Fantasy The Little Things - Submissions

Aurelian (wip)

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Strawberry locks fall gently to his waist, at times appearing golden in the sunlight. He generally keeps it tied up into a high ponytail most days. His piercing golden eyes stare out at the world with mischief, shaded by thick eyelashes. His flawless, porcelain skin tends to burn easily in the sun and there is always a natural flush in his cheeks; a button nose sitting above full lips that always seem to be curled up into a smile.

His lithe and willowy build is defined by lean muscles from when he used to live under the water; they have softened some since moving to land but he keeps active around the barber shop and at times he will go for walks around the town.

His brother spent too long in his Deep Sea Form and went feral soon after his return to the shallows. He attacked Aurelian's Pod and Aurelian himself was the only survivor, left with deep claw marks across his throat that has permanently damaged his vocal cords. Unable to bear the painful reminder of what he has lost, Aurelian moved above the water, where he is employed at a bakery.

His mastery of Threads of the Sea is rather high, due to the fact that he predominantly lives above the water and uses it for his clothing. His favorite type of clothing to make are sweaters and other soft articles of clothing and his least favorite pieces of clothing are hats; he doesnt really like the way they feel on his head so he tends to avoid wearing them.

He has a very basic control over water and at times this control is fragile and bends to the will of any strong emotions that he is feeling.

Number One: wip
Number Two: wip
Number Three: wip
Number Four: wip

Work in Progress

Work in Progress

None of the art displayed within this code is my own. All art was found on Pinterest but no artist was listed.

• He generally wears high-neck shirts or any article of clothing that is able to help hide the scars on his throat.
• Due to his throat injury, any attempt at producing sounds can be uncomfortable, and at times painful for him, so he tends to stay silent as much as he can.
• He desperately wants to form connections with people but at the same time he tries to maintain distance out of fear of losing anyone else that he cares about.
• Sometimes will seek out physical closeness with someone against his better judgement; he can't help it, he's touch-starved and lonely.
• He will find your last nerve and tap dance on top of it.
• Love language is physical touch, most definitely touch-starved.
• Flirts with others in a teasing manner but will become a flustered mess if anyone flirts back.
• Will collapse like a house of cards the second someone with a more dominant personality gives him push back.
• Problems? What’s problems, he’s fine.
• Dramatically leans on stuff; Does not sit on furniture the way it is intended: Drapes himself across armchairs, sits backwards in chairs, etc
• Has frequent nightmares but will pretend he doesn't know what you're talking about if asked about them; Careful of waking him up, he wakes up swinging.
• Very protective of those he cares about; Can and will throw hands to keep them safe.
• Will occasionally try and feed people he cares for.
• Scrunches his nose when he is confused about something.
• Fidgets with things like his hair whenever he is nervous.
• Terrible to share the same bed with, tends to cling to whoever has the unfortunate circumstances of having to sleep in close quarters to him.
• Hums softly to himself whenever he is concentrating on something.
• Wraps his arms around himself to self-sooth.
• Restless at night due to nightmares, sometimes gets very little sleep because of it. Likes to sit and listen to the rain, it helps calm his over-whelmed mind.
• Sketches in his free time, is actually a good artist despite what his hand-writing might make you think.
• Terrible sweet tooth, can absolutely be bribed with something sweet.
• Tends to smell like lilacs from the oil he uses in his hair.

Vivianna

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Vivianna is a small and unusually scrawny woman in her mid-twenties. Vivianna makes little effort to maintain her appearance and only does so for special occasions. Her messy hair is jet black, and is often either tied in a sloppy ponytail or left to flow down her back. The most recognizable feature of her face is her black eye color and her eye bags which never seem to go away. The way she presents herself to others is reflective of her personality, real and honest. Her voice is rather monotone, almost tired sounding, and the expression she always has on her face is stoic, unchanging, sometimes she almost looks annoyed which may prevent others from attempting to interact with her. She almost never smiles or shows any real emotion externally, even if her internal thoughts would suggest otherwise.

In terms of clothing, Vivianna dresses in a rather masculine manner. Often wearing very baggy shirts and pants that are either black or some other dark color. Otherwise she will often be seen in poorly put together suits and ties, causal caps or her work uniform. Vivianna will almost never wear bright colors, extravagant outfits or makeup. Regardless of the occasion you will never see Vivianna in a dress. Lastly, Vivianna prefers hats above all else, as when she’s wearing them those who look at her won’t have to gain a full view of her face.

Vivianna is part Japanese. Her father, an unknown government official, came to Italy before World War I. During his time within the country the man would go on to have an affair with Vivianna’s mother Florella. That is how Vivianna, the illegitimate child, would be conceived. Growing up Vivianna was very isolated from her peers and the rest of society. She was often picked on for her race and her differences from the other kids. Her home life wasn’t any different. Because of the affair Vivianna’s mother had with the japanese man, her marriage would fall apart, leaving her alone with a young Vivianna and four other sons. Vivianna was often the target of ridicule from her mother, as Florella would blame her for her husband leaving, and a lot of the times would even lock Vivianna out of the house if she made her angry. The two would constantly get into arguments and even physical exchanges that often had to be broken up by the older brothers.

Vivianna’s family always had to struggle to get by. Her brothers who were much older than her, didn’t attend any schooling and worked in factories and other labor-inducing jobs. Her mother worked long hours selling textiles, which left Vivianna home alone most days. She was expected to clean the house and cook for her family when they got back. When she was not doing those things, she was out. Vivianna was a rambunctious teenager, if she wasn’t stealing she was shouting at adults and fighting the other kids at her school. It wasn’t long before Vivianna stopped attending any tutoring, because she just wasn’t cut out for anything of the sort. Her mother, Florella would curse at her, threaten to have her kicked out, but before anything of the sort could happen, she would unexpectedly die in her sleep. Vivianna would go on to move in with her oldest brother, Dante. She began to over indulge in gambling, which would land her in massive amounts of debt. Her brother would eventually kick her out over this too. She would then spend years, either homeless or surfing from place to place. Eventually she decided to save money to leave all together, and only ten months ago, packed everything she had and moved to Sardinia.

Because of Vivianna’s rather small build, she’s not exactly the most physically capable. Vivianna tends to shine in areas outside of combat, such as the dexterity she has with her hands (lock-picking), and how easily she can catch on when learning things for the first time.

Having just moved here, Vivianna has no thoughts on the murder of Sardo Ramene. The only things she’s heard about the man is through conversations and articles. Before, she had little intentions of involving herself in such an event, afterall it isn’t her job or place. But what first started as a wandering thought turned into curiosity, and then into unintentional eavesdropping at The Leon, because when alcohol is in the mix, people tend to lose themselves the most. Vivianna doesn’t actively look for information on the murder, but as she learned more it began to bug her a bit. A man, so beloved by the community, murdered? And for the first time in what, fifty years? It’s strange. Vivianna isn’t exactly the most upstanding person, but she does think that the murder of a beloved figure is wrong. Despite how much she resented her mother she was ruined when she died, and she could only imagine how the family of the deceased felt. She won’t be willing to do a full investigation on her own, though, but with the encouragement of others or with the revealment of more evidence it wouldn’t be off the table completely.

Vivianna has the rationality and intelligence to help progress the main plot and she can serve as a voice of reason, keeping others focused on the tasks at hand. She can also contribute to side stories through her willingness to listen to others. If they have a deep enough connection, they can help her with the baggage and internal struggles that she possesses.

I found this art on Pinterest, but I couldn’t find the artist's name. This FC is a temporary one though, I like to draw my OCs but I’m too lazy right now. If I get accepted and the roleplay picks up I’ll replace it with one drawn by myself.

Vivianna often has problems with sleeping and eating, and will often forget about those tasks. That is why she is so skinny and why she constantly is tired. If woken up she will be much more annoyed and snappy than normal, often wanting to be left alone. This is another one of those rare times where you might get a rise out of her if you decide to talk her ear off in the early morning. The same thing applies to hangovers.

Vivianna isn’t exactly the most easy person to get a hold of. She doesn’t like to tell people her whereabouts, so if you know her the only guaranteed time you’ll be able to catch her sound is when she’s at work or anything within that window. Otherwise she’d be at her small apartment (with a high likelihood of her already being drunk or sleeping), out at the local casinos, or at the bars of Tubero. Sometimes she will visit local shops for paint and other hobby related things, but that’s most Vivianna will do. If it isn’t something urgent like her missing rent or groceries, then don’t expect to Vivianna show up anywhere on time, let alone show up at all.

Vivianna is very unpopular in Tubero. Because of her unkempt appearance and dangerous habits, there are many rumors surrounding her which prevent her from having many relationships. Vivianna isn’t exactly bothered by this (well, a little) and does little to dispel those rumors. Still, she avoids many people within Tubero who believe those things about her.
- “I try to pay no mind to all those rumors. If people want to make up pointless stories about me, they can go right ahead. That’s not my problem.”
Regarding her reputation

In terms of romantic relationships, pulling heartstrings will not result in anything happening between the two, just that they have a stronger bond. Whether or not they will have a romantic bond is up to me. Vivianna very much dislikes sudden romantic advances or comments, and will either leave or quickly clarify her own thoughts if one is made. Especially if it is by someone who she has no strong ties with.

Vivianna is emotionally intelligent, and she won’t purposely anger people. If a subject is bothering someone, she will drop it, it’s just not worth the headache. But on the other hand, she is brutally honest even if it hurts feelings. Vivianna won’t ever agree with you or play into one’s feelings. If she believes something, then she will voice it when asked.

Common mannerisms of Vivianna is her unwillingness to look people in the eye when something is bothering her. Vivianna overall isn’t a fidgety person, when she’s nervous or uncomfortable it often won’t be obvious at first, but like how she always acts when she’s in a uncomfortable position, she will leave or try to cut the conversation short.

Just a little fun fact, Vivianna has a terrible phobia of water, more specifically swimming, which is a little strange since her main place of work is by a beach. She has since learned to live with it, but she’d rather die than get into any ocean or body of water that she can’t stand in. On top of this she also really dislikes boats and deals with severe sea sickness.

Vivianna also prefers baggy clothing to conceal her body. Vivianna also hates candy and sweets in general. She very much prefers spicy foods.

Sister Sybilla

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Draped in the purity of pristine white, Sybilla emits an aura that is both captivating and unsettling. Her robe, fashioned from the finest silk, billows around her form in ghostly whispers, adorned with a subtle display of crosses and delicate floral patterns. In the interplay of light, the care woven into its fabric is revealed, while ornamental trims grace its edges, sleeves, and neckline with the artistry of botanical motifs.

Light seems to bend around her, casting subtle prisms of color that flicker and fade with each step she takes in her plain black slip-ons. A light veil, reminiscent of gossamer, drapes over her head and shoulders, cloaking her features with a mystical charm. Adorned with lace as fine as a spider's web, a dark headband, embroidered with intricate patterns, holds it securely in position, veiling her gaze from sight.

Her adornments are minimal; a rosary with a cross pendant rests at her neckline, reserved for moments of prayer and devotion rather than vanity. Alongside, a silver ring encircles her finger, a token bestowed upon taking her religious vows, a symbol of her dedication to God. Its design is understated yet refined, with clean lines and minimal embellishments.

Apart from her religious uniform, Sybilla, tall and slender, exudes a quiet strength, her movements fluid and unhurried, as if she exists outside the constraints of mortal time. Beneath the veil, her complexion glows with a ghostly luminescence, like moonlight cast on freshly fallen snow. Strands of pale, blonde hair cascade around her like a mist, each strand shimmering with a spectral sheen. Her features are delicate yet hauntingly beautiful, from the graceful arch of her brows to the soft curve of her lips, tinged with a hint of pink hue.

Contrary to expectations of a soft, wandering gaze, her eyes are instead pools of azure, muted and indistinct, as if seen through frosted glass. Despite holding a faint glimmer of light, there is an underlying sense of detachment, as if she views the world through a cloud. However, her gaze holds a depth that belies her lack of sight, as if she can peer into unseen realms. There is a quiet acceptance in her expression, like she has long since made peace with her condition and finds solace in the darkness.

But perhaps the most striking aspect is the Thurible she carries, a mystical item that seems to pulse with an energy all its own. As the Thurible swings gently from side to side, it emits a soft chiming sound, the bells adorning its frame ringing out in a melody that reverberates quietly through the air. As the smoke from its magical incense curls and twists around her, she almost appears like a graveyard phantom. One cannot help but feel a sense of both awe and unease. Yet, beneath the surface, there lies a gentle soul, eager to lend aid and guidance to those who seek her counsel.

!!! STILL A WIP !!!

--- part 1

At just four weeks old, I was left on the steps of a church in the quiet outskirts of Tubero.

It's all a blur, really, at that tender age. But the sisters told me it was a tranquil night, the stars hiding behind thick clouds. I must have been an unusual sight – not a whimper escaped my lips. I was nestled snugly in a blanket, a silent bundle left in a gift basket, awaiting the arrival of my new guardians. A slip of paper accompanied me, bearing the name Sybilla scrawled hastily across it. It’s ironic, to receive a name from the same hands that would leave me behind.

Later in life, I discovered the meaning of my given name, oracle. Almost prophetic, considering the path my life has taken.

Anyhow, the nuns welcomed me into the church that fateful night, the priest by their side. A nurse was summoned to assess my health, and aside from my sight, I was deemed perfectly healthy. I had "clouded eyes", much like the night that bore witness to my arrival— the nurse called it congenital cataracts.

Without pause, the priest proceeded with the sacramental baptism.

Oddly enough, I can still feel the cool trickle of holy water run down my face, or hear the whispers of sacred incantations. And then, with a blessing, he bestowed upon me a surname:

De Luce,
of Light.

Sybilla De Luce,
Oracle of Light.

It does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it? I've grown rather fond of it over the years. To think, my destiny etched into my very name. But I digress, such thoughts are best left to the mysteries of divine providence.

--- part 2

Perhaps it was out of compassion that the priest decided to reach out to the sisterhood monastery, perched high in the northern mountains overlooking Tubero.

Sister Irene, a witch nun, was the one who whisked me away to begin my journey within their devout community. In fact, it was both Sister Irene and Sister Zoe who became my guiding lights, nurturing me amidst the walls of our faith.

Sister Zoe, in particular, shared a kinship with me, having experienced some vision loss in her adult life. She was just the right mentor to guide me, teaching nuances that only a blind child would understand.

The nuns took it upon themselves to impart a little culture to those left on their doorstep. Painting sessions became our sanctuary, though my creations often earned the title of "abstract" and "interpretive".

I still have one of my early masterpieces tucked away somewhere. It was a painting of a moth, fluffy wings and all, with antennae that could rival the town's church spires. That moth was a regular visitor before bedtime, always fluttering by my bedside lamp. There was something comforting about the soft rustle of its wings, harmonizing with the gentle hum of the light. It was like my own personal lullaby, never failing to drift me to slumber whenever I was feeling particularly stubborn. One time, it even perched on my finger when I reached out. I tell you, it felt like it could cover my whole palm!

As I grew older, more complex activities were added; sewing, carving, pottery - you name it, we tried it. It was a messy affair, I always had one of the sisters hovering nearby, guiding my little clumsy hands.

And don't get me started on embroidery! There were moments when those needles left my poor fingers pricked and bleeding. I'd wail like a banshee whenever it happened, that metallic scent was enough to send my senses into overdrive. But amidst the tears and tantrums, there were triumphs too. Sister Irene and I persevered through the pain to embroider a headband. Despite the occasional finger pricking, the end result was worth every drop. I'll never forget the sensation of running my bandaged fingers along the textures of our collective craftsmanship.

And to top it all off, I got to wear it like a crown, feeling like the most regal princess this side of Sardinia.

As for Sundays, they were like our little slice of heaven. We'd shuffle into the choir loft, surrounded by the echoes of angelic voices. The music had this magical way of wrapping around you, lifting your spirits. Sister Zoe was always nudging me with that mischievous tone in her voice.

"Come on, Sybilla," she'd whisper, "why don’t you give it a try?"

The butterflies in my stomach could've rivaled a flock of startled doves. So, I remained a silent admirer, too bashful to add my voice to their heavenly chorus. Sister Zoe caught me humming to myself once or twice, and she took it upon herself to try and teach me the ways of song.

--- part 3

At the tender age of six, a new presence graced my world – Brother Dominic. Through the persuasion of the sisters, the priest agreed to summon a tutor from Cagliari, inviting him to our monastery to teach me to read and write in anticipation of my first steps into formal education.

Brother Dominic was a patient soul. Under his guidance, he dove right into teaching me braille. We delved into the scriptures, the nuns insisting it was essential for me to get familiar with the holy book. I can still recite one of my cherished verses from our readings, a passage from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, A Time for Everything.

3 There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Back then, I didn't quite grasp the full meaning of it all, but it's funny how those words stick with you. Indeed, there's a time for everything, even the uncertainties of life. Every thread has its purpose, and we're simply striving to find our place within its design, wouldn't you agree?

Reading braille became like second nature to me. Brother Dominic couldn't have been prouder of my swift progress, taking just shy of a year to master the alphabet. Bless his heart, he was so impressed that he gifted me the very braille typewriter we practiced on, telling me to keep it close for my upcoming school studies. His generosity and my hard work... well, it all built up to the anticipation of my first day of school.

Living up in the mountains had its charms, to be sure, but convenient access to education wasn't among them. It was quite the trek, a good hike of several miles down to the nearest village. Poor Sister Irene, she bore the brunt of our journey to Saint Helena Academy. Little did she know that these walks would become our ritual for another seven years, a time spent filled with laughter, chatter, and the occasional stumble over a stray rock.

Oh, the stories Sister Irene would share along the way! Even when the sun was hesitant to greet us with its warmth in the early mornings, her anecdotes never failed to brighten the start to my day.

Saint Helena Academy was an all-girls elementary school run by the nuns in the village, so it felt like home in a way. It provided some comfort in the midst of new beginnings. Sister Irene would hand me over to one of the nuns entrusted with my care, a stern and no-nonsense woman whom I came to know as Sister Rosa.

Her demeanor was a stark contrast to Sister Irene's warmth, and her guiding hand felt more like a forceful tug as she led me through the halls.

"Now, child," she'd say, "this is the homeroom, and over there is the... well, it's over there."

Hm, the joys of verbal directions when you can't quite see where "over there" is.

Her voice had this certain... weariness to it, as if she'd carried the weight of the world on her shoulders for too long. And whenever I'd ask a question, she'd give me that sigh, you know the one, like I'd just asked her to recite the entire Book of Psalms backwards.

Sister Rosa deposited me at my desk with a firm pat on the shoulder. I found myself hardly paying attention to the teacher's lectures, my mind wandering back to the familiar corridors of the monastery. And when break finally arrived, I felt adrift without Sister Irene or Zoe to talk to, or anyone else for that matter.

Tentatively, I rose from my seat, my head tilted this way and that, trying to decipher the voices around me in the classroom layout. Every footfall felt like a gamble, tiptoeing through a field of landmines, praying I wouldn't trip over my own two feet.

And there it was— a bump, a jolt, a surprise meeting that left both me and the girl I stumbled into flustered.

But there was this... sensation… like….

A pebble causing ripples in a pond?
A breeze stirring through a wheat field?
A drop of ink spreading on a blank sheet of paper?

It’s a strange feeling that I can’t quite put into words. There was a dance of energies, a subtle shift in the air around me. What I read was the aura of that girl, jittery and erratic, as though I’ve always had this sense. In that moment I became aware of every motion, every disturbance in the space surrounding us, akin to a newfound consciousness of my own breath.

Apologies spilled from my lips, cheeks burning with embarrassment as I retreated to the safety of my desk. I kept to myself for the remainder of the hours, and Sister Rosa ended up glued to my side for the rest of the day, probably to prevent any more collisions with unsuspecting classmates.

--- part 4

It wasn't until several weeks of attending classes at the school that the realization dawned on me:

My visual experiences were non-existent.

Gradually, small moments and situations began to surface, revealing disparities between myself and my classmates. I found myself handling tasks that others seemed to effortlessly accomplish, forcing me to recognize the "unconventional" nature of my perception of life. Prior to this revelation, I never understood the existence of a sense beyond the four that I had. The concept of sight was foreign to me, something I had never fathomed until confronted with the disparity between my own sensory experiences and those of others.

It was during our language class, we were given an assignment to write a poem that spoke to a cherished memory. My classmates dove headfirst into crafting verses filled with picturesque scenes straight out of novels—

“The sunset paints the horizon in hues of gold and red,”
“Clouds like cotton candy swirl and twirl in the endless sky,”
“City lights twinkle like gems, a nocturnal constellation.”

I listened attentively to their recollections, comparing them to my own. There's no cinematic montage playing in my mind's eye, no panoramic views to speak of.

My head felt strangely empty, all I could think about was the mix of flavors in my last meal or the harmonious melodies from the choir.

I began to struggle to articulate memories devoid of visual stimuli.

I must confess, there were moments when I succumbed to despair, questioning why fate had bestowed me this unique burden. In my nightly prayers, I pleaded with God, seeking answers to the unanswerable: why me?

At times, I entertained fantasies that my blindness was but a passing phase, a temporary affliction of youth that would soon be overcome. But, with each passing day, the reality of my condition made it clear that wasn’t the case.

I found myself in a cycle of mourning, grappling with the loss of something I never truly had in the first place. It was a paradoxical lamentation, mourning the absence of experiences and possibilities that could have been mine. Would my life have unfolded differently had I been blessed with sight? Would I have been spared the heartache of abandonment, or would fate have charted a different path regardless? Would I have seen the faces of my friends, my family? What kind of expressions would they have?

The prospect of venturing beyond the monastery began to evoke an overwhelming fear within me. Each loud and sudden sound would cause my heart to lurch in my chest, my muscles to tense involuntarily; they still do.

I couldn’t think, and in those moments I sought for security in the presence of a sister— any sister— clinging to the fabric of their uniforms like a lifeline. Just to have something to ground me. There came a point where I couldn’t cope with the anxiety anymore, and stopped my attendance at school for a time.

One evening, Sister Zoe sensed those feelings within me and approached with gentle concern, taking a seat at the edge of my bed. As I huddled beneath my blanket, my eyes swollen and red from tears, she shared her story with me.

She recounted how she had lost her sight at 20. She spoke of the overwhelming fear that gripped her in unfamiliar surroundings, how her heart pounded at the thought of navigating on her own. She recounted the incident where, while walking with a friend, her vision finally faded into darkness. Without warning, the world went blank, and she found herself tumbling to the ground, not being able to see where she was falling.

Her knees were bloodied and swollen for weeks.

Sister Zoe gave me a bell afterwards, its delicate chime reminiscent of a Christmas ornament, suspended by a fine thread. She told me to rely on it whenever I felt lost or scared. And rely on it I did, clinging to it like a talisman of protection, its soft metallic tinkling guiding me around. At first, using it to traverse seemed daunting, but with each jingle, there was a sense of reassurance. It became more than just a tool for navigation; it was a part of Sister Zoe, her spirit echoing in its every sound. I wore it proudly around my wrist, allowing its jingle to accompany me to school.

In addition to the bell, Sister Irene took it upon herself to deepen my understanding of auras, to strengthen my sense of energy. She advocated for additional lessons on the matter during my magic classes, ensuring that I received the support and guidance needed to be able to use this ability to my advantage, as my own metaphorical pair of eyes.

It’s all thanks to them that I now possess such remarkable abilities in aura reading.

That I'm here, where I am today.

The thurible enhances her ability to sense auras, especially when filled with enchanted incense and ignited. Additionally, the chiming bells serve as a form of echolocation. She can perceive the energy that the smoke carries, enabling her to discern the shape of her environment. Currently, she has three unique types of incense, each tailored for a specific spell.


Divine Rejuvenation: The scent of eucalyptus rises gently as the spell is invoked through the incense. Wisps of smoke coil and swirl around those within its range, a comforting presence that promises solace and restoration. This eucalyptus-infused essence serves not only to soothe wounds but also to fortify against magical harm, weaving a protective barrier around those it touches. As the smoke seeps into flesh and spirit alike, vitality is replenished, strength renewed, and clarity of mind restored.
━ ❝Lord, grant healing and protection to those in need, that they may be strengthened in body and soul.❞

Guiding Grace: Sandalwood-infused smoke wafts through the air, manifesting as a luminous trail, an otherworldly pathway leading towards safety and sanctuary. Illuminating the darkness of uncertainty, each drifting wisp serves as a beacon of hope and direction, offering reassurance to those who tread upon its path. Doubt dissipates, replaced by the steadfast confidence of progress and protection.
━ ❝Guide us, O God, with your wisdom and light, that we may walk in your paths and fulfill your will.❞

Sacred Serenity: Infused with the delicate aroma of jasmine incense, is a spell of unity and tranquility. Its harmonizing smoke gently diffuses through the air, casting a serene aura over all within its radius. Tensions dissolve, replaced by a sense of calm and understanding. Allies and adversaries alike find themselves drawn together in shared peace and cooperation. It stands as a testament to the power of compassion, creating a safe haven where all are welcomed with open arms.
━ ❝Grant us unity of heart and mind, O Lord, that we may be one in faith, hope, and love, as you are one with the Father and the Holy Spirit.❞


Note: The incense smoke doesn't obscure everything in a fog. The duration of each spell aligns with the time it takes for the incense to burn out.

TBA

Number 1: TBD
Number 2: TBD
Number 3: ???
Number 4: ???
Number 5: ???

TBA

TBA

1. The art of the main image is done by Momota.
2. The art of the two moths in the 'Basic' section is done by Cecile Berrube.
3. The art banner in the 'History' section is done by Qunqing.
4. The art in the 'Play' section is a classical piece done by Timoleon Сarl von Neff (Russian, 1805 -1876), "Angel with thurible."
5. Gallery art, top left, is done by Pilyeon.
6. Gallery art, bottom left, is done by Ringustav.
7. Gallery art, right, is also done by Momota.
8. Pfp art is drawn by me.

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Integer facilisis ipsum elit. Etiam efficitur enim tellus, in pharetra ante feugiat rhoncus. Cras vel nibh sollicitudin, feugiat felis in, pellentesque odio. Donec lacus nisl, facilisis ac malesuada non, faucibus eu turpis.
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"Amadeo"

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Amadeo thrives on the idea of being the odd one out in a crowd of blank faces. A clown, a star, a freak; it doesn't matter how one may describe his appearance or his clothes. As long as people look at him, he's done his job correctly.

So it's no wonder that his glossy black hair is streaked with bright purple, yellow and pink. Standing out regardless of his hairstyle, which is usually a high or low ponytail. Firm lips and piercing eyes are pulled up in a perpetual grin that is glued to his face, promising that an unsupervised moment with him will end in something being broken or missing. His irises appear to harbour the same iridescent violet as his long nails, suggesting a possible magical influence, and given that Amadeo is a loyal customer of Sweetrose Potionarie, this is quite a likely assumption. With long legs and sleek shoulders, Amadeo carries himself with an elegance and authority befitting his family quo, but buried beneath his hunched back and dragging feet when unmotivated or bored, it quickly disappears.

Much of his wardrobe supports his loud lifestyle, sprouting exciting colours and mismatched patterns that he prefers to interchange without much rhythm to it. His heeled boots are sure to announce his presence and generally it's not uncommon to see him change his clothes several times a day. His accessories in particular seem to come and go as he sees fit. However, one thing he would always disapprove of is hats. They don't go with his hairstyle or face and have always quite annoyed him. Amadeo does own a fedora, but even that one is in daily danger of being recycled so that he can make something more useful out of it.

〝The surname 'Rubellite' and all the heritage that goes with it are as fake as the gems that adorn my dearest father's brooch whenever another of his business dinners calls for a well-dressed ass-kisser. Though my parents, and everyone in the pod before them, may brag about their supposed connection to some ancient noble bloodline, I can assure you it's all smoke and mirrors. What proof is there to be found in worn-out texts or depictions easily fabricated by anyone with two grains in their grey matter? It's infuriating and frankly quite pathetic.〞

〝Naturally, they raised us with responsibilities and expectations as if we were heirs to a throne. Their obsession with perfection rubbed off on us and affected my brother quite seriously. He would be scared to death every time he came back with results that were not up to their standards, which was more often than not. Can't say I was much better.〞

〝Growing up, we were taught by private tutors, public education was beneath us, and since our pod had strong connections and a long history on the surface, most of our childhood was already spent above the waves rather than below them. We did, however, visit our Current regularly and also trained our abilities. Wouldn't be very noble if you couldn't even control a simple wave, would it?〞

〝Eventually I had enough, and as one thing led to another, I soon found myself with my back to the closed doors of my home. Or, well, ex-home would be more accurate. In any case, it seems that my parents weren't quite sure what to do with me, considering their reputations was on the line, the rumour mills turning, and Vittorio hovering over their shadows. On another note, that was such a shocking surprise. It would be the first and last time I'd see my twin sticking to an opinion that hadn't been chewed up and put in his mouth by someone else. Congratulations and my condolences. Anyway, they started giving me money. At first I assumed it was just a temporary measure; for as long as the sensational story lasted, but surprisingly, the gold river continues to this day. Makes you wonder if they just simply forgot...〞

〝Of course, it was a relief not to have to worry about financial matters and to be able to follow my interests in peace and quiet. Jumping from one craft to another, I didn't expect to settle down in what in my current field. If you'd told me ten years ago that I'd be painting faces on matryoshka dolls and sewing flowers into flannel, I'd probably have laughed at you and thrown a few ice cubes down your shirt. Tides do turn wildly.〞

〝Some people have asked me why I would buy a doomed shop like 'Gilded Memories', and frankly, if you've got the money, your purchases will look increasingly absurd as time goes on. As someone who takes private commissions, I think I have the experience to back up this belief. Anyway, you don't need to worry your little head about it. It's just another meaningless acquisition of mine. A passing hobby, if you like to put a label on it.〞

A basic proficiency of Threads of the Sea. Simple colours, designs and patterns. Considering that Amadeo prefers to make his clothes out of actual fabric to wear, and that his parents never put as much emphasis on this skill as they did on other aspects, he never saw the need to improve much.


However, as hinted, it was fundamental to his family to have a strong mastery of their water influence. This early training successfully made Amadeo one of the few people for whom the term 'control' is more applicable. Large amounts of water do not seem to bother him much, and even great distances are of little concern to him. His grasp remains steadfast, allowing even the most intricate and finely regulated flows.

The only thing Amadeo is constantly struggling with is stopping his subconscious from manipulating the nearest water sources. If he is sufficiently angered, water will lash out like a whip, trying to hurt or drive away the cause of his distress. Although no one has ever been seriously injured, it irritates Amadeo immensely that he can't control it properly. On a more amusing note, Amadeo also has noticed that whenever he is excited or happy, the water around him tends to taste sweet, while boredom turns it stale.

His parents were also particularly proud of their pod's specific technique, which allowed them to dye the water a variety of colours; mostly deviating to subtle shades of crimson that symbolised their Current. Amadeo thinks this particular application is rather boring and usually prefers to go for bright neon pinks or purples.

If it hadn't been his own curiosity that had led him to Ramene's murder, it would certainly have been when his younger twin knocked on his door two days after the event. Rarely does Vittorio arrive at his door with a demand on his lips rather than a simple request, and while it was tempting to just slam the door in his face and call it a day, Amadeo couldn't help but be intrigued by the circumstances that led to his arrival. What was the reason for his sudden interest in a case that had nothing to do with either of them?

Aside from the excitement and attention that solving a murder mystery will bring to Amadeo, it's also in his interest to get Vittorio to owe him a favour and find out what makes this murder so special in his mind.

With his unique set of skills, position and connections, Amadeo is able to assist the main plot with specific knowledge and large financial funds. Eager to help, regardless of the consequences, as long as it excites him, Amadeo will be a colourful - and sometimes disruptive - addition to any investigation.

His playful but rather distant nature can make it difficult to develop proper relationships and subplots, but those willing to stick around and put up with him will surely be rewarded. Most of the time he means no real harm.

Number 1: [LOCKED]
Number 2: [LOCKED]
Number 3: [LOCKED]
Number 4: A thoughtful gift
Number 5: [LOCKED]
Number 6: [LOCKED]

None of the pictures are my own. All of them were taken off of pinterest and have no quoted artist.

Lost cause when it comes to cooking. Mostly orders takeaway from restaurants or relies on the frozen section of the grocery store. His food almost always ends up burnt, undercooked or too salty for any palate. The few people who have dared to eat his cooking have all ended up with severe stomach pains and had to rest the whole next day.

Has a great sense of direction and an internal clock. When he was younger he tried to impress his parents with accurately telling the current time of the day. They were certainly not impressed.

Amadeo is ambidextrous simply because he forced himself to use both hands while learning to write. He always had an easier time using his left hand, but to this day he refuses to admit it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Dr.

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A woman of short and sweet stature, she is built with a full chest, slender waist, and graceful limbs. She is petite and has the posture of a woman well-versed in mid-society etiquette. With her porcelain complexion, she could sometimes be mistaken as a real-life doll. Her keen emerald eyes are something she inherited from her late mother. Her father would often remind her of this fact. While her mother bestowed her with beautiful viridescent eyes, her father blessed her with thick, wavy ebony locks. In specific lighting, it can be seen as a darker shade of brown, but its actual colour is jet black. It is long and well-kept; it stretches to her upper thigh.

Zarina’s everyday public wear often includes bows and skirts with subtle ruffles. She doesn't shy away from bright and colourful tones; her wardrobe is filled with dresses. She can rarely be seen in pants; she's extremely fond of wearing skirts and the girlish charms they exude. It is a wardrobe fitting for the daughter of a high-ranking Guard. She is well-supplied with the clothing she wishes to wear. Often, she can be seen with a ribbon tied at the back of her head, supporting the same colours as her dress.

A natural-born native of Cagliari, she has been well-versed in their culture and tongue since birth. Both her parents are born witches. Her father has dedicated himself to the service of the Guard ever since he was young. He comes from a long line of protectors and has preserved peace and order as diplomatically as possible. He is the perfect diligent father for a petite young lady. From the tales her father told her of her mother, she was kind and gentle and would’ve made a fantastic mother. Battista Corsentino is an honest man, and keeping the truth from her daughter is something he’s not very fond of.

Once Zarina becomes curious about her missing mother, Battista builds enough courage to tell her the truth. At the cost of Zarina’s birth, her mother’s own life had to be taken away. Her father assured Zarina it wasn’t her fault; her mother wished her to live a happy life.

For the majority of Zarina’s childhood, she only had her father; the bond they forged during this period remains strong and unyielding. Her father taught her multiple lessons that she would need growing up: how to cook for herself, do the laundry, wash the dishes, clean properly, and make her bed. Through his teaching, she soon became self-reliant, running the entire household at the tender age of ten. In her free time, she would educate herself with the piano her mother loved.

Religion has been a part of her life for as long as she can remember. Her father was the sole reason for her involvement in the church. Her father told stories of how her mother stayed faithful to the church and its teachings. Zarina and her father often attended the appropriate masses and participated in church activities. Zarina devoted herself to the church’s principles to honour her mother's memories. As time passes, Zarina has chosen to participate on her own accord, often making her father comically jealous.

She became an academic in school. She has devoted herself to the church and her studies. Her father stresses the importance of learning, its benefits, and the caveats of not having an education.

She was unsure what to do at a point in her childhood. At fourteen, a choice must be made for young witches. Around that time, she discovered that she drew her magical power from within herself, declaring herself an Ito Witch. She has considered her options, and yet nothing has appealed to her.

So fate decided to choose for her. One day, she was waiting for her father to return. A little girl sat on the window sill late evening, anxiously awaiting her father’s overdue arrival. Zarina held a strong hope for her father’s well-being. But when this was the first time he had been late, Zarina’s hope slowly crumbled, and anxiety took its place. The night was filled with waiting and bore fruitless; her father remained unseen and unsafe in her eyes. When the sun rose from the horizon, Zarina took it upon herself to find him. Being a native, she knew the streets at the back of her hand and quickly located a Guard post.

And there she was met with conviction and purpose. Seeing her father battered and injured made her weep for many nights; the thought of losing him was heartbreaking for young Zarina. How the medics cared for her father and assured her with kindness and gentle words showed how the profession reflected her personal and religious principles. While weeping on top of her father’s unconscious chest, she made a personal vow to herself that death would no longer step inside the Corsentino household.

Zarina was not a magically gifted child, but her teachers noted that she would be one of the few witches who needed time to hone her skills and talents. And that is precisely what Zarina proved when she entered the Technical School of Veterinary Science, Pharmacy, and Related Magic. At the beginning of her studies, she struggled like never before. It was a challenge she found stressful and worth weeping for. The fact that it was merely the basics made her question whether it was worth pursuing.

But the moment she visualised her father’s injured memory, it was enough to stop her tears, push through her struggle and conquer her challenge. After her father’s complete recovery, she finally got an answer to her father’s injuries. Of course, her father was the type to rescue a puppy on tall cliffs in the middle of the storm. Zarina gave her father a scolding and a sweet hug afterwards. As for the news of her future profession, her father was thrilled at the news.

Her technical studies soon concluded at the age of eighteen. When she was ready, she pursued her medical studies through university, deepening her knowledge and furthering her experience as a medic. While her magic flourished during her technical studies, she found the same struggle she faced when starting a new stage of learning. Upon creating numerous mistakes through trials and tribulations, she has also been given multiple chances to grow and learn through her mistakes.

Each year became heavier than the last, yet Zarina’s resolve and diligent nature firmly shone through any hardships she faced. In a way, it made her stronger, kinder, and gentler. At age twenty-four, she received her diploma and proudly waved at her father while still on the stage. Even after she finished her studies, she still sharpened her mind with the knowledge she often found in books.

After receiving her qualification, she immediately passed her resume to the Guards. Once accepted, she proudly and diligently took care of the guardians of Tubero. However, the lingering and affectionate gazes she received from the few Guards have irked her father terribly and protectively. With Zarina’s fanciful fantasies of romances, she thinks that no soul has been interested in her companionship when it was far from the truth; her protective father’s wrathful gaze would be enough to keep any possible suitors out of the way.

She has enjoyed playing the piano for a few moments in her life. However, her pursuit of medical knowledge has prevented her from proactively pursuing her dearest hobby. After she graduated, she immediately returned to it; her home was filled with music whenever she was not working. She felt nostalgic by simply tickling the ivories her mother used to love.

So, when there was an open spot for a pianist to play in a band for Blue Flamingo, she whole-heartedly took it. She still prioritised her main medical occupation and clarified that fact.

In the few months before Sardo Ramene's death, Zarina only met the man a few times as she performed for his club. It was a time in her life she cherished. Helping people brings her great satisfaction, but when she takes the stage as a pianist, her satisfaction is different and unique. Her soul would be filled with thrilling delight and some fulfilment she only experiences when playing the piano.

Unfortunately, Sardo Ramene's death has halted the restaurant’s services, including the music Zarina delivers to her restaurant patrons. Zarina has expressed her interest in continuing her service whenever the restaurant decides to open again. Until then, she remains a medic for the Guards.

Zarina is trained in the art of healing. She spent most of her life studying human anatomy and delivering the best course of action for an injury. She utilises her knowledge and magic to help those around her. She would want nothing but to keep the people around her safe and cared for. She strictly uses her magic to protect and mend the physical injuries of a living being. As for the aches and troubles of the mind, she is less experienced and less competent in that department. As much as she wants the power to soothe the mind and body, she is only adequate in one.

The spells she sharpened during her technical studies in magic are for healing, protecting and preserving life. She only deploys her inner magic for her or an individual's safety and physical well-being.

Every time this spell activates, she enters risk mode. This spell can be utilised to heal any injury, whether an exposed or internal wound; her medicinal knowledge to apply aid correctly will be the difference between life and death. Zarina is still a human and is still prone to mistakes and misunderstandings; she may have slipped or mistaken a proper diagnosis, causing the death of a person. That time will still come for Zarina as her adventure is merely in its beginning stage. She still has a lot to learn about the world.

A spell that allows Zarina to cast a protective viridescent sphere around her. Its strength is similar to tempered glass; however, just like glass, it is prone to breaking with just enough force. Zarina can only hold this sphere for about a minute. If the sphere were held longer than that, it would slowly weaken Zarina and would result in a fatigued state. So, she would often use this as little as she could. If the need arises, she could use this spell as a shield. However, the only use she has for this spell so far is when she is caught unaware by the rain.

She has used this spell multiple times when opening a pickle jar. This spell allows Zarina to strengthen a part of her—a limb, to be exact. She has little use for it since she’s not the most combative person. But she won’t hesitate to use this spell in her defence when push comes to shove.

She recalled using this spell when she tried helping a kid reach their balloon; she was not equipped with her broom, so she used it and strengthened her legs to jump enough to get her target.

For Zarina, she has conversed with the man only a few times. She is a pianist who plays melodic music for the Blue Flamingo’s patrons and the band that hired her. The ambience of his establishment did not disappoint her, and it was more than she had anticipated. From the few conversations she had with Mr. Ramene, he left quite an impression on the young lady. The adoration he and his family received is well-deserved in her eyes.

A young and fresh new doctor who still has yet to know and acquaint herself with the intricacies that revolve around her patients and the world. The murder of Sardo Ramene is simply a glimpse of this. Just the lone idea of murder sounds mental to her. Yes, hostile thoughts are common, but merely acting on them is something else entirely. As someone who has vowed to prevent a loss of life, this event has sparked intrigue and sorrow in her heart.

Zarina Corsentino balances religion and science. Her personal belief in the church and its religion, combined with the medical academic knowledge she received from the university, produces a woman filled with an unwavering need to heal and help. Her skills and experience as a doctor will become crucial if someone has been harmed. She will ensure that a rough scolding and well-trained hands meet any reckless decision to mend.

Zarina firmly and almost naively believes that people are good. She will challenge the other morally grey characters with their morals, and perhaps with enough reason and persuasion, her virtuously preserved morals may crack in time. Despite it all, she will try her hardest to be good. She will do her father and friends good and pass her kindness on to those who need it. Not to who deserves it, she will always ensure that others are safe and cared for, both good and bad.