a curious boy with enough energy to play and explore with other children, and when he's invested in a situation, he often displays all of those qualities. The key is to hook his interest, and the change from outlander to compatriot is overwhelming. As a wanderer his social qualities don't get much use, and the internal sort of focus where his mind is aware of what's going on around him but more interested in thinking about something else can cause him some grief when not alone. Druidic circles have a certain way about making individuals welcome to do their individual thing as they feel the need, which he has been unable to quite grasp in his individual travels. It's hard to bow out of a conversation when you don't know how. Most of his social understanding ceased at age 14, so he does come off mildly inept around total strangers.
Flaw: The orphan mentality in Puma is strong, a clear sense of focusing on what is needed for survival and where and how to get it. There's a certain pride involved in being able to take care of oneself in the Misty Forest or wherever his feet take him, as well as a withdrawn side, always the outsider, looking in. Both emotions can make him do things he wouldn't usually.
Puma was born "Bran Evenwood" in a little town along a trade route. It was little more than a stop at a convenient distance south of Daggerford that became an inn and stable and the people to support it. If they were not directly involved in keeping the inn and stable at their prime, most of the villagers were foresters, seeking food and materials in the edge of the Misty Forest near the village. His mother never discussed his absent father with him until he was old enough to understand the simple concept (having pressed her for answers repeatedly). As she told it, his father was a wanderer who made sure the forests continued living in harmony with the people. He had come by to make sure that the village was not taking too much wood that the forest would shrink. Apparently he stayed for some time, but wandering wasn't just a choice, it was in his soul. He'd left before Puma could make any memories of him. As it is, Puma will never really know, because they never really discussed it much before his mother died when he was thirteen. Stories she would tell, certainly, things that his father had told her, but she never gave him specifics about his father, and in all his wanderings since, no sign of his father ever was found. The magic his father had claimed to have did surface in the son, putting some of the less kind village rumors to rest.
When his mother died, at first he tried living by himself in their cottage, but it just reminded him of her. He spent more and more time in the woods, camping out there and bringing supplies back into town in exchange for things he couldn't make himself. Eventually he sold the cottage for a bit of money to save, and only returned to the village to trade or spend some time with a skilled worker in a field he didn't know yet. It was about a year of rough living and learning what the village could teach him before his wanderings began leading him over much greater distances. His first shapeshift came when he was camping in the woods and a pack of wolves came by to see what the smells of food were. He was so scared he just backed toward a tree and closed his eyes, waiting for something to happen. The noises were all around him, but nothing was happening. When he dared open his eyes, it appeared he had walked partway up the tree on his newfound black paws. If he hadn't been so scared of the wolf pack, he would have likely yelled and flailed about, never having heard that this kind of magic was what his father had. Perhaps it wasn't, but something related. Once the wolves were gone, he was able to inch his way down the tree and try and figure out what had happened. The size of his backpack told him he was considerably smaller, and the vernal pool he'd camped beside showed him an all-black cat like the one he had once wanted in the village.
It was in Daggerford that he first saw the puma. There were some type of festivities in the making, and all sorts of things were flowing into the town, from people to animals and caravans of fine things or entertainment opportunity. One such caravan had a cat they called a jaguar but it was all black, a deviation they called a "puma". Apparently it meant single colored. Since the teenager himself spent a great deal of time as a solid black cat, he immediately claimed the word for his own.
Motivations: From the moment that his mother died, the woodlands have been his home. He fits better there than anywhere else. Over time he met those with druidic powers like himself, numbering among various races that had all ended up in the Misty Forest. He objects to anything that would harm woodlands, or nature in general. Survival is one thing. The encroachment of people who didn't need what they took was another. This included him almost automatically when he met an envoy of the Emerald Enclave by the name of Storn in the woods who gradually opened up about what it was he did, and told stories of High Forest in the north. It took him some time to get there and visit the great tree the other had mentioned, but by the time he left, he was an initiate of the Enclave. They let him wander where he would, but messages did come to him of things they wanted him to do.
Goals: There's a little boy who never knew his father deep within Puma. He thinks he's accepted everything that goes with it, but it's still there, a tiny hole in his heart that never closed. Family is something he wants, yet doesn't truly understand how to have. He's a wanderer, much like his father had been, and unless he found a woman willing to wander with him, it seemed unlikely that he would find a family that he could remain with -- and he would not have a child and abandon him, he just wouldn't. He has seen druids who lived in the Misty Forest, mostly settled but still with range, yet that doesn't call to him quite yet. It may take the right woman to truly make him settle down.
Name:I prefer "SAY-ee-ree" to Siri, tyvmSeiri Diennour ("Nameless"), formerly of House Lyrandar
Race/Lineage: Mark of Storm-Marked Khoravar
Alignment: Seiri has two modes. Self-absorbed and indulgent or raging against the evils of the world, starting with the dragonmarked houses. (Probably amounts to Chaotic Neutral, but she'll play nice.)
Appearance: A head of thin braids isn't all that uncommon for a Khoravar (half-elf), especially those who write their history with them, like some sailing clans of the House of kraken-marked air and sea vessels. This dirty-blonde woman, however, has looser, lumpy braids that more resemble dreadlocks than tiny beaded cornrows, and one half of her face is hidden by a straight sheet of her bangs, grown out to below chin length, though she doesn't have any bangs at all on the other side. In the right breeze or if she's not thinking, significant scarring is visible beneath, and some kind of inky blue-violet mark that runs right up to her cloudy white eye. In the wrong breeze, her bangs start to dance in the wind and the faint blue-purple glow of her dragonmark lights her white eye an eerie violet.
An average if willowy build doesn't say much, though her hands have the callused and worn skin of someone who works for a living. She's dressed in a loose blue peasant shirt, always long-sleeved, sashed with silvery grey beneath the thick and visibly worn black leather belt, all over dark grey or no-longer-black leather pants and tall boots. A deep-hooded charcoal gray cloak is usually present, somewhere, but the weather doesn't seem to bother her much. She has two daggers at her belt, one on either side, but the driftwood staff in her hand and the way the arcane spell focus, tweaked for storm sorcerytiny wind chimes hanging from the top burls sway in a breeze all their own suggest the blades aren't what you should look out for. And if that didn't give you the clue, check out how tight those leather pants are.
Personality Traits: My friends know they can rely on me, no matter what.
I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick. Ideal: Freedom. The sea (or sky) is freedom—the freedom to go anywhere and do anything. Bond: I was cheated out of my very House. Vengeance will be mine. Flaw: My pride will probably lead to my destruction.
Background: Seiri is from Aundair, specifically Stormhome, where she was raised among many would-be sailors for the House Lyrandar. She was one of many, almost concerned more with the tinkering of new gadgets that led to the airships than her duties as cabin rat or sailor, though she's fully capable of earning a living doing her part aboard ship.
Her interest in tinkering, however, while not very impressive, eventually earned her a place aboard a prototype airship. Sadly, she's the only member of that crew still alive, after a storm led to a crash that left her badly scarred. Her part in it was likely minimal, she's not old enough or talented enough with artifice to have reached a vital rank, yet someone had to be held accountable. With her dragonmark showing up amidst the same storm that crashed the ship, it was only too easy to blame the poor child. She was shunned and thrown out of the Windwright's Guild before she turned twenty-one. There is a small chance she could return, but it would require paying the House a huge sum of money determined by the House (reparations, mostly, but also funeral costs for her crashed crewmates). At first she thought it would be possible. Now, she's less sure.
While the War was still going on, she was generally avoiding contact with anyone from her house, which meant her options were limited to tiny independent ships or piracy. She took what jobs she could, and that's about all she'll admit to, if you can get her talking about it at all. The fact she bears a striking resemblance to the infamous Dina Wind-lass, the wild child who swept in and stole the heart of notorious pirate captain Adrian Blackheart and sailed about at his side for the last decade before vanishing just like the wind is just a coincidence. Still, whispers of piracy followed her to the Deathsgate Guild of Adventurers, rumors she rolls her eyes at but makes no attempt to silence.
Proficiencies: as House Agent
Investigation, Persuasion, Navigator's tools and vehicles (air and sea) Equipment: as House Agent
A set of fine clothes, house signet ring, identification papers, and a purse containing 20 gp
Feature: Bad Reputation
No matter where you go, people are afraid of you due to your reputation. When you are in a civilized settlement, you can get away with minor criminal offenses, such as refusing to pay for food at a tavern or breaking down doors at a local shop, since most people will not report your activity to the authorities.
The Player (Optional): Little old me?
Name: Seiri Diennour ("Nameless"), formerly of House Lyrandar Concept: excoriated member of House Lyrandar trying to earn her return to status Race/Class/Homeland: 25-year-old scarred female Khoravar Sorcerer (XG Storm or UA Sea Sorcery?) from Aundair
Description: Any young woman with the right half of her face covered by a fall of razor straight, dirty-blonde hair likely has her reasons to not show her face, but then there's also a certain amount of caution and wounded pride involved. She's had trouble in the past with those who did see her in action or with her hair tied back who were unable to go back to thinking of her as they'd seen her prior, not with such horrible scarring that clouds her eye and forms a bumpy canvas for the tattoo-like Mark of Storm (the Kraken) hard to forget, though usually by then they've discovered her on a personal level and have more to gain by thinking of her as a friend. Missing are the intricate braids that Lyrandar Khoravar use to tell a story while keeping their hair out of their faces. She tends to wear nondescript colors, another way of fading into the background as much as she can, at least for now, and though her sweater has a nice pattern, it's not one of the intricate knotworks that distinguish the House Lyrandar Khoravar from other sailors. Hoods, cloaks, soft-soled boots, these things are her friends. She even has a tendency to approach with steps soft enough that when she speaks up, she startles people unintentionally.
Background: The Last War was background noise to Seiri growing up; there had been sailing ships before the war, and there would be sailing ships long after. As many in the House had before her, she grew up learning how to keep a ledger, how to read a map, and how to sail. With so many in House Lyrandar running ships in all major waterways, there was always a galley that could use a cabin boy (or girl), but there were also smaller skiffs that the House kept for shorter travels, barges that ran up and down riverways carrying merchandise or raw materials, and as soon as she was old enough to hold a line steady, she was running errands for her family and House by whatever mode necessary. The family tended to avoid sending less than mature sailors to any warzone, not thinking the youths ready for the realities that would exist there, but no city or country was left unscathed, and sailing a messenger up a river to report to his regional ruler was not without its risks.
She had earned her beads marking her a fully capable sailor by the time she was eleven, and when there was a rumor of something new being created by the House, she sought after it without regard for whether it would be dangerous or not. It was not long until she discovered the project, and with the beginnings of magic developing within her as a sign of things to come, she was accepted as a sailor on one of the first airships ever flown, a majestic sloop called [i]the Kraken's Kiss[i]. There were test flights and rechecks to be done, all before the House would publicize their creation, for once they did so, any failures would rest solely on their shoulders, but Seiri was honored to be a part of the wartime effort; she even devoted a whole segment of her hair to tell of her achievement in the complex braids of her clan.
Unfortunately, ten years ago, the then-fifteen Seiri was found badly injured, floating in Eldeen Bay not far from the wrecked remains of their prototype ship, all others missing or dead. The girl who had been raised on seafaring ships said she had jumped free into the available body of water, but as she now bore the Mark of Storm, some among House Lyrandar saw a more sinister motive, blaming her for the storm that even the expert sailors could not handle. She was tried, found guilty, and excoriated -- complete with the flaying of her mark -- and left without a home, family, or any of the options she had grown up taking for granted. It was considered merciful to excoriate her without killing her in the process, but indeed that would have been easier on the teenager. No applicable experience with any other line of work. No references who could confirm her usefulness to an employer. Even her closest family and friends refused to talk to her, and when she fled the region, they may not have even noticed, though she likes to think they did, even if they wouldn't admit it.
Debt: There is a process, arduous and painful, to return to full standing in House Lyrandar, and that is where Seiri's mind has settled. Her magic and her experience make her a creature of sea and sky, and it's like living without an arm or a leg for her to continue on as she has done since her excoriation. There are few enough of the Dragonmarked that there needed to be a way to reclaim those who had failed the family, but they were not going to make it easy. There are tasks that must be done for the elders, repayment of goods and services to anyone injured in the accident that was deemed her fault, and a nearly unattainable amount of gold to go back into the House coffers before they will consider taking the legal steps to reinstate her, and Seiri would have to pay the advanced healer to remove the scars from her face on top of all that. It has been ten years, and she has amassed barely a tenth of what she owes. Not all of her last decade was focused in the same direction, it's true, but she has come to the conclusion that she can't hope to return to her family without truly turning mercenary in her soul, taking on any job that will move her in the right direction. It's not impossible to think that there may be independent ships looking to sail without House Lyrandar's notice, or moguls willing to pay an arm and a leg for a talented arcanist.
Last edited by Aethera; Feb 27th, 2023 at 07:59 PM.
Attributes: I'd lean toward marginally pretty, lithe, and dextrous, and still surprised that she was granted a new life. Probably smart enough to not have gotten into serious legal trouble, but nothing compared to the intellects of the priesthood. Definitely of the more streetwise than academic varieties, and well behind her upper caste initiate-sisters in terms of education.
Appearance: Much time has gone into dark-haired Samira's appearance of late, and not just because she lived and worked in a brothel until recently. The priestesses are not universally old hags, and the young initiates are encouraged to take the time to make themselves jewels of the caste. Her tan is faded somewhat of late, due to more time spent indoors or at least in shade, leaving olive-toned paler skin than she was historically accustomed to. There are questions in her dark eyes now, questions asked by the education she's collecting that may not be so easily answered.
Predilections: Until this point in her life, Samira never really had the chance to discover what she liked or didn't like, having spent all her time focused on survival of both the immediate and guild-oriented problems. Having now been freed to try a little of everything, she's taken to doing so with a vengeance. Very much the embodiment of "I'll try anything once". She may appear reckless or capricious to those who don't know her, who don't see the underlying emotion running deep within the young woman who changes apparent emotional states like masks. Clothing is one of her weaknesses now, having never had such nice things before. Likewise bathing. Fresh fruit is another.
A few months ago, Samira would never have imagined being able to sit and talk with friends in a cafe or bar late into the evening, as she would've been otherwise occupied. Now that she can, however, it is hard to convince her that she ought to focus instead on her studies, much of which her fellow priestess-initiates have far passed her in. Her dark hair is now usually braided and pinned up with numerous brass pins tipped with bits of glass that shine against her hair like stars against the night sky, a nice effect for someone devoted to Najima as utterly as Samira is to her goddess. There's usually a book near her, one with a quill and several sheets of parchment stuck into it, but that rarely sees her attention outside of an actual classroom. There's little else a priestess initiate needs, outside the temple. An ornate dagger gives her both utility and style should she choose to eat while away, and there are a few coins hidden about her person in places less likely to be stolen than a belt pouch. She's well off now, a surprising state of affairs for one literally born and raised in Jharkand's gutter, but the wiry urchin lass is still apparent at times, such as when her eyes follow movement and sounds independent of whatever conversation she's taking part in. There's definitely a disconnect between the priestess and the prostitute, a gap growing by the day as she learns what her now nearly infinite options are and tries to figure out what it really is that she wants, now.
A small group of friends came together one night to discuss the recent quakes. Whatever they may have been meaning to discuss that particular day had become irrelevant the moment the quakes struck. There was not really a purpose in mind, they just enjoyed each other's company and the cool breezes often afforded this outdoor bar. It was a tea house, really, but tea ceased to be the primary thing sold after a certain point. Samira's attention was actually in her book, for something new and different, as she arrived. Nearly running into someone in the doorway, she hastily shut the book until she found her friends, then opened it again, paging through it until she found her earlier place. She didn't continue reading, however, she just moved her quill to mark that page. "I've been wondering when I'd get a chance to talk to people not crazed with stupid rumors," she said instead of greeting her friends. "Please, Najima, find me anywhere to be but that dormitory tonight."
Ceremonial scimitar: brass-handled; useful for sacrificing goats.
Holy symbol: female figure wreathed in stars, made of silver.
Holy water, one vial.
Keepsake: long knife, hilt set with garnets, scabbard chased in gold wire, unknown writing etched on blade. Bequeathed from an elderly 'former acquaintance'.
Scroll set: Y'allah Y'allah--Exploring the Ancient Medinah. Reference to prominent merchant families. Outdated, but filled with hints about longstanding power relationships, buried secrets and scandal.
Scroll set: Prominent Malignant Spirits and Their Handling.
Blank scrolls (two), lead pencils, and quill and ink: Samira's temple mentors have tasked her with writing down her pious thoughts, for later reflection and personal spiritual development.
Very fine outfits (three sets): of quite modern styles, normally worn by the wealthy and well-connected.
Appearance: Blonde and blue-eyed, Lillian is a lovely girl. Her eyes are easily her best feature, the striking blue-grey color secondary to the way they seem to be able to see into people around her. It's more that she has to observe as much as possible to know what's going on because she's deaf, and when she focuses on people to read their lips it can give the impression that she's seeing into them. As she is now considered an adult, she's had to learn appropriate ways to tame her blonde curls into something less wild than the loose hair of a child, and she's generally seen these days with either a braid wrapped around her head, or just a coil of hair pinned up. Her parents are the innkeeper Trayner and his wife Nona, putting her in a rather central location in town, and she tries to dress as nicely as she's able, feeling like she's on display. Ribbons would be desirable, but in their absence she deals in embroidery and ruffles, though small ones. Even her overskirts (used instead of aprons in an industry that could ruin clothing from all angles) tend to have bits of ruffle to accent the drab colors that are least likely to show stains.
Flaw: It's hard to be an outsider in the middle of town, but when you're unique in a way that's not exactly beneficial or pleasant and hard for most others to understand, it's possible. Lillian has turned this into both shameless attempts to help out and fits of anger that no one understands her. More of the former than the latter, but she hides the anger behind a mask of pleasant manners, making it hard for most people to tell, except close friends and family.
Fear: Lillian is afraid of being helpless. While she has learned to work around her lack of hearing, there are some things that she can't do, and sign language only works when there's enough light to see by. It terrifies her that another illness or accident could impair her in some other way and she'd be suddenly useless, helpless, and completely dependent on her family in a way she hasn't had to comprehend yet. This also extends to purpose in life, because when her parents die the inn will pass to her older sister Caitriona and her husband, but Lillian will need something to do or find herself depending on her sister after her parents.
Biography: Lillian is the second child of Trayner and Nona Hartnell, who own the inn which is the geographic and social center of town, not to mention the only real source of medical aid, if you can call an extensive ability to stitch wounds and treat the common illnesses 'medicine'. Unfortunately, when Lillian was seven, she got sick. It wasn't something her mother recognized, so while her fever was treated and Lillian kept comfortable, it was as much luck as anything else that helped her get better. When she recovered she had trouble hearing, to the point that within a short time she could barely hear anything at all, and what she did hear was distorted, which made even her seven years' worth of experience speaking less useful than it had been. The girl did still speak, but she quickly learned that she was barely understood and rarely speaks aloud now, embarrassed. She was too young to understand she would never be able to hear again, but made a game of working out signals with her childhood friends so she could go right back to playing with them. Over time that has developed into a proper sign language so she could communicate more fully, but she learned to read her friends' lips early on.
When she was old enough to understand that illness was the cause of her hearing loss, she started prompting her mother to teach her everything she knew about healing. The polite view is that healing is Lillian's passion, but in all honesty she's obsessed. She needs to know what to do to fix everything from scrapes to major disease, and has made a study of every folk remedy and tidbit of herbal knowledge that her village has used. It was useful to have her help her mother with a few more concerning illnesses in town, not least among her patients the former Elder, whose last year of failing health was hard on the entire town. Lillian has developed a reputation as a very conscientious nurse with a kind heart, and for at least the last year her mother has been happy enough to let Lillian take over when townsfolk get sick and need help. It was not beyond her mother that Lillian needed a purpose of enough significance that she would not be a dependent upon her siblings after her parents were gone. (It doesn't seem to occur to either her mother or Lillian that she might ever marry, whether that's realistic or not.) It has mostly escaped her notice that lately some of her more seriously injured or ailing patients have healed better than her herbs or care could really explain, but both she and her patients appreciate it, regardless.
Her older sister Caitriona is married and expecting her second child, which has spurred some more violent mood swings in the caring healer from the stress of expectations, real or imagined. The point of having the necklace around her neck is at the back of her mind, but it's so ingrained that the second child would bear it for a time, she really doesn't even think about it. At present her irritations stem from the ideas of marriage and childbirth, and what she thinks of her chances of either are. And there have been some extra duties from her sister's current rather ponderous limitations, which doesn't help things. Lillian has mostly taken it out on the laundry, rather than other people, but her family and a few of her closer friends have felt the brunt of sharp comments that the girl would never have voiced aloud in a million years.
The sun was barely up, yet Lillian felt like it ought to be setting. Between taking her very pregnant sister's place in mixing up the morning's breakfast of bread and pastries, requiring three attempts at fixing a portable healer's kit before she was satisfied no one would do anything stupid she couldn't fix, and doing all the inn's unavoidable daily chores before getting dressed to go to the river, it seemed like a lot had happened. She had already tended two bruises, four scrapes, and a splinter. It was hard to keep an eye on the less healthy members of town as they arrived without getting a side helping of Old Maudie's cantankerous nature to go along with it. Most of the duties of the catching of fish were outside Lillian's ability, which left her to help with breakfast before the run started, and clean it up before the actual sorting and gutting of fish began. She was quite able to handle the tasks of gutting, scraping, and drying on her own, it wasn't something that required communication ability for coordination with others, but she wasn't fond of it. It was more something that just had to be done.
As such it had pleased her beyond measure when her brother-in-law stopped her before going into the river and asked for her to keep an eye on her two-year-old nephew for a little while while he helped haul nets. Little Trayner was an active boy, running all over and trying to get into the river to play with the older children. It kept her quite busy, even if some women were caring for several children at once. Her nephew was always a joy to her, not being able to hear it when he shrieked loudly with the naive joy of a toddler. At least that's what she had been told that expression meant, anyway. He favored his father too much to resemble her, but it didn't take much insight to recognize that the young blonde woman in the worn apron loved the child who could do pretty much anything to her without reproach. She chased him until he grew tired, then carried him until he wanted to get down, and soon the pattern would repeat. He had learned that Aunty Lily had to be shown things, so while he may not have understood why, he knew to show her the flowers, grass, and bugs that he found. Lillian chose to ignore some of the laughter that this seemed to cause among the others watching children, and instead grinned at her nephew, using some of her basic phrases like 'Good boy' that he recognized even if they weren't quite spoken right. She doubted he would be as interested in herbs when he grew up, but she could always hope.
In no particular order, though I'm trying to do them in order of posts so I can find them again. Might alphabetize later for easy reference. Most marked WIP if I haven't actually conversed with the other player.
Thomas (link): Close Friend Who Makes Her Smile
Thomas and Lillian have been friends since childhood, and though he was two years older, he was still in the group of youngsters who helped Lillian develop her sign language when she returned to play with them after losing her hearing. He has a kind soul, and it's nice to feel safe with him, whether relaxing at the inn (though she may be serving, not relaxing) or just both being helpful to each other and the community. He's supportive of her no matter what she's doing, and that helps her keep above any depressed tendencies that might arise when she finds herself at odds with her limitations.
Maketahk (link): WIP
prankster who goes too far and village healer sound like they're at odds
Jimmy (link): WIP
family centric farmer and inn-centric healer girl... uh...?
Eirnan (link): Fellow Citizen, Periodic Patient
Eirnan and Lillian are both quiet folks who tend to keep more to themselves or at least their families, so they don't cross paths very often. When they do, it's usually for one of two things: Eirnan is sick again with something he doesn't already know how to treat, or there's something needed from the bakery for the inn (or potentially vise versa, but rarely). It's far easier to surprise one of Lillian's family members with a birthday cake if the bakers make it instead of making it in the inn's large kitchen, and Lillian isn't one of the people who think Eirnan is contagious at all times, so she doesn't mind if he's the one making what she gets from the bakery.
Garidan (link): 'Older Brother' With Bushcraft In Common
While Garidan's age difference makes him less of a peer with Lillian, the fact that he's interested in things like herblore and might be willing to go with Lillian if she needs to go further afield to gather herbs is a real plus... and somehow his willingness to ignore her limitations and focus on her value just boosts Lillian's general bearing. It's hard to explain things without her fallback of sign language, but pantomime and her oddly enunciated speech work well enough. His family also contacts her when there are occasional farm accidents whether involving horses or not, and while she's not exactly a veterinarian, combining her medical knowledge and his family's experience makes for a decent team effort when there are diseases or infections in their herd. And of course, if she's not out hunting herbs, she's always at the inn and is pleasant enough in her waiting tables and such.
Annabelle (link): WIP
Annabelle and Lillian are contemporaries, both being born in the same year, but between Lillian's life upheaval at age seven when she lost her hearing and Annabelle's loss of her father at age 9, they never really became close at an age past "babes in the glen". Lillian definitely recognizes Annabelle's gift with plants, however, and there is something of a kinship in a shared passion, even if Annabelle's talents border on the strange. If Lillian can't find an herb she needs, or finds the local site withering for whatever reason, she'll go to Annabelle for help. Lillian is much more focused on the people her herbs help than the plants, but to each their own.
Kirna (link): WIP
Kirna could have been a close friend Lillian's age if the two didn't have differing personalities and workspaces. Lillian was focused, Kirna was impatient. While both were helpful, their spectrums didn't seem to match, except for the overlap more recently where Kirna's ill mother and Lillian's healing skills were concerned. Both girls had to focus on their family's business and keeping things moving smoothly, so their paths tended to parallel rather than cross. Kirna might remember the sign language that she was around to learn and help design with Lillian when they were both seven, but they don't cross paths enough to really converse at length in it.
Pots (link): WIP
The gnome prankster is older than Lillian by a decade, but that doesn't make him less reachable, in fact he's gone out of his way to try and include Lillian in his pantomime, exaggerated faces, and even bringing her flowers every now and then. It's not that she's less prone to pranks, just that he's made a special point to include her in things that would make her smile and laugh like the next person. His stories aren't as good for her as for everyone else, as reading lips requires the person speaking to not be turning about, making faces, and otherwise making it hard to see his lips, but she follows most of them. Some basic gestures of her sign language were easy enough for the creative fellow to pick up, but they've yet to try and actually turn it into a real conversation.
Garland (link): WIP
non-priestly healer girl and timid priest-to-be?
Erica (link): WIP
dutiful overly serious farmer and village healer? not getting a lot of crossover there
Desc: Though the brunette half-elf is quite pretty, almost everyone who sees her face unobscured by artfully draped hair sees first and foremost the bright golden cat-slit eye that outshines her own pale by comparison green (normal) eye. Her left eye is hidden some of the time, if she knows ahead of time she might meet new people, but most of the time she forgets about it until she sees someone blanch or startle upon seeing her. Compared to the oddity of her eyes, nothing else stands out about her, really. Her clothing is well made but plain, usually browns and greens perhaps with plant patterns over white blouses, all of it sturdy and made for the unexpected nature of traveling into places unknown. Xenia does have some nice jewelry, mostly silver and following the woodsy theme of everything else. Around her neck is a silver chain, from which hangs a yellow-green crystal wrapped in silver leaves. While made into something pretty, the crystal is too raw to be just jewelry -- any silversmith with the talent to make such delicate leaves as a setting for the crystal would have polished the crystal into something more appealing. She carries a shortbow and quiver, but rarely seems to remember it's there.
Background: Xenia is the first daughter of Lyssa Ravenwood, and the only half-elf of the lot. It seemed to be well known as Xenia was growing up that Lyssa had been far too interested in an elven troubadour who came through the village on his way to somewhere important. Xenia didn't even know his name, her mother and her extended family wouldn't talk about him, though apparently she had been named after a heroine from one of his tales. Long after he left, it turned out Lyssa was pregnant, and thus began the ostracizing of the young half-elf, before she was even born. Her mother married shortly before Xenia was born, but the birth of a half-elf was awkward. This isn't to say her family didn't love her, but she was a very prominent reminder of Lyssa's indiscretion, and they tended to be ashamed of her. If she happened to go play in the woods when guests were visiting, there was no recrimination. Some in the village treated her with scorn, some with pity, and only a rare few treated her like everyone else. It should come as no shock, then, that Xenia loved to wander away from the village.
more to come...
I'm leaning toward the typical half-elf who doesn't fit in background, wandering, and in this case the child wandered into fairy circles by accident the first time but then regularly after that. Apparently they liked the curious child. She was rarely gone overnight as a very young child, she didn't have the attention span to stay with the fey longer than most of a day. But as she grew up and her wandering was commonplace, her absences would have gotten longer.
Motivation: A mistake when making a deal with a shadow fey led to one of her friends (read: more than just friends) being exiled due to lack of her character witness testimony and the lore she learned did no good months later. Home was uncomfortable and she's rather hoping she might be able to find him on the road, but she's coming to enjoy the adventuring for herself, not just for a wild goose chase.
Personality: What is your character like? Important.
Description: Beryl is a blue-eyed brunette elfmarked, her appearance somewhere between human and elven. Her features are mostly rounded, but when she's actually put some care into her looks, her pointed ears are usually visible in or around her hairstyle -- not as long and pointed as a true elf's, but pointed enough to make it clear she's not human, either. Not that her usual style of dress isn't primarily elven, that's how she grew up. Traveling clothes are traveling clothes for humanoid women at some level, but her costumes for performing in public are definitely more elven in style. She prefers tones of blue, a theme that covers both her traveling shirt and cloak, and the embroidered blue costumes of fine fabrics. Mostly her clothes are decorated in white since silver and gold is above her means, but one of her two costumes is worthy of someone far above her station (it mostly remains folded at the bottom of her backpack, with no place to wear it). Beryl is not particularly tall or short, but lithe as an elf. The most care apparent at a glance is the well-oiled lute case slung across her back, and the instrument inside is kept in such pristine condition it's likely her most prized possession.
Backstory: Baerielynne grew up in the depths of the Arbonesse Forest, her mother a true river elf and her father one of the equally numerous elfmarked of the woods (what percentage of elven blood that gives her she's wondered idly about before). Her village lived by the same traditions the elven people had been following for centuries, and for a long time she never would have questioned that. She loved the stories of when the elves spread across the world, building civilization, so much that she was soon an unofficial apprentice to the ancient sage who kept the traditions and stories for the village. (Unofficial because in the lifespan of elves, a mere elfmarked would never have the time to learn all the stories, nor repeat them.) She learned so well that when a concerning case involving a breach of tradition by her good friend, she was one of the ones asked to trance and try to recall the details of anything that might help. It would prove her undoing.
She found a quiet place in the woods to meditate, but had trouble focusing on anything, her concern for her friend breaking her concentration repeatedly. It was as she was discussing the case details with the air that a voice answered one of her rhetorical questions. Somehow she had ended up near a shadow road, and a passing shadow fey had heard her music, her lore, and her questions. In exchange for some of her memories of sensations, things from her childhood, odd bits she didn't find that important, she was offered a chance to experience the very civilization she was wondering about in the memories of the shadow fey who recalled some of it, and could relate the rest. It would take about a month, and the shadow fey would be her host over the course of memory swapping and learning. Baerielynne jumped at the chance, and sealed the bargain. She spent a rather wonderful month in a far-flung part of the Shadow Fey Court, close enough to witness the impressive nobility but not close enough to interfere. In addition to the lore she'd sought, she also learned the Umbral language to better understand the mix of her new (and ancient) information. She was pleased until she reached her home village, where she was stopped and it was demanded where she'd been, they'd been searching for her for months. To her shame, a month in the Shadow Realm was not equal to a month in the world she lived in. Her friend was long since sentenced to exile, and she wasn't held in particularly high regard anymore, not after disappearing without trace and failing to appear at the trial of her friend.
Sayah - Though her formal meeting with the shadow fey lass was heavily tinged with mistrust, some explanation of her prior experience with the fey made things more amicable, at least once the girl had expressed her sympathies and position on such a disparity in the terms of the bargain. In some sense of the word, it was a relief that Beryl could explain all of it to Sayah in Umbral, rather than Common, because she wouldn't choose to lay it all out so explicitly in a widely-understood language, if she chose to speak of it at all. They've since become close to friends, as much so as any mortal can be friends with a truly unpredictable fey.
Mercer - Their meeting was rather fortuitous, Mercer's healing magic quite welcome when the two girls traveling together were ambushed. Whether his patron guided him in their direction or not, it seemed a good omen. Once he became accustomed to the oddities of the fey-elfmarked friendship he was a welcome companion. Beryl has felt some unspecified kinship with him, another elfmarked away from home, but it's hard to commiserate with him when his memory is so confounded by visions he has seen of the past, present, or possible. So the basics of where she came from were mentioned sooner or later, but not a lot more.
Name: Evgenia Aliakseevna Gorskaya "Zhenya" -AND/OR- Evgenii Aliakseevich Gorskii "Zhenya" Race: Half-Eladrin features, Eladrin mechanics Gender Identity: Fluid/Both Class: currently debating between Lore Bard or Bladesinger Wizard
Appearance: Zhenya appears to be a half-elf dressed in a costume that resembles motley, though they tend to prefer left and right sides or diagonal quarters colored in polar opposites (black and white, red and blue, etc) which extends to their makeup as well, usually done as half and half facial colors, sometimes with accented features, or blocks of color. Similar to their costume, their act involves songs accompanied by lute that are sung in both alto and tenor registers, from both male and female perspectives, and even extends to playing roles in plays (when they stick around in any one place long enough) of both genders. As the diminutive "Zhenya" is not gender specific, it is sometimes hard to tell what gender they identify as -- sometimes it's unclear if Zhenya even knows themself. Due to Zhenya's Eladrin blood, it's hard to pin down exactly what coloring might be considered their "normal" coloring, though blonde hair is common, even if it shifts from strawberry-blonde to honey to wheat to platinum.
Zhenya's lute is marked with the setting sun of Labelas Enoreth, elven god of time and memory, and though the entertainer pays far more lip service to the dualities of their native folklore to the point of a small bowl of bread cheese and honey that is offered to the gods on any stage on which they perform, the focus and near worship involved in polishing and caring for the decorations on the lute says a good deal more than just that Zhenya loves their instrument.
Roleplay Samples: coming soon.
Zhenya had been looking forward to the talent show hosted by the music school ever since they'd first been told that such an event existed, but finding the right costume was proving to be difficult. Aunt Anya had spent a lot of time piecing together a lovely sarafan for Zhenya out of the pieces of an old one of her own, most of the worn edges could be cut back and the pieces reattached to fit the child, but Zhenya didn't like it. "Why do I have to wear that?" Zhenya asked finally when Aunt Anya put her foot down, insisting that she had spent too much time on the dress for Zhenya to wear anything else.
"What do you mean, why?" Aunt Anya was having none of it. "All the girls will be wearing one just like it."
It always came down to that. "Then maybe I don't want to be a girl!" cried Zhenya, running out of the house in tears. Why did they have to wear a dress at all? The teachers wore whatever they pleased when they performed. The child's feet led them away from the cluster of log houses in which the three adult siblings' families lived, but without a definite destination in mind. All Zhenya knew was that the mountain cared little for if they were a boy or a girl, as long as they were capable of taking care of themself and did not assume that nature would be kindly. Even in tears, the knowledge that wild animals could be dangerous led to several deviations in course as one noise or another alerted the child to potential dangers in the sparse forest. All too soon hasty feet had led far and away from the family's homes and into fields of windswept wildflowers and evergreen forest.
Zhenya cried until they could cry no more in a cluster of spent wildflowers gone to seed, staining yet another pair of hand-me-down breeches green at the knees and getting dirt and grass stains all over a shirt that might have been white before it had seen three generations of owners. There was never any concern about wearing britches out here, Zhenya thought sullenly. Shepherds were better off able to maneuver well, and it was easier to clothe the young ones from the older cousins' cast off clothing until they needed school uniforms. That Zhenya had chosen to go to music school was already enough of a trouble for the family, as one of Aunt Anya's children had told Zhenya when he was being particularly spiteful. New clothes for a school that hadn't been attended by anyone in the family before meant coin they did not have to spare. Besides, that cousin had pointed out, what good was music? It wouldn't save you from a wolf stalking the sheep.
But music was Zhenya's life, and the stories that came out of primal memories awoken during trance rivaled any the teachers at school could spin. Of course, since the teachers weren't elven, they didn't quite understand why Zhenya's family was aghast about such stories being told openly, but Zhenya couldn't care less. The stories were too fascinating to not share with others.
When at last the child stopped staring at the clouds and sat up, they were surprised to see a small building against the tree line across the field from where they'd ended up. Zhenya was fairly certain of where home was from here, but the building wasn't something recognizable. Curiosity was stronger than the maelstrom of emotions about "being a girl" that always ended in confusion, so up Zhenya came, trying to brush the worst of the grass and seeds from breeches and shirt before heading for the windowless hut. To their surprise, the door opened just as they were getting close, and out stepped a person in a black and white robe, carrying a basket. Compared to Zhenya's surprise, the robed person looked as if they had quite expected to see someone, and beckoned. "What's your name, child?"
"Zhenya."
"Well, Zhenya, would you like to help me get some things ready to offer to the gods? You look like you know your way around the mountain." The robed person was human, and that made it hard for Zhenya to guess at their age, but what the child could tell was that the person didn't seem to be male or female, but rather both, or neither.
Sniffling a bit and belatedly trying to wipe away the tear streaks on their face, Zhenya looked the person over more carefully, but came up with no more answers. "Which gods?" the child asked, curious if the gods worshipped by her family were known by the humans as well. It seemed like more often than not the humans at her school didn't know what she meant when she tried to explain elven lore, so it was worth asking. "I don't think the summer festival is for another couple weeks yet."
The priest or priestess, if they were such a one, shook their head. "No, not the gods of the seasons." There was a little narrowing of the eyes that could have been poor eyesight or it could have been confusion since the tow-headed child had the ears of a half-elf. "There are many names given to the gods, child, but all gods are divine in nature, and some times it is easiest to acknowledge them as all one. That one has many names as well, but this shrine is to Rod and Rozanica, the male and female sides of the all-god."
Zhenya nodded, mouth open a little as they tried to take in the concepts so easily suggested by the priest. "My family never told me all that," they admitted. "Is that the human gods?"
"They are god of all races," the priest corrected. "The all-god can be anything they want. Good or bad, male or female, fiery or icy. They can even be elven or human or dwarvish if they want. They are god, they can't be expected to fit in little boxes just so we understand them better."
This the child could only stare open-mouthed at. It sounded so simple, said that way, yet it clashed with everything the elven family had taught about the gods and children of the gods, and where the elven people came from. "It's too bad that people can't be like that," the child wished aloud, not really aware of speaking. "It'd be easier." The priest watched the child's brain visibly turning around the information offered, but said nothing.*"So, um... what do you need to get to offer to a god that is everything?" Zhenya asked after a long moment, trying to wrap their head around the idea.
The priest smiled at the child and extended a hand. "Come, walk with me and I'll show you."
Serafina Anifares "Look, we can do this the hard way, or the fiery fun way. Your choice." [character sheet]
Concept: TN female tiefling warlock (Fiend or Hexblade patron?)
Personality Traits: I sleep with my back to a wall or tree, and think that anyone being nice to me is hiding evil intent. I often bluntly say what others are hinting at or hiding, why mince words? Ideal: I help people who help me--that's what keeps us alive. Bond: I escaped my life of poverty by robbing an important person; I'm wanted for it. Flaw: I will never fully trust someone other than myself.
Last edited by Aethera; Dec 24th, 2019 at 01:21 PM.
Reason: game never got started