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  #31  
Old Jun 21st, 2022, 02:59 PM
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Name: Kiaran Dalael

Race: Drow

Class: Sorcerer - Shadow Magic

Alignment: Neutral Good

Appearance: Kiaran is a short Drow woman with dusky purple-gray skin and braided white hair. Her eyes are a dark crimson.

Personality: Kiaran is serious and studious by nature. With a keen mind and deep curiosity about the world and the knowledge that can be discovered, she is very observant and attuned to her surroundings. Not a social butterfly by nature, she is more reserved and closed off with her feelings, until she feels she trusts someone enough to reveal more of herself.

Backstory: Kiaran's adoptive parents found her wandering the streets of Baldur's Gate alone when she was just a toddler. She didn't know her own name or what had happened to her or where her biological parents were. As Drow were still quite unusual and rare to see on the surface, this was a strange situation indeed. But Kiaran's adoptive parents were a pair of kind moon elves who couldn't have children of their own so they decided to take her in and raise her in their own culture. As a result, Kiaran knows very little of Lolthite Drow society, except what she's been taught by her parents and learned from rumors on the street. Being a Drow in a mostly human and elven society wasn't easy on Kiaran, and she faced quite a lot of stigma and discrimination wherever she went. So she was proud beyond measure when she was accepted to study at Candlekeep.

After many years of study, Kiaran became a librarian of Candlekeep, a prestigious post and great honor. As she grew up and went through puberty, however, powers she never realized she had began to become apparent. She found that she could manipulate energy and even the shadows themselves, that she had an innate magical talent. This came as a great surprise to her, and she wondered if these new shadow abilities she possessed were somehow related to wherever she'd been before being found in a Baldur's Gate alley. Candlekeep was quite pleased with her new powers, and several loremasters became fascinated by her magic and unraveling the secrets of her past. They theorized that she had been touched by Shadowfell somehow, perhaps even been in that plane for a time, but Kiaran couldn't remember any of it.

Because of her expertise in linguistics and her powerful magical abilities, Kiaran was tasked with going on many expeditions and supervising many magical experiments sponsored by the university. It was on such a mission that things went terribly wrong. While they were exploring a tomb to recover ancient tomes, they were beset by a powerful, enraged ghost, a lich of the tomb's inhabitant. The lich dispatched the expedition's bodyguards and scholars with little trouble. Watching her companions slaughtered in front of her, Kiaran tried to escape, but it was in vain. The last thing she remembered is a powerful sensation of coldness spreading throughout her whole body and then complete and utter darkness.

RP Sample:

They'd been digging for hours now, and yet they still hadn't breached the final sanctum of the tomb. Kiaran sat on the dusty floor with her legs crossed in front of her, journal on her lap, and quill in hand. Every now and then she moistened the tip of the quill with her tongue. She was studying the ancient runes inscribed over the doorway to the inner sanctum. The runes signified a form of language that preceded modern languages such as the Common tongue or Dwarvish. As Candlekeep's resident librarian of all things linguistic, she was tasked with deciphering the script. She'd also be the first one to take a crack at any valuable tomes contained within the inner sanctum.

"Hmm, I think this is an early form of the Abyssal language," she muttered to herself, chewing on the nub of the pen. "So that rune there...it could be dark...no wait, death. That one means death...Well, that sounds appropriate for a tomb."

It was just then that the hired laborers broke through into the inner sanctum. Kiaran heard the cheers and laughter as the men wiped the sweat from their brows. She was here with two other researchers from Candlekeep, a dwarven woman who was an expert on premodern societies, and a sallow-faced human man who was a very high-ranking librarian. They both had already scrambled toward the newly formed entryway into the sanctum. Kiaran got up and wiped the dust from her pants, stowing her journal back in her pack. She was just about to join her fellow scholars when one of the laborers began to scream. After that, everything happened very quickly.

Someone...no, something emerged from the tomb, a horror such as Kiaran had never seen before. It was spectral, but its form could still make contact with the physical world, which it did by sinking monstrously long claws into the laborer's bodies. Their screams quickly turned into a sickening gurgling. The two hired bodyguards drew their swords, but the ghost, or whatever it was, blasted them with a dark magic that caused them to write and scream and gouge at their own eyes. Shock had frozen Kiaran to the spot, but now she screamed and turned to flee. She was not quick enough, not nearly quick enough. Before she could even reach the entrance to the tomb, she felt cold fingers grasp her shoulder and then a deep, cold pain in her back. Blackness took her before her body even reached the floor.
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Last edited by Nyx89; Jun 24th, 2022 at 03:44 PM.
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  #32  
Old Jun 22nd, 2022, 11:32 PM
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@Miguel Mercado

Name: Hirori
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Moonfolk (Custom Lineage)
Class: Clockwork Soul Sorcerer
Appearance: Her pasty, alabaster-like skin, moon-white hair, and elongated earlobes differentiated Hirori from most human females. Not to mention her piercingly deep sky-blue eyes. She was as tall and slender as an elf, and didn't look the athletic type at all. Hirori had the air and smell of a scholar, for that was what she truly was. Hirori wore soft, flowing robes trimmed in gold and sapphire thread that looked more appropriate for a royal court than a seedy tavern. On her bare feet, she wore stark wooden clogs instead of boots.

Personality: Possessing a profound sense of wonder and curiosity, matched by a formidable mind and will to make things practical. Yes, Hirori was a pragmatist, yet also had the depth to appreciate the ephemeral and aesthetic, like songs, stories, or soft, silken robes. She also liked to laugh. Magic and anything arcane was enough to make her giddy and bubbling with excitement, particularly clockwork contraptions. She is deeply passionate about discovery and innovation.

Being an ancient, isolated people, Hirori understands the value of change in a society that tended to stick to traditions. Ways the reasons behind which have long been forgotten, but never questioned. No. Hirori asked questions. She pushed for answers; demanded reasons. It was part of knowing how things worked, after all. She firmly believed that her skills and gifts for magical innovation were important for that reason: the increasing benefit and improvement of the people around her.

Character Backstory: Years spent in arcane research among the Emperor's Saiba Scholars granted Hirori the privileges and trappings of one of the most respected echelons in society. Many would prefer to stay in these luxurious laboratories in the floating islands, but Hirori longed for the field. Perhaps it was her father's stories of other realms, and even Planes in the multiverse. Though she was a somewhat accomplished artificer already, Hirori imagined the troves of knowledge that awaited out there, waiting to be harvested, assimilated, improved upon for the good of her people in the giant sky-city Otawara.

Later, an opportunity presented itself.

It came in the form of a clockwork contraption shaped like a porous sphere; a blood orenji. The overall aesthetic had a somewhat outdated, almost gothic vintage. Each facet seemed to glimmer with a different light swirling in some cloudy substance, as if hinting at access to different worlds. It even warped and distorted the very air around it somehow. The Saiba were curious, and so was Hirori. Soon it became a contest of who can unlock the fruit's secrets first.

Hirori decided to conduct experiments on her own, determined to win these discoveries herself. No assistance, no support, no safety precautions. It was uncharacteristic of the scholar, but something primal drove her. Was it a thirst for glory? Perhaps. Hirori told herself it was her desire to learn, to discover, to innovate, to bring greater good into the world.

And in the cusp of this revelation, in the last moments of her life, she knew.

She knew that was a lie.

RP Sample:
 

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Last edited by ElderOblex; Jun 29th, 2022 at 04:03 AM.
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  #33  
Old Jun 24th, 2022, 09:06 AM
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@Carmac: You mentioned that it would be OK that our characters would be from other lands. Could we use the official free WotC Planeshift supplements (Collected here for ease of use)?

My initial thought was possibly a Kaladeshi Dwarf... but something else might catch my fancy as I peruse the settings, if allowed.
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  #34  
Old Jun 24th, 2022, 11:50 AM
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If you stick to the sources in the OP then yes, you can use any land you wish.
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  #35  
Old Jun 24th, 2022, 03:42 PM
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Application complete
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  #36  
Old Jun 24th, 2022, 04:14 PM
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All the apps are looking great so far
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  #37  
Old Jun 26th, 2022, 02:08 AM
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Vasili the Thrice-Born
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Name: Vasili, known as the “Thrice-Born”
Race: Human, variant (Barovian, adopted by the Vistani)
Background: Entertainer (Violinist)
Class: Rogue (Phantom)
Alignment: (True) Neutral

Appearance: Vasili is a man in his mid-thirties, at first look resembling one of the Vistani, though he is in fact Barovian. His skin is tanned, from having lived most of his life on the road, and his raven black hair and beard are unkempt and wild, as if no brush or comb could ever hope to tame them. Fine wrinkles can be seen on his forehead and next to his haunted eyes, while his irises resemble two dark pits of unfathomable depth. As some of the people who had adopted him do, he used to paint his eyes with kohl, but he currently feels no need for such vanity. It is dark circles one can now see underneath them, a proof of the fact that even sleep does not grant him true rest. The one point where he pointedly diverses from Vistani customs are the clothes that he wears. He can no longer tolerate the flamboyant garments of his chosen people, dressing himself in dark colors, mostly black, and choosing practicality over fashion.

Personality: Vasili is a man who has been brought back to life a shadow of his former self. In typical Vistani fashion he used to be loud, emotional and gregarious, now he remains silent for the most part, looking around him for danger that he knows is always lurking nearby. Once optimistic, almost foolishly so, after the tragedy he has experienced, he no longer hopes for a better future, his single wish being to atone for the sins he inadvertently committed and the deaths he caused. Always reserved and suspicious of others, the only time he allows himself to open up is when playing his viol, though the only music birthed from his “Soul” is a sorrowful, melancholy one. Though the idea of death no longer weighs heavily upon his mind, knowing that it is a certainty, he is sorely concerned with time, fearing that he will not be getting the chance at making amends before it eventually runs out.

 

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  #38  
Old Jun 29th, 2022, 07:43 PM
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hmmm Idea for a Hexblood, not sure what class yet though
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  #39  
Old Jul 1st, 2022, 01:39 PM
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Hi there! This looks like it is going to be an interesting game- I love the darker tone of the Ravenloft setting, so I'd very much like to apply! My application is pretty much finished (though I will re-read it in case there are typos that need to be fixed). If you feel like I should change or add anything, please let me know!

Application
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  • Name: Falrinor Yinven
  • Race: High Elf
  • Class: Arcane TricksterRogue
  • Background: Sage
  • Alignment: NG

Appearance
Since returning from death, Falrinor's nature as something less than alive is easily recognizable by his sallow, greyish skin. Dark veins snake visibly in his neck and near his blue eyes, which despite retaining their sparkling brightness have grown sunken. As a result of his transformation, the elf lets his long, dark hair frame his face, rather than wear it in the long braid he wore in life. Its sheen has disappeared, replaced by strands of dull grey.

Falrinor wears a long blue cape, its round bronze clasp keeping the garment in place around his shoulders and neck, obscuring more of his skin. Apart from this colourful cloak he wears simple, practical brown leathers, covered with small, dull metal plates, painted black to prevent them from reflecting light. His current attire is a far cry from the elegant, white and green robes Felrinor wore in life- a source of self-deprecating humour from the elf, even though he understands the need for such protection.

Falrinor wears no visible jewelry of any sort, having long since pawned such things to provide for his colleagues and students. However, dangling underneath his leather armour he keeps a necklace. It is a simple, rounded stone thing, hanging from a leather string, coloured red and sporting a stylized setting sun displayed in orange. The trinket doesn't seem to have any monetary value, but seems quite important no Falrinor nonetheless. He has a tattoo of a similar symbol on the back of both hands.

Personality
Remembering his profession as a teacher and mentor, Falrinor often wears a warm, kind smile. He enjoys seeing others work on a problem, and will often stand by and watch, providing just enough clues to help them figure it out for themselves. Such moments fill him with pride, stirring memories of his past life guiding his students. However, Falrinor lacks the pride of many of his colleagues- he does not think of himself as being above his students, doling out wisdom like a benevolent master. Rather, he thinks of himself as a fellow seeker of knowledge, who happens to have come across answers others might seek- and he, in turn, appreciates the lessons his students might have for him.

Falrinor possesses a quick wit, and an easy-going nature. He likes to crack jokes and has a generally positive attitude. Even now, in the morose lands of Darknor, the elf recognizes a few kind words and a laugh can be like a candle in the dark, lifting spirits and healing minds.

Despite his reserved disposition, Falrinor is easily bored. As a student, long before finding himself in Darknor, the elf would often sneak out of the temple where he lived to go celebrate in town. While age has tempered his rebellious streak somewhat, the teacher is still prone to growing annoyed with the overly tedious.

Since returning from death, Falrinor has acquired an obsession for revenge. Azalin's forces murdered his colleagues, friends and students- and Falrinor himself. While normally able to maintain his composure, the elf is consumed by a cold hate for these murderers and masters, and has vowed to deliver justice to as many of them as he can, in what little time he has left...

Backstory
Early in his childhood, Falrinor's parents, a pair of wealthy courtiers who felt their son should enjoy a proper education, sent him to study at a temple of Labelas Enoreth situated just a few miles out of town. The young elf proved himself an eager student, yet threathened to push his teachers to the brink of despair with his rebellious streak. As a child he would often act up, and during his teenage years he would often disappear from the temple grounds, sneaking off into the city to celebrate and blow off steam, or into the forests to hunt. Several times he was reprimanded for this behaviour- but far more often, he wasn't even caught. Eventually, as the years passed, Falrinor matured and lost some, though not all, of his wild streak.

As he reached adulthood, Falrinor grew to admire the passing of knowledge to younger generations- even if he disagreed with the rather stuffy methods employed by his teachers. Eventually he himself decided to become a teacher, following the necessary courses until eventually, he graduated and joined the ranks of those he once rolled his eyes at. He quickly made a name for himself among the students as a kind, inspiring teacher, who taught his students through the use of compelling stories and thought experiments, rather than bore them with overly long lectures. And over the years, his colleagues grew to respect him and his methods, even if they themselves kept to the old ways.

Then one moonless night, as the students slept and but a handful of teachers still pored over stacks of homework and lesson plans, the temple of Labelas was enveloped in a thick, choking mist. Unnerved by this unnatural phenomenon, the temple guards fetched some of the teachers to come and see what was happening. For a long time the teachers who followed the guards to the roof discussed the fog, but none of them could explain why it unnerved each of them so. That was, until one of them looked up, and to his horror saw that the stars had changed.

When a pale sun announced the dawn, the elves of the temple found they were no longer in their homeland. Whatever the mist was, it had transported them to an unfamiliar, eerie land. Through prayer and study, Labelas' faithful tried to find a way to return to their homeland- but found none. Eventually the temple's supplies ran dry, and they were forced to go out into this strange world. For many years, Falrinor and his peers learned how to survive the darkness, vanquishing beasts and forming mutually beneficial relations with nearby towns. Until finally, one dark day, the soldiers of Azalin came.

Whether they had come to secure the temple's tomes for their master, or simply sought to destroy the knowledge their jealous master could not claim was never explained. Labelas' faithful were killed- every student, every child, every teacher was put to the sword. Falrinor himself died upon the altar of his deity, trying but failing to ensconce his students there and dying in a futile attempt to protect them. The fight was over in less than an hour- the guards were few, and none within the temple's walls were trained to fight an army.

That was not the end of Falrinor's story. On the night after the bloodbath, his lifeless corpse suddenly gasped, his ragged lungs taking in air once more. Surrounded by the corpses of his students, Falrinor could do naught but cry at their ill fate. Only when the sun rose did he finally rise, wondering why he wasn't dead despite the ugly, deep wound in his abdomen. Looking towards the blood-stained symbol of Labelas upon the altar, Falrinor reached the only conclusion which made sense to him. He decided the deity of time and knowledge had granted him a little extra time, to avenge the deaths of His faithful and theft of so much lore. Bow in hand, the former teacher set forth, deciding to punish as many of Azalin's minions as possible before Labelas would finally grant him peace. Knowing he could not face the evil of Darknor alone, Falrinor set out to find allies in his fight against Azalin.

RP Sample

'Careful, now.'

Falrinor looked over Katya's shoulder, the young Darkonian woman intently staring at the barely visible thread and the spring mechanism on the ground it was attached to. Ever so cautiously, she walked backwards towards her trap, gently testing the thread. 'Remember, pull to hard and you'll set off the spring. Leave the thread slack, and it will not trigger even if a bear stumbled upon it.'

'Yes, skolotasj,' the woman breathed, frustration evident in her voice. Her ire was caused by her task, not by the elf- but Falrinor made a far easier target to lash out against. Falrinor simply smiled. It was a familiar sight- a student so engrossed in their studies that any distraction provoked vexation. It were these students, the elf had found, which were often the most elated when they finally passed their exam. For Katya, the subject was more practical than for most, but it was a lesson nonetheless.

'I told you before, Katya,' the elf's voice croaked. Once, his voice had been soothing. But that was before. Now his words were raspy, his lips and mouth perpetually dry. But still the elven teacher evoked that same sense of calm, instilling his students with a tranquil patience. 'Call me Falrinor. I've not been with your village long enough to have earned that title,' he assured her. Skoltasj. Teacher, mentor. Master. Back in the temple of Labelas Enoreth, where Falrinor had taught several classes to a multitude of students, such honorifics might've been prudent- though Falrinor would never insist on them. But here? 'And I doubt I shall linger much longer,' he murmured.

Katya kept her eyes on the thread, now mere steps away from the trap. But she could not keep herself from pressing the elf. 'You will leave soon, then?' she asked. There was a hint of dejection in the woman's voice, though she tried to remain nonchalant. 'Too bad. Few strangers in Darkon are kind. Few visitors lend a helping hand. You were different.'

'I know,' Falrinor said. It wasn't a boast- he had seen Darkonian hostility firsthand. It was born of desperation, of a life of poverty and want. It was something he could never learn- for he had not been born to this place, nor was he truly alive enough to concern himself with matters of survival. Knowing death was near erased the need to think about long-term survival. It was a burden he was sad to be free of. 'But there are things I must do, things I must achieve.' Murders he had to commit. 'And I do not know how much longer I have to complete my tasks.'

If the reminder of Falrinor's fast approaching end still shocked Katya, she hid it well. But she did not reply. Instead, she focused on her trap. Carefully, she pulled the thread taut, gently manipulating the hook at its end with one hand and the crossbow-like device with the other. With great precision, she attached the hook to the firing mechanism, and withdrew her hands. Letting out a sigh of relief, she turned to Falrinor, who beamed with pride even as his pupil grinned her contentment. 'Well done!' he brought out, clapping his hands thrice. 'You've crafted the components, measured the distance between the pressure plate and the crossbow, armed the device, and connected the two. Any woodland critter coming through here is going to have a very bad day,' he laughed.

'Now,' he bid her, 'all that remains is to hide the trap. You've shown excellent progress in previous sessions, but there are a few more tricks I'd like to show you to better cover the components.'

After all, the elf thought bitterly. A hare or pheasant might be fooled by the trap... But it would take more than this to trick Azalin's soldiers. Looking to Katya, Falrinor renewed his pledge to leave the young woman and her people with the knowledge they would need to protect themselves from their oppressors...


 
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Last edited by DemonSlayer; Jul 1st, 2022 at 01:43 PM.
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Old Today, 02:49 AM
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Application, WIPName: Nurufen Galanodel

Alignment: Lawful Good

Appearance: Nurufen is a moon elf of advanced age. Like most moon elves, her skin and hair are pale and her age is not obvious. While most clerics of her faith dressed in robes of grey or muted colours, Nurufen tends towards tastefully practical clothing of richer, bolder colours, trying to look pleasant and approachable while still maintaining an appropriate official dignity.

Backstory: The Galanodels were a family of elves in a mostly human town. Though they were proud of their elven culture and heritage, Nurufen's parents had no choice but to allow their daughter to socialize with human children. In her earliest years, she adapted easily to humanity's faster pace of life, but as the years passed, she struggled with the ever-clearer reality that she and they were not the same. Her childhood friends, got married, had children of their own, and eventually died of old age before Nurufen was even considered an elven adult. Her parents told her it was the human way to die swiftly, and the elven way to not grow attached to such mayflies, but she thought so much more like her human peers than her elven parents. As she got older, against her parents' wishes and advice, she married a human man and had four children. In the years that followed, burying her husband was devastating. The only thing worse was burying her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Nurufen's struggle to cope with the death of her loved ones led her to the Church of Kelemvor, first as an adherent, then as a priestess. Kelemvor's teachings didn't just ease her pain, they caused everything to make sense - the necessity of death and, by extension, the purpose of life. Her many years of service focused primarily on the education and counseling of the dying and bereaved, but she did see combat - opposing monsters, despots, and others that would bring unnaturally early death to people, and in particular, laying the undead to rest. Somewhat soft-hearted for a cleric of Kelemvor, she held herself to these principles:
  • Death is natural in every life. It is not to be feared, but understood, accepted, and in its time, welcomed.
  • Natural death is at the end of a full life. Premature death should be avoided.
  • Undeath should be rectified, not because it offends Kelemvor or any natural order, but because it prevents the undead from achieving their death.
  • Death is not an end, but a point in the soul's journey. Death is the means by which we reach the reward of a well-lived life.
  • Those that would bring death before its natural time, extend lives beyond their natural end, or violate the peace of the dead must be opposed.
Nurufen's health took a turn for the worse around her 600th year - somewhat early for an elf. Perhaps it was all the necromantic magic she'd been opposed to in her career, or living so human a life had burned her out before her time, or maybe she was just not of long-lived stock. For years, Nurufen had wondered if she would face her end with the same dignity she tried to bring others, but as it approached, she found it not just easy to accept, but a relief. She looked back on her life with a human perspective, and the weight of those centuries seemed so burdensome to her. She had lived a kind, accomplished, and full life; she could not ask for more, and had no wish to. In her 626th year, in a comfortable bed with her affairs in order, she breathed her last, content with a life well lived and ready for what lay beyond.

She is not happy to be back.

Personality: Nurufen is quiet and reserved, rarely raising her voice above a soft conversational tone. She takes no pleasure in violence and avoids it when possible, and when she cannot, utilizes it surgically and decisively as to minimize bloodshed and suffering. As a priestess of Kelemvor, she felt her true calling was education and counseling, and she always seeks to lend the afraid and bereaved her utmost in empathy and support.

Unlike most clerics of Kelemvor, she does not hate undead so much as she pities them. She sees them as having been robbed of the grace of death, victims either of others or their own fears. If possible, she will try to counsel them into accepting their death, though she knows from experience that this rarely is effective. She has a similar opinion of her own state; while she accepts the necessity of her current life (or undeath?), she does not appreciate her second lease on life, and hopes to return to death after her mission is complete.

Roleplay sample: WIP
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