Fantasy 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐚 ; cs

[miyabi]

Legends of Drasira

applications

application info.

PLEASE PUT YOUR CLASS HERE!

Full Name:
Nickname: (if applicable)
Age: please make your characters 20+
Gender: any gender identity is welcome
Sexuality: any sexuality is welcome
Class:
Nation: Aestantis, Al Visar, Hestea, Ituthia, Likha, Nai Sie, Sredzym

Appearance: Description or faceclaim -- please add face claim's name
FACE CLAIM: this has to be a REAL picture, not art. -- please remember that these characters are HUMAN.

Personality:

OPTIONAL
Positive Traits:
Negative Traits:
Likes:
Dislikes:
Habits, quirks:
Skills:
Fears: THIS WILL BE USED IN THE RP.

BACKGROUND -
History: PLEASE put a TRIGGER WARNING on the post. Note that you cannot say that your character has been in the Black Order for years given that the chosen characters are a newer initiates.

Reputation: This is what your character is known as, regarded as, etc. It doesn't necessarily have to be true, but it's a circulating thing for your character.

Sacrifice: This should be a great personal sacrifice your character has done that could be notable for the Black Order. It will be referenced throughout the story.

Extras:

classes.

warrior

With skill centered around strength and physical combat, this class is more than just a sword and shield. Typically falling between two categories, damage and protection, if not both, warriors are a class that take on damage, as well as deal damage head on. In former times and now, warriors are regarded highly as brave combatants and show an advanced aptitude in the battlefield. Their combative prowess, however, is at the cost of either agility or range. These fighters are versatile and weapons-oriented, adept in using their skill, strategy, and tactics to their advantage. One of the more fearless of the bunch, the warrior is known to lead in combat and storm into the frontlines of any fight.

Known to wear any type of armor, but favoring metal work and even dragon scales due to its durability.

Their skills include:
Increased health
Swordsmanship
Hand to Hand combat
Endurance

Scholar

“Knowledge is power.” Once wrote the great Sir Francis Bacon- an excerpt from his 1597 publication ‘Meditationes Sacrae and Human Philosophy.’ Although the notorious saying can be traced all the way back to an old Sanskrit proverb- an ancient Indian notion that knowledge is far more valuable than any riches to come, far more powerful than any king or queen capable- and whom better to know all of this than a scholar? Deeply rooted within the worlds of literature, linguistics, maths, science and history, scholars, despite lacking in the battlefield, prove themselves versatile through their sharp wit, heavy strategy and vast intellect. Able to absorb and apply whatever information they encounter, scholars are best utilized for directory, translation and strategy.

The armour of a scholar is rarely light given their mediocrity on the battlefield. Bulkier in more dangerous terrains, scholars simply cannot risk injury to the skull or eyes given their crucial role in brain power and suggestion.

The skills of a scholar include:
decoding
translation
mapping
adaptability

Ranger

Adept in ranged weapons (bows, crossbows, and throwing weapons), this class is far more accurate when attacking from long distances. With their sense of aim, they are able to increase their damage and ensure successful hits. Much like the scout, this class is well-versed in their surroundings; this, however, is in the case of hunting and camping. Often found in trees, this class takes on an offensive role; this class is extensively trained and incredibly agile.

Light armor and able to blend into their surroundings like the scout, however with thicker protection due to taking on damage.

Their skills include:
Ranged combat
Stealth
Climbing
Increased perception

Bard

Of fair voice and nimble fingers, songweavers of the battlefield, fortifying success in combat; lest their companions’ strength be wavered, the Bard’s passionate songs inspire and light a fire in their hearts. Soothing words, carefully crafted, with the delicate sound of music, this class is one whose uses are near universal — from combat to the departure of souls, bringer of peace to those who are suffering, and invoker of chaos to those opposing.

Armor is often light, avoiding bulky armor that will weigh them down. Due to this, they have vulnerabilities towards direct, heavy attacks

Their skills often include:
Persuasion
Songs of battle
Songs of rest
Bardic Inspiration
Music and Poetry

Rogue

An agile fighter that prides themselves on their quick, precise work -- often donning a knife and dagger, this class hides within the shadows, reliant on their own stealth and skill. Quick to find the vulnerabilities of others, they can quickly use this to their advantage -- unconventionally finding solutions, the rogue is a class that epitomizes adaptability and high aptitude. Although seen as mere criminals by many, the Black Order sees this class as useful; going so far as to keeping one or more within each of their units. This class does not use magic.

Armor is often light, avoiding bulky armor that will weigh them down. Due to this, they have vulnerabilities towards direct, heavy attacks.

Their skills often include:
lock-picking
sleight of hand
persuasion
deception
athleticism
acrobatics

Scout

Reliant on mobility, the scout favors fast movements to deal attacks--they are, however, primarily used for reporting back to the team and staying ahead of the group in order to warn the others of incoming threat. They are often nimble, well-versed in terrains, and are found riding horses. With an advanced aptitude in map-reading and navigation, scouts are an essential part of the team. Able to disarm and typically find traps within an allotted time, scouts are often relied on.

Their armor is often light and able to blend in with its surroundings, boots are muffled for a lesser chance of detection.

Their skills include:
Navigation
Stealth
Threat Detection
Trap disarming

Medic

A nurturer by nature, this class hones the very saviour of saviours. Experts in both natural and scientific healing properties, medics are said to utilize their biological expertise within crucial medical care and often go to great lengths to do so. Quick on their feet, medics bear quite a large responsibility for the health of their teammates and are routinely tasked with their maintenance and weekly check-ins. A sort of guiding figure, their steady heads, quick thinking and little reaction to stark pressures not only allow for them to work within an uncontrolled environment, but to save numerous lives in doing so.

The armour of a medic is often light and durable- made to accommodate swift movements in case of medical emergencies. This is set to change given the situation at hand.

The skills of a medic include:
Healing--potion making and herbalism
identifying lethal and non-lethal properties
steady handling
emergency care.

Blacksmith

Skilled in the art of metalwork and welding, blacksmiths are the well-muscled companions of the black order. Able to dance within the scorching flames of a fire, they are best known for weapon repairments, etching intricate incantations and preparing their conglomerate with improved armours and weaponry. Arguably the most creative out of the classes, their strong sense of community often allows them to build relationships (both business oriented and friendly) amongst other blacksmiths, often resulting in new discounted weapons and/or protection.

The armour of a blacksmith: often bulky as they are prone to wielding large weights, self-designed and produced more often than not.

The skills of a blacksmith include:
design; the ability to etch incantations into armor and weapons
strength
endurance
amicability

extra information.

Accepted players will be able to make second characters when approved!

Who lives in Drasira?
Although this is Fantasy Based, the Gods have only created humans and their monsters. However, if you do have an idea that could work, please do not hesitate to reach out! We'd like to help as much as we can.

Magic.
Magic, although existent in Drasira, is mostly limited to enchanted items that were created prior to and during the Era of Beasts. These items are hard to come by, often passed down by generations, found in ruins, held in academies, and most notably, the Black Order's main facility.

Who are the Black Order?
Founded by Vardil Nehra in Drasira's time of need, the Black Order is a guild that essentially hunts monsters: this may be for pay, but the intentions are well-meant. Recruitment into the Black Order isn't easy, as members often have impressive reputations amd have made great personal sacrifices; this, however, isn't only restricted to do-gooders. The Black Order recognizes that you do not have to specifically be good, but you must have the skill and knowledge they seek. People from each class are welcomed.

The Black Order is behind most of Drasira's operations in terms of Monster Hunting. Mostly loved, sometimes feared, they are--for the most part--a heroic, but mysterious guild that prides itself on its work. During the time of the RP, it would have already been about 100 years since the artifacts have been lost.

****
This roleplay will be heavily lore based, thus we've made a directory that could assist you--the link to the lore thread will be included. It is recommended that the lore is read over.

Character deaths will happen, this will be due to dice rolls: although dice will not be used 100%, they will be used to make major decisions. Don't worry, your character won't die off completely; the Black Order will give this group an amulet that can resurrect them--there is, however, consequence to this. When back to life, a small piece of their soul and sanity is taken, tread cautiously.

For roles, they are not assigned -- just options of what classes to choose from! The only ones that ARE assigned are Captain and Co-Captain, however these roles will be given to you by us, the GMs. No, you cannot apply for those roles.

The Black Order is behind most of Drasira's operations in terms of Monster Hunting. Mostly loved, sometimes feared, they are--for the most part--a heroic, but mysterious guild that prides itself on its work. During the time of the RP, it would have already been about 100 years since the artifacts have been lost.

INSPIRATIONS: witcher, bloodborne, folklore, dishonored, skyrim.

this is a bullet point.
two lines

this is a bullet point.
two lines

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[miyabi]

cpt. ymir yaotsai

# warrior

# jamie chung

♡coded by uxie♡

서예슬

captain.

There is some good in this world and it's worth fighting for.

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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  YAOTSAI, Ymir

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  29 years old.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  cis-female

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  pansexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Nation

  
  

  Nai Sie

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Class

  
  

  Warrior

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height and build

  
  

  It is safe to say that Ymir isn't petite; rather, the opposite. Standing at 5'8" with a muscular build, body marred by scars of battle, her figure is considerably strong and lean. What was once a small, fragile girl had blossomed into a solidly built woman with enough strength to withstand the weight of her armor and weaponry.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Dark brown, Ymir's hair is thick and long--hitting the middle of her back, but often tied back.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  adaptable

  
  
  
  
  

  responsible

  
  
  
  
  

  protective

  
  
  
  
  

  humorous

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  She comes from cowards--the village fools--and yet a hero is born.
  
  With the weight of her family’s reputation heavily on her shoulders, Ymir is--and always will be--the child of the spineless. The bearer of cruelty at the hands of her father’s cowardice--alienated by those who were most trusted--Ymir fights to lead people through darkness. She holds onto the light that sneaks in between the shadows; when the monsters come Ymir, unlike her father, is fearless. A way to keep the restlessness at bay as she endlessly proves herself separate from the clutches of her family’s reputation; a woman that feels guilt from the actions of her blood.
  
  She is selfless, no doubt about it. The type to lend a shoulder to cry on, outstretch her hand when needed, and to foolishly put herself in front of danger for the sake of another. Impressively so, her patience is equally as undoubtful; with the tests of time, the lingering eyes of her old village, and the constant chatter regarding her associations, Ymir proves more than capable of keeping her head cool. That is, unless those closest to her are under immense distress.
  
  Tenacious with a good head on her shoulders, the figure of efficient leadership, most wouldn’t argue whether or not Ymir is capable. Despite this, Ymir has her questionable moments; remarkably, the woman isn’t always cool-headed. A frequenter of trying to keep the trouble at bay, especially in the usual tavern brawl, Ymir may also find herself in the middle of it. Chaos, as much as she would hate to admit, gives her the thrill she often sets aside for others. Quick to defend those that need it and ready to fight alongside her friends, her loyalty is unquestionable.
  
  Although seemingly witty, convivial, and sharp, Ymir has her moments. She is, for the most part, lacking social skills--large crowds and public speaking being a downfall she strives to face--and is clueless when flirtation is presented to her. Though, she may accidentally flirt back. The type of person to think most flirtatious advancements are a proposition of friendly standing, it takes her a while to catch on--if she is even able to. And in the case of expressing her own romantic fondness, she is one to stumble over her words; clumsily knocking things over, tripping over her feet, and failing miserably at trying her hand at being smooth; Ymir is anything but.
  
  Most would expect encouraging words, a friendly smile, and endless compliments as a way of positive reinforcement; the type to make her appreciation known whenever she can. Despite this, Ymir isn’t one to be appreciated by all. A prankster, Ymir isn’t opposed to practical jokes and any other antics--so long as they do not cause actual harm.
  
  In battle, Ymir is intelligent and swift; quick on her feet and adaptable, her combative prowess is evident. Confident in her own skill, she rarely backs away from a fight--easily conquering most opponents when it comes down to it. Able to take on the lead, she is no stranger to giving proper direction and fully planning fights; her knowledge in combat, however, is ever present when making up solutions on the fly.
  
  Troubled by inner tribulation, often guilt-ridden, Ymir is far from the person she wishes to be.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Reputation and Skills

  
  

  
  

  The daughter of a spineless man turned local hero; a destined fighter, a persistent hero. Ymir is regarded highly to most, yet her head has its bounty amongst many trouble makers. Known to take jobs at the request of coin, she is often recruited for hunting parties. She is a mentor to some and an enemy to others, her reputation is anything but spotless. WIP
  
  Skills:
  hand to hand combat
  swordsmanship
  negotiation
  leadership
  cracking jokes

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Sacrifice

  
  

  
  

  hobbies here

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The monsters in bedtime stories were not only tales, but the living.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Surrounded by monsters, yet shielded from the truth--having been told stories of valiance, dedication, and prosperity; Ymir, like any other child in Nai Sie, is often fed lies. An eager child, Ymir listens to her mother’s stories of victories, Nai Sie’s incomparable hold against the void of eldritch beings. She is four and of all curiosities, Ymir’s mind wanders to the depths of the outside. Beyond the walls of Hiraya is malevolence, tucked away by the monarchy; tales of monsters and monster hunters take up most of her childhood, a topic rarely traversed.
  
  Though, a man unwilling to join the calls of need for the fear of never seeing his family again, is seldom accepted.
  
  Fear manifested in different ways, like clouds of smoke--uniquely taking forms that cannot be replicated; and her father’s was all the more devastating. Once a man known for his kindness and grace, turned a coward. There was word of a beast along the outskirts of Hiraya: it terrorizes farmers, takes their children, thus the village people congregate. Her father is chosen for their search party, actively pursuing a beast they very well know causes fatalities. As his mind winds, wife and children ignorant to his summoning, he comes to a singular conclusion: that he is not ready to die in the grasp of a beast for the sake of others. A crucial and purposeful mistake, one that affects his family, defines him for months and the years to come.
  
  Permanently injured by his own hand in avoidance to his own duty, he’d only done it for the sake of his daughters; to ensure that they never grow up without a father.
  
  Only a child, she experiences the consequences of these actions--bearing the weight of ridicule, whispers, and upturned noses. And for a while, she is alienated like the rest of her family; no child wanted to befriend the daughter of the village disappointment. An odd thing, how someone so loved could suddenly turn into an outcast.
  
  She crosses paths with the Black Order, or at least, their tales. Her mother speaks of them, her father fears and admires them; however there is one thing clear, that Ymir stops at nothing to capture more of their stories. With fascination came ambition: to obtain a spot within the Black Order becomes a goal most would say she could never fulfill.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  "THE CHILD OF A COWARD, YOU WILL NEVER BE A HERO."

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Ymir is sixteen and for the first time, she has thoughts of leaving. Her ambitions go beyond Nai Sie’s borders and there is talk of it amongst the village people; mother and father adamantly denying the claims despite its truth. Some say she is foolish: a young woman eagerly waiting for the opportunity to venture off into a world unknown, how could she survive? With the abundance of tribulation in the outside world and the preconceived notion that she is just like her father, people have their doubts. Most would turn away her propositions of training; however, there is a profound sense of hope. Taken under the wing of a retired Monster Hunter, she works day in and day out, pursuing a craft she once had no knowledge of.
  
  Combat, such as it was, was a daunting thing. But onward, she persists: from dusk until dawn, she trains--mother in full support while her father watches in agony--afraid for his child. Firm believers of following one’s passion and truth, they do not interfere.
  
  From a teen, she grows; blossoming into an adult, well-rounded in combat. And then the nightmares begin.
  
  Despite her dauntlessness, Ymir is riddled by the visions of beasts; haunted by the lives lost from her own father’s dutiful neglect. And in the height of its hubris, Nai Sie is on the brink of collapse. This notion is tucked away, retaining the nation’s image--warding off the rumors that could tarnish its reputation. The discovery of these falsities, the imminent break of trust between her and Nai Sie, she leaves her family behind after a lengthy dispute. She leaves a family behind, her own blood, for the pursuance of light.
  
  Ymir remembers barely any of the talk, but remembers the cold air and glittering moonlight from the ripples of a nearby pond. Her eyes burn from the tears, but she is not the only one that feels loss.
  
  She is twenty-seven, a woman that has finally made a name for herself; determination and fearlessness skyrocketing a once damaged reputation. Ymir is no longer a stranger to combat, she hasn’t been for a long time--seeing the foulest of scenes, recognizing the smell of death, a woman scarred by battle. A monster hunter on her own, wandering lands she dreamed of seeing as a child. Adventure, however, was not as she’d expected. There were things in the dark far worse than the beasts her mother spoke of.
  
  It had been years since she’d last seen her family.
  
  Regretful of the last words spoken to them, she visits. In the night, cold and dreary, Ymir enters--everything, however, is uncomfortably still. Ymir spends the night searching the home until she catches the smell of blood; it is strong, almost fresh. And unfortunately, she finds her father, dying with a blade in his hand--one that she had left behind for them. Something terrible has happened, that is one thing she is sure of, but he cannot speak as he suffers at death's doorstep.
  
  The village coward fought to protect his family and in the end, died the hero nobody would ever recognize him as. If asked now, Ymir scarcely speaks of it; how she shook him to try and salvage his consciousness, felt his body run cold, and how his last words were endless apologies. She doesn't leave until morning, devastated by her loss, or would it be losses? Her mother and little sister were missing; likely dead or running off into their death. The hard part is accepting that had she shown up moments earlier, her father would still be alive. And so, the guilt grows.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  to reach for faith and hope it reaches back.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  She chases the light foolishly, hoping to gain answers. In her search for answers, she works tirelessly. Once a monster hunter for the good of others turned a woman on a mission to find her family--dead or alive. Ymir fights endlessly for clues; asks day in and day out, traverses the most dangerous of paths to seek answers that may very well be dead-ends.
  
  There is talk, however, of a young girl--fighting alongside her mother to keep her safe. So as the whispers told, Ymir follows.
  
  To chase hope is an action most would give up on after the passing of months that eventually turns into a year. If she were to look for an answer, she would have to seize it--to keep it within her grasp.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  extra history blips.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  - During her training with the sword, Ymir is taken under the wing of a retired monster hunter--a regarded hero in her village.
  
  - Her mother formerly served in Nai Sie's military. Her father was a vendor.
  
  - During childhood, Ymir meets Teru: he first approaches her as she plays alone, his parents folk healers--Ymir's mother enlisting their help in hopes of repairing her father's injuries.
  
  - Ymir had become part of a mercenary group, but left as their ideals did not align with her morals and ethics.
  
  - She finds Agwe, an armadillo abandoned by its mother; this becomes her newfound companion--alongside Gavriil, a gentle giant.
  
  - Ymir makes it to Likha, eventually fighting off and defeating a malevolent serpent.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  when there is life, there is hope.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Dai Yaotsai

  
  
  
  

  father/deceased

  
  
  
  

  Ymir’s father, dubbed the village coward; a man who purposefully injured himself in fear of death at the hands of a beast, he avoids combative duties during a search party. Formerly known as a kind, charismatic man whose father taught martial arts, Dai used to be highly respected by the community. His relationship with Ymir was close. He has been and always will be one of her heroes.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  jia chen yaotsai

  
  
  
  

  mother/unknown

  
  
  
  

  Ymir’s mother, a former soldier in Nai Sie’s army. Lover of stories and familial ties, she is a woman who favors storytelling and close bonds over anything else. Her whereabouts are unknown, however Ymir has caught wind of a possible sighting in Likha.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Malia Yaotsai

  
  
  
  

  Younger Sister/Unknown

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Teru Yili

  
  
  
  

  childhood friend/alive

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Dynasty

  
  

  Rina Sawayama

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[PRETTY HATE MACHINE.]

PERSONA.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed lacinia elementum mauris, eu pharetra velit mattis et. Donec viverra nisi id dapibus semper. Cras sapien eros, condimentum id venenatis sed, commodo non eros. Nulla sapien odio, faucibus sit amet risus non, vehicula tincidunt neque. Pellentesque placerat neque vitae ipsum volutpat blandit. Ut condimentum mi nec lorem tincidunt ultricies. Curabitur consectetur tellus a imperdiet lacinia. Quisque at nulla accumsan, placerat nulla euismod, lobortis neque. Maecenas at nibh placerat, facilisis elit et, dignissim urna. Cras eu ex efficitur, vulputate nisl eu, scelerisque enim.

Fusce vulputate mi sed sem congue, quis suscipit lacus interdum. Sed pharetra, tellus nec vulputate fringilla, urna dolor tristique quam, vulputate finibus augue velit at leo. Nam lobortis placerat leo ut accumsan. Curabitur convallis odio et sollicitudin ultrices. Nunc quis leo ligula. Sed nec facilisis ipsum. Cras quis tincidunt leo. Aenean rhoncus nisl porttitor, semper orci sed, eleifend ante. Aenean maximus tortor vel lectus varius aliquam. Phasellus accumsan tristique dictum. Praesent ut consequat tellus. Ut orci mi, viverra a iaculis nec, consectetur nec libero. In consectetur, lacus efficitur hendrerit ultrices, risus urna maximus velit, sit amet commodo tellus nibh et lorem. Praesent sollicitudin rutrum posuere. Nunc varius metus et nulla lobortis, luctus dapibus sapien rutrum. Donec vitae interdum massa, posuere euismod purus.

GAVRIIL IAKOV ILARION
SREDZYM RANGER.

BASICS.

NICKNAME(S) Gav, sometimes.
AGE Thirty-somethin'.
GENDER Cismale.
SEXUALITY He has one I suppose, but he cannot describe it to you and neither can I.
CLASS Ranger.
NATIONALITY Szedrymi.

FACE CLAIM Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia.

PERSONALITY Gavriil is a bit of a strange character. Despite growing up in probably one of the most socially and emotionally frigid villages in Szedrym, it seems he's adopted something of a warm and inviting demeanor should you be able to see past his sheer intimidation factor and alien features. Unless you catch him already interacting with someone he likes, you would never be able to tell. Gav has mastered the art of the Szedrymi "resting bitch face" which only adds to people's inherent mistrust of him.

RENOWNED HUNTSMAN,
FUGITIVE POACHER,
INTIMIDATING TEDDY BEAR.

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Fusce vulputate mi sed sem congue, quis suscipit lacus interdum. Sed pharetra, tellus nec vulputate fringilla, urna dolor tristique quam, vulputate finibus augue velit at leo. Nam lobortis placerat leo ut accumsan. Curabitur convallis odio et sollicitudin ultrices. Nunc quis leo ligula. Sed nec facilisis ipsum. Cras quis tincidunt leo. Aenean rhoncus nisl porttitor, semper orci sed, eleifend ante. Aenean maximus tortor vel lectus varius aliquam. Phasellus accumsan tristique dictum. Praesent ut consequat tellus. Ut orci mi, viverra a iaculis nec, consectetur nec libero. In consectetur, lacus efficitur hendrerit ultrices, risus urna maximus velit, sit amet commodo tellus nibh et lorem. Praesent sollicitudin rutrum posuere. Nunc varius metus et nulla lobortis, luctus dapibus sapien rutrum. Donec vitae interdum massa, posuere euismod purus.

header example.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed lacinia elementum mauris, eu pharetra velit mattis et. Donec viverra nisi id dapibus semper. Cras sapien eros, condimentum id venenatis sed, commodo non eros. Nulla sapien odio, faucibus sit amet risus non, vehicula tincidunt neque. Pellentesque placerat neque vitae ipsum volutpat blandit. Ut condimentum mi nec lorem tincidunt ultricies. Curabitur consectetur tellus a imperdiet lacinia. Quisque at nulla accumsan, placerat nulla euismod, lobortis neque. Maecenas at nibh placerat, facilisis elit et, dignissim urna. Cras eu ex efficitur, vulputate nisl eu, scelerisque enim.

Fusce vulputate mi sed sem congue, quis suscipit lacus interdum. Sed pharetra, tellus nec vulputate fringilla, urna dolor tristique quam, vulputate finibus augue velit at leo. Nam lobortis placerat leo ut accumsan. Curabitur convallis odio et sollicitudin ultrices. Nunc quis leo ligula. Sed nec facilisis ipsum. Cras quis tincidunt leo. Aenean rhoncus nisl porttitor, semper orci sed, eleifend ante. Aenean maximus tortor vel lectus varius aliquam. Phasellus accumsan tristique dictum. Praesent ut consequat tellus. Ut orci mi, viverra a iaculis nec, consectetur nec libero. In consectetur, lacus efficitur hendrerit ultrices, risus urna maximus velit, sit amet commodo tellus nibh et lorem. Praesent sollicitudin rutrum posuere. Nunc varius metus et nulla lobortis, luctus dapibus sapien rutrum. Donec vitae interdum massa, posuere euismod purus.

© INCANDESCENT​

 

[fancries1]

SHE'S ALL FINISHED! - now with a more detailed personality section ​

Safira Aaima Burhaan

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  Knowledge is power

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Nicknames

  People sometimes called her "Safi", though this was mostly to aggravate her. While the general rule of adressing her by her full name remains for the vast majority of people she's met, there are a select few who she's allowed to call her "Saf" as a term of endearment.
  

  Age

  26
  

  Gender

  Female
  

  Sexual Orientation

  She was betrothed to a man before her banishment (a marriage she agreed to - his family was akin to hers in wealth), which has been as far as her relationships have gone. Though she hasn't found time to meddle in such subjects, she still finds many people attractive, regardless of their sex or gender.
  

  Class

  Scholar
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Kingdom of the Stars

  
  
  
  
  

  Al Visar

  
  
  
  
  

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  Face Claim

  Deepika Padukone
  

  Hair

  Brown, long and straight hair. Once freely cascading down her back and shoulders, carefully kept glowing and soft to the touch through the use of the many beauty concoctions available to her due to her family's high standing. Most of the time, when the heat wasn't enough to drive even the fiercest of warriors insane and hair was better worn up or covered in wrappings, she would decorate it with the best accessories Al Visar had to offer. Nowadays, living as an outcast in Hestea, her hair has taken a turn for the worst. Long ago having lost its healthy, silky condition thanks to both the unsanitary living conditions in the decrepit Kingdom. Nowadays, both due to practicality and shame over not looking as beautiful as she once did, she keeps her hair in a simple and unassuming braid.
  

  Skin

  Terra-cotta complexion, often rough and tough to the touch due to the sweat everyone (even locals) are prone to forming living in the desert kingdom.
  

  Build

  Tall and slim with long arms and legs, something she was often teased about during her teenage years - lanky appearances weren’t exactly desirable, especially in the upper classes where plumpness was seen as a sign of abundant wealth. She never let it bother her much, though. After all, the only thing that mattered has always been what’s inside her head, not on the outside.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  likes

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Reading

  
  
  
  

  Sun

  
  
  
  

  Red wine

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Cold weather

  
  
  
  

  Competition

  
  
  
  

  Crowded spaces

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  fears

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Wild animals

  
  
  
  

  Being forgotten

  
  
  
  

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  Persona

  
  Personality: To Safira, reality has always seemed like a long and winding game of chess.One that is as challenging as it is rewarding. She places immense worth on strategy, rather than intuition and spontaneity, for even the most mundane of decisions - to the point where it’s negatively affected her abilities to react and adapt to unforeseen situations in a short amount of time. Her creative brain can bring forth the best and most useful of solutions, yes, but rarely under extreme pressure and in situations where time is not of the essence. Ever the analyst, she has never been one to find contentment in the simple and effortless; always eager to discover and understand the inner workings of every mechanism, creature, or person. To her, knowledge and intelligence are her greatest weapons, and her willpower and drive to use said abilities to her advantage in her quest for power and knowledge shine through even the most dire of situations. Surrender, ignorance, and blind conformity are, in her eyes, mankind’s greatest foe. Far larger and dangerous than any of the monsters she’s read about - both magical and human.
  
  Raised in the snake's den that was the higher class of Al Visar, Safira understood the necessities of developing an akin talent for politics and diplomacy. When it comes to meeting new people, she always attempts her best to seem as amiable and courteous as possible, a facade she rarely breaks in front of others. Her inital friendly and unassuming approach to new relationships, like every one of her actions, has a purpose; establish a relationship that will allow her to understand the other's motives and what they are willing to do in order to archeive them, all while revealing as little about herself as possible. And when she's successful, the false sense of friendship can break as soon as it formed as she reveals her true motives (not all at once, mind you, it's always important to cover one's tracks). Lies and betrayal are not foreign concepts to her, and she's never been one to allow her care for another person to overshadow her ambitions. She can dance around the mightiest of royals and slimiest of businessmen for hours, almost as if it were a sport. Always with a fake smile on her face and the knowing look in her eyes that screams "I know something that you don't".
  
  This, of course, also brings its fair share of drawbacks. Far too aware of the fact that she was not the only person in Al Visar - and the rest of the world, for that matter - to navigate the world in such a way, Safira has a hard time allowing herself to open up to others and form relationships not based in her own personal gain. That, combined with her overly critical and analytical nature, makes her entirely clueless when it comes to other people's emotions and genuine relationships - be it friendly or romantic. When not in court, she has an incredibly hard time trusting others and navigating more "normal" social situations, especially those in which she finds herself as the center of attention. More often than not, this leads to uncomfortable and embarassing situations, in which her misreading of simple moments leads to her reacting in a less-than-acceptable manner, which in turn makes her angry. Both at humans for being so unpredictable, as well as herself for not being so ignorant in one of the most basic aspects of life.
  
  It should come as no surprise that Safira prefers spending time on her own, where she's allowed to relax and immerse herself in her passions without having to worry about the unpredictable. However, it doesn't mean she can't enjoy certain things with others. As an incredibly curious person with mountains of knowledge and little people interested enough to learn, she places a special value in those who are willing to listen to her ramblings. Long tangents of time that can, and have, lasted for hours on end in which she can jump from subject to subject, only stopping to breathe every now and then in case of a collapse. She especially enjoys those who aren't only interested in what she's saying, but are also open in debating her personal viewpoints. Never one to back down from an intellectual challenge, she's always eager to learn what other's have to say about her ideals and wisdom - though she has a tendency to take things too far in her ever-lasting and exhaustive quest to always be right and have the final word. As a true scholar, she understands that when one is wrong, it's important to accept and correct their mistakes, yes. But it doesn't mean she's any eager to be bested in what she does best. When she does come victorious, her arrogance tends to get the better of her. And she simply adores basking in her own archievements, even if this comes at the expense of other's.
  
  Even so, those who do allow themselves to see past her social shortcomings, are met with a person with surprising wit and humor. Countering her initial uptight demeanor, once she's concluded that whoever she's talking to is no threat to her, she can be rather amusing with her dry and irony-riddled sense of humor. And as she's willing to let other's listen to her, she's also as happy to listen to others - taking every opportunity to learn from others and enjoy their company. While only loyal to herself and her Kingdom, she's all-too-aware of the power loyalty over others can have. Loyalty that, she hopes, she can trust others to give her in her times of need. As with all her power settled in her brain, the rest of her body is more than lacking. She's a slow runner of weak strenght and terrible resistance - in other words, a target that, were it not for her other talents, make her entirely unsuitable for adventuring and the battlefield.
  
  Positive Traits: Ambitious, intelligent, cunning, resourceful, perceptive, creative, curious
  Negative Traits: Selfish, manipulative, envious, overly-competitive, obsessive, physically weak, paranoid
  Habits, quirks: Neat freak, usually checking her hands to see if they're smeared with ink (they usually are), stutters when complimented, covers her mouth when laughing, paces when thinking
  Skills: Navigation, decoding, translation, mapping, adaptability, puzzle-solving
  

  
  
  
  
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  Safira says . . .

  
  

  
  

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  No, I won’t let you copy off of my assignments

  
  

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  * history

  
  
  Most humans, in their quest for survival and dignity, spent their days fighting for a smidge of power and coin. Very few archived it. Even less so were able to reap the rewards without having to lift a single finger. Safira, to her tremendous fortune, fit comfortably into the third category. Born as the only daughter of one, if not the, most affluent families in the entirety of Al Visar, Safira had everything she could ever wish for. Gowns made of the finest silk, abundant food, mountains upon mountains of books filled to the brim with everything human knowledge and exploration had to offer, and a confirmed position in the Oligarchical system once she became of age.
  
  And yet, she wasn't happy.
  
  It wasn’t as though she disliked living in Al Visar - quite the contrary. As a person of science, literature, and culture, it was the cultural hub of information she could most excel in. There were resources for every branch of theory imaginable, and countless like-minded people to share it with. People with passion, drive, talent and love for all things logical and innovative who posed as worthy adversaries in her intellectual pursuits. And therein laid the problem, the everlasting conflict that stopped her life in the desert land from being as perfect as could be. The struggle. The competition. The ever-lasting conflict between each and every person within the kingdom walls.
  
  For all its feats of human accomplishment and demonstrations of everything intelligence, knowledge and determination could muster came at a price. And Al Visar’s legacy clung to its back like the claws of an eagle grasping into its victim’s flesh. Everyone, especially those in power, knew full well of the reputation they had the responsibility to uphold. A Kingdom as mighty as theirs could only endure the test of time if led by those capable enough to maintain its prosperous path. Those who didn’t, on the other hand, were best left below the poverty line. Workers so far down the graces of society that the aggravating desert sun wouldn’t even want to touch them. It was a cutthroat environment. Where the words “every man for himself” reigned as ultimate law and corruption, avarice, and treachery were commonplace. All values taught to her at a young age by an ailing father desperate to ensure his kin and legacy would remain on top after his death, no matter what one had to do to get it.
  
  Safira, as was customary for noble children, worked day and night to prove her worth. Her little eyes would stick to pages on end, absorbing as much information as she could before the words blurred and her heavy eyelids forced themselves to shut down. She pushed through the hardest exams, betrayed trusted friends, and went through the most demanding competitions. And yet, to her dismay, her efforts were always just short enough for perfection. Even with all her talent, intelligence, and cunning, there was always someone there to best her. Even surpassing her as she threw all honesty out of the window and resorted to cheating - she was scarcely number one. And when she was, the only reward to be reaped was a pat on the back from her strict, yet caring father, criticism from her apathetic mother, and a reminder from the rest of society that she still had an eternally long way to go if she ever wished to take her family’s place in government.
  
  It was nothing short of a miracle that she managed to retain her true love and passion for academics. Something she hoped to enrich herself in during her time at the academy, even with the backstabbing and high stakes still at hand. An opportunity arose itself when one of her tutors carelessly left behind a scroll after a lesson. Ever the opportunistic one, Safira took it upon herself to spy into his personal writings; hungry for any kind of secret information that could help her in a future project. Lo and behold! To her immense surprise, it was a map the likes of which she had never seen before, leading to treasures the world hadn’t been privy of for centuries. Finally! Something to place her in front of the competition. To set her apart from the rest and carve her name in the books for generations to come. History seldom forgot discoverers and, depending on how useful what she found was, great innovators.
  
  After a few days journey, she found the cave marked on the map. She ventured forward, following her torch as her only guidance through the unfamiliar darkness, when she suddenly felt her foot bumping against the chest, with an inscription written in ancient Al Visarian text. A warning of what was to be found inside. One she quickly, yet cautiously, set aside as her curiosity took hold of her.
  
  It was more underwhelming than she expected, but at least the contents of the chest hadn’t killed her. They were books. Countless of them. Texts, maps and scrolls as old as time written in scripture she’d only seen a handful of times in the observatory. Eager, she started to read. Her eyes not managing to arrive at the end of page one before she understood why said knowledge had been hidden for so long: they all contained information on the magic her people had long ago turned their backs against. Witchcraft. Outlawed, shunned, forbidden, treacherous against everything she knew and held dear. Any rational person would’ve simply thrown the taboo texts away, perhaps even burned them for good measure, and turned back. And she heavily considered these options. But as she was closing the chest once more, she stopped to wonder. What was so wrong and dangerous about this knowledge? She knew why they’d turned their backs on everything magical, of course, it was nothing but a deterrent against human survival and progress. But because of this, they had little to no information on what once was her kingdom’s greatest enemy. Hadn't she been taught that, above else, the most powerful weapon she held was her brain? What if the magic resurfaced? It certainly could, especially considering how close she’d found the texts, despite the fact everything she knew told her that they'd been banished much farther away. What if they weren’t ready?
  
  They were all questions posed to justify her actions to herself. To make her think that she wasn't just acting out on a desire to know what she had been deprived of. Her curiosity had already taken her this far. Could an extra step really be any more perilous?
  
  She devoured every letter and illustration in the books as her ravenous hunger for newfound knowledge overcame her. It was liberating to focus on something not related to monetary concerns, internal conflicts, and the same transcripts she’d been reading since she was a teenager. The new information was as dangerous as it was refreshing, though, and despite her paranoia-infused secrecy and care, it wasn’t long before prying eyes managed to set themselves on one of her books. As expected, she was immediately taken into custody and put on trial. Her cries and logical explanation behind her actions fell upon deaf ears as the chants of “Witch, Witch, Witch!” only grew louder. The trail proved too much for her already-weak father, who perished at the shock of what his only daughter had become, and she was shortly thereafter banished "until the skies have fallen and the kingdom is lost to the sand forever".
  
  Curiosity had finally killed the cat.
  
  With nowhere else to go and without a piece of gold to her name, she ended up in one of the poorest countries she knew of: the Kingdom of Hestea. Living amongst the poverty she’d once looked down upon with a sneer. Doing whatever little odd jobs, usually one more demeaning than the last (anything was better than resorting to thievery, though, she didn’t want to know what they would do to her if they found the outsider taking what little they had) but remaining firm with her studies and waiting for the right time. She knew her years of training and wisdom would not be in vain. If only she was able to prove that what the books said was true - that magic could still prove to be a threat against her kingdom and they needed someone well-versed in the forbidden knowledge in order to save their legacy - then she was certain that her crimes would be forgiven. And she would be welcomed back into civilized society as the leader she was always destined to be. In the land where logic prevailed, they would understand. She was sure of it. Now all she needed to do was to find a way (a team, perhaps, though she’d always preferred to work on her own), in order to make that possible...
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  Reputation

  Safira was regarded as a promising and brilliant young woman with a bright future ahead of her. Well-versed in all subjects, hard-working, intelligent, charming, and cunning, she was set as nothing but a clear example of what Al Vasirian excellence looked like. Which, of course, also came with the well-known qualities that made the same people who praised her understand that she was a force to be reckoned with. They knew better than to underestimate her because of their close connection, especially considering how notoriously competitive and opportunistic people like Safira were raised to be. Not one known for loyalty to others except to those in her family, few trusted her with anything they knew she could use against them. It was better to stay on-guard around her, amiably applicating her while secretly thinking of ways to bring her down or make her into an ally (which, of course, was how she viewed most people in her category in return). After she was discovered, however, things rapidly changed. And now those who once viewed her as a testament of their educational and social system only think of her as a demented witch to be used as a warning tale for generations to come.
  
  

  Sacrifice

  Her true sacrifice came before the offer to join the so-called "Black Order" did. In her effort to placate her thirst for knowledge and defend her standing against people she knew wouldn't accept her beliefs, she left behind her standing and high society, political power, and reputation. Ever since then, while she's set her mind on coming home once more, she knows that it's a dream that will only be completed if (and only if) she's allowed to return while also maintaining her studies on the magic they'd shunned so long ago.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[ravensunset]

Naya Volkovna

scout

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  basics

  
  
  
  
  

  Full Name: Naya Volkovna
  Age: 27
  Gender & Pronouns: Female, she/her
  Sexuality: Bisexual
  Class: Scout
  Nation: Sredzym
  Vibes
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  appearance

  
  
  
  
  

  Face claim: Sofia Pernas
  
  Appearance: Naya’s dark brown hair is kept long and often loose, framing an oval face. Underneath a set of thick eyebrows, her almond shaped eyes are a similar dark brown, framed with rather short lashes, and are usually the lowest point of her face that’s visible; a mask obscuring her face from her nose to her chin. She stands at five feet and five inches, her frame muscular and lithe, the agility she’s been taught to have clearly visible in it. She has no piercings or modifications, and although her body is no stranger to scars, they're all hidden underneath her clothes. Being just at average height, her figure is easy to miss and she is rather unimposing, the only real feature that might hold interest being the depth of her eyes, the way they always seem to be scanning her surroundings, always focused. Her skin, what little of it is seen, is a light brown tone, washed out from years of negligible sun exposure.
  
  Attire: Naya’s dressed for two reasons: to keep warm, and to blend in. Her clothes cover her entire body, exposing skin only above her nose and on her fingers, that is when she isn’t wearing gloves to cover them. She commonly wears a fur lined hood, and her attire tends towards mixes of browns and greens, avoiding bright colors, and she often wears layers of light materials, all made to offer insulation yet be easy to move in. She wears tall boots made from a dark leather designed to muffle the sound of her footsteps, and her chest and arms are covered with leather armor, although its design prioritizes maneuverability over pure protection. The lower half of her face is covered by a mask, a bone white material mimicking the snout of a wolf, with its lower jaw fully detachable to allow her to eat without exposing most of her face.
  
  Weaponry: Naya keeps a kindjal on her waist and a couple smaller daggers strapped around her legs, meant mostly for throwing. Her agility means she works better with small and light weapons, especially due to her relatively less raw strength. She makes sure to always be within reach of her weapons, firm in the belief that there’s no place you can be sure there won’t be a fight, although she’s able to make do with other weapons if necessary.
  

  
  
  
  
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  personality

  
  
  
  
  

  The cold is harsh and unforgiving. It was perhaps Naya’s earliest role model, the first of her companions she knew would be lifelong. Naya learned early to keep everyone at a distance, to beware what people may have and bring. She wasn’t perfect at this, of course, having allowed others to slip in like cold air finding its way under your clothes, but each time it only taught her the same lesson, added a protective layer around her. She could be harsh and unforgiving, if it meant survival. She rarely smiles, and although is often one for conversations, generally enjoying others’ company, Naya makes sure not to allow herself to get attached to anyone, and is even more certain to not allow their skin to touch. And yet, there’s nothing better for staying warm than other people. Although she’s careful to not get attached to any one person, and always wary of outsiders, Naya prefers to be around others than not, trading stories and company. She’s got a dry sense of humor, prone to sarcasm and flatly delivered jokes with little laughter. Despite often outwardly presenting herself as antisocial, and being quick to defend that perception, if there’s a gathering of people she knows, she’ll often try to be around to join in.
  
  Every animal in the forest has a purpose. Studying tracks doesn’t only tell you where they were headed, but why. Scavenging food, a place to rest, running from beasts or hunting prey, nothing survives long without knowing what it’s there to do. Naya found her purpose in hunting monsters. It was, on one hand, what she was raised to do. The young child she once was dreamed of ridding the land of them, miraculously curing the plague in the process and restoring Sredzym to the stories she’d heard. Naya was less optimistic now. But any people she could help save were worth the fight, and that’s what her tracks would lead towards.
  
  We survive the winter by knowing it. Naya finds comfort in that which she knows, the paths she’s mapped and trees she’s felt, but she finds even more in exploring the unknown, changing it from a mystery into a well explored section of her map. She gets easily enticed by the prospect of adventure and discovery, a large part of her drive to be a lookout for her group, scouting ahead of them. There’s a level of excitement little else brings. Naya knows how to survive, has spent her whole life in that knowledge, but with only little exception, she’s not one to turn down a bet or gamble. She thinks highly of her abilities, or at least acts as though she does, for better or for worse. She often inserts herself into situations first, and comes up with a plan on how to deal with them second. Despite rarely looking it, almost never showing expression on her face, she’s one to look for having a bit of fun with most the situations she ends up in, really only pulling into complete seriousness when the potential danger truly scares her.
  
  Naya was raised in the barren woods, and most of her interactions with society show it clearly. Money doesn’t motivate her; she knows it’s barely needed for survival. She’s much more likely to take action for the promise of a fun time, a good fight, or just a good drink at the end of it. She often finds that the softer a bed, the harder it is to get a good sleep and she always seems a little uncomfortable when the weather is warm enough to melt ice.
  
  Naya’s named for the wolves. In short, she’s a pack animal, loyal to a fault. A skilled hunter. A survivor. Home in the winter, the woods, and devastating when provoked. Yet with skin and fur making her seem scarier than she really is. Wolves are beautiful creatures, after all. Playful, social, clever, and most of all free.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Positive Traits: Observant, curious, loyal, clever, level headed
  Negative Traits: Closed off, short tempered, prideful, often overconfident
  Likes: Animals, areas with nature, running, beer, storytelling, dancing
  Dislikes: Densely populated areas, physical contact, being doubted, direct confrontation, the heat
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Skills: Naya’s greatest skills are her talents for navigation and mapping. She’s able to get a quick layout of any land she’s placed in, and translate it to and from paper. She can survive in any wilderness and navigate to any desired point. Naya’s trained for stealth, able to be silent and unseen, and although loosely familiar with a variety of weapons, most adept with a kindjal or dagger in hand, and she's a trained hunter. Naya’s comfortable around most animals and they around her, and she’s a skilled horseback rider.
  Fears: Naya acquired a fear of the plague at an early age, drilled into her by everyone else around her. She knows she needs to take all precautions against it, that it’s never worth a risk. She’s mildly claustrophobic, her senses trained for sensing out a large area in all directions shutting down in a sufficiently enclosed space. Perhaps deepest of all though, Naya fears letting her group down, fears causing harm. She constantly doubts whether she’s able to truly do good, or if she’ll just bring more harm out around her.
  

  
  
  
  
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  background

  
  
  
  
  

  Naya grew up with stories. Passed down from generation to generation, stories of dances and colors, of the country that once was, of a time when a stranger’s skin was safe to touch. At night, a young Naya stayed up dancing, trying to retrace the steps she’s only heard of in stories, but her dances were colorless and cold and always ended in a missed step, her falling to the floor. Naya’s community would gather around a fire, and tell stories, twisted by generations of retellings. Out in the forest her tiny hunter community lived in, this was one of the only ways to keep warm.
  
  Naya grew up with monsters. When she was young, she was convinced the monsters outnumbered humans thousands to one. All she knew was her community, no more than thirty, and the monsters, never too far out of range. The forests crawled with beasts, and anyone you did not expect to meet threatened to be a shapeshifter, or a plague carrier. The plague was a monster in and of itself, one you stayed out aware of just like the rest. Naya learned to be nimble, agile, never still for too long. She learned to be constantly watching, until she could see from a glance when something near was wrong.
  
  Naya grew up with nature. There was no survival without knowing it like the back of your hand. Naya’s community was full of fighters and hunters and weapons, so she made herself useful another way. She learned how to tell when danger was near far before it arrived, how to tell when they crossed a path they’d been on already, helped those older than her map the forest, tell where was water, where were trees, and where was barren cold.
  
  Naya grew up. She grew up when she was sent out before the rest of the group during travels, reporting back whether the path ahead was safe. She grew up when she learned to be as fast as the wind, as silent as falling snow. She grew up when she styled her own mask, when she could point in the direction of the nearest water with her eyes closed. She grew up with the death of her parents, when she became a part of her group in her own right.
  
  Naya grew up when she made a mistake. She’d been sent ahead of a small group when they’d seen signs of a monster ahead. There was a sign she missed in the snow, and their hunting mission went south faster than she could run back to correct it. She learned her most valuable lesson that day. She was fast as the wind, and the monsters were faster. Death was common in the community, harsh winters and frequent monster attacks ensuring their tribe stayed small, but the losses that day made the forest drop colder than ever before, among them one of their most promising warriors, and Naya’s closest friend. Her world came to a stop. She wasn’t banished, necessarily. Their community was too small to afford the luxury of banishments. The weak simply ended up dead. But it was clear there was no future for her in it. Naya took her mask, and a map, and left. There was only one thing left she could do. Help rid the world of monsters. She travelled from city to city, never fully feeling comfortable in any place and staying for very litte, yet offering her services wherever she could. Her map collection grew, her feet found land they'd never stepped on before, and slowly her name was spread, until she found the Black Order.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Reputation: Naya’s survived the deepest winters of Sredzym. They say she could be dropped anywhere in the world and find her way out with a map of the region in hand. They say when her community was attacked by beasts, she was the only one to survive. Others that she caused the attack. Others still that she ran away from the beasts. They say she’s a storyteller, but little of what she says is ever true.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Sacrifice: Naya’s whole life, once, consisted of her community. Her forest, in a way, her monsters to hunt. She left it all before joining the Black Order. It did not seem like much compared to the sacrifices told of in legends, but Naya had nothing else to give. She shed her old life and left it behind on the steps, stepping into a new team and new path towards her goal.
  

  
  
  
  
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[Folklore-Frith]

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• playlist

  spotify

  
  

  
  

  
  

  01

  name

  benazir solasta

  02

  nickname

  bena // sol // zira

  03

  age

  25

  04

  class

  ranger rogue duel class

  05

  gender

  cis woman, she/her

  06

  sexuality

  pan

  07

  nation

  aestantis

  08

  voice claim

  cleopatra from Assassin's Creed: Origins
• hair

  
  

  Benazir grew up wealthy. Between her father's high middle class wealth, and her mom's ridiculously wealthy family, she had more than enough supplies and products to give her a glowing, healthy appearance, and that included her hair. With various butters and serums, Benazir's hair grew like weeds. It's glossy, from the pampering and a healthy diet.
  
  Her hair stops below the shoulders. It's rich and earthy in color, dark brown bordering on ebony. It's often pushed back away from her face and flipped over to one side. When she's on a mission, she will have it braided simply, letting it between her shoulder blades and tucking it under her shawl.
  
  

  eyes

  
  

  Benazir's eyes nearly match her skin and ethnicity, as earthy and warm as the rest of her. They are a rich brown that turn honey-like in the sunlight, as brown eyes do.
  
  One eye holds an anomaly. On the upper part of her left iris, it's a pale blue, stretching both up and down, uneven, like roughly cut topaz.

  physique

  
  

  Benazir stands at the average height of five feet and five inches, and weighs a healthy one-hundred and twenty pounds. Her healthy diet and athletic lifestyle has worked her body into somewhat of a masterpiece. Wrapped in lean muscle, Benazir has a climber's body. Spending hours parkouring around the city of her birth, her limbs are strong and her back is taut with muscle. Her thighs are thick and solid.

  attire

  
  

  Benazir's wealth is evident from her body to what she decides to adorn it with. Despite her mother's disappointment, and Benazir's sacrifice letter from the Black Order, she is still dedicated to making sure her daughter has the best life possible, even as she's facing danger every second of the way.
  
  Dark and supple leather accentuates her body, wrapping in a form-fitting yet comfortable and practical way — keeping it beautiful but out of the way. The leather is thicker around her chest, to make up for any devastating damage that might come her way. Benazir bears bracers just as expensive, and just as fitting. Her boots are knee-high and mud splattered. As cleanly as Benazir is, no amount of effort will keep such wear free of dirt. On her head and shoulders, she wears a dark shawl that works as a hood, keeping her face from view. Around her neck, she has piece of cloth she can pull over the bottom half of her face.

  modifications

  
  

  Benazir's modifications are few. Her ears have three piercings each. Two on each helix, and one on both earlobes. On her helix, there two that hug the ear.

  scars / markings

  
  

  When Benazir was a teen, her and her friend Maeve nearly got their shit rocked by a sea serpent. It had cut one of her arms, slashing it across the bicep, scarring it easily.
  
  A few others are scattered across her body. On her legs, a few three-inch scratches on her back, and knicks on her stomach.

  arsenal

  
  

  Her arsenal isn't much, but it's what she knows how to work with. A luxurious bow with a matching quiver stocked full of arrows is strung across her back. Daggers, for throwing and close combat, are at her hips, with one other at her ankle. Just in case.

  misc info

  
  

  Benazir isn't one for much decorating, unless she's visiting her mother, going to grand parties. Instead, she decorates with what little she has on her. Kohl powder that clouds around her eyes, giving her a striking visage. And sometimes, when she has something important planned, she will bring out a golden powder, to tap some to her cheekbones.

  weight

  one-hundred twenty pounds

  height

  five feet and five inches
• • o
  • o
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  • virtues

    adaptable

    charming

    unassuming

    team player

    honest
  • vices

    secretive

    cynical

    devious

    closed off

    hedonistic
  • likes

    good ass wine

    the smell of herbs

    tall architecture

    parties

    the crow's nest

    causing trouble

    traveling

    hunting (animals or monsters)

    dislikes

    her mother's family

    touchy politicians

    sea serpents

    small fishing boats

    close combat

    bad B.O.

    sea sickness
  • reputation

    In Aestantis, her reputation varies, often flip-flopping wildly. On one hand, she's a charming girl with a lot in her future. Known as the offspring of one of the most prominent Aestantis families, Benazir is both held in high regard, but in a way that most rebellious children of high society are. A pleasure to have at parties, but also known to be one of the more stranger people of the great nation. Often spotted high above the ground, leaping from place to place, people often forget who she is, especially when she's playing different roles. Still, not many would consider her two-faced, as many have gotten to have honest talks with her.
    
    In Likha, she's known in a more candid sense. In a place free to be herself, Benazir had let some of the shadowed parts of her hit the light. The community there didn't reek of ill-intent, and no one expected her to be this perfect person. Benazir would help hunt for those less fortunate, and never asked for pay. The community gave back to her whenever they could, and so the cycle would continue. They knew her as someone that helped keep the community safe from monsters, too. Always coming swiftly when called, with her father Aukia in tow. She's widely known as someone to rely on, someone to talk to, and someone who can give you something to talk about for the rest of your life. And not many can forget the time that she and Maeve almost got taken away by a sea serpent.
    
    Outside of Aestantis and Likha, her reputation becomes a bit... strange. People say Benazir is a siren, known to charm nobles and leave with more wealth than when she came in. It doesn't help that she's often seen climbing onto ships without having to pay a fare. Other's say she's blessed by Nana because of how celebrations seem to welcome her with open arms.

    sacrifice

    Benazir was raised by her parents, and the efforts from both sides were equal. By taking a place as a Black Order initiate, she had to give up both. Not a big sacrifice in other people's eyes, but to her it felt like her entire world was ripped from her. No amount of independence could prepare her for returning to an empty camp, her father having packed up and left, and having to write a letter to her mother saying goodbye. For now.

    mental ailments

    Benazir doesn't have much she can really complain about, but as wonderfully as her parents raised her, she was unfortunately subjected to those around her, including her mother's family. A couple people in the family were known narcissists, and because of their distaste when it came to Benazir and her being the daughter of an outsider, they just couldn't keep their mouths shut. Eventually, Benazir developed C-PTSD and some depression symptoms.

    fears

    Benazir has a few fears, though only one of them that effect her physically. Never seeing her father again is a big one, but her mother staying disappointed in her for the rest of their lives is a close second.
    
    Her debilitating fear stems from the sea serpent encounter she had with her friend Maeve. The serpent has nearly destroyed the small fishing boat they traveled on, and had almost drowned Maeve. Benazir herself was launched from the boat as well, and suffered injuries to her arm from the sea serpent itself. She had to fish Maeve out of the water and together they steered the boat home.
  • favourites

    gold

    herbed salmon

    sea shanties

    red wine

    climbing & parkour

  Do remember your manners, but don't feel compelled to use them.

  personality

  
  Benazir is someone who felt torn between two worlds at birth. Her mother had her living a life of luxury, polishing her like a gem until she shone like a star in the sky, teaching her the way of a culture that was a breath away from rejecting her. She's learned how to blend into the crowd she walks within. She's lived in the forest and a manor, walked a spice and silk heavy bazaar and hunted her own food. She's both wild and civilized; a wolf wearing silks. There doesn't seem to be a crowd Benazir can't find a place in.
  
  Benazir was raised with only her mother and father to depend on. She didn't have many friends growing up, only acquaintances. Benazir has layers rarely seen, offering only the surface for those around her to view. These walls rarely crack, but sometimes she's willing to open a door or two. Despite her lack of friendships, talking doesn't seem to be an issue for her. Disarming and casual, Benazir can give politicians a run for their money. Surrounded by nobility will do that to someone. Her time spent with her casual yet educated father and his people rounded out the sharp edges her mother's family had given her, equipping her with the duality to handle just about anyone. Within reason, of course.
  
  Benazir was raised in a community of her father's making. Even though she was distanced from most, due to her age and the fact that they were all grown monster hunters, they know how to work well with others. A honeyed tongue to get her party out of trouble, and a deadly aim to do quite the same. Still, she has only a few spaces in her heart for those she will ever truly care about. Or, at least, that's her belief. This does not make her any less of a team player, but this does put a wedge between her people and others. She would do anything for her chosen few in a heartbeat, and if that meant leaving someone else to rot, she would do it. Even considering the damage to herself, she would continue to do so, again and again.
  
  Raised amongst nobility has given her things to think about. Ulterior motives are forever on her mind. The moment a fresh face approaches, Benazir will wonder what they want and why. And what they will do to get it. Trust is not something she gives out for free. They've learned that the hard way. Every piece of information she gives, she ponders the price. Never will she give information that will lead to her beheading. Secrets and plain trivia are locked behind pursed lips and she has swallowed the key.
  
  Benazir is not an uptight person. Bouncing between someone wild and free, and someone as polished and sharp as stone, she has to find some way to relax. Sometimes driven by hedonistic tendencies, they will use that time to really let loose. Careful on the job and in strenuous situations, they turn into something to be marveled at once a tankard of ale is in her hand. To add some fuel to the fire, Benazir has the ability to become quite devious. A wolf wearing silks.
  
  Skills:
  Ranged Combat
  Benazir's father, Aukai, was a master at archery. Having grown up in a family that quite literally fended for themselves, he grew to be quite the shot. One of his wishes was to make sure Benazir had the same skills and opportunities as him, if not more. So, he equipped her with the skills necessary to do so. Benazir practiced every day when she was with her father, and even made time to sneak away and do the same in Aestantis, away from her mother's prying eyes. Shooting from atop a horse's back proved to be a difficult challenge, but one she grew adept in. From the trees, from a horse, or the ground, Benazir is one hell of a shot.
  
  Stealth
  Benazir grew up escaping both her mother Sorine, and Sorine's family. As well as hunting both animal and monster when she was with her father. Carefully placed steps were a necessity, as was blending in and moving with the utmost silence and precision. Benazir has a habit of moving as quiet as a mouse, and stalk with the silence of a cat. During her father's orchestrated games of hide and seek, he would encourage her to hide. She knew how to hide her tracks, keep low and quiet, and also produce less visible activity.
  
  Climbing
  Trees and the towering architecture of Aestantis proved to be good outlets for a high-energy kid such as Benazir. There was so much to see from the tops of trees and the pillars of the city. Benazir became adept in escaping her mother and monsters this way, giving her a good vantage point, as well as a way to shoot from the high ground.
  
  Increased Perception
  Benazir has extremely good eye sight. Her father's hunting party used to say she was part eagle, picking apart those around her. It's why she's so in tune to people in general. She's been able to tell when someone's lying, when they're upset. She's able to tell when others are looking at her. And she's able to pick apart what they might want. Eyes skimming her coin purse, her body? She'll know.
  
  Tracking
  Benazir's dad was an avid hunter that passed his skills onto his daughter, which she learned with unmatched zeal. Aukia would take her into the forest and begin a game of hide and seek. Her father would run and hide, and she would track him to his hiding spot, where he'd be waiting. Because of this, she learned how to track effectively, and bring that over to hunting; man, beast, and monster.
• the beginning

  
  Benazir was born in Aestantis, to an Aestantian mother and a Likhanian father. Her mother is part of a well-known family of architects that specialize in innovative design—both ornate and functional, aesthetic and sensible—while her father was known by the glory he found within the Black Order. A famous monster hunter that first started off in the dense forests of his birthplace. Going to Aestantis for a job proved more than a simple task, but was worth it all the same. During that job, Aukai, her father, was injured along with a few others in his hunting party. Benazir's mother, Sorine, who had been there when they stumbled back to the safety of the walls, offered to house them until they were healed enough to travel.
  
  Though Aukai was an outsider, he was well-read and civilized with enough glory to lower the guard of Sorine and her family. Soon they were inviting him to places, and introducing him with zeal and encouraging him to tell tales of his adventures and homeland alike, despite not being as polished as the rest of them. A man built for the wilds among high society. Though some regarded him coolly, Sorine was sure to warm him in her bed.
  
  Their union was one of passion, but not one of love. Friends that occasionally looked for company in each other. Though life knows naught of true intentions, and soon Benazir was on the way. Aukai was ecstatic to be a father, in spite of the looks he received from Sorine's family. He had vowed to her to help raise this child with her, and she agreed, so long as it was as friends and nothing more. It was an easy thing to accept, the same thought on his mind.
  
  Benazir was born on a cool night, and was greeted by both parents.

  the middle

  
  She was raised within a happy family, though her father often left to travel for weeks to months, still a dutiful hunter of the Black Order. Her mother raised her as she was raised; through diligence, unconditional love, and endless etiquette classes. Especially since she knew the plans of Aukai. They would both bestow their different lifestyles unto Benazir. And bestow they did. Benazir fell in love with both sides of her life, despite the hardships they both brought. The wealth was lovely, but no amount of wealth could soothe the aftermath of the looks and sharp words she received. It seemed like parts of her family and the Aestantians couldn't come to terms to who she belonged to. Aestantia or Likha? Her mother fought tooth and nail to get Benazir into her culture. The stories Benazir told of her adventures with her father were enough to cause the rest of the family to wonder what life she would choose.
  
  Sorine curbed their barbed tongues with more and more etiquette classes, and homeschooled Benazir on their culture, until eventually Benazir met her family's requirements. She had learned enough to be present while they told their stories, while they designed their architecture. They still looked at her with troubled and disdain-filled eyes, but knew she was dedicated enough to let it go.
  
  The life she led with her father, when he came by ship to secure his "precious cargo", was one a bit more carefree and wild. Nights under the stars filled her memories, a vast contrast to the white and gold trim that she walked back at home. Here she was free to catch the wind in her hair, feel the salt-spray on her skin, free to heave herself into the crow's nest. The time they had on deck was spent sparring. It was here she gained an edge in agility. Learning how to handle the rocking of the ship and the people traveling between port and starboard gave her all the training she needed in balance and speed she needed.
  
  Off the ship and into the forest was where her training continued. Much like the towering architecture, the trees gave her a sense of security. Her father taught her how to climb and how to track. And, most importantly, how to use a bow. The months spent with her father turned her into a skilled archer with an eagle's eyes. Her and her father would track monsters and slay them at a distance, using both arrows and knives (when they inevitably ran out of arrows).

  the rebirth

  
  Benazir loved her mother, but the life of a monster hunter was where she felt alive. Back in Aestantis she only felt trapped with her family breathing down her neck, just waiting for a mistake. Anything to latch onto and sour her name with. She didn't have a future in architecture, but she had one with the Black Order. Aukia said it was his greatest wish that she join the ranks with him. He said it would be a great honor for his daughter to be a part of the fight against the darkness.
  
  Benazir is ready to do just that. With a bow in hand, and her mother's disappointment on her back, she's ready to pave the way to peace.
• gallery

  maeve lacugrove

  We met when we were young and wild, running through the forest together, barefoot. I wouldn't have had it any other way. Let's stay away from tiny boats for a while though, yeah?

  matthias burns

  Matthias... You are a roach. Simple, clean cut, and the strongest truth I have in my arsenal. And yet, you give me every excuse to have fun, but in a way that doesn't leave me feeling empty and dangling from the edge of something. You're a bastard, a cheesy flirt, and the worst thing that's ever happened to me.
  
  Or, the best. I haven't figured it out yet.

  ymir yaotsai

  Meeting you was one of the best days of my life. I felt so lost in a world I knew well, my father's space beside me being empty, with the wound still raw. Captain, you helped me feel less alone when my sacrifice made me feel misplaced. It's an honor to serve with you. An honor to be in your company. An honor to have a place in my heart for you. But be careful. Or else.

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[mother of sorrows]

home

currently logged in as

teru

jump back in!

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requisite

personality

backstory

miscellaneous

recent posts :

teru_me_to_pieces

#hr

mind ur business

stop bringing me your ripped off arms, chief i can't help

4.20k

666k

+2

teru_me_to_pieces

#hr

tent

i don't know who needs to hear it but everyday it gets more obvious you heauxes have daddy issues GET THERAPY

4.20k

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• homeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
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• 
  
  
  

  
  

  new message!

  
  

  
  

  
  

  velivir

  
  

  how are you gonna look like a rotghoul but call my owl ugly.

  
  

  
  

  
  
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  requisite

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  full name

  
  
  
  

  Yi Li Teru

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  nickname

  
  
  
  

  None

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  age

  
  
  
  

  27

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  birthplace

  
  
  
  

  Nai Sie

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  role

  
  
  
  

  Healer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Faceclaim

  
  
  
  

  Remy Hii

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

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  Example 1, example 2, example 3

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  vices

  
  
  
  

  There is hardly a river as harsh as Teru, a path as inhospitable as the one to his heart.
  
  Judgemental, combative and with the sullen disposition of an overly bullied child, Teru is far easier to antagonize than he is to befriend. With none of the kindness one might expect of a healer, Teru might not be the best fighter - but one to underestimate his sharp tongue and wit is going to regret it dearly. His high horse never seems to ride off completely, making for a far-too smug man that prides himself on being smarter than everybody else.
  
  Beneath the eagerness to shoot down anybody Teru deems idiotic or to ruin people's hopes and dreams, lies a self-hatred so deep not even the sea can compare.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  virtues

  
  
  
  

  An endlessly dreaming romantic, a byproduct of the poems he was raised by - it might seem out of character, considering his sour personality, but Teru does have the heart for all things amorous. Not that he would ever admit it, but he does dream of love akin to those in ballads. It's a want he's slightly embarrassed about - it would take an army for him to actually admit he fancies somebody.
  
  To those few Teru is close with and to the sick, he harbors a surprising amount of gentleness and care. Not hesitating to risk his life, Teru has an admirable dedication to his work - he'd work himself into exhaustion before letting any of his patients go uncared for. Bitter and a lonely shell of a man he might be, but nobody can deny the unwavering loyalty and love he has for those he cares for.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  reputation

  
  
  
  

  The brilliant son of folk healers, struck by tragedy - his family's work has brough him plenty of fear and wary admiration in his hometown, but it has faded with his departure - outside Nai Sie, he is only a mean-tongued healer.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  fears

  
  
  
  

  Dark, tight places; fire; being unable to move.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  backstory

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  history

  
  
  
  

  Not many could tell you this, but Teru was born only a short heartbeat after his mother died.
  
  As his father's story goes, he carved the child out himself from his wife's steadily cooling body; with Teru screaming into the world, red from blood and squirming in his grasp. It was nothing short of a miracle. Most healers would call the child forsaken, shaking their heads sadly. But his father had years of experience and it was with it that he perfromed careful surgery, even as his wife's light fled her eyes.
  
  To others a death and a birth in one night would seem a tragedy, but to Shaoli it was a sign.
  
  The folk healers in their region were known for that; searching for signs in the terrible unknown of the world. Horrifying, arcane symbols build up the ground we stand on, the air we breathe. The half-mad glitter in their eyes, their chants to the Gods and strange rituals give them a fearful reputation - paired with wary respect.
  
  It is under his father's guidance that learned the craft of healing.
  
  Shaoli re-married only a year after Teru's birth, to a younger widow from a humble family. Birth mother she might not have been, but she cared for Teru as well as she would for one of her own - she's the only mother he has, as far as Teru is concerned.
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  family

  
  
  
  

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  Yaotsai Ymir;
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

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♡design by erosful, coded by uxie♡

 

[miyabi]

서예슬

thief

dishonorable fool, a thief among many. may she die at the hands of her own recklessness.

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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Ales Waldgrave

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  32 years old.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  cis-female

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  pansexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Nation

  
  

  Hestea

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Class

  
  

  Rogue

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'6", ales is only an inch above the average height. a woman easily lost in a crowd if needed.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  light brown, sometimes appears auburn. the length hits the middle of her back, but is often put into a braid for the sake of keeping the long locks from getting everywhere.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  dark brown, ales' eyes are round and slightly downturned. her lashes are thick, slightly curled, and short. there is a light scar that runs across her left eye, often gone unnoticed unless there is close observation.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  ales' frame is smaller, a bit lithe, yet still holds a bit of muscle; a woman that favors a pitcher of mead, it is no surprise that ales isn't as muscular as her other counterparts.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ailments

  
  

  a slight limp in her walk and a less-than-good liver, ales' health isn't in the best condition; this does not, however, wholly affect her ability to fight and work.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  deceptive

  
  
  
  
  

  sarcastic

  
  
  
  
  

  reckless

  
  
  
  
  

  secretive

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  "Dishonorable fool, a thief among many. May she die at the hands of her own recklessness." - every bitch in her village
  
  Unafraid of consequence, Ales laughs in the face of death. A woman, with little care, stricken by the very sorrows from childhood, Ales is nothing short of a product of devastation, cruelty, and unfairness. In the shadow of her father, never one to venture away from it, she’d never taken comfort in crowds--never one to be as convivial as most; on most days, she thinks of a world where the sun rises and falls, come morning and night--where under the light is hope. Dreams, however, are best left to those who need it most. To say she is troubled would be an understatement, innocence lost at a young age; Ales, much like the other children of Hestea, has and always will be surrounded by the dreary. Though, it may not translate to her outward personality.
  
  Morally ambiguous, it’s safe to say that Ales isn’t 100% the heroic type; in fact, many of her heroic deeds have been by accident. Her motivations are questionable, most would think that it would be for justice, others coin, but Ales would rather keep these intentions under wraps.
  
  It would be an insult to say that she was like her father. And while he was never a bad man, to be stuck in the shadow of a hero has made her far more apprehensive towards the thought. However, to say that she will never be like him, would be a crushing blow; a woman, who although may not seem like it, with a heart of gold. Her intentions are well-meant--for the most part.
  
  With sticky fingers, most would catch her stealing whatever she can--when she can, even if they don’t hold much value. From sweetrolls to coin, one would expect Ales to get her hands on them no matter the circumstance. And her insatiable hunger for more does her no justice.
  
  The type to joke when in uncomfortable situations, Ales’ mouth often gets her in trouble with her counterparts. A woman that isn’t great with her words, one wouldn’t put it past her to say the wrong thing in a time when the right thing is needed. Steadily one of the more outspoken people from her village, there is a reason most never did quite take a liking to her. Her straightforward, blunt demeanor is sure to ruffle some feathers despite her words being well intentioned.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  reputation

  
  

  
  

  A formidable foe to many, Ales isn’t only known for her thievery--though, she is mostly known for it. Known to be a fighter and a drunken menace, most would steer clear of her path. However, her intellect and preparational prowess, as well as the affiliation to her heroic father, Ales is far more capable than most would think. In her village, she is a fool; most associate her with sticky fingers and rightfully so, as well as her knack for picking fights drunkenly with any man she makes eye contact with. Ales is also known as a THOT.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skills

  
  

  
  

  lock picking, deception, thievery, persuasion, hand to hand combat, stealth, outdrinking most of her peers.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  date here

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.
  
  Aliquam erat volutpat. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Maecenas consectetur eu libero quis ultrices. Aliquam pharetra volutpat diam ultricies varius. Nullam accumsan nec dui in euismod. Suspendisse porta odio in pharetra tincidunt. Curabitur quis urna vitae turpis tincidunt ultricies non a erat. Duis bibendum quam et tellus varius efficitur id quis arcu. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Pellentesque eget mattis ante, et sodales ex. Proin sed leo aliquam lorem vulputate tristique in feugiat dolor. Curabitur id malesuada neque. Curabitur aliquet facilisis commodo. Praesent purus eros, suscipit a pellentesque a, venenatis id dolor. Donec commodo nunc facilisis metus sodales sollicitudin. Nam a odio sit amet augue mollis tincidunt.
  
  Curabitur nulla sem, accumsan sed tincidunt vel, suscipit et dui. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Proin euismod euismod commodo. Cras iaculis arcu nec felis mattis semper. Praesent non dui lorem. Maecenas rutrum, purus quis varius iaculis, turpis quam auctor nisi, sed hendrerit massa lectus nec mauris. Maecenas fermentum, ligula at dignissim placerat, libero lectus imperdiet diam, sed fermentum nulla ligula porttitor nisi. Curabitur sit amet venenatis justo, id bibendum orci. Donec convallis quam ut urna facilisis, quis laoreet ante molestie.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  date here

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.
  
  Aliquam erat volutpat. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Maecenas consectetur eu libero quis ultrices. Aliquam pharetra volutpat diam ultricies varius. Nullam accumsan nec dui in euismod. Suspendisse porta odio in pharetra tincidunt. Curabitur quis urna vitae turpis tincidunt ultricies non a erat. Duis bibendum quam et tellus varius efficitur id quis arcu. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Pellentesque eget mattis ante, et sodales ex. Proin sed leo aliquam lorem vulputate tristique in feugiat dolor. Curabitur id malesuada neque. Curabitur aliquet facilisis commodo. Praesent purus eros, suscipit a pellentesque a, venenatis id dolor. Donec commodo nunc facilisis metus sodales sollicitudin. Nam a odio sit amet augue mollis tincidunt.
  
  Curabitur nulla sem, accumsan sed tincidunt vel, suscipit et dui. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Proin euismod euismod commodo. Cras iaculis arcu nec felis mattis semper. Praesent non dui lorem. Maecenas rutrum, purus quis varius iaculis, turpis quam auctor nisi, sed hendrerit massa lectus nec mauris. Maecenas fermentum, ligula at dignissim placerat, libero lectus imperdiet diam, sed fermentum nulla ligula porttitor nisi. Curabitur sit amet venenatis justo, id bibendum orci. Donec convallis quam ut urna facilisis, quis laoreet ante molestie.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  quote. make it a nice quote

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  an extra text

  
  
  
  
  

  an extra reply

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  lukas waldgrave

  
  
  
  

  father -- alive

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  gavina waldgrove

  
  
  
  

  mother -- deceased

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  short change hero

  
  

  the heavy

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[.V1LLAINISM._]

"The Florida of fiction."

Matthias Burns. 29. Whorish Bard.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[barelythere]

* MICHAEL URI.

• 1ai
• 2ai
• 3ai
• 4ai

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  req.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  #EPILOGUE

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  * name

  Michael Uri Ivanov.
  

  * nickname

  El'
  

  * age

  32
  

  * gender

  Male.
  

  * sexuality

  Bisexual.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  #likha

  
  
  
  
  

  #virgo

  
  
  
  
  

  #lawful good

  
  
  
  
  

  #medic

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  * height

  6'5"
  

  * build

  Overly tall, lanky and lean figure, broad shoulders, long gangly legs, sturdy arms, and tough dry hands from the overuse of soap.
  

  * face

  Diamond facial profile, aquiline nose, a strong cleft chin, cutting edge jaw, and plump lips.
  

  * skin

  Creamy and fair complexion, a couple moles on his cheeks, and a light stubble for facial hair.
  

  * hair

  Warm dark brown color, disheveled and wavy form, and textured bangs.
  

  * eyes

  Coffee-coloured and downturned in shape.
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  pers.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  #woodworking

  
  
  
  

  #reading

  
  
  
  

  #bread

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  #chocolate

  
  
  
  

  #welding

  
  
  
  

  #puzzles

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  fears

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  #dogs

  
  
  
  

  #fire

  
  
  
  

  #heights

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  * personality

  
  
  Positive traits:
  Acute, tactful, kind, resourceful, ability to make swift decisions, stays calm under pressure, flexible, discreet, observant, parternal, and tender.
  
  Negative traits:
  Controlling, picky, perfers to work alone, judgemental, easy to frustrate, and sarcastic.
  
  Habits:
  Needs to be in control of his environment and prepared for the unknown at all times. Diligent in checking his medical supplies and the well being of others in his care. Tends to talk loudly and snaps his fingers when in deep thought.
  
  Skills:
  Expert Healer in herbal medicine (healing disease and poison), combat-experienced trauma surgeon, and a tome of accumulated medical knowledge.
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  hist.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  #michael says . . .

  
  

  
  

  ❝

  
  

  I have some unfortunate news.. I'm going to have to cut your leg off. ....Anyways, good news is-

  
  

  ❞

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  * history

  Construction taking place here! *beep beep beep*
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  misc.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  * family

  info here
  
  

  * mbti

  info here
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

req.

pers.

hist.

misc.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Abendrot]

Character Completion = 95%

• .
• .
• .
• .

• Yi Xiangyu

  full name

  YI Xiangyu
  
  

  nickname

  n/a
  
  

  gender

  Male
  
  

  age

  36
  
  

  sexuality

  "Straight" but would have a crisis after one 'am i gay' quiz
  
  

  class

  Scout
  
  

  nation

  Nai Sie

  VISAGE

  height

  6'0"
  
  

  weight

  160
  
  

  build

  Athletic
  
  

  hair

  Black
  
  

  eyes

  Brown
  
  

  fc

  Lei Jiayin
• down to earth

  honorable

  clever

  charming

  cunning

  paranoid

  insecure

  alcoholic

  tempermental

  sensualist

  PERSONA

  Xiangyu is something of an odd man, with a slightly offbeat sense of humor. He can be a little twitchy at times, with strange habits like refusing to sit in the center of a room, or insisting on keeping a wall to his back with an exit nearby. Still, he can seem almost personable. He enjoys a good joke, loves to drink and sit around the table with his friends to pass the time. He seeks out others and does not like to be alone, but hides a deep-seated fear that those he cares for will come to despise him and leave him behind. While he appears strong and independent, if he does not have anything to hold him back, he tends to drink heavily.
  
  There is a mix of tenderness and cynicism in him; he has learned to distrust the world, and there are very few people he is really close to. He has a quick temper and can be riled with just the wrong combination of words, looks, or actions. His anger can run as deep as his passion, and when rage hits him, he has trouble thinking clearly. However, he still has a deep well of compassion in his heart, and will offer help, empathy, and understanding to those who need it, even while keeping himself a little closed off. His loyalty cannot be matched, once earned, and he will stand behind a friend through anything.
  
  He has developed a distaste for nobility, despite having been raised in a noble family himself, yet he has forged and refined this sentiment into a determination to bring radical change to Nai Sie. His loyalty cannot be matched once earned, and he will stand behind a friend through anything.
  

  
  

  MISC

  skills

  small unit tactics, archery (bows, crossbows), shortsword combat, stamina, hunting, scouting, tracking
  
  

  habits

  - Drinks like a fish and keeps the scariest poker face the whole time. Until he passes out, anyway.
  - Talks to rocks. I wish I were joking, but I'm not.
  - Is overly concerned with his surroundings
  - Brushing his hair is the fastest way to put him to sleep.
  
  

  fears

  Wanton killing, The House of Yi
  

  
  
• BACKGROUND

  
  

  Yi Xiangyu was never meant to exist. Born to a supposedly barren mistress and a high-ranking Nai Siean official who had no business caring for a son, it was clear from the start that something was amiss.
  
  It took the suspicious death of Xiangyu's father for his mother to reveal the truth of his parentage to her childhood friend and erstwhile lover, the young lord's younger brother, Yi Wenzhu. To him alone, she revealed that Xiangyu was his nephew, and of the House of Yi by blood. Wenzhu saw in the child a tool he could use to further his own ambitions, and agreed to adopt him into his inner political circle, away from the common rabble of laborers, woodsmen, and loggers that lived around his mother's home.
  
  Though she knew precisely what Wenzhu intended, Xiangyu's mother never tried once to shield her son from his manipulations.
  
  Growing up in the city of Yunzhou, Xiangyu quickly learned that threats were constant, whether from the inhabitants of the city, or the inner squabbles of the elite. He was a quiet boy growing up, and understood the value of being out of sight and out of mind. He also learned very early that his Uncle Wenzhu expected him to live up to his father's reputation as an esteemed statesman. Wenzhu loved to pit his own children and Xiangyu against each other, fostering an environment of constant competition within the household. And in most ways, Xiangyu came up short, often losing to his cousins. When he thought his uncle wished him to be poised, he tried to be poised. When he thought his father wished him to be stern, he tried to be stern. But he was never poised or stern enough, and this kept Wenzhu's approval just out of grasp.
  
  When it became clear that Xiangyu wasn't a chip off the old block, Wenzhu's attitude toward him changed. Repeatedly, he watched as his uncle took his sons with him around the estate to conduct business. He watched as Wenzhu proudly introduced his children and passively introduced his nephew to visiting officials.
  
  On the day of his sixteenth birthday, Xiangyu elected to apply for the military instead of the imperial examinations, mostly to spite his family than anything else. There he found structure, discipline, and a worthy cause. He was far from a prodigy, but with hard work and training he made progress in the corps, and was young enough to still be enthusiastic about taking on the jobs no one else wanted. Training was long, difficult, and complex. But it was nothing compared to the reality of real military life. Downtime in the cities might've been pleasant enough, but the time in the jungles and the mountains were the stuff of nightmares.
  
  When the plants beneath your feet attack you, and beasts become warped beyond anything recognizably natural, the pressure on the minds of Nai Sie's soldiers was constant and intense. With typical jungle patrol rosters of one week on patrol and at least a week of recovery, a soldier's life could go from heaven to hell in the space of a few days.
  
  Xiangyu, for his part, coped as well as he could. The quirks of his personality became more pronounced over time, but for a while, he remained a bastion of stability among his comrades.
  
  However, the tales he could tell of his years thus far would be enough for any to question his remaining sanity.
  
  Ultimately it was Xiangyu who got himself thrown out of the army, though, after a particularly aggressive display of his temper. Like his uncle, his disposition did not mix well with liquor. He was dismissed soon thereafter, and found himself drinking more and more. For two years he worked as an unofficial guard in Xiling, an old logging community in the north of Nai Sie, and during a job, he met Zofia Drozda, a Sredzyman representative of the Black Order, with a penchant for thievery.
  
  Having a peculiar--but strong--sense of honor, Xiangyu ended up sheltering her from the Guard, and helped her get back on her feet. Their interactions fostered an unlikely friendship... and a subsequent invitation to the order.
  
  Baffled by this, Xiangyu cautiously accepted, and has been trying to make himself worthy of the position ever since. To this day, he still isn't quite sure why he decided to take up the offer. Some days, he tells himself it's for the good of Drasira. Other days he reminds himself that his position in the Black Order is a greater honor than any station in Nai Sie.
  
  He has yet to admit to himself that a perverse part of him, deep down, has fallen in love with the wanton killing of the jungles, from the years he has survived its terrors.
  
  

  reputation

  Despite his dishonorable discharge, the soldiers of Nai Sie respect Xiangyu as a 20-year veteran of a profession with a 5-year life expectancy. Some people even fear him for his apparent eccentricity. He's a little past his prime, though, and many who praise him to his face whisper about his drinking habits behind his back.
  
  The fact that he is of a respected noble family raises some eyebrows here and there, but it's just as well known that he's all but divorced them from his life.
  
  

  sacrifice

  Having long disowned his birth family, he has given his life almost fully to the Black Order. He's forfeited all the privileges and accolades of both his nobility and military service in Nai Sie, as well as the right to marry or bear children. Combat will no longer bring him glory or recognition, and he instead lays down his life for the good of Drasira.
  
  
  

  
  
• RELATIONSHIPS

  • .
  • .

  • YI WENZHU

    Paternal Uncle || Alive

    
    

    
    
    

    YI WENHUA

    Cousin, younger son of Yi Wenzhu || Alive
    
    Cautious and thorough, the scholar Wenhua prefers to think everything through before he arrives at a conclusion. Hes' a man who prefers to keep to himself, although unlike the rest of his family, he's maintained a good relationship with Xiangyu built on mutual admiration. He has often come to Xiangyu's defense when other family members treated him maliciously.

    
    

    
    
    

    YI WENJUN

    Cousin, older son of Yi Wenzhu || Alive

    
    

    
    
    

    BERENIKE YI

    First cousin once removed. Daughter of Yi Wenhua || Alive

    
    
  • NAME HERE

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.
    
    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

    
    

    
    
    

    NAME HERE

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.
    
    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

    
    

    
    
    

    NAME HERE

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.
    
    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

    
    

    
    
    

    NAME HERE

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.
    
    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

    
    

易
翔
宇

coded by reveriee.

 

[thespectacularstorm]

placeholder for who tf knows what imma make bc gotdamn my wife wrote a lot

 

[E q u i n o x]

this is a huge mega wip, but I'll do my best to have it finished by Tuesday! I'm very new to rping on RPN/using coding so please forgive any mistakes.

basics

appearance

psyche

background

gallery

• aaa
• aaaaaaaa
• aaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaa

• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  basics

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Casimiro

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Beautiful Crime

  
  
  
  

  Tamer

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  full name

  
  
  
  

  Casimiro Vicario Herrera.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  nicknames

  
  
  
  

  Cas.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  age

  
  
  
  

  30 years old.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  gender

  
  
  
  

  Cis Man (He/Him).

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  orientation

  
  
  
  

  Pansexual.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Role

  
  
  
  

  Blacksmith. Or Warrior. Or both. He's flexible.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Country

  
  
  
  

  Hestea.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  faceclaim

  
  
  
  

  Mario Blanco.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  voiceclaim

  
  
  
  

  David Castañeda as Diego Hargreeves.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  6'2"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  195 lbs

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Black Hair

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Gray Eyes

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hair & eyes

  
  
  
  

  
  Casimiro grew up in poverty, lacking the luxury afforded to Hestea’s wealth, and so his hair was most often the least of his concerns. He would cut it often, shaving down to the scalp to keep it out of his way while working as well as avoiding the care that longer locks demanded if you didn’t want it to become a shaggy, matted mess.
  
  During his stint as a noble’s guard he had the opportunity to take care of himself better and occasionally let it grow out, though his lord notably preferred him to keep it short. Once he struck out on his own and since joining the Black Order he let it grow out long out of spite. Thick, glossy, wavy black hair now extends to just above his shoulders. When performing his tasks as a blacksmith he ties it back securely. More often than not it’s a mussed up mess he only bothers to run a comb through maybe once a day when he wakes up in the morning. Appearing attractive and formal has never been a priority.
  
  His hooded eyes are a stormy pale gray that darkens into a black circle surrounding the irises. When in close range it’s easy to detect hints of light green and honey brown flecks surrounding the pupils.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  physique & other tidbits

  
  
  
  

  
  Between his height and powerful figure, Casimiro can be an imposing sight when he wishes to be, though this rarely seems to be the case; a gentle giant if you will, only applying force against those who would do him or his company harm. His skin is light brown, though notably tans easily and will grow darker if exposed to sunlight for long enough. He has a sharp jawline with an angular chin, and striking grayish eyes set beneath thick, dark eyebrows.
  
  His lower face is covered in a thin amount of stubble always as he doesn’t have the patience to make certain he remains clean-shaven, but he rarely lets it grow out into a full beard. He has a wide, somewhat pointed nose that rounds out at the tip, and he often appears tired, with shadows under his eyes. A faded scar can be found along the left side of his rib-cage, caused by a sword, and several healed over claw-marks and bite wounds can be found scattered over his body, most numerous on his arms and legs. His fingers also appear to be heavily scarred, from burns and the occasional slip of a weapon.
  
  Another rather noticeable blemish is a large scar across his face that extends from above the left eyebrow, across the bridge of the nose and curves slightly to end below the right eye. A large tattoo stretches from his left forearm, over the back of his shoulder, crossing his spine and expanding onto the opposite shoulder and forearm. They depict the spread wings of a dark owl.
  
  Facial Scar Reference: Click here. Picrew is love, picrew is life.
  
  Tattoo Reference: Somewhat like this, but across both arms/shoulders and over the back. They're designed after the wings of a sooty owl.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  attire

  
  
  
  

  
  His clothing is mostly what one might expect from a peasant, as even with a tad more coin to his name Casimiro has never felt drawn to fine, fancy clothing. Dull colors, practical, unassuming; now that’s more his style. A grey cloth blouse fastened around the waist with a leather belt, a thick black overcoat made from wool that falls from the shoulders to half-way down the legs, a pair of worn old boots, dark trousers and padded gloves with retractable metal claws that he designed himself are most common. From his belt hangs the sheath of a knife.
  
  At work he has a better made and more protective wardrobe consisting of a coarsely-woven mid-long sleeve linen shirt, deerskin breeches, leather boots with buckles, a protective mask and a fire-repellent apron as well as a pair of thick, fireproof gloves while making weapons.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  psyche

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Flames cannot be tamed or befriended, but a healthy amount of respect can make you unlikely allies.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler!

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler!

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler!

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • aaaaaaaaaaa
  • aaaaaaa
  • aaa

  • 
    
    
    

    personality

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    For the most part, Cas is a quiet person; not necessarily shy, but not in any hurry to join in most conversations or surround himself with hoards of people either. The majority of the time, he is content to blend in, fading into a crowd so he can observe his surroundings and others undisturbed. That said, when and if he does speak up, you can expect him to be both resolute and outspoken. He’s a strong-willed individual who likes things done a certain way and when other people don’t conform he can become easily frustrated. This particular trait of his isn’t something people often notice unless they are especially empathetic, however, emotions kept carefully under lock and key. He could appear to be the most patient person in the world and still be silently fuming on the inside. His temper is something he is very aware of and is somewhat concerned about letting loose, so he chooses to bottle it up and toss it into the metaphorical ocean rather than express anything negative.
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    He is hyper-vigilant, aware to the point of his fellows jokingly accusing him of being overly paranoid, unaware his behavior has a legitimate reason behind it. He is an insomniac and rarely sleeps to avoid the nightmares that wreak havoc upon his mind while asleep, only resting enough to keep himself going the next day. His predisposition to silence, avoidance of hanging around in larger groups and lack of an outgoing, extroverted nature tend to leave some people feeling he is detached, standoffish or unfriendly, and his unpleasant resting face probably doesn’t help.. In the presence of people he trusts, Casimiro is very warm and affectionate. He has a tendency for lovingly teasing friends, even insults meaning no ill will, though he may need to be reminded sometimes even words meant in jest can be hurtful for some people.
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Even among friends he is still somewhat guarded, never fully letting people in, but not completely blocking them out either. He is loyal and protective of those he cares for, proving quite dauntless in the face of danger if it means keeping them safe. His compassionate heart can make him reckless if someone is in trouble and though he is not fearless he works through it to do what needs to be done. The man wears his heart on his sleeve and it’s not at all difficult to tell that with a tearful expression and a few mournful words you’ll have him right where you want him. Despite all he’s been through, Casimiro still wants to see the good in other people; sometimes this makes him remarkably equipped to help someone else who really needs it, others well...we’ll just say he’s stabbed in the back more times than he would care to count, both metaphorically and literally.

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    He's undeniably passive-aggressive in the presence of people he's not fond of, however, letting a sardonic comment slip out every now and then and likely surprising those who took him for someone more passive and stoic. He's not a fan of overly domineering personalities and will clash horribly with anyone who might try bossing him around with no care for his own opinions or thoughts. Been there, done that, refuses to be trodden beneath another superior-minded boot. He's persistently stubborn and prone to deliberately disobeying commands just to spite those he dislikes, all while feigning ignorance. Even if he gets chewed out or punished, seeing someone he dislikes get all worked up while he stares on placidly is all the reward he’ll ever need.

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
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    traits

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    Positives & Negatives:
    + Compassionate
    + Diligent
    + Steadfast
    + Generous
    + Dauntless.
    - Stubborn
    - Spiteful
    - Insomniac
    - Overly Trusting
    - Emotionally Constipated
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Likes
    Dogs
    Rain
    Metalworking
    The moon & stars
    Fish & wild boar (food)
    Sketching/painting
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Dislikes
    Laziness
    Most sweets
    Strong scents
    Hoarded wealth
    Liars & hypocrites
    The ocean/deep water
    Bossy and obnoxious personailties

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Skills
    strength
    endurance
    amicability
    combat
    dog training
    design; the ability to etch incantations into armor and weapons
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
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    miscellaneous

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Reputation

    
    
    
    

    During his time as a knight Casimiro garnered prestige for his diligence, humility, and sense of honor. After that, he further gained the love of the people as a vigilante known as the Omen, though whether or not the connection of them being one and the same is anyone's guess. Once he took up the mantle of a champion of the poor he used a disguise to protect his identity; donning a black hooded cloak, padded gloves with retractable claws and a white mask meant to resemble the skull of an owl. The inspiration behind it came down to folklore told in his family for centuries; mths that owls were considered a bad omen, a bringer of misfortune to those who witnessed it, especially a black owl. So Casimiro made himself into a sight the higher classes would fear.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Sacrifice

    
    
    
    

    Casimiro has given up a lot in his life for the sake of others; from illegally hunting dogs and putting up with an abusive mentor to feed his family, to becoming a knight to further provide for his loved ones, and then to eventually abandoning that role entirely for what he felt was a grander purpose of protecting not just his own, but everyone.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Fears

    
    
    
    

    The thing Casimiro fears most is never seeing his family again, of turning into his father, or the lord he once served, of forgetting who he is and where he came from, of failing those around him. He doesn't appear to have an affinity for deep water either, as he never learned how to swim and has nearly drowned once or twice running from the law while crossing rivers or other large bodies of water. The ocean itself is an imposing sight and getting him on a boat will likely result in a very sea-sick and anxious man until his feet are once more on solid ground.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  • aaaaaaaaaaaa
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    TW; mentions of animal abuse and death, child abuse.
    
    Casimiro was born into the poverty-stricken streets of Hestea, his mother a spinner and father a disgraced knight who barely had a coin left to his name by the time his one and only son came into the picture. His childhood was riddled with the same troubles suffered by all the lower class in this kingdom; hunger a constant companion and grave sickness held at bay only by the mercy of the gods. Four sisters came before him and one after, and by the time he was ten years old Casimiro was the man of his household as his father caved under the pressure of providing for his large family and fled into the night never to return.
    
    The lad did take over his father’s business of training hunting hounds for the ruling class, often accompanying him as he took the canines into the woods or set them loose in the fields before his abandonment. Even at his young age Casimiro proved to have a strong connection with his father’s hounds and a gift for teaching them. So much work put into these dogs and he never truly knew the rewards beyond what little coin the nobles who purchased them provided. It was illegal for peasants to use dogs for hunting, or to hunt among the wilderness to begin with, and as if to ensure it, retired dogs were often returned to him terribly maimed.
    
    The seeds of rebellion sprouted early, and Casimiro came to the conclusion he wouldn’t live like this any longer. Though he could be hanged if caught he began using the swift hounds for his family’s benefit, hunting with his prime bitches when they weren’t heavy with pups or else returned hounds who managed to heal from their injuries and still had the spirit of the hunt in them. At the age of 12 he did have the misfortune of being caught, and the lord who apprehended him threatened to remove his hands until his mother begged and groveled on his behalf; humiliating herself at the noble’s feet for the sake of her son. His crime was forgiven, but all of his dogs were taken, those deemed less than perfect put down before his every eyes, and it is an event that left a searing emotional scar on the youth.
    
    With his name tarnished, Casimiro had a difficult time finding work elsewhere until the local blacksmith decided to take a chance on him. He was rough in demeanor without an ounce of patience, Casimiro often poked with the hot iron or having it lashed across his knuckles if he made any grievous mistake, but he put up with it knowing he had six mouths to feed besides his own and was unlikely to have any better opportunities than this. Until one came, or so he thought...
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    parents

    
    
    
    

    Elena & Ciro Herrera

    
    
    
    

    Casimiro's relationship with his mother has always been close, full of love and support. She did the best she could by him and his siblings, making sacrifice after sacrifice for their well-being. He hoped to return the favor, and remaining out of contact from his family in the present day in an attempt to protect them has left him with a great deal of guilt. He was old enough to remember his father, but doesn't think of him as fondly anymore. The man was retired from knighthood after taking an injury to the knee supposedly after fleeing the scene of a battle. He brought shame to their family name, but none of them cared. He was still Elena's husband and the children's father, they were only glad he returned alive. Leaving them all behind though? That's one thing Casimiro can never forgive.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    childhood

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
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    TW: mentions of child abuse.
    
    Shortly after turning 14, Casimiro was given the chance to serve as the page for a local lord’s squire. Though he bristled at the thought of serving the nobility and had his father’s reputation of cowardice hanging over his head, Cas’ mother encouraged him to take it, knowing knighthood would provide her son with a better future and also help him escape the life of a blacksmith’s burned and battered apprentice. Most boys his age were already squires and that was another point of contention, but he also ranked up quicker than the rest, a knight by the time he was 21 much to the dismay of his peers. Once handed a sword and taught how to use it Casimiro proved exceptionally skilled in more than just raising dogs and crafting metals.
    
    For six years he served his lord with diligence and buried resentment. His new occupation offered him more wealth than he could’ve ever hoped to acquire otherwise and he could finally afford to both live comfortably and provide for his family. His dedication to his mother and remaining sisters (having lost one to illness and another to a beast in the years since he left home), saw him never settle down and have children of his own, a fact that brought his mother a great deal of grief and guilt. While most men his age already had wives he remained solitary, focused on his work, with his spare time spent among the family he already knew and loved. It wasn’t a burden to him as much as his mother might fret over it.
    
    As the days wore on Casimiro grew more and more weary, disillusioned, jaded. His lord wielded him like a weapon, using him to oppress the poor as he had once been oppressed. Had he become everything he hated? Was the comfort and financial support he and his family now enjoyed enough to justify all the harm being done? One horrific event would finally bring him a resolute answer, and like his father before him Casimiro would sully his family name and forsake the knight’s oath.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    relationship

    
    
    
    

    Lord Evarius
    

    
    
    
    

    Casimiro served his lord for a good chunk of his life and despised him the entire duration. Evarius made it clear he viewed him as little more than a piece of meat he could control and use as he pleased, and this relationship is where a good deal of his obstinance and issues with authority stem from.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    adolescence

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
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    A day came when Casimiro and his fellow knights were asked to pillage a village rebelling against their ruling lord’s extraordinarily high taxes. The moment he set foot in the run-down village full of nearly starved peasants Casimiro knew he couldn’t do it, but one man couldn’t stop the rest of the company as much as he might want to. In the end he could only stand by and watch, refusing to participate, but unable to stop the majority of the looting and violence against the downtrodden and starving villagers. Once the dust settled one thing did become absolutely clear to him, and perhaps it was a rash decision in the moment, but he was done with this, through with being the iron hand of the noble class against the people. He didn’t return with the other knights, and in fact had to avoid being arrested for disobeying orders.
    
    This became the theme for the next few years of his life, narrowly avoiding the law and striking out against the people he once served. Casimiro was inspired to do more than be a lord’s dog and more than a poor, subdued townsperson all in one. He took up the mantle of a vigilante, one that became infamously known around the nation as the Omen, the Black Owl of Hestea. He stole from the rich to give to the poor, defended the weak against those who would do them harm, vanquishing men and monsters alike to protect the common folk of his country. Of course, one man can only do so much, but he certainly gave the authorities a run for their money in his day, and ended up on a tetchy medic by the name of Petra’s table, likely more times than she would care to count, but she still kept him on his feet.
    
    A year ago his stint as a local Robin Hood came to an end and he returned to the life of a blacksmith under a new alias in a village near the ends of the kingdom. Somehow, the Black Order’s recruiters still found him and while proving surprisingly reluctant initially, he still left with those who sought him out.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    relationship

    
    
    
    

    The Black Order

    
    
    
    

    Cas has been serving the Black Order as a dual purpose warrior blacksmith for a year now, though the latter is his ‘official’ role within the group. Despite the length of his training he’s kept his distance emotionally from the rest of the group for the most part, considering most to be friendly acquaintances.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    present

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  misc

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Habits

  
  
  
  

  - Scratches his cheek when anxious or embarrassed.
  - Has absolutely terrible resting bitch face and tends to look especially vexed when thinking. 99% time he's not actually pissed off.
  - Prone to whistling or humming when by himself to fill the silence.
  - Tends to prolong eye contact when speaking with someone which can come across as intense, but his only intention is to give a person his undivided attention. Well, usually.
  - Arms often to cross over his chest as their resting position when not in use.
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Religion

  
  
  
  

  Casimiro has an odd relationship with religion, but seems to have a strong affinity for Amir; the god who brought him fire, and Amir's daughter Malu, the goddess of the fight. He has a poor opinion of Amir overall for their abandonment of mankind, but also respects them for the creation of flame and allowing Casimiro the skill to temper it. Amir's name is uttered every time he uses the forge, and Malu's is on the tip of his tongue whenever he must wield a sword or his 'claws'.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by natasha., coded by uxie♡

 

[numbles]

finished

Basic Info
Full Name: Omalora Atachade
Nicknames: Goldy, Lora
Age: 30
Gender: Cis-female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Class: Blacksmith
Nation: Ituthia

Appearance
Faceclaim: Lupita Nyong’o as Nakia in Black Panther
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 145
Physique: Muscular
Hair: Coily black hair, kept in a short afro. Has one face-framing braid, about chin-length, that has gold charms attached.
Tattoos/Scars: Numerous burn scars on her arms/hands, tattoo of her first guild’s sigil on her left shoulder blade

Personality​

Omalora was raised by an honest and hardworking man, and that is apparent in every aspect of her being. There is nothing more she values than truth, trust, and teamwork. How could one smith possibly finish the large assignments placed on him by his foreman? The trick is, he isn’t expected to. It is commonplace in Omalora’s profession to lean on others and work together to craft something outstanding.

However, with her being as trusting as she is, it never crosses her mind that others may try to use or betray her. She is all too willing to help another, to share ideas in hopes of achieving something greater. This has resulted in her ideas being appropriated more times than anyone would like to admit. One may think that this treachery would deeply disturb someone like Omalora yet, it hasn’t. As long as someone is benefitting from her work, Omalora could care less.

It is quite natural for Omalora to strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone about absolutely anything. She has a natural inquisitiveness about her that is almost childlike. Her father taught her that everyone has something to teach her, and she has taken that lesson with her throughout her life. It isn't strange that everywhere she has traveled, Omalora has left with at least one new friend.

As friendly as she is, most know Omalora to be quite.. odd. It isn’t as if she can’t carry herself in a conversation or recognize social cues, no. But when she has her mind set on something, particularly regarding her work, it is very hard for her to focus on anything else. She has been known to disappear for weeks on end while working on a new design, or step right into the middle of danger in order to acquire new materials. Those who step into her forge meet a different Omalora than the one in the pub or the street.

This dedication, or what some may call obsession, to her work can often cause trouble with her personal relationships, but no matter. If all else should fail, Omalora will have her craft and her fellow craftsmen, and that is all she needs. Can you say workaholic? Her father, though he’d never admit it, always thought that her love of her craft would be her downfall. Omalora very seldom stops to appreciate her work and is always reaching for the next thing. As confident as she is in her abilities and her work, she wonders if she will ever find what she is looking for.

Positive Traits: trustworthy, sociable, curious, creative
Negative Traits: gullible, obsessive, oblivious to danger, chronically dissatisfied
Likes: her work, singing, home cooked meals, running
Dislikes: the cold, gambling, blood
Habits: Sings or hums Ituthian songs while she works, massages the inside of her hands when she's nervous, says “by the fires of Amir!” whenever she's excited
Skills: armor-smithing, weapon-smithing, design, negotiation, basic sword and axe combat
Fears: death of loved ones, freezing to death, going blind

Backstory
tw// mentions of death​

Omalora was born to an older couple in an Ituthian trading port. Due to her age, Omalora’s mother succumbed to the stress of childbirth. Instead of resenting his daughter, Omalora’s father, Senaga, felt that she was his wife’s ultimate gift to him. His daughter quickly became the most important thing to him and he worked tirelessly to ensure she would have an easy life. She was doted on throughout her childhood, and Senaga tried his best to keep her out of trouble and educated. What better way to do this than take his daughter to work with him? Luckily for her father, Omalora quickly fell in love with the rhythm of blacksmithing. It was then that the seeds of her obsession were planted.

Senaga was everything to Omalora, her father, her mentor, her friend. In the beginning, everything she needed to know about smithing she learned from her father. This worked perfectly for him as Omalora inside the forge was Omalora far from the dangers Drasira had to offer. Since she was so obsessed with the craft, Omalora didn’t quite care to venture any farther than her town, why would she? She felt everything and everyone she needed was right within reach.

This quickly changed as Omalora grew older and became quite proficient at her craft. By 16, she was old enough to join her father’s guild independently, and find work independently as well. Without her father’s guidance, Omalora quickly began to push the boundaries of what she could create. She began to test new techniques, sketch new designs, even take on guild jobs that were higher than her father advised. Many were surprised at her skill and her innovation, especially due to her age, but not her father. He knew that once she was allowed to spread her wings, Omalora would soar. She was the same as her mother, Nourbese, in that sense. It was why Senaga was so adamant about keeping his daughter close for all those years.

After her 24th birthday, Senaga suddenly fell ill. As quickly as the sickness came was as quick as it took her father from her. Omalora was absolutely distraught. Had it not been for the support of their guild, she may have been lost completely. His funeral was the hardest day of her life. Omalora quickly looked for a position outside of her town, despite never traveling before. Everything about her town reminded her of memories with her father, and it was suffocating her. Even the normal joy she found in the forgery was corrupted by the pain she felt. In a flurry, she sold her childhood home and moved to Ituthia’s capital. She’d gained a position for the government as a weapons researcher, thanks to the backing of her guild and many satisfied clients.

Omalora threw herself into her work as it was her only refuge. The work was enjoyable and a few prototypes she worked on became full-fledged new technology for Ituthia’s defense. Eventually, the sorrow of her father’s passing felt less and less intense and Omalora began to actually enjoy life again. Her work sent her on many trips throughout Drasira for research and for the first time, she felt adventurous. It was through her travels she had found a new purpose, not only to craft things to protect those of Ituthia, but to protect everyone throughout Drasira.

Now, 6 years after her father’s death, Omalora has found herself a part of the Black Order. She is absolutely committed to crafting only the best to rid this world of the scourge of monsters. Perhaps she is being too ambitious, but she knows that within the Order’s ranks she will find those just as ambitious as her.

Reputation: Omalora is respected by most in her profession, but some resent her for her “innovations.” There are rumors surrounding just how she gets her ideas, some say that she’s a genius, blessed by the gods; others that she is cursed, and that she’s mad. Some say that she’s worked on horrific experiments in the name of “weapons research” while she worked for the Ituthian government. Others can’t imagine her ever going so far. Blacksmiths are surprisingly entertained by gossip. Outside of blacksmith circles, Omalora has an expansive and happy clientele, who all speak of just how pleasant she is to work with.

Sacrifice: Omalora has dedicated nearly her entire life to developing and pushing the boundaries of her craft. She’s rarely had time to explore who she is beyond it, but truthfully there is nothing else. There has been little time to build a life like her father had in terms of getting married and having a child. Others may view this commitment as the ultimate sacrifice, spending your whole life working to protect humanity. For Omalora, there is nothing she’d rather be doing. ​

 

[Shadow]

• visage
• personage
• historical
• miscell

• Requisite

  
  Full Name: Siegr Moir-rai (See-/g/-er Moi-ray)
  Nickname: Sieg
  Age: 28
  Gender: Cis male, [he/they]
  Sexuality: Panromantic, asexual
  Class: Blacksmith
  Nation: Nai Sie
  
  

  Appearance

  
  Face claim: Joel Edgerton
  

  

  
  

  Eyes: Medium blue with darker striations encircling them, it is rather a shame that his eyes are so often concealed by his mat of hair. Stern when his mind is elsewhere, sympathetic on occasion, Siegr's eyes hold much of his visible emotion and would likely be considered his best aesthetic feature by those who haven't seen his smile.
  
  Hair: Long, unkempt, until it's too tangled to manage and thus, shortened to his jawline, and an obvious outlier against his otherwise well-groomed appearance: his hair ranges between sandy brown and muddy almost-black in color. Creating a further contrast, his multi-pigmented beard tends to be carefully manicured and trimmed. It does the most to hide his scar, making it valuable for more than aesthetics.
  
  Build and Marks:
  While Siegr is not the tallest of men, nor the broadest, his lifetime of craftmanship has toned his muscles to an impressive degree: making his physique easily recognizable within a crowd. His hands and arms bear their share of scars and burns, though most are minor and easily concealed by the clothing he wears. He walks with a strong gait: quickly, though he never appears to be flustered or in a hurry. His long legs may be considered the highlight of his physique...or perhaps, instead, it is his shoulders and arms: thickened by a decade before the forge, giving his silhouette a sturdy wideness to it.
  
  Prominently featuring on his neck and up into his hairline is the aftermath of a far too close encounter with fire: skin a mottled red, trailing down over his collarbone and onto the upper portion of his chest. His best attempts to conceal it are often successful, though it is inescapably apparent when his mane is tied back, revealing the crumpled remains of his right ear and patches where hair has tried to grow back within the inhospitable scar tissue on parts of his jaw and scalp.
  
  Attire: Rarely less than fully equipped, Siegr's belt is littered with dangling tools and bits of metal. Overlapping it is a thick leather tunic, customized to hold knickknacks and more tools, yet tailored to provide a muffling aspect so that he doesn't clatter as he walks. Fond as he is of his metal armor, satchels, and holsters, he may be seen less bundled when he is outside his workshop or whenever he is not traveling. Even then, his career as a blacksmith is apparent, with a thickly woven wool overcoat that reveals forearms marked by signatures of forge-work and the tool belt that never leaves his hips.
  He is also partial to hats; though he wears them rarely and still hasn't decided on the style that best suits his tastes.
• Personality

  
  

  Steady, in the way that a forest of saplings could lean on the old oak at their center while they develop their own strength, Siegr is a quiet presence in most crowds. Existing most comfortably inside his own thoughts, he keeps a distant awareness of his surroundings and often feels no need to engage with them. Conversely, when closer encounters with strangers arise, Siegr typically speaks a bit too freely and about nothing in particular. It can border on annoying, but he will submit the floor to anyone who has more to say than pleasantries.
  
  Indeed, as he comes to know a person, once he begins to find the silence companionable rather than burdensome, he is less inclined to speak.
  He presents an apparently sympathetic ear to those who are beyond his mere acquaintance. This occurrence is rather rare, however, as he does not solely appreciate the sound of another's voice. Rather, he is most likely to listen, and patiently, while he works.
  Fortunately he works often, and even the simple distraction of a carving project will suffice to hold him in place to nod and commiserate with a person's complaints and confidences.
  
  It is small wonder, then, that his face is well recognized by those who reside close to his regular pathways. Yet those same people would likely refer to him as distant, odd, or reserved. He dispenses his smiles sparingly, speaks quietly, and bears a tendency to give his attention to other tasks while engaging in conversation: all of which contribute to the slight berth he is given as he walks the streets of Ituthia.
  
  Further lending credence to that berth is his temper. Slow to emotion and typically extending his patience out to a considerable degree, Siegr is carefully controlled by his better instincts in unfamiliar environments. However, should he feel compelled, he will lash out suddenly and with full strength until the issue is dealt with, only to return in an eye's blink to his former composure.
  A benefit when unbridled emotionality might make the worst of a situation, to be sure, yet Siegr's trigger-light rage is a thing feared by its recipients all the same.
  
  

  

  
  
  Positive Traits: Well intentioned, protective, strong-willed
  Negative Traits: Socially inept, unpredictable, has a friendly relationship with minor untruths
  
  Habits, quirks:
  Siegr is often the tender of campfires, cooking the day's meal with rather more enthusiasm than skill. The intricacies of appealing cookery are beyond his abilities, but he makes the attempt regardless.
  
  Restless fingers and the ever present desire for a distraction brought Siegr to the pastime of wood carving. Always to be found on his belt are a small piece of wood and a carving knife, should his hands become free to engage them. He winds up with a plethora of trinkets from this proclivity, so he will oftentimes gift them to new acquaintances or leave them someplace secretive, which, on occasion, gives the result of a satisfying payoff when the random recipient is helplessly confused. It's one of the small joys in his life.
  
  Due to the hearing loss in his right ear, he instinctively tilts his head to the side when he is listening for a distant or quiet noise, and he often relies on mouth-reading or other physical cues when in the presence of soft-spoken people. Strangely, he also tends to be soft spoken himself, unless he truly wants to be heard: in which case he speaks in a deeper register so the vibrations in his chest can inform him on how loudly he is speaking.
• Background

  
  

  Trigger Warning: Death by fire
  
  "Light it!"
  
  "No, they're still alive! Can't you hear them screaming?"
  
  "Sieg, fuck's sake, give me that!" The torch was wrenched from his hand and thrown in one motion onto the bed of leaves, slick with oil. It went up in flames, reaching eagerly for the nearby trees and the night sky above their heads. Wagon's reins pulled taut in Siegr's hand as she brayed in panic behind him.
  
  

  .

  
  The influence of his father's intellect was rich: like fruitful soil for an eager crop, it gave rise to curiosity and the spirit of invention.
  Siegr showed potential in his father's craft and spent much of his time in the work shed improving his steady handedness and deftness in front of a forge. At the age when he could build an instrument on his own, he became somewhat more of a business partner to his father, rather than a son.
  Even as a young boy, he shared his father's pride in their ability to make tools that brought joy and liveliness to otherwise formal streets.
  
  It was especially invigorating to take the journey all the way to their neighboring country where his father would sell their finest instruments in the vibrant markets there. It was only in Ituthia that Siegr was able to fully appreciate the value of aesthetics. They never stayed more than a week or two, but the inspiration Siegr took from each visit lasted for months afterward, as he regaled his friends with his experiences abroad and imbued his handiwork with ornate designs and artistry that mirrored the décor from the wares in Ituthian marketplaces.
  
  Though their life was humble (what finery and splendor did reside in their house was relegated to the few meaningful instruments hung on their walls), Siegr understood his privilege and was grateful for it.
  His closest friend, Mathalor, was not so fortunate, having lost his parents to the bloodlust of a Straras at a young age. They spent much of their time together: when they were not working in his father's shed, they were laying in the grass field outside their town, under the stars. In those moments, Mathalor would speak at length about his ambition to become a beast hunter and Siegr would nod along, eagerly imagining that future day when they would hunt side-by-side.
  
  

  .

  
  Streaks of flames darted past them as the fire spread: the pack of Aaras were abandoning their feast, taking to the steep mountain walls to escape the burgeoning heat even as some of them spread it further with their fiery pelts. The screams of his companions were dying out, but the scent of their burning flesh swirled deeper into his smoked lungs. He turned to soothe Wagon, fighting back tears that he wanted to blame upon the fire's stifling heat, but couldn't.
  
  Lost in grief too early, he was utterly unprepared for the Aaras leaping over his head into the face of his panicked mule. She brayed frantically, bucking and jolting Siegr's arm as he hastened to free his hand from the reins they were bound up in. Clawing at her muzzle, the Aaras only sought a launching place to hasten its departure from the fire's reach, yet Wagon was ignorant of anything aside from her own terror.
  Siegr scrambled for control, desperate to refrain from wielding his axe in the direction of his mule's face, he reached out and...in a strange instant, his eyes settled on Mathalor's widened pupils to his left side, the scene swirled dizzyingly, and he was reeling from the hoof hitting his chest. He barely cognized his fall before searing orange heat enveloped him.
  The night turned red and orange with naught else to be seen, and though the pain brought a scream to his lips, his only thought was a steady one, quiet...get up.
  
  

  .

  
  The influence of his mother's reputation was heavy.
  Her sister lived in their house with her family and she regaled them with stories proudly, every evening before supper, and again afterwards. Though she told many of the same stories twice or thrice over in a week, Mathalor, Siegr, and his cousins listened with rapture each time. Then, they would adventure out into the grass fields that surrounded their town the next day, reenacting every detail with the fervor of zealots.
  The tallest of the lot, Siegr often played the role of the beast, leaping and bounding on all fours, growling with abandon; each time, his death scene was the most enthusiastic element of his performance, giving way to their collective tide of comfortable satisfaction that a real beast had once been vanquished in just such a manner.
  He rarely missed his mother. She was a legend only his father pined for.
  
  Rather more present in his daily life was the understanding that, as he grew older, he was similarly drawing closer to the day when he would have to build such a reputation for himself. He was not shy over it; indeed, he held a certain anticipation for that day. Yet a hesitation remained inside his heart that he could not put a voice to.
  
  

  .

  
  Their group numbered seven; a solid company from years of working together.
  It was Siegr who recognized the tracks as a pack of Aaras, something to be feared, as they adventured into the region surrounding the afflicted town.
  They had known they were being followed for two days, with distant growls and the shivers in Wagon’s flank giving evidence to it: but the ravine they entered on the third day pressed the issue.
  
  Their enemy was too close.
  
  Siegr kept Wagon with him, hoping the mule’s scent would provide extra incentive for the beasts to linger near his garrison while his companions journeyed ahead. There was a chance it wouldn’t be enough to save them, but he could procure more time for them to stake out their own stand against the pack upon ground that was more favorable.
  
  His companions took their last look of him with grim appreciation and moved out of his view into the sparse trees ahead.
  For hours he waited with Wagon: making plenty of noise and pacing the neck of the ravine, hoping to lure the hungry pack of beasts into a standstill.
  
  It was the echoing shouts that alerted him, though the creeping fear that his misdirect had failed had been with him for some time.
  
  Though he pushed Wagon to her limit, they arrived long after the Aaras had begun their attack. The scent of blood was thick in the air.
  
  

  .

  
  In the pursuit of preparing themselves for hunting beasts, Siegr began to apply his metalworking skills to targets larger than musical instruments in his teenage years, and Mathalor began building his physicality. They agreed rather quickly on the separation of duties between them, since Siegr held more expertise in metal work and crafting weapons, while Mathalor showed his best talents when he wielded those weapons.
  
  Protest as his father did, Siegr and Mathalor set off on their questing path with Siegr's eldest cousin, Saestra, who was an expert navigator, when he was seventeen.
  
  Siegr was content to keep their band intimate, yet their early successes in remedying the afflictions of neighboring towns brought new companions into their fold. He learned to accept it, and his increased workload as their armorer was a welcome one. They traveled mostly within the borders of Nai Sie, finding plenty of commissions for their services upon familiar ground.
  
  

  .

  
  The two survivors journeyed back to the village over several days that were lost to Siegr's memory in the weeks that followed.
  In those same weeks, he was met with a crushing reality that all his companions, aside from Mathalor, had perished from the Aaras attack. His attempt at heroism had failed in such spectacular fashion and yet the voices that reached him through his haze of pain were reassuring, almost awed as they recounted Mathalor's telling of his heroism for burning the pack of Aaras until they fled.
  
  He had wanted to sob, but his throat was too scratchy.
  
  Mathalor was eager to give credit to Siegr for his attempted heroic stand and mistook his discomfort in the attention it brought for shyness. Their relationship grew uneasy as their shared past became too tenuous a connection to pull them through Siegr's laborious recovery and subsequent melancholy.
  
  Siegr lingered for some time in his hometown, until he could no longer bear to listen to the reverent tones of those who spoke of that night, as if it was already a distant fable.
  
  The renowned expertise of craftspeople in Ituthia made his task of finding a mentor a rather daunting one. At twenty-three years of age, he was, frankly, a bit old and lacking in the starry-eyed ambition of most eager apprenticeship candidates. So, he made his way as a traveling smithy, learning whatever he could from anyone who was willing to teach him. Although a small booth at an Ituthian marketplace became his post, he travels often to collect a library of the latest innovations in metalworking to enhance his craft.
  
  

  
• Extras

  
  

  Skills: A handy tender of fire, Siegr's particular talents fall within metalworking, leather work, endurance (in both spirit and body), and inventiveness. His specialty lies within metal armory and sword-making, though he has eagerly been working to develop his proficiency with crafting leather armor and other weaponry.
  
  Reputation: Back in Nai Sie, Siegr Moir-rai is generally regarded as a source of pride, due to his days as a beast hunter: with a range of tales that have been stretched in grandeur. Further from his town, in villages that once saw his aid, the views tend to be rather more nuanced. Based on the tale of his company's downfall, many consider him ungrateful, cowardly, unfortunate, or arrogant. Mathalor may spread a positive ideal of Siegr's actions to whoever will listen to him, yet still, those tales are interpreted critically by many.
  
  Escaping his history in Nai Sie, Siegr is regarded as a skilled and innovative smith by the cadre of blacksmiths in Ituthia. Though he is far off in expertise from his more experienced cohorts, he has a budding reputation with his customers for the unique and reliable quality of his handiwork.
  
  Sacrifice: Though his intent was to give his life for his company, instead, Siegr lost only a portion of his hearing to the blaze that killed them all.
  Far less noble, his relation with his childhood friend Mathalor was sacrificed to his own sense of guilt and desire for a life away from the tales of his past.
  
  Fears: Caring for others has become a threat to Siegr; the only threat, really. Finding his sympathy and interest engaged by another person is quite like a weight latching onto his ankle as he tries to navigate a treacherous river. Though he does not forego social connections entirely, Siegr dreads the day when he genuinely cares for another and his skills fail to protect the ones he values the most: truthfully, if that day should come, he just doesn't want to be left behind again.
  
  

Visage

Persona

History

Misc

 

[Folklore-Frith]

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• My Blood

  Twenty One Pilots

  
  

  
  

  
  

  01

  name

  Petra Erdenay

  02

  nickname

  Ra-ra // Erdenay // Pet (there are consequences)

  03

  age

  28

  04

  class

  Medic

  05

  gender

  Feminine, she/they

  06

  sexuality

  She don't fuckin' know

  07

  nation

  Born in Sredzym, lives in in Hestea

  08

  voice claim

  Clarke from The 100
• hair

  
  

  Petra grew up privileged, but didn’t use their parent’s money to pamper themselves. Her hair is average; falling just before the bottoms of her shoulders, ends split. Haircuts she got were done by her mom who was more talented with a scalpel than shears. Petra got to a point where she would end up doing it herself, and got the same result. The color is a pale golden color, and wavy in appearance.
  
  Due to their life in Hestea, they never wanted to stand out and appear like she was a noble. One of the bad ones. Being a prominent figure in the community, she never wanted those in poverty to think of her like those people. So, she kept her hair up, and would only wash it when it became unbearable. Keeping her hair up was a good way to appear sanitary to the nobles. Even after they gifted her shampoos and conditioners for a job well done, she would only save them for special occasions, and those rarely came around.
  
  

  eyes

  
  

  Petra’s eyes are one of their favorite parts of them. A strange thing to say, so they kept it to themselves, though their parents could probably tell, especially when Petra would stare into puddles, studying her own eyes. Eventually, she had made the connection that her father’s eyes were her own. With her father gone, Petra has come to love them more, but also dread looking into a mirror.
  
  Petra’s eyes are a winter grey, pale and vivid. A small burst of pallid golden brown extends from the bottom half of both irises, though does not stretch to the outer ring of said irises. Upturned and bordered by thick onyx lashes, they are often set like stone. Serious, and almost unapproachable.

  physique

  
  

  Petra isn't as imposing as their persona suggests. An average height of 5’5 and a near minimal weight of 122 lbs, Petra looks throwable by the majority of the population. She’s slender, for the most part, having been subjected to labor and a healthy diet. Lifting cargo crates and rushing around a clinic helped her gain a strong pair of legs and arms.
  
  Petra stands with their back straight and shoulders back, head up and eyes straight ahead. She’s rarely described as casual, even if her posture were to drop. Petra moves as if they have somewhere to be. Their strong, solid pace and steely eyes are enough to part crowds, especially when she’s barking out the order to get out of her way, which is only used in times of emergency.

  attire

  
  

  Her leather is Hestean inspired. She loved her home in Sredzym, but there's something about Hestea that has stuck with her. The community had meant more to her there. They wear a black shirt underneath it, and the color of the leather is dark, having given it to a blacksmith to stain it.
  
  It's lightweight and covers her body, giving her optimal protection despite the lack of heavy protection. It's durable and helps her get to emergencies much quicker. However, whenever it's possible, she will get into heavier armor. Their attire for Sredzym is heavier, for the cold, and just as dark as their normal clothing.
  
  Her personal clothing is average. Neutral in colors, average in fit (looking more built for men than than a slender five-foot-five person) while being equipped with a belt. Her boots are knee-high and well-worn. Civilian-like.
  
  Most of the time, she wears a fox mask that she wore while in Sredzym. It's white with golden designs that are striking against the bone-white of the mask, paired with her black clothing. The small area surrounding the eyes are black. It rarely comes off.

  modifications

  
  

  Petra has tattoos that are hidden along her body. Not many have seen them, and she's not for sharing the knowledge. Shame? No. Privacy? Absolutely.

  scars / markings

  
  

  Petra’s hands have some cuts, having seen the splintering edges and bottoms of old cargo boxes and various supplies that probably shouldn’t have been in her hands at such a young age. Playing around with the weapons had gotten her in trouble and in her mom’s clinic.
  
  On Petra’s hip is a slash from a knife. When Petra had first arrived in Hestea after the death of her father and brother, a little boy attempted to steal from her, snatching some food right from her bag. Petra nearly caught him, hand shooting out to grab his arm. He was just as quick to react and slash her with a shiv he had in his hand and take off into a crowd. Petra followed and caught him, eventually. They gave him a stern talking to, and made him dress their wound. And let him take the food.

  arsenal

  
  

  Petra wasn’t born a fighter, despite her disposition. People look at her and medic is not the first thing that comes to mind. In spite of this violence free upbringing, Petra holds a plethora of daggers in her possession. They know they’re quick, so anyone that can catch up to her is deserving of a little slash to the face. Petra also carries with her a sword given to her as a gift by a Hestean noble. It says Memento Mori, in reference to what she told him herself. A little irony never hurt anybody.

  misc info

  
  

  UHHHH.

  weight

  one-hundred twenty pounds

  height

  five feet and five inches
• • o
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  • virtues

    level-headed

    altruistic

    independent

    assertive

    observational
  • vices

    daunting

    worrywart

    uncompromising

    choleric

    impatient
  • likes

    foraging

    travel

    bartering

    people who fuckin' listen to her

    her mom's clinic

    music

    quiet

    her job

    dislikes

    the woods of Ituthia

    loud drunks

    ghouls

    shapeshifters (tried hunting once)

    the nobles of hestea

    stale bread

    when people don't fucking listen to her
  • reputation

    Petra is known within Sredzym and Hestea. Both have similar views. Petra is an efficient healer with an attitude. Her tongue is as sharp as her scalpel. She's someone to go to when you want to keep a low profile. so long as you pay her, she'll keep quiet. A few whispers she even keeps quiet when she lets you off for free.
    
    Other countries know her by little rumors. Killed a bandit or two by herself. Cut the fingers off of a thief. And able to sell anything under the sun, as well as always secure a good price.

    sacrifice

    Petra gave up the life she had made with her mother. Her mother has no one left, no one family anyway. The reputation she had built in Hestea. She felt guilty, as though leaving her duty as the healer of the people.

    skills

    
    healing — potion making and herbalism
    identifying lethal and nonlethal properties
    steady handling
    emergency care
    bartering
    intimidation

    fears

    Petra is known to be pretty fearless when facing the world and it's turnings, but there are some things that put lead in her stomach like no other.
    
    The thought of her mother dying is unbearable. The thought of her dying, alone, when Petra is gone? It's enough to horrify her.
    
    Never finding out what happened to Melian (her dad) and Leander (her brother) falls directly under it. What did they go through? Where did they end up? There's a pit in her stomach whenever she thinks about it. Their brain says they don't want to know, but their heart screams that they need to know. On top of this, they fear getting lost in the woods. They're knowledgeable enough to live on vegetation and that alone, but maybe that's what happened to her father and brother.
    
    And lastly, and probably most surprising, Petra fears dying alone. A common fear, but one that seems to elude the minds of others when they look at her. Perhaps it's the plethora of terrifying, heart wrenching nightmares they had about their missing family.
  • favourites

    black

    noodles

    all

    spiced rum

    climbing & parkour

  You're only armed to the teeth because you're more brittle than you'd like to admit.

  personality

  
  Petra has always been a helping hand. They were raised to care about others. Her mother, Parisa, brought her into the clinic as soon as she could, often giving the observant child the task of watching and listening before Petra really got into it. Her father, Melian, brought her into the more poor parts of Sredzym. Little villages scattered around that depended upon Melian’s cheaper goods. Once again, the observant child watched as her father lowered already low prices and even gave things away for free at certain times. Petra learned to help when she could, and as much as she could without forsaking herself and those who depended on her.
  
  But just because Petra is ready and eager to help it doesn’t mean she has to do so with a dollish smile and a sweet attitude. More of her mother than her father in this aspect, Petra is willing to speak sharply. Rarely raising her voice, Petra has learned to command entire rooms to bend to her will. A level of authority that took years to master, aided only by their unshaken exterior. Steely and formidable, Petra has a certain level of resolution and assertiveness that pulls the gazes of those around her. Some patients of theirs are harder to get through to, and in those moments Petra unleashes her verbal wrath, raising her voice to volumes rarely heard from her. Petra is not above threatening said patients. No matter how hard headed her patients get, Petra will never beg. They have threatened to turn someone inside out, and they would sooner do it again than waste her supplies on someone that actively seeks out trouble without a care for their well being.
  
  Petra is self-sustained. Independent because of the skills her parents equipped her with, Petra certainly knows how to survive. So long as it isn't combat, of course. Petra is able to forage for food, make her own potions and healing salves, and perform medical procedures on herself. Incompetence is something that bothers Petra to high levels, and they will often try to teach those around her medical techniques that they could perform by themselves, without supervision, just in case they are in a situation where they have to work quickly. Having raised their brother when their parents were away working for hours upon hours, Petra quickly learned how to teach others how to handle certain situations. The thought of someone needing her but being unable to reach her gives her such a dreadful sinking feeling. It horrifies her deeply.
  
  Petra can work under pressure. Dealing with the sick and injured has given her the ability to keep calm and keep moving on. Even screaming and crying does little to her nerves, and no amount of chaos will bring a tremble to her hands. Raising Leander, their brother, did wonders in this area. Petra’s father helped grow this part of them. One day, Petra was tasked with bartering. Strangely enough, she did rather well. All of those observational periods did wonders, and so did their serious attitude and deadpan expression. Turns out no one felt comfortable around a business woman with the face of a child. Got them a lot of good deals, though.
  
  Petra loved… loves her family. Even with Melian and Leander gone and never to return, their love for them never died. Petra spent time with each of them. Learned all she could from them. Gave them things she found; gifts of knowledge and things. The most important thing to Petra was and still is her family. Parisa lives in their mind on the daily. They can still recall the schedule Parisa would run with their other workers. Those they had both taught in order to strengthen the medical community within Hestea. Parisa and Petra did everything together for three years after they lost the boys. Leaving Parisa was one of the hardest things they’ve ever had to do. The other was leaving Melian and Leander to rot in some god forsaken forest back in Ituthia.
• the beginning

  
  Petra was born in Sredzym, and stayed there for twenty-five years. They were pretty well off, always having food on the table and a comfortable place to sleep. Melian, their father, was a well-known trader known to both have a shop in Sredzym and travel to other countries to share his goods, mostly with poorer villages within his own country, though he did jump on a ship the moment he got word from a courier about a lack of supplies in other countries. Parisa, their mother, was an equally well-known medic within the walls of Sredzym. Born and raised there, Parisa built up quite the clientele. Trusted with some of the eldest families, and those she grew up around, Parisa grew in popularity. Especially since she kept her prices varied from person to person, depending on how they lived. Parisa was never known to turn anyone away.
  
  When Petra was born, her dad decided to—for the most part—settle down in Sredzym with his wife until Petra grew old enough to care for herself. Using the time he spent at home to grow his business there, and teach Petra about the wonders of adventure and bartering (which was mostly a headache with the frugal families of Sredzym). When Petra was thirteen, Parisa gave birth to Leander. Since Petra was old enough to care for herself at that point, they threw themselves into work, and Petra was left with her little brother. Petra raised him as they had been raised, while learning from both their parents. Sometimes having to drop little Leander off at another person’s home to go to any lessons.

  the middle

  
  Petra bounced between her mom’s business and her dad’s as best as they could, but their true calling was with their mom. Once Leander grew, it was clear where both children would fall. Leander showed much promise in trading and bartering, and getting a leg-up from Petra’s little lessons here and there certainly did wonders. While Leander flourished under his father’s teachings, Petra did the same under Parisa’s. Petra’s medical techniques were rivaled only by Parisa herself. During this time, they had developed enough to run the clinic by herself. It took a bit of convincing, but soon Petra was able to get Parisa to leave it under their care while Parisa relaxed for the first time in years.
  
  It seemed like everything was falling into place with their little family. They were doing better than ever, with reliable clientele going every which way. Leander even managed to get information about the forests in Ituthia and the whispers surrounding it. No one knew much about them, just that it was something you just didn’t do. Tales lost to time, most presumed. Leander grew intrigued with this new tale, the promise of riches being too intoxicating for one so impulsive. He tried to convince Melian to come with him. Melian, thirsting for a new adventure, took to the idea. Petra was against the idea, the voice of reason. They knew that nothing good could come of it. If there were riches within the forest, why did no one try to claim it. Why did people avoid it entirely? They didn’t listen, and left the next day.
  
  They never came back.

  the rebirth

  
  Petra and Parisa were horrified. Petra went to go after them, not knowing how they were going to find them, if they found them at all. Parisa begged Petra not to go, not wanting to lose another to the forest. Petra agreed and stayed away. They did their best to keep up with the clinic and with the trader business the boys left behind. It was difficult, not being able to move when demand went down in Sredzym, and not enough people got sick or hurt enough to keep up their rent.
  
  But Parisa couldn’t bear it. Coming back to a quiet house and an empty bed was heart wrenching. She made a plan to go somewhere far from Sredzym, and to someplace in need. Hestea was the country that left Parisa’s mouth. Petra was surprised, all things considered. They could tell that their mom had taken it hard. It seemed to have crippled her spirit, and she threw herself into her work. Petra was the same, but one of them had to remain strong. Parisa couldn’t even look her in the eyes anymore.
  
  Eventually they decided to move. It was a split second decision, and one Parisa was waiting on her child to make. One last look at their home and Petra decided to leave. They didn’t know what to believe about the afterlife, but they knew that Leander and Melian didn’t believe in it. It was the only thing that gave her the strength to leave their bodies in those woods, knowing that burying them wouldn’t make their spirits restful.
  
  They arrived quickly enough, taking as much with them to sell on the road. They arrived and immediately set up a clinic with what was available. They became a medic to both the wealthy and the poor, continuing to price fairly depending on who they serviced. It was here they stayed for three years.
  
  One day, Petra went foraging for more herbs. While she was out there, she saw some Black Order hunters walking down the road, obviously injured. They flagged her down and asked about Hestea, if there were any medics. She introduced herself as such and got to work, enough to stop the blood so they could go back to the clinic to work further. They told her stories while she worked on them, and instantly she was interested. She's heard about the Order, but never specifics. Just that they Hunted monsters. Since abandoning the trader business, she felt restless. Missing travel. Petra spoke to her mother and she understood. She knew it was unfair, keeping her daughter at her side. Petra felt guilty for wanting to leave, but knew she was never really alone. The people of Hestea loved her. It was time Petra found her own way.
• gallery

  casimiro herrera

  You showed up at my clinic one night, and it didn't take me long to realize you'd be a regular of mine. I can't get a rest, can I? Maybe next time dodge the projectiles? Or at least buy me some more supplies.

  ales waldgrave

  You're a regular. An asshole and a piece of shit with a drinking problem. We've had our fair share of fights, and I absolutely would change it for the world stop fucking getting stabbed. Fuck a blacksmith, get some better armor, and stay out of my clinic.

  character name

  My favorite hunter, though I certainly don't act like it. It's not like you care. Couldn't be happier about that. You don't need coddling, and you don't act like you're immortal. I appreciate your restraint. My family helped to give you a shot in my hometown, and finding you here was... nice. Glad you're one of the people watching my back. The rest are fucked.

  character name

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.

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coded by natasha.

 

[Abendrot]

Berenike Sassaris

# scholar

# Jessie Mei Li

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[PRETTY HATE MACHINE.]

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  • FATE.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  cities in dust

  
  
  
  

  the everlove

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  في التأني السلامة, وفي العجلة الندامة.

  
  
  
  

  Z

  ohair was never meant to be anything more than just another waif; a child of the lowest caste - marked by his birth as an abandoned child with not one known family member to take up for his name. If he was born a noble - there would be no way of knowing, though the wealth divide within the great port city-state of Zahrih made way for just as many living in poverty as there were wealthy scholars and fat oligarchs. Who would abandon a healthy young boy if not an abashed, destitute single mother?
  
  Just as the entirety of the great Kingdom of Al Visar, breaking free of such a low social standing was almost a fable; like a story of a princess falling in love with a peasant, or waking up one day to find that you are the last heir to some great fortune. It was never that easy. Even from such a young age, Zohair had to accept that he was born into poverty and likely would die in it.
  
  So perhaps it wasn't too much farther of a jump to turn to delinquency as a last ditch effort to find something to call his own.
  
  He made his beginnings balling his tiny fists into the fabric of any passing noble at the bustling street markets, tugging at the lush fabric ever so slightly, just enough to get their attention before beaming up at them with bright eyes and full cheeks. He would tell them he was blessed by the Gods, you know. That he could see the future like no other travelling seer. Of course, most of the time he wasn't sly enough to fool the passers-by. But that didn't matter. Once he'd already had his grubby little hands on them and distracted enough by his ploy to get the jump, he would yank at their pockets for their coin-purses and bolt out into the crowd, weaving through the swarm with an efficiency no adult could match. From there he would keep running - spanning the aqueducts - delving into the sewers to find the one man that had taken it upon himself to adopt all of the urchins - Devaj Bhatt - the one with the broken teeth and rounded belly. Every day, he'd send his army of children out to the streets to collect coin for him exactly how he'd instructed, and in return he would provide them food and buy them a nice, safe place to rest their little heads at night. Occasionally, he would even allow them a little bit extra for sweets - and so the children adored their surrogate father. To the general population however... Devaj Bhatt was a transient menace. And he'd disgraced the names of so many nobles that he'd made quite a few enemies. It did not matter. Somehow he would always manage to evade whatever assassin or guard that was sent after him - and so Zohair managed to grow up under his father's tutelage just a bit longer - for despite his outward appearance, the man was quite adept at the arts of stealth, discretion and evasion.
  
  Bhatt raised Zohair up to be quite the slick little charmer, despite his somewhat moody and distant demeanor now. He'd had a tongue, he'd had his looks and he'd had his voice - and he used them all to his advantage very well - flirting his way into the hearts of many noble daughters during his rambunctious teens. Of course, whenever he'd gotten close enough to them to be invited to sneak into their family's grand estates at night, he'd always find his way to the family jewels - running off with them into the night while his temporary paramour found herself in the midst of blissful sleep. When he wasn't busy seducing easy marks, he would spend time taunting the guards within the city. He'd earned himself quite a bit of a mischievous reputation with the way he'd run past guards and snatch the capes from their shoulders - turning his head over his shoulder only briefly to flash them a smug grin and a wink of the eye before they'd set off on foot pursuit throughout the alleyways of the city. Of course, Bhatt was always much amused with his son's haul even if it was worthless - and he'd slap a satisfied Zohair on the back and laugh big and heartily - "You are shaping up to be quite the rogue, my boy!"
  
  Years passed. Zohair's features became sharper, his hair grew thicker and longer, the kohl lining his dark eyes almost disappearing behind his more consistently drawn expression. The life of a thief wasn't perfect but it was one he enjoyed. Not everyone of his caste was able to kick his feet up upon a soft ottoman at the end of the day and enjoy the freshest dates, looking out over the sunsetted coastline. Of course, it also drew unwanted attention, and the fathers of the more conservative noble families grew upset and put up bounties on the head of whatever tall, handsome stranger had the audacity to make off with their valuables while also making off with their daughters... erm... honor. It was only a manner of time before the disgruntled parents pooled together to call upon the resources of the Aqtul Qelsamat to end the terror of Bhatt and his minions once and for all.
  
  The Aqtul Qelsamat. An ancient political organization more feared than respected. The most feared of agents being their assassins, their highly skilled, silent and tattooed spies and killers. Citizens bow and scurry away when one of them walks the streets - eyes widen, children cower behind their mother's legs. Once they are contracted to track and kill, they will not stop until it is done. It may take years but the endgame is always the same. A swift death to the mark. Well... most of the time.
  
  In the case of Zohair and Bhatt, the duo were so good at hopping from district to district and generally avoiding detection it took the Aqtul Qelsamat six years to finally corner them. Zohair was twenty-five when he found himself at the dead end of an underground aquedeuct - surrounded by four of the renowned assassins. Breathless. Guarding the now aged man he called his father. It was the first and only time someone he truly cared for was under threat of death, and so something overtook him in that moment. A feral sense of protectiveness. A desperate, last-ditch attempt to cling to the last remnants of the cushy life he lived. And so he drew his blades and charged, completely unphased by the totally real possibility of his own demise.
  
  When all was said and done, it was still too late. Fighting just those few assassins off was a lengthy process - and though Zohair managed to fell them all, Bhatt was caught up in the fray and wasn't spry enough to survive. Completely incensed, lost without the guidance of his co-conspirating father figure - Zohair fled the city of Zahrih. Perhaps it was for the best. The Aqtul Qelsamat would continue to pursue him no matter where he went - and now, he was considered a very high-profile target within the organization. It took four more attempts and several more dead assassins before a different kind of agent approached him at a tavern somewhere in the backwoods of Hestea. The organization collectively decided to halt their attempts at killing him and instead decided to try and recruit such an obviously skilled mark as one of their own. Despite how infamous the organization is, becoming one of its assassins offered a chance to break out of your caste. A reputation that precedes you. Riches beyond your wildest dreams. Most importantly - it offered a new purpose.
  
  It took little to convince Zohair to join the Aqtul Qelsamat. Though they were Bhatt's killers, Zohair was more than a little directionless and had done nothing but hop from place to place - avoiding confrontation and seeking new career paths at the rare times in between. Something had changed forever within him the moment Bhatt's lifeless form hit the wet stone, and he went through the organization's painful initiation ritual with no bitterness. They took his voice from him - leaving behind two ugly, long scars along the sides of his neck. They tattooed sigils upon his face to mark him as one of their agents. All without the assistance of any sort of pain-numbing poultice. For years he trained alongside his associates, learning the special sign language used for them to communicate with each other, and receiving a true scholar's education. Along the way he cultivated something of a troubled reputation for his ruthless but efficient success when it came to stalking and killing each of his marks. His days became less spontaneous and more a strict routine of arms training, education, meditation and strategizing. And so it was for several years - until, well, the Black Order got involved.
  
  

  ---

  
  POSITIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS:
  
  (+) Undying loyalty. Part of Zohair’s conditioning instilled him with an unwavering respect and fealty for authority. Whoever leads, he follows - no matter the decree. More specifically, you could say that whoever holds his contract he shows undying loyalty towards; no matter if he has any direct superior. If there is somebody above them that wants a dagger put through the chest of said direct superior; it will be done.
  
  (+) Eerily patient. It isn’t uncommon for Zohair to wake up during the ungodly hours of the night and just stand vigilant at the edge of the camp for hours at a time, almost as still as a statue. This kind of quiet repose is a habit he maintains when dealing with situations or people others would widely consider “annoying” - somebody could be talking his ear off for hours and likely the biggest response they’d provoke out of him if he truly snapped is a sharp death glare followed by an exasperated nose bridge pinch and a long, drawn-out sigh.
  
  (+) Wholly dutiful. There has not been a single hit that Zohair has carried out that he has failed. To do so, at least where he’s from, would warrant severe consequences. Typically, the first offense warrants the loss of one hand. This seems counter-intuitive as it may only hinder one’s abilities more - but in the eyes of the Aqtul Qelsamat you have already proven yourself unreliable and from that point on you are simply fulfilling your mission to spare your life. With this mindset following him around even after the contract was signed over to the Black Order - Zohair remains reliable and readied for commands at any given moment.
  
  (+) Charmingly independent. Zohair was used to working by himself up until he joined the Order a year ago - and due to the somewhat solitary nature of their work; those within the Aqtul Qelsamat are taught many different skilled trades. From basic upkeep and repair of armor and weapons to minor healing concoctions. If he can, he will handle the situation on his own before using up the resources of the group at hand.
  
  (+) Strangely ritualistic. Zohair isn’t the type to simply throw together his pack and go - and everything he does seems to follow his own set schedule if possible. Every day he wakes up at the same time, trains at the same time, eats at the same time and packs at the same time. Unless, of course, something comes along and throws a wrench into his schedule. Which exasperates him but he still gets the job done. You’ll never be left wondering where he is or what he’s doing should you need to call upon him for anything.
  
  NEGATIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS:
  
  (-) Purposely standoffish and not entirely sociable unless needed. The man doesn’t maintain the most inviting of auras, and though he cannot physically talk it’s pretty obvious whether or not he’s in the mood to chat by his tired and completely disinterested expression. Occasionally he may seem visibly more receptive to talking, but really if you’re not there to give him an order or otherwise talk business he doesn’t really make an effort.
  
  (-) Mistrustful, almost to the point of paranoia. One of Zohair’s favorite hobbies is simply observing the people around him and picking up on each of their tells. When they lie, do they avert their eyes shortly after? Do they shift their weight more to one side? When they are stressed, do they frequently run a hand through their hair? Bite at their lips? Being trained in a somewhat political environment makes him naturally very watchful and wary of any sort of deception that may be going on - though he may not immediately move to make it known to others.
  
  (-) Absolutely ruthless. Lending to his somewhat infamous reputation, Zohair will stalk and kill whoever or whatever his contract holder sends him out to kill. If special instructions are given as to what instrument should be used to get the job done - he will follow them to a T. Absolutely nothing will stop him. Obviously, this tends to be quite off-putting to others personality-wise - but to the Black Order it makes him all the more of an asset.
  
  (-) Mechanical, almost as if he really just floats through his life on autopilot. Every day since twenty-five, Zohair has repeated the same mantra, same actions, same kinds of contracts but only with different targets. It’s honestly kind of frightening just how little he actually shows any kind of conscious presence - but when he does it sure is a bit of a relief to know he hasn’t just completely lost his mind.
  
  (-) Expedient. Overwhelmingly so. There have been times where Zohair was allowed to carry out a contract however he saw fit - and while his strategies can be clever and multi-faceted - he generally chooses to go the quickest and most efficient route, even if that means more lives are lost in the process.
  
  

  ---

  
  LIKES:
  
  (+) Journaling his thoughts at the end of a long day. Unless he’s surrounded by people that know how to sign to him and can understand what he signs back, Zohair has very little in the way of outlets to get his exact thoughts out with. He carries around several leather-bound books in his pack - some filled end-to-end with thoughts and ideas, old as the tattoos on his face. Do not touch them. Seriously. Zohair has never killed anybody outside of fulfilling a contract but I wouldn’t test him on that.
  
  (+) Arms training. Zohair is rarely in a complete resting state, and whatever downtime there may be in between travelling and tracking down monsters, he can usually be found clashing blades with somebody in the camp. If you wish to socialize with him, suggesting a nice sparring session is usually a good way to catch his attention.
  
  (+) Celestial cartography. His training and extensive experience of navigating by specific stars has led to something of an affinity for them. Well, probably less of an affinity and more of an intellectual drive to physically chart them out. Zohair possesses several map drafts as well as a separate small pack full of the tools needed to make them; a small handheld telescope, a protractor, a compass, etc. None of his maps have been published anywhere scholarly as there’s always new revelations and revisions to be made. He may be very close-knit otherwise, but he’d be more than happy to share his heavenly findings with anyone curious enough to ask after them.
  
  (+) Specific scents and sounds; waves rolling in on a white sandy shoreline, Dragon's Blood incense on a crisp fall day, any strong resinous & balsamic scent really - sweet myrrh, vanilla, frankincense. Reminds him of the grand City of Zahrih.
  
  DISLIKES:
  
  (-) Cold. Of any kind. Zohair comes from a climate that has a temperature range of blistering hot in the summer to moderately cool in the winter. Only when he began being sent on contracts outside of Al Visar’s borders did he really feel the full brunt of just how biting winters can be - and you can definitely notice an uptick in general grumpiness when the temperature dips anywhere below 60°.
  
  (-) When all of the attention is centered on him. The name of the game for those within the Aqtul Qelsamat is discretion. Zohair was never one to feel comfortable with eyes on him and he operates at his best when somebody else is soaking it all in. Easier to slink off and fulfill his end of the deal that way.
  
  (-) Dramatics. No, not even theater. He’s got a pretty good gauge as to what is an appropriate reaction to a perceived slight and what is just being immature. He really just wants everyone to stay focused on the task at hand.
  
  (-) Heavy, clunky weapons. Large warhammers and the like. While he technically has the strength to wield them fine, they hinder his natural agility and overall all open him up too much to quick attacks with smaller weapons.
  
  (-) Those who just keep rambling on and on and on. Does it ever end? It’s okay not to speak if you’ve nothing to say…
  
  

  ---

  
  HABITS AND QUIRKS:
  
  • Pinches the bridge of his nose when annoyed.
  • Always sits nearest to the exit - or if that’s not possible, facing the exit.
  • Is known to favor the underdog in most situations, provided he sees a bit of potential in them.
  • Takes NOTHING at face value. The most innocent looking creatures can be the deadliest.
  • If possible, Zohair likes to maintain a mostly vegetarian or pescetarian diet. He’ll eat other meat if he really has to, of course, but the moment he steps back into a city or town with a wider range of options he’ll go straight back to his preferred diet.
  • Whistles to get someone’s attention from afar - a short, upsweeping sound that’s just loud enough to break a conversation.
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  roles.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  role one

  
  
  
  

  open

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  role two

  
  
  
  

  open

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  role three

  
  
  
  

  open

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  role four

  
  
  
  

  open

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  role five

  
  
  
  

  open

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  role six

  
  
  
  

  open

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  rules.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule one.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule two.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule three.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

bio

❛ the mind is a bladed weapon -

keep it

sharp. ❜

NAME

Zohair al-Zahrih.

ALIAS

Shabah - “Ghost”.

GENDER

Cismale.

CLASS

Rogue.

NATIONALITY

Al Visari.

FACE CLAIM

Oded Fehr.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[ravensunset]

filler

filler

filler

filler

• ...
• ...
• ...
• ...
• ...

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  warrior.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  the trees can hear you
  if you talk to them

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Fredegund Borealis

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  nickname(s)

  
  

  Fred

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  nation

  
  

  Hestea

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  class

  
  

  Warrior

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  24

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  gender & pronouns

  
  

  Female, she/her

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  Lesbian

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Growing up in the nation and household she did, Fred’s hair was never something to think or care about too much. What could’ve been a head of healthy curls ended up mostly just orange frizz, which Fred mostly just keeps back in two braids, once again not thinking about too much. About waist length when wet or pulled down straight, Fred’s braids end hanging a few inches below her shoulders, and always with some strands unable to be pulled back hanging loose around her face.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  visage

  
  

  Fred’s round, deep brown eyes are settled in a strong boned face, and one covered in freckles. She has a strong jawline and large nose, and her mouth is almost always set into a smile. She had a small scar on her upper left cheek. Fred isn’t always the cleanest, and it’s not always uncommon to see her with a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Although neither traditionally attractive nor one to care much if at all about her appearance, Fred’s generally positive expression and animated features add a certain glow to her.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  physique

  
  

  Fred stands at five feet and nine inches, the tallest of her siblings, and generally pays attention to keeping a good posture, back straight, knowing how quickly problems will arise with it with the weight she often carries otherwise. She’s very muscular, trained for heavy metal armour and wielding a two handed battle axe with ease. Years of training and fighting left her well muscled and fit, though carrying several scars across her body.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  attire

  
  

  Never able to afford anything nicer, most of Fred’s wardrobe is made of hand me downs or old purchases. Often attaining a brown hue from mud or dirt, she’s rarely in vibrant colors, but the thick fabrics do the job for her. She’s often caught herself looking at more colorful attire, and if she has anything brighter to spare, will put it on, with no care to how it might clash with the rest of her outfit. She carries on her her axe, and since joining the Black Order, when she’s out on duty her metal armor is in good condition, letting the light shine on her.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'9"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight

  
  

  170 lbs

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  ginger

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  personality

  
  
  
  

  The size of Fred’s family meant she had to be loud to be heard. It meant there was never enough attention to go around, and even though she was always around others, there was no way to get away from that, she often found herself fending for herself. It meant she had to learn how to put on a permanent veil of smiles and laughter, learn when to make herself heard and how. Fred turned into a boisterous woman, one often louder than a situation calls for, often more cheerful than appropriate. She’s rare to catch without a smile on her face, and rare to be around without her eventually coaxing out a laugh.
  
  Although often seeming to be nothing more than the cheerful, kind appearance she’s often in, Fred’s at core a fighter. There’s a reason her axe is her best friend, and she can be ruthless with it. Fred knows the damage the monsters can do, have done, and even the damage people can. She may talk of Hestea with only the community she saw, the kindness people there can bring, the way it felt to laugh in the mud, but she’s deeply aware of the struggles there too. Fred’s not often able to dwell on that which seems so much larger than her, almost unable to wrap her mind around it. What she knows is her axe, and that she can fight monsters. Fred fighting is the only time she’s ever angry.
  
  Fred views the world with a large amount of genuineness, often taking it in at face value. She’s a little too trusting for her own good, almost incapable of telling whether she’s being lied to. Being talkative and trusting, she’s just as bad at keeping any secrets to herself. Fred often seems like she never takes anything seriously enough, risking it for a chat or a bit of fun, not dropping the smile in inappropriate moments; Fred would say she does it because of how seriously she takes the world, that it deserves a smile and people to be trusted.
  
  Fred grew up near the woods. It meant the two things she grew up comfortable dealing with was her family, and monsters. She’ll often go off to explore if there’s wilderness around her, sometimes with sufficient care and preparation, more often than not without. She’s adventurous, looking for a bit of fun in almost any situation. With her weapon in hand, Fred considers herself an explorer, and is perhaps a little too confident in her skills and ability to either talk or fight out of any situation.
  
  Fundamentally, though, Fred’s strength is in her willingness to help out. Whether a learned trait out of constant dealing with a large family she cared with her whole heart with, or a quality left over from her love and trust to people, Fred’s always someone to jump in and help out when a situation asks it of her. Although she thinks that the only real thing she has to offer is her fighting capability and some woodworking and repair skills and nothing else, she’ll do her best with a task given to her. Fred joined the Black Order with the intent for an adventure, yes, but also with the intent of helping out.

  
  
  
  
  

  extra

  
  
  
  

  Positive traits: confident, friendly, helping, considerate, genuine
  Negative traits: naive, impatient, a little slow, can’t read social cues
  Likes: nature, most people, home cooked meals, exploration
  Dislikes: the quiet, being judged, confined places, having to dress up
  Skills: hand to hand combat, woodworking, endurance, staying positive and optimistic
  Fears: ending up alone, not making it back to her family, the open ocean
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  background

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  the beginning

  
  

  
  

  Fred’s story starts some never recorded number of generations ago, with a family building a house near a forest. It’s not a story of wealth or riches or even happiness, just one of family. They weren’t too far from a neighbouring town, yet the forest was so full of monsters little dared enter it. Yet, Fred’s family saw an opportunity here. A forest full of monsters, and one full of lumber.

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  growing up

  
  

  
  

  Fred was raised with a father, a grandmother, two aunts, two siblings, three cousins. Her house was small and always loud, always full, there was always something to fix and someone to help. Fred wouldn’t have traded the chaos for anything else in the world. The eldest of her siblings, she had responsibility placed on her at a young age, hand gripped around a toy axe as early as she could hold it. Fred’s childhood consisted of playing with the other kids, laughter, listening in to adult conversations she didn’t understand, happily oblivious to the poverty in her nation, the monsters riddling her forest.
  
  She was a teenager, only, when practice fights with her siblings and cousins turned into ventures into the woods, asked to hold her own against bears and rotghouls. Once proven able to survive that, she’d stay out longer and longer, her axe swinging at trees and monsters in seeming equal proportions. It was around here Fred learned her axe was her closest ally, her best protector. She started sitting in on conversations, learning how their little operation ran, what it would look like to take over someday. Fred was sunshine and smiles, promising it was easy, she liked the job, the danger was nothing.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  leaving home

  
  

  
  

  It was on her first trip out to a city, well, town, that Fred heard of the Black Order. She had a horse helping her drag wood along in a cart looking to sell. It never made much, but Fred didn’t ask for much, didn’t need much. The towns were dirty and poor and there was not much to give, yet there was life. Fred’s motivation wasn’t making money, just to see people, find that connection. She couldn’t resist staying a few hours longer than usual, sitting down at a bar, chatting to whoever cared to listen. So she learned the basic customs of the place, and learned of the Black Order, and although she wouldn’t know it for a long time after, something in her clicked that day.
  
  She took trips more and more after that, further and further. Fred wasn’t anything all that special. Talented with a weapon in hand, sure, strong and handy. But there were plenty of those around, there would be fighters as long as there were monsters. Yet, Fred was friendly, smiles and sunshine, and didn’t mind spinning a bit of a tale about her life, once in a while. Her family already was not unknown, and word continued to spread.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  the black order

  
  

  
  

  It was, perhaps, not unnatural that Fred was looking for adventure. She loved her family, she really did, and she loved her job. And yet, maybe it was the time in anyone’s life looking for a change of pace. Her family said it was a rash decision, that life was hard and they were so desperately holding onto a good thing, but that they wouldn’t stop her going. Fred promised she’d return.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

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  Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Praesent bibendum, turpis eu suscipit dignissim, lacus magna tempus nisl, non ullamcorper mauris erat sit amet nisl. Suspendisse sit amet ex eget est lacinia pretium. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Proin dapibus mattis dui, et ullamcorper felis mollis in. Aenean iaculis aliquam mauris, vitae aliquet turpis bibendum eu. Suspendisse vestibulum tempus ipsum, non vehicula arcu egestas non. Nulla sagittis rutrum dui, at rhoncus urna tempor vel. Aenean lorem ante, consequat et urna molestie, scelerisque faucibus risus. Maecenas at urna suscipit nibh tincidunt tempor.
  
  Suspendisse aliquam urna eu laoreet ultrices. Proin elementum, mi et consequat hendrerit, odio lorem dignissim tellus, ut semper metus arcu iaculis metus. Aliquam quis nisl nisi. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Nulla ac sollicitudin orci. Duis sit amet justo ultricies, efficitur sem sit amet, egestas est. Phasellus iaculis at turpis quis semper. Nulla sed pulvinar sapien, ut molestie odio.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

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♡design by natasha., coded by uxie♡

 

[Abendrot]

• .
• .
• .
• .

• BERENIKE SASSARIS

  full name

  Berenike Sassaris
  
  

  nickname

  Yi Lianhua (Nai Sian name)
  
  

  gender

  Female
  
  

  age

  22
  
  

  sexuality

  Homosexual
  
  

  class

  Scholar
  
  

  nation

  Aestantis

  VISAGE

  height

  5'3"
  
  

  weight

  105
  
  

  build

  Thin
  
  

  hair

  Black
  
  

  eyes

  Brown
  
  

  fc

  Jessie Mei Li
• virtue

  virtue

  virtue

  vice

  vice

  vice

  PERSONA

  It was as though she were born to be noble. Everything that makes Aestantian nobility what they are is exemplified in Berenike, much to their endless frustration. From her amiable and social nature to her dignified presence, from her excellent speech craft to her easy grace, she practically oozes with aristocratic perfection. Her inviting personality encourages even strangers and acquaintances to relax and enjoy a chat with her.
  
  Behind the young, sophisticated exterior, however, lies a keen mind and a sharp wit. Berenike is a chornic bookworm, and is a sucker for a good read or a long philosophical debate. She drinks in any kind of academic pursuit with boundless enthusiasm, and has a particular appetite for criticism, which she uses to improve her thinking.
  
  So fervent is Berenike in her scholarly passions that she is often prone to periods of excitable activity, deeply immersing herself on one thought or idea to the exclusion of all else -- including people -- for days at a time. She's been known to go for days without sleeping while working on something that has caught her interest, and sometimes has to be forced to eat or rest. She becomes colder and more calculating when she is under stress and trying to focus on doing something even though what she wants is to curl up into a ball and ride things out.
  
  Berenike has had to grow a thick skin out of necessity, and on the surface it almost seems as if nothing bothers her. This is a point of pride for her, as she believes it helps her deal with situations more objectively, and make the best decision. As long as a situation or comment doesn’t cut down to her core, she isn't bothered by it.
  
  The insults that do cut to her core -- especially those pertaining to her race -- make her extremely angry. Years of etiquette training have taught her how to contain that anger, but when the pressure of multiple insults becomes too much, she explodes. This has happened only a handful of times in her life, so it is not often a problem with her. Usually.
  
  Yet beneath the unflappable demeanor and easy smile, so far down that Berenike herself rarely notices it exists, is a well of self-doubt and insecurity, a worry that she is not good enough to be a reputable scholar, and a fear for the lives of her family should she fail. These doubts usually surface not as emotions, but as debilitating headaches, which in the last few years have constantly bothered her.
  
  
  

  
  

  MISC

  skills

  etiquette, diplomacy, history (Nai Sie + Aestantis), coercion, economics, mathematics, rhetoric, calligraphy (Nai Sien + Aestantean),
  
  

  habits

  - Light sleeper, and broadly dependent on tea and tobacco to keep herself moving.
  - Want to see her in a gibbering, nonsensical mess? Hand her a cat. She cannot possible function like a normal person around them.
  - One hell of a singer; she often sings to herself when she's alone, but will clam up if she knows there's an audience.
  - Suffers from nasty headaches, about the only time where she stops being such a prissy little smarty pants.
  
  

  fears

  failure, losing career prospects, being a fraud
  

  
  
• BACKGROUND

  
  

  TW: death, stillbirth, racism
  
  Eirini Sassaris, a bright young woman of nineteen years, had been living in Nai Sie for the past four years with her aging father -- a once-wealthy Aestantian trader and investor. Generations of spendthrift Sassarises had lost the family estate in the homeland to debt, and here on the other side of the world their coffers were standing on their last legs.
  
  But then, a new player was introduced: the younger son of a high-ranking Nai Sian official, Yi Wenhua. In a flurry of courting and the pull of a large dowry, the two were wed before either of them reached the age of 20. The wedding was one of controversy; an Aestantian woman with a Nai Sian man would have signaled a social death knell in the homeland, but here it was not without its plentiful boons. The Sassaris' union with the Yis ensured financial stability for the time being, leaving Eirini's father without worry for when he passed on into the next life.
  
  A year later, Eirini gave birth to a daughter, named Berenike by herself, and Lianhua by her father. The three of them remained in the Yi estate in Yunzhou to conduct business until the girl reached the age of 7, when they moved back to Aestantis in order to seek a better education for her. The young family was left in good hands, their financial needs handled by Wenhua's father as they moved forward with their lives. These were happy years for Berenike, but as all things must, they had to end by the time she turned ten.
  
  When Eirini perished giving birth to a stillborn son, her family was devastated. Stranded in Aestantis as a foreigner and an exotic object subject to curiosity and gossip -- without close contacts or friends -- Wenhua was at a lost of what to do. But, adequately supported by his family's assets and estate, he used the money left behind by his late wife to travel back to Nai Sie.
  
  By 12, Yi Lianhua had become savvy enough to handle responsibilities that had once been her mother's. She was ambitious, clever, and quick on her feet and with her words. Yet Wenhua couldn't bear to look at his daughter; Lianhua reminded him too much of his wife, and he reminded her that now that they were back in Nai Sie he could not promise her the same education and opportunities she had in Aestantis.
  
  If she took the imperial examinations in Nai Sie, she knew she could test into a good teacher's college or a medical academy. She suspected she might even test into the Qinghua Institute in the capital, where the greatest minds in Nai Sie produced stunning feats of science and pondered the mysteries of the natural world.
  
  But Berenike was not the type of person to stray from the path once it was set for her.
  
  After countless months of pleading, demanding, (but never begging or groveling) Wenhua gave in. He agreed to send Solange back to Aestantis, after endless negotiating and flattering of former friends of the Sassaris family. This would be his final act of sacrifice for his daughter.
  
  The academies of Aestantis and all their glorious treasures were an intellectual and aesthetic joy for Berenike Sassaris, now going by her mother's names. She received a comprehensive education on philosophy, culture, mathematics, poetry, economics, and politics, none of which even seemed like work to her. She read as much as she could until her eyes strained, and there was time enough to write and think, and she couldn't understand how anyone could complain.
  
  However, Berenike's time in Aestantis was not without difficulty. Although she is half-Aestantian by blood, her foreign features separated her from the rest, and she stuck out like a sore thumb. While her host family may have been kind, patient, the rest of elite society was not.
  
  Half breed. Wild savage. Pity. Charity case; these were some of the things they called her behind her back; others simply did this to her face. "Nai Sie is a particularly herdlike nation. You listen well, but independent thought is difficult for you. Your brains, which we know to be an indicator of your rational capacity, are by nature smaller." a teacher once told her.
  
  Berenike wanted so badly to show them that she was worth it. That she would crush them underneath her heel, with cutting words and careful actions. All while wearing the picture of Aestantian elegance.
  
  Yet time is evidently the best teacher, as years passed during her residence in Aestantis. She adjusted herself to the ways of high society, carefully observing the people and their mannerisms and integrating herself amongst her white peers and their silly traditions. She played their game better than most, and in this world, one is either a player or a pawn. She opted for the former.
  
  Yet the ease and skill of maneuvering through the waters did little to stop the waves. It was quite strange to see how a country she had loved—yes, she had loved it—could end up being so foreign to her. Perhaps she had known all along, but she couldn’t see it. Either way, she couldn't see a future for herself in Aestantis, and she hadn't seen her father in years. She packed her bags, closed her deals, and bid farewell to a select few. The rest could go to hell for all she cared.
  
  Berenike, dressed in Aestantian clothing and adjusted to Aestantian culture is -- not for the first time -- foreign in a place that should be her homeland. She returned to Nai Sie shortly before her 20th birthday, eager for new adventures, and most importantly, new opportunities. She was no longer the child she was years ago.
  
  In giving herself to the Black Order, Berenike had hopes of starting anew. It was time to move on, time for her to forge her own future, now that the ties to her previous life have been cut, albeit rather abruptly. This would be her chance to succeed, to prove her worth not to others but to herself.
  

  
  
• RELATIONSHIPS

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  • NAME HERE

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    NAME HERE

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    NAME HERE

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  • NAME HERE

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    NAME HERE

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    NAME HERE

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    NAME HERE

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易
莲花

coded by reveriee.

 

[mother of sorrows]

fc: chae soo-bin

nowamagbe t'cha

♡coded by uxie♡