Multiple Settings Seeking 1x1 for varied settings!

[Belegdraug]

Hello All!

I’m currently seeking to RP with those with original characters. I am a fan of Modern, Medieval genres, but I am also open to more Sci-Fi settings as well. I don’t mind slice-of-life, and romance stories so long as they have an element of drama, and I’m not the only one trying to carry the story forward. I can play both Guys and Girls either as primary or secondary characters.

I am not a huge fan of smut dominated stories. I don’t mind smut, but it’s a seasoning, not the main dish, if you take my meaning!

Below are some examples of my characters. I am willing to modify them to an extent, or just create new ones on the fly. If you are interested in playing, please feel free to message me!

• Xanriel
• Ramil
• Tanner
• Valar
• Juniper
• Tatilly
• Elandra
• Zea

• 
  Meet Xanriel
  
  Below you will find variations of Xanriel depending on the genre of play. Please feel free to provide any feedback, and if you're interested in playing, let me know!
  
  Name: Xanriel
  Nicknames: Xan or Riel
  Age: 27
  Height: 5'7"
  Hair color: Black
  Eye color: Blue / Brown
  Status: Free
  Occupation: Server (The Pavilion)
  
  
  
  
  • Medieval Fantasy
  • Modern Fantasy & Sci-Fi Fantasy
  • The Pavilion

  • 
    What Xanriel would not have given to grow up the son of a Merchant, or even a farmer, instead of that of a Lord. Their manor, for one was situated high on the hill overlooking the town below, and no other buildings were permitted to be built fifty yards of the outside wall of their manor. This was for the security of the Lord’s family and home, but it also made an intangible barrier others did not willingly cross without good reason.
    
    People within the village avoided strolling up that pathway without good cause, and even when Xanriel had been young, and sought to make friends with the other children in town, once they realized he lived in the manor, those friendships withered up like roots in the harsh summer sun. There were some that would travel the road into the manor though. Other nobles, and well to do merchants. The children they brought with them though were not of the same bread as those in the village.
    
    They were often spoiled, formal, and always seemed to be looking for a way to use others to raise their station, even if it was just in the sight of a servant. Scheming to put things to their advantage when none truly was needed. It was when he was sixteen when two visiting families had gotten the better of him. Successfully making him look the bumbling idiot when serving tea. One tripped him, and hot tea ruined the robes of another. Both berated him before their parents, and his.
    
    His parents were forced to apologize, and it was then that he knew…this life was not what he wanted, not one he would likely survive. He didn’t have the heart for it. So it was in the evenings he began to make his plans. He loved his parents, and he knew the shame his actions would cause him, but he could not do it. He spent weeks planning, and finally, one evening, he’d made good his escape.
    
    He took coin his father had given him for an allowance. He’d save and saved, enough to be able to bribe his way onto a merchant caravan heading west. Though he thought he’d had enough, he’d been truly mistaken. It turned out that there was much he had not considered. A place to sleep, food, and the work to be done on an over month long trip was not inexpensive. But when the woman who was leading the caravan found out he could write? Well, she had uses for that. He was given a seat along the lead wagon, and he wrote her letters for her.
    
    Confirmed her numbers when they stopped to make sales, and in general served as a clerk and secretary. It was when they came to one of the largest cities he’d ever seen, the caravan off loaded the supplies of the east, and was set to load back up and turn around. It was then the woman gave him advice. Seek out the Pavilion, there was always work to be had there. He would not miss it.
    
    She’d spoken the truth, it was one of the largest buildings in the town, and situated in it’s heart. It was larger than his father’s manor. He had worried he might not be able to find work, but a place like the Pavilion had need of all sorts. Plus…he had a look they could use.
    
    
  • 
    
    Growing up wanting for nothing wasn't always a good thing. Xanriel did grow up wanting for nothing, and in turn, that left him wanting for everything. His father and mother were both geniuses. Both successful in their fields. Both doting. His father was a pioneer in nano-technology, and his mother genetics. Being their only child tended to mean the over did things more than a little bit. Whenever he so much as looked at something with a mild interest, they got it for him, whether he truly wanted it or not. Oh, for sure it wasn't always an immediate thing, but they'd get it, and dress it up as a surprise. This wasn't necessarily bad, but it led him to have some misunderstandings about how the world worked for most people.
    
    
    At first, his parents had thought it best to be homeschooled, as they wanted him close, but the private schools were just a bit too far away to make things feasible. But by the time Xanriel was ten, it was clear he was lonely. So his mom had the idea to let him attend public school, and they would just privately tutor him to ensure a higher standard of education. This way, he’d get to make friends, but would not suffer for it. Xan though didn’t understand the differences between his family and the others, let along how different he was already, having had a more sheltered start to his life.
    
    But the children he met in school were quick to pick up on the differences. Nicer clothes, brand named even. When he learned from the other kids was interesting, popular and such, he’d quickly come in with those things, and soon, he had friends. When they came over to his place for the first time, they’d find themselves in a large home, well decorated, and with no small amount of creature comforts. They’d also find the latest of just about everything. Books, Gaming systems, Computers, and other toys. But after that, his friends always wanted to be at his house.
    
    Xanriel had no idea just how many of his friends were genuine, and in truth, never really questioned it until his best friend Raedon, or who he'd thought of as his best friend, got into a true fight. Xanriel had been left knocked on his back, his lip split, and his former friend spelling it out for him. If it hadn’t been for the things he had, he wouldn’t have had a friend in the world. Or so he said. Without the game systems, clothes, or the electronics, what was he? Nothing.
    
    
    That had changed a lot for Xanriel. He withdrew, and his parents hadn't known how to help. He couldn't trust the relationships he had, and he didn’t know how to what to do. But when when not one of the kids from school even seemed to care about the distance, let along check on him? Well, he figured then where he stood. He burned each and every one of those relationship bridges in his mind, and and forced himself to see the reality of the situation and to moved on. He'd explained this to his parents, and though it hurt them, they understood. When he finished his formalized schooling, he needed to find himself, and so with a heavy heart, he let his parents know he’d be setting out on his own. He would be not only moving out from their home, but getting as far away as he could. He needed to find himself.
    
    He left it all behind. Oh, he still called and video chatted, but he kept the details of his life general. The truth was, he didn't have their drive, or their passion. He didn’t want to go to college and run into more people like that, and he didn’t really have a drive to study anything like his parents had. That road would just lead him to the situation he was running from. It would shame them, but he found a job, though it wasn't glamorous. It had nothing to do with business. He'd found entry level position at the Pavilion. The clients the Pavilion catered to did tend to be well off, and as such, the Pavilion insisted on men and women to be dressed well, and to be pleasing to look at in one way or another, and to take care of themselves. The pay was fair, though he honestly didn't seek the trappings of the life he'd once had.
    
    He knew how empty such things truly were, and what traps they could form. He used his pay for a simple studio apartment. He could have afforded more, but those things were a cautionary tale to him now. He preferred his accommodations to be humble in appearance, and sparsely furnished. So that was how he made them. This would be his life. Simple and uncomplicated as he could make it. Sometimes though, the world doesn’t care for the plans you make for yourself.
    
    
    
  • 
    The Pavilion will completely depend ont he RP we create. It can be anything from a simple themed cafe, to a ritzy hotel, or to a large, potentially shady or criminal, corporation that has varied interest.
    
    
    
  
  
  
• 
  Name: Ramil Hawk
  Age: 30 standard years
  Height: 5’11”
  Marital Status: Single
  Family: None known
  Term of serve: 12 years
  Occupation: Technician
  Rank: T3
  Citations: Emperor’s Crest (Honorary – Obligatory), Praetorian Star, Combat Stripe
  Home World – Terra Prime (Earth)
  
  
  Earth wasn’t the Eden the outer colonies thought it was. There was the facade the imperium projected, and then there was the truth. The truth was, if you had a job in the government, or something affiliated with it, you were on the surface of the façade. But if you were like him? You did what you had to in order to survive the week.
  
  Growing up, his mom worked two different jobs just trying to make it so they could afford their shitty little apartment in the rent controlled districts. Here, people fed on their own. It didn’t matter you were another slummer trying to make it by, if they had money, and you could take it, then you took it and you didn’t look back. You had your own mouth to feed, and to hell with the rest.
  
  Ramil though was different to a degree. He didn’t have the genetic modifications that practically guaranteed him an easy life, but he did seem to come out better than most. That was one reason his mom worked so hard. To send him to a P2 school, rather than a P3. It cost money, but she did what she could. Between paying for Ramil, and the protection payments, they barely had enough. Ramil though was gifted in one area. Tech.
  
  He was a natural at it, and repairing the schools Nural lines had netted him enough of a reward from the principle to afford a last gen Data Link. It was slower than what was on the market today, but a roughly 12 millisecond delay over the newer ones wasn’t something he was going to whine about. Not to mention, he could always tinker with it. Which was something he did as often as he could find the parts, and the interface gel to spare.
  
  It was when he got home from school when he was seventeen when things changed. His front door was locked open, and the inside of the one bedroom apartment was trashed. His mom wasn’t there, but there was a bloody hand mark on the frame of the door. Just over that mark was a note. “Her debt is yours. If you want her back, ride down the lift, and go to the park. Sit on the bench, and wait.”
  
  Not having much choice, he turned, and not even entering his apartment, he did what the note advised. It was only five minutes of sitting when a large man in a suit sat down next to him and threw an arm over his shoulders to pull him close. “Rami! Rami! Rami!” He said, enunciating each repeat of his name with a pull into him. “I’m sure you know the score here. You’re smart, with that big P2 brain of yours.”
  
  That was when his Data link brought up the details on the man.
  
  Name: Victor Ivanov.
  Age: 18
  Height: 6’5”
  Weight: 300 lbs (approximately)
  School: P1 (Drop out) Bay View
  ALERT!: Subject known to be extremely violent. Do no approach.
  
  
  Great. Just great. This was Victor Ivanov, the son of Delwayne Ivanov. His dad was a lieutenant for the Iron Rod crime syndicate, and it looked like his son was making a play to elevate himself from the protection crew, or to shake down more money to impress his dad. Victor’s meaty hand began to crush his shoulder, and his eyes narrowed. “Hey now…I don’t like the way your looking at me when I’m being friendly.” He hissed. “Lets talk. I’m sure you got my note. Your mom wasn’t behind, but she wasn’t ahead either, and to help with that, we thought we’d give you some motivation. You’re seventeen now, and it’s time to start earning.”
  
  He let go of Ramil, and then he stood, and turned to face him. “Word is you have some skills, and if there is one thing I’ve learned, make use of the talent.” He smirked and he jerked his head to the side. “Lets go.”
  
  The job, as it was, required more than he thought it might have. Victor was definitely making a play, and he wanted move up as fast as he could. It was a bank job. Ramil’s job was to open the doors, and the get the cash machines to print new preloaded cards once the lockdown began. It all went pretty well. But it seemed Victor’s use for talents was a one job max. As they were exiting the bank, he shoved Ramil back, and show him in the leg.
  
  It was a stun round, there was no blood, but it locked up his leg with pure agony, and then, he shot him in the other with a laugh before strolling casually out. The judge didn’t give him much leniency, despite the details of his story. They found his mom’s body back in her apartment, with a smiley face taped over her face. At the most the judge would give him was to not lock him up. He looked over his records, and then declared his sentence. 5 years service in the Royal Navy, with forfeited half pay.
  
  There was no outburst, nor screaming or crying. He was angry, but that was to be expected. They took him then, and shipped him down to South Africa for training. Training was what one might expect. Physical requirements were tested, and a recruit did not move on unless he passed them. He passed them. Then he was sent to his first ship. A Titan Class Heavy Cruiser, the Icharus, as a Technician 3rd class. The bottom of the barrel. Though in truth, the bottom of the barrel were those there for crimes against the Empire.
  
  People like him. Though it was not regulation, the ones that were conscripted for a punishment were given a black dot on their shoulder harness, both in the front and the back, so others would know what they were. Officially, it didn’t mean anything. Unofficially, he got the shit jobs, and no matter how well or how fast he did the job, there wasn’t going to be a glowing review written. Promotion would be next to impossible, and any credit for something he did was likely to get passed to someone else.
  
  He didn’t care though. He did his job, and honestly he kind of loved it. He loved crawling through the bowels of the ship, and even when his 5 year sentence was over, and he was allowed to ship back, he reenlisted. The black mark was removed, but his NCO and CO’s all knew how he started, and opinions didn’t change over night.
  
  When the Icharus rotated back during his sixth year of service, it was rumored that it was to give the admiralty, a ride out to Andromeda system. The Empire and the Andromeda Alliance had been in a tense set of skirmishes over trade for the last sixteen years, and it was said a deal had finally been struck, and once signed, the clashes between the two would finally be put to rest.
  
  It was a trap though. The Admiralty of the Andromeda alliance had figured if they got the best and brightest of the empire in one place for a delegation, they could take them out, and force the empire to terms that would favor them. The Icharus was heavily damaged during the assaults. 3 of the 4 support destroyers were taken out in the opening moments of the meeting, and the Icharus and the Stone were forced to flee. The Stone though took a hit to it’s engine cluster as both ships were trying to reach the exit lane, and went critical.
  
  It knocked the Icharus out of the transit lane, and that was when shit hit the fan harder. The damage done when the Stone went critical had caused a piece of her hull to pierce through the plating of the Icharus, and it severed the power core’s main lines. They were dead in space.
  
  When the AA – Vulture caught up with them, she offloaded her boarding craft. Sirens were wailing through the ship, and all hands were already prepared for boarding action. As a T3, he was given a pistol, and a field kit. He was expected to repair and fight at the same damned time. So that was what he did. His T1 was locked in a command room and filtering activities to the T’s and trying to get them to fix what could be.
  
  The only problem was they were not made for combat, and T’s were prime targets for the Vulture’s marines. Assignments that were handed out suddenly went black on the T1’s board as the tech was killed. They’d be reprioritized and assigned to whoever was alive working on a lower priority. That meant the techs were constantly being shuffled.
  
  Ramil’s repeater fired one after another. BANG-BANG-BANG, and he breached the face plate of the marine in power armor, causing the armor to halt and the head to slump forward. They didn’t fall, which was so weird. The marine behind the one in armor used his dead comrade as cover though, and stuck and arm around to return fire. That was when Ramil’s project changed. Of course. In his head, he could only rage at the stupidity of this system. Getting power to the doors was a prime goal, but he’d been pulled from it.
  
  They needed weapons systems online in the command decks. Of course. Can’t have the admirals holding guns now, can we? So he double timed it away, and up into the service shafts. He knew these like the back of his hand, and even going across the ones that still held atmosphere wasn’t a problem. When he popped the hatch on the back of the command suite’s wall, and found himself faced with no fewer than three admirals, the capitian, and two black suited praetorians all aiming their guns at him he froze dead in his tracks. He, very slowly, took his breather out and looked around. “I…am reporting to fix the automated weapons systems. So unless you want to not have that done. Don’t shoot me.”
  
  There was a bark of laughter, and the two admirals looked to a young man in white and golden accented armor. The Emperor was aboard. Holy. Fucking. Shit. The man was in his fifties, and he made a gesture to lower the guns, and all but the Praetorians did. “Get to it young man. We are running out of time.” Came the Emperor’s amused, if somewhat strained voice. Ramil did. He set to working and as he did, at some point, he heard the sounds of fighting getting closer. It was the Admirals who slipped out the door first to go support their onboard Marines.
  
  The praetorians minutes later shifted to aim at the doors, as did the Emperor behind them, as he pulled his helmet on. One of the Praetorians grunted. “Better work faster kid.” But at that moment, the doors cycled open, and the shooting began. Ramil couldn’t get the ships AI to take over the fire controls. It just couldn’t make a direct connection. He watched as one of Praetorians was hit, then the other. The emperor was hit, and the look down the hall showed power suited marines lining up. They were totally fucked.
  
  Well…In for a penny…..He moved quickly, firing his repeater, though it did little , and pulled the panel off. If he was going to die, he was going to die shooting the biggest gun he could. He ripped the inline optical cables from the wall, and quickly began working. Then, as the Praetorian’s kept firing he took one last look through his own eyes, closed them, and slammed the jack into his neural connection.
  
  A wave of nausea swept through him as his perception changed. The view was a soft amber, and then two large arms sprouted into his view. He pivoted in place, and fell to his butt, back to the wall. He was going to throw up. Then he triggered the mental command to fire as he looked through the gun’s sensors in his own mind. The heavy machine guns began to light up. Then his vision split as the other guns down the corridor were accessed and began to fire to. It was like shooting power suited fish in a barrel. Blood began to poor from his nose. Not just a trickle, but a stream.
  
  The human mind was not meant to interface in this way, and he was handling more than one interface. The two Praetorians, and the Emperor, now all bleeding through holes in their heavy assault armor were able to stop. The Praetorian, lower in rank by the lack of purple stripes on his arm, looked to his senior and just pointed. “Holy fuck, Jade…Kid jacked the ship.” The senior, looked to Ramil, laying with his head tucked to his chest, blood dripping now from his lips and nose, as he fought to keep going. There was occasional fire from the guns now, as one or so marines poked their heads out.
  
  He was going to die soon. His brain wasn’t going to be able to handle this. Jade, the senior Praetorian suddenly straightened. She turned and looked to the Emperor, and then gave a nod. “Sir. EPB is on station. She is cleaning up and sending support.” The younger of the Praetorian’s and the Emperor moved to Ramil, and lowered. They towered over him in their armor, but the Emperor spoke. “Hold on kid…just a bit longer.” The Praetorian, looked from the kid to the Emperor. “I don’t think he can sir. I think he is toast.” The emperor pulled his helmet off. “He better make it Jack, signal my doctors. Priority case.”
  
  When the first six Praetorians rounded the corner, Ramil let go, and the world went black. When he woke up, he was still on the Icharus, but not in the sick bay. He was in a cargo bay which had others in it who were injured. There were also bodies laid out at the other end. His T1 stood glaring down at him. “I don’t have anyone else left, and the Med Techs said you’d be cleared when you woke up.” So he’d woken him up earlier.
  
  “Get down to the engineering and work with whoever else is there to get us moving.” Then he’d stormed off. So, Ramil did just that. His head was hurting so bad, he was surprised he was still alive, truth be told. Colors seemed more muted now, and he could both taste and smell iron, but he was alive. It was for the reason of having been woken up early, that he was not there when Praetorian Jack and Jade came to check on him.
  
  Three weeks later, as the Icharus pulled back in orbit of Terra Prime, the Emperor had the crew shuttled to the Sol platform, and it was there they were all lined up. Awards were to be handed out. Ribbons and Medals for the crew for actions taken. Promotions and more. It was going to be a back slapping party for the officers.
  
  The Medals, and awards were handed out from the officers who’d written the recommendations, with retellings of the acts that had earned them, or what roll they played. Most were just ‘So and so held this corridor’ or ‘Bravely fought back the tide of enemy combatants’. Worse were the awards for the dead. This went on for hours. The media was there, of course, as this would be used for PR and was just another of the beats of the Drum of War. Then, there was a shift. A line of Praetorians, in full black dress uniforms took the stage and formed a line. Only then did the Emperor himself take the stage. Everything went silent, the only sound the micro repulsors that kept the camera equipment aloft.
  
  “There is one more who deserves note.” Came the strong voice of the Emperor. “One, who personally saved my life, and the lives of two of my Praetorians through an act of unusual bravery. Technician Third Class Ramil Hawk. Step forward.” There was no sound for a moment beyond the increasing and decressing pitch as camera drones swung about looking for the one who would step out of line.
  
  One of those drones would catch the tightening of Technician First Class Doorman’s jaw, and the clenching of a first. Then another would finally see the man step out from the very last row, in the far corner. He had to walk the length of the room, and advance up the middle. The Emperor took note of his position and tracked him the whole way. As he advanced the Emperor spoke.
  
  “Technician 3rd Class, was on assignment during the breach of the Icharus, and had personally taken down a Andromeda Hunter Marine when his assignment came to repair combate functions to the command decks due to priority breaches. He took an unconventional route. This man not only traversed areas of the ship exposed to space, but did so with a breather alone, and made it to the command deck. When it was clear that no amount of work he could do in the moment would link the ships corridor defenses to the guns, he manufactured an interface to jack the fire controls directly to her Neural interface.” That got a low murmur to go through the crowd, both from technicians, and officers alike. Some didn’t know what this meant, but the Emperor went on.
  
  “Yes. A very dangerous option, and one taken, at the risk of his own life. One that would bring with it extreme pain. Technician Third Class Ramil took command of the corridor guns above the Command deck door, and began prioritizing Enemy Hunters. When the press of the enemy forces only continued to grow, Ramil took over a second installation, and managed both to create fire down the supporting corridor, and to relieve pressure from the command corridor.”
  
  “Without these actions, the two Praetorians, who where already wounded, are in agreement that we would have lost the deck.” Ramil came up the stairs then, and stop at attention to one side of the Emperor, though he felt the eye of every single praetorian on him.
  
  The Emperor stepped back then and faced him. “Centurion Jade. Front.” Then, a rather small woman of some Asian Islander decent stepped forward. Her hair was dyed dark purple, and held up in a bun. She stepped to the Emperor’s side. She then saluted Ramil, and stepped forward to pin a small black star that seemed to have faint purple edges to his collar. As she did she spoke. “This is the least of it. I’ll see you after.”
  
  Then she stepped back. The Emperor spoke while she was pinning it though. “This award can only be given by a Praetorian in service to their order. It is the Praetorian Star. The second highest of their marks.” He said by way of explanation. Then he held his hand out to the side. and Jack stepped forward with a box. He stepped Jades side, and looked to Ramil, casting him a wink, while keeping a stoic expression. Jade took the box, opening it as she pivoted, and held it open for the emperor.
  
  Jack strode then to Ramil’s side, and he unbuckled the right dress shoulder pauldron, and tossed it to the floor. There was now a roaring murmur in the crowd. Jack stepped back and when he glared, the crowd stilled. The emperor took out new pauldron then. Orange and blue, just like that of any other Technicians, save for the Gold Lion on the face that now shown prominently. He moved forward and began buckling it to a very stunned looking Ramil.
  
  “For personal service to the Empire. For the risk of your life to personally save my own. For actions above and beyond the call of Duty, I grant you the right to wear, and the obligation to wear the Emperor’s Crest. You are also hereby raised to the Rank of Technician Second Class, with all rights and privileges that should bring.” The final snap when in place as the pauldron was affixed and the Emperor stood back. The salute was traditionally given by the officer presenting the award, but the rules dictated the Emperor receive all salutes first. So that is what Ramil did. The Emperor smiled and returned it. Then Jack and Jade took him, and guided him away.
  
  What followed the ceremony was a huge buzz of activity. Interviews were made, but Ramil was not among them. The praetorians were not done. “We could only give you the star kid. You are not one of use, so that is as high as it could go. But you fought with us, and you saved our bacon, so we have one more thing to give you. Get in the chair.” Before Ramil was a chair that looked odd. It was half reclined and hand cuffs to hold the arms down.
  
  He didn’t argue though, he simply slipped in and Jade and Jack both grinned as they bound his arms. “We are giving you our mark. That is the highest order we can give to a Non-Praetorian. Any one of us that sees you will know what it means, and will have your back.” The marks were tattoos. Two below his cheek one along his whole jaw from cheek to cheek, and three along his head. To make it look like a Praetorian’s helm. It hurt like a bitch!
  
  Jack grinned and Jade punched his arm. “You have our countenance now, kid. The girls are gonna be all over ya. Or the guys, if that’s what your into.” She laughed then, and they unbound him. When he made his first appearance with the media, there was a bit of confusion, but there was no explanation given. None was needed. It wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t common either. That had been six years ago.
  
  Since that time, His T1 had busted him back to T3 almost immediately, he’d given him a series of jobs and timelines he couldn’t meet to justify it, and then busted him down. He couldn’t remove the pauldron though. That Ramil had to wear, and that pissant had to salute each and every time. Unless he wanted the Ship AI to notice and flag him for review. But he did the job, and he did it well. The pay bump that came with the Emperor’s Crest was also something he couldn’t remove and with that, he had a nice and tidy sum. He was coming up on his choice to reenlist, and now, he had to wonder if he should stay, or he should jump ship and go private.
  
  He had, regardless of what he did, the right and obligation to wear the Emperor’s crest. That transcended his service. He didn’t know how that really would work with civilian clothes, but he was sure someone would tell him….if ever that time should come.
  
  
• 
  Name: Tanner LaFay
  Age: 19
  Height: 5'9"
  Eyes: Hazel
  Hair: Black
  Status: Single
  Occupation: Shop Clerk
  Class: Witch
  Level: 1
  
  Likes:
  Coffee
  Hot Chocolate
  Cooking
  
  Nature
  
  Dislikes:
  Shouting
  Fog at night
  Cats
  
  When he’d been ten years old. Like every other child, he’d gone in for the test. He had been so hopeful. He walked into the stone room, and looked into the mirror of Classes with the Prophet and his mother. But while he could see the aura of power in the mirror around them both, there was nothing around him. His mother’s frown was soft that year.
  
  Each year though, as the testing took place, that frown grew deeper, and she with drew from him more and more. He could only do the mundane schooling, as he had no class, and that left him without so many options. On his seventeenth birthday, his mother didn’t come with him for testing. By the time he got back to their home, he found all but his room, and the kitchen empty. There was a note on the table.
  
  “Tanner, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t watch this again..I don’t know how I went so wrong with you. Live your best life…Good bye…” It was such a short letter. He didn’t know how to take it. The letter left him feeling like he was somehow broken. Something he’d done was wrong…or he was wrong. The next year was not easy. He finished his Mundane High School, and got a job as a night time clerk at the local corner grocery store. But, when his eighteenth birthday came around, just as all the years prior, he walked into that stone room with the Prophet.
  
  This year though, something was different. The Prophet was the same as all the years prior, and he’d clearly not been paying attention, because when Tanner spoke he was clearly lost in his own thoughts. “Uh… Prophet…what is that?” He asked, already knowing, but not understanding. The prophet, a man into his late sixties looked up finally, and he froze.
  
  There in the mirror was the prophet with his strong red fire like aura reflecting. There next to him was Tanner, but the Tanner reflected had a dark green aura, and sitting on his head was a wide brimmed and pointed hat. Slowly Tanner reached up to his own head, and he felt that had there suddenly, as the weight of it became real. The Prophet looked astounded and confused. “But…that’s a girls class” he whispered to himself in clear confusion.
  
  That got Tanner to turn and look to him in shock. The Prophet continued. “I have no idea how you would even….it should be a Warlock for….what the hells?” He asked. Tanner took the hat off, and quickly threw it. The had spun, kind of like a frisbee, but it seemed to fade away the further it got, and then fade back onto his head.
  
  The Prophet watched his reaction, but the hat throw caused him to step back….That was an insanely strong reaction. “I’ll….see if I can find you a teacher….Though until I do…you’ll have to register and take classes with the others to control your class.” Tanner looked at him with horror. This day had not gone as he expected.
  
  The days that would follow could not be worse. He couldn’t get the hat to leave his head no matter what he tried. Every time he tried, it would simply show right back up. Throwing it out, burrying, and even burning didn't work. The only exception being when he went to wash his hair. That, for whatever reason, it allowed. It would sit on his night stand when he slept as well.
  
  
  
  After his shift at work, he’d go to the introductory classes with the other witches. A bunch of ten year old girls. The only trouble was, he couldn’t seem to do anything they could. The things they learned simply, felt like an impossible challenge to him. This led to no small amount ridicule from the children, which anyone that knew kids would understand, could be absolutely brutal. The elderly teacher that ran the class also seemed to very much dislike him. This though, he could kind of understand. This was not a place he or any other man should be. Yet therehe was.
  
  
  
  He did try hard though. He read that damned book so many times, but it was like every single time he finished a page, the contents of it seemed to evaporate from his brain. It was beyond frustrating. Reading it, trying to copy it, and even speaking it aloud were all tried, but nothing seemed to help. That isn't to say he had no magic. When he'd tried to summon fire, the wood simply blew up. While the pieces did catch fire, they were not collectively big enough to last long. When he tried to use a cleaning spell, his feather duster simply flew to pieces, and his broom handled seemed to wilt like a flower in summer heat.
  
  
  But that wasn't the only trouble, or even the largest of them. The fact that he wore that witches hat also created a number of incidents. Many of the witches he encountered thought he was mocking them, or somehow making jest. Including having one woman, just a bit older than him, ripping his had from his head as she yelled at him for his supposed mockery, only to blink as the hat reappeared on his head mid tirade. That caused he to stop suddenly, and just walk out of the shop without another word. His life, it would seem, was doomed to be an oddity.
  
  This was just life. But one day, a letter slipped right out of his hat, as if someone had tucked it in there before he put it on, and it just now had enough room to wiggle free. There was a wax seal which he broke. It simply read:
  
  Prepare. Change comes soon.
  
  - The Prophet
  
• 
  AGE: 22
  HEIGHT: 6'0"
  STATUS: Unwed
  PRIMARY AFFINITY: Aether
  SECONDARY AFFINITY: Destruction
  TERTIARY AFFINITY: Fire
  
  
  Valar didn’t know who his father was. But he did know who his mother’s were, and as such, he had no last name. Penny was not a woman of nobility, in fact, she was the furthest from it possible. She was a prostitute in the Sea district, and well sought after by merchant and nobles that put into port. When she’d conceived, like many, she tried to end the pregnancy, but the medicine given to her by the house matron had proven to be ineffective.
  
  As it was, she had to shift her focus to a different crowd and assist the house in other ways during her pregnancy. But when her son was finally born, she wasn’t the only girl in the house to love him. His quick smile, and his jem like eyes captivated them, and soon, he had a house full of women, who became like mothers to him.
  
  That was until he reached his ninth year. By this point, Valar knew to stay away from certain rooms, and he helped the Matron with tasks most of the day, like a good boy aught to. The mother’s always came to play or talk with him, educating him in their own way. There was a formal education, and then there was what he got. They were not remotely the same. While the made money, it wasn’t enough to send him to a proper school. Though the Matron did ensure he could at least read and do math.
  
  Those were important skills for anyone. Brandt, the muscle, also took to wrestling with him during the slow times, and showed him the finer points on how to weld a cudgel. Well, as much as you could truly teach a nine year old that sort of thing. It would all change when a commotion broke out in the house one day. Valar was sitting in the entry way behind the counter with the Matron, when sudden screaming from multiple mothers had he, Brandt, and the Matron all looking up in alarm.
  
  Brandt was the first to move, grabbing his cudgel and running up the stairs. The Matron looked to him and barked for him to stay, as she quickly followed. The screams continued. The sound of Brandt shouting, and then a pained cry, and the Matron then shouting. Valar couldn’t stop himself, he crept to the edge of the door way and looked up the stairs. There was a noble man there, his coat and shirt unbutton with a blood curved knife in his hand. Brandt was on his knees, hands gripping his throat, with blood pouring out between his fingers, as his eyes were wide, and though his mouth moved, only gurgles came from it.
  
  The Matron leaned heavily against the banister, her hand pressed to her side just under her left breast as she fought to keep the lifeblood that already stained her dress from pouring out any more. Just under her feet, laying motionless with her arm through the decorative iron bars of the railing hanging in the air, was his mother’s unmoving form. It was easy to see what must have happened.
  
  Rage boiled up in him. Unfiltered and unmitigated rage. Something in him snapped and he screamed. Screamed for the hut to his friend Brandt. To his Matron and mother, and to his actual mother. The Nobel’s head turned in time to watch a swirling black mass strike him full in the face, and puff away like a cloud of vapor. He blinked, and snarled at the boy down the stairs, and he took one step. Then the snarl fell from his lips as confusion over took it.
  
  Blood burst from his lips then, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Then from almost every pore in his body blood began to weap from him. His eyes rolled back, and shrank like raises, and his flesh seems to sink in like a man dead ten years. Then he toppled down on the now lifeless Brandt, and as he did, the skin fell away like ash, and the man’s jaw disconnected from his face.
  
  The Matron looked at him in fear as she held her side. “Valar…calm down….calm…” She said using the railing to hold her weight, and extending her free hand to him. “Your mother is okay….She is alive….” Those words…they were like a heavenly balm, and a fuel for a burning shame. But what was more, he came back to himself with confusion, only for the world to tip, and dim as he lost consciousness.
  
  When he came too, he was in a bed, but he wasn’t alone. His mother was there, her head bandaged. There were two men in Millitary uniforms, swords to their hips, and with them was a man in a deep charcoal colored robe with a green and blue stole, accented with threads of gold that formed a crown where they met. The Crown Mage! The man was not exactly ancient, and he didn’t have the beard one might think.
  
  He did have salt and pepper hair, and a stern visage though. The look he gave the boy was one of cold calculations. What came then was rapid fire questions from the man as to what had happened. He asked each in turn, much the same questions, and when he finished. He’d asked Valar a set of different questions?
  
  What did he feel? – “Angry…sir….and shame afterwards.”
  
  Had he ever done something like this before? – “No, sir”
  
  Did he feel it in him now? – “Yes sir, but it doesn’t feel the same.”
  
  There were other questions, but finally Valar asked his own as his eyes shifted to the guard. “Am…am I going to the dungeon?” That actually set all three of them aback, the two guard and the Crown Mage alike. Then the two guards looked at each other and smirked in amusement, as the Mage gave a short laugh, with a shake of his head. “No…but your life is changing now. There can be no help for that.”
  
  The mage slapped both hands down on his knees and looked to the Matron and his mother. “By Crown law, a mage with affinity for Destruction is to be remanded into our custody for training. He has awoken this early, and for that, there can be no help. He will be coming with me, and we will see to his needs, and education. For the inconvenience, his mother will receive payment for his expected worth, and will be afforded supervised visitation.” He said this all quickly and with the tone of a man not truly interested in how what he was saying would impact anyone he was saying it to. It was dry, formal, and droll.
  
  His mother clearly was shocked as was the Matron, as both moved to put their hands on his shoulders protectively, as if the could do anything. That was the first sign of a deeper frown on the mage’s face. “Do not make this difficult. We will care for him better than you ever could have.” Came a firm rebuke, and with a nod the two guards stepped forward to pry Valar away from the two woman.
  
  Oddly, a protective instinct flared in him, but not one that was fueled by any power. He needed to make his mom’s feel better. So he pushed out a bright smile he didn’t feel, and he spoke. “It’s okay Mom! I get to see you, and this way it wont cost you anything! I’ll study really hard to make you proud! Promise!” Then he reminded them of what the Matron said. “Mom!” he said to the matron, and looked to his mom. “I’ll be a…a…noble…right?” Then he looked to the Crown Mage who’s face hadn’t gotten any less stern.
  
  The Mage gave a nod. “You’ll either be adopted into a house, or…more likely be given a surname and start your own.” Which is actually what came to pass. He was taken from the Brothel, and he was sent to train. Training was not easy at first. He had to learn a whole new way of learning. It wasn’t all book knowledge, but how to remember things. Setting up a place for each and everything in his mind for quick retrieval.
  
  It also came to be that he was tested. The results of the test were inconclusive at first. They knew though, without a doubt he had destructive magic, and it was likely that which made the testing hard. Such mages were rare in their own right, and best tested by someone with the same affinity, so as to negate it if there was a secondary affinity. When the mage in black showed, she wore a red sash, and she looked none to happy to see him, but she did the test him. Her lips drew into an even thinner line when the Crown Mage inquired.
  
  “Destruction, Fire, and something else. I’m not entirely sure what it is. I’ve tried to grasp it’s concept, but it continues to illude me.” Her frown grew. But the Crown Mage only grinned. “A three-fold mage…can you get a sense of the ratio?” He asked with undisguised eagerness. The woman nodded. “The destruction and fire are almost in harmony. The third, I have no idea what it is, but it seems to flow with the other two.” She looked to the boy and for a moment her stern expression was replaced by a baffled one.
  
  She quickly returned it. “It doesn’t seem to negatively affect the others though. That is all I can say. The Crown mage, taking a page from the woman, wiped the excitement for his face. “Very well. His training we can only do what we can until this…other affinity makes itself known.” So his training commenced in earnest.
  
  He had no affinity for healing, or elements. His was one that would see him placed in war, and in contention with other Mages. His training with fire was about as humble a beginning as one might imagine. It was not to launch fireballs at hay targets, but to walk around with the lamp lighters, and cast sparks up to the lamps to catch them at night. His training for destruction…well that one was much smellier. He had to clean out the town latrines.
  
  Not everything is as glamours as one might think for a mage. But it was also a good way to keep a growing mage humble. Training progressed, year after year. He was kept in the Mage College, beside the palace grounds, and though just about everyone was older than him at first, soon the others coming in were his age, and he got to attend formal classes with them. Though his skills were not aligned with theirs, certain things, like magical theory, transcended mage class. Upon his graduation at the age of 18, he was formally acknowledged by the land as a Mage, and asked for his Surname to be recognized by.
  
  He could only think of one name that felt right. Brandt. The man who had saved his mother. So he took the man’s name to honor him for the service done. He became Valar Brandt, of the House Brandt.
  
  And from there, he was put into the service of the crown. The days that would follow his entrance to the mage class would range from the mundane, to terrifying. It was one such terrifying day, when his third aspect finally became known.
  
  An opening to the Hall of Heros, which was just a fancy name for a place to risk your life for a fun trinkets, had opened. The Crown had sent in fully armed teams to try and mine and extract all they could while it remained, but both teams they’d sent, along with various other free agents that had gone in had not come out.
  
  So the Crown had decided to send a more balanced team. A Mage, A healer, and two very skilled fighters. The mage was Valar. The Hall of Heros wasn’t really a hall. Stepping across that opalescent shimmer brought them into a rocky and jagged cave. The only way out, forward, or back through the gate.
  
  Forward meant an immediate squeeze that was going to be tight. It was tight enough that their fighters had to shed their armor, and pull it through on lengths of rope. But once they were through, it opened up into a wide room. A very wide room filled with spiders the size of Great Danes. Their two fighters went first, and as such, it took time for them to get their bags through and they were not able to equip themselves with armor. They set right to fighting, and took injuries almost immediately. The healer was immediately taxed, and she’d have her work cut out for her.
  
  Valar had his as well, for he couldn’t throw destruction and fire indiscriminately, less he risk hurting his own party. So he set to covering the flanks, and with fire and black death, he killed and killed. When they’d cleared the room. A simply low level mana stone was all they received for it. For the difficulty, it wasn’t worth it. But they pressed on.
  
  The course of the Hall was unusual. The dangers not always so difficult, and not always so easy. By the time they reached the last room, they’d find beast reminiscent of dragon, though it had three heads, and was a soft green. It eyes though were black as night on one head, red on the other, and blue on the last. It was some kind of elemental beast, and it was guarding…a staff. The fight was brutal. Fire washed off the dragon, and his destruction, while it did hurt it, had to contend with the beasts regeneration and self healing. He watched as their healer went down, and then the closest fighter. The three heads snapped to grab the bodies in quick succession, and began tearing at them, while the third watched.
  
  Valar ran at it, as did the soldier. The soldiers sword swung, her strength now contending with one of the Dragon’s heads. Valar didn’t see what happened, for his hand settled on that wooden Mage staff, and the world froze. The head of the staff, shifted, warmed and spun as it spun into impossible weaves. A green uncut gem lay in its center, floating though tethered by light to the staff.
  
  That light then shot to connect to his chest, and it resonated with the otherness of him. The Aether. He was connected to this staff, and it to him. That energy that the mage who’d tested him so long ago, flowed through fire and destruction and the world unlocked to him. He spun, and fire, black as night, shot out of midair into the dragons maw. It expanded and detonated. The head was imply gone, and the neck fell with the limpness of a dead worm. The other two heads and been banged into each other, and his own fighter thrown back on her back.
  
  His robes flutters softly, though his ears did ring. Then with a sweep of that staff, he laid magic on the figher’s sword, imbuing it with destruction, even as he helped her to her feet. Only then, did the two go to work in finishing off the other two heads. One might think that would have been the end to the treasure within, but the death of that guardian yielded it’s horde. Imbued elemental gems. Lord level weapons, and no small amount of precious metals. The Hall collapsed then, with the death of it’s chosen guardian, and the two found themselves with the horde where the gate they’d stepped through had been, along with their two dead companions…well, what was left of them.
  
  The Crown Mage, Gideon, was the first to great him upon his return, and when he saw the staff, his look was masked. His heart though ached for that staff. He even attempted to demand it by right of place. But when he pulled it from Valar’s hand, the staff simply shifted and curled until the gem within was hidden, and it felt as dull as a dead stick.
  
  He spent several minutes trying to coax both power out of it, and into it, but in a fit of rage, he went to throw it, only for it to zip across the space and into Valar’s hand. Then it bloomed to light again, and that head began to weave back open and shift. “A bound relic…” Gideon breathed in anger, disbelief, and jealousy. The only way to separate it, would be for the one it bound to it to die. He couldn’t outright kill him, but he could control the assignments he went on. Valar’s days ahead would numbered.
  
• 
  NAME: Juniper
  NICKNAME: Juni
  AGE: 20
  HEIGHT: 5'6"
  EYE COLOR: Silver
  HAIR COLOR: Black
  STATUS: Unwed
  OCCUPTATION: Server
  TRUE OCCUPATION: Assassin / Scout
  WEAPON: Poison Needles
  SCHOOLING: Viper
  GENDER: Female
  POSSESSIONS
  Various Posions
  A simple wooden comb
  A Shakuhachi Flute
  
  Not every man see's a woman the same. Not every woman is what she appears to be. [WIP]
  
• 
  NAME Tatilly Halbrook
  AGE 18
  HEIGHT 5'5"
  OCCUPATION Server
  ASPECT Undisclosed
  
  
  
  Tatilly Halbrook was twelve years old when the course of her life shifted dramatically. She, the daughter of James and Tamara Halbrook, was no one special, and neither were her parents, though they were certainly not destitute. In fact, the Inn the ran in the City of Malkief was widely renowned for its clean and spacious rooms, indoor plumped bathroom, and for its food. The latter of which was provided by a friend of her mother’s who seemed to have an almost magical touch when it came to seasoning food. That level of quality of service was known to draw in large crowds, for the food, the room, and the entertainment that would surely be drawn there as well.
  
  It was not uncommon for a traveling musician, storyteller, or poet to seek to entertain the masses of the common room in exchange for room, food and drink. But just because she lived there didn’t mean little Tatilly didn’t have a role. She saw to running food and drink, cleaning up spills, washing dishes, or helping the ladies with their changing and laundry with her Ma. Her older brother saw to carrying the luggage or seeing to the horse’s and carriages. He never had to clean a lick though, unless it was the stables. Somehow, Tatilly had always thought he got off easy, until he came reeking of the stables, then she was a bit happier with her lot.
  
  It was a busy night, much like any other, and the taproom was filled to the brim. So full that even her Da, who normally managed the door had long since gone to helping behind the bar. That left her Ma, the serving girl Maria, and her to run the food and drinks. Tatilly had found herself rather drawn to one particular table, where two men and a woman sat dressed in such strange garb. Their clothes were not tunic and trousers, but robes that had been folded this way and that, bound up by strips of leather, and their eyes had been rimmed with coal, even the men! They spoke the common tongue, thought their words were accented in a way she thought sounded pretty.
  
  The table adjacent to them was filled with large men, soldiers or warriors by the build, and they didn’t seem to fond of the other party, and their jibes and sneering looks said as much. For the life of her, Tatilly couldn’t figure out why. They were just people after all. What she did not know, and could not have known, is those foreigners were actually Knight’s from the Kingdom of Sand. A place that in years past had been at war with just about everyone around them. They were known not only for their fierce martial prowess, but their magics, said to be cultivated from the world’s very soul.
  
  The night had worn on, and both tables were well and truly into their drinks when the fight broke out. Tatilly had just brought a round of drinks when the woman from the Kingdom of sand was suddenly standing with fists clenched at her sides as she glared daggeers up and the large warrior who was also on his feet. It was her fault. When they’d launched to their feet, she’d been in the way, and she fell. He tray went clattering, and the drink spilled. As she stumbled her hand caught the pouch at the woman’s hip, and the leather stitching tore free, spilling the singular contents from within. It was a small glass vial. Small enough it could fit within the palm of a child’s hand.
  
  It seemed time slowed as that vial fell. The woman of the sand looked in horror as it tumbled. The vial did not shatter though, the top simply popped off, and Tatilly landed beside it, breathing in sharply as pain lanced through her shoulder. The inky blackness, with a strange and smothered yellow within, flickered. That inhale drew in the darkness leaving only the flame, which suddenly grew. It grew so rapidly the glass did shatter then, and the explosion send her tumbling. Fire broke out then, and screams ripped the room apart. But Tatilly saw nothing but black after that.
  
  When she awoke, it was to the gentle shake of her shoulder. The shake came from her brother, and a dull roar seemed to fill her mind. Whoever was speaking seemed to have their words echoing as if under water. But the more she focused, the more those words slowly drew her back to consciousness. The voice was her brother, Rand, and he was speaking with a note of fear she’d not heard before.
  
  “Tatilly! You’ve got to wake up! I can’t carry you!” That brought her eyes slowly open, and she turned them up to him. The look on his face was one of surprise, but quickly suppressed. Firm resolve overtook that look, and He slipped her arm over his shoulders and helped her up. Fire raged around the Inn, and it was accented strangely with whisps of black smoke. “Come on, Tat, let’s go! Now!” The two of them quickly hobbled out to the courtyard, where a fire line was already being organized. As they came out though, Rand looked back. “Wait here. I need to check on Ma and Da.” He left her then, and ran back in.
  
  Minutes went by, and she watched the fire rage as men threw buckets on the fire. At some point, a hand set down firmly on her shoulder, and spun her about. The figure that stood before her was none other than the Woman from the Kingdom of Sand. She looked angry and had been about to say something, when a reaction, much the same as her brothers, flashed onto her face. The anger faded as surprise took over. Firm resolve then set on her strong featured face. “You will be coming with me.” Then under her breath she hissed. “This was not supposed to happen” But those words didn’t seem to be meant for Tat.
  
  She pulled her then, and Tat pulled back, trying to fight her strong grip. “N-No!” Was all she could truly manage to put together. She didn’t break the woman’s grip. It was strong, far stronger than she’d have ever thought possible for another woman. “Do not fight me, child. It will only hurt you.” She stated, with a strange coldness to her voice. Tat did though and tried to pull back. This time, she screamed out. “N-ooo! Rand! Help!” Though Rand had gone into the fire, he’d been forced to turn back, and luckily for Tat’s sake.
  
  He came out, witnessing the scene, and when his sister cried out, he came. He snatched full bucket from one of the men in the fire line, and without a thought, spun it as hard as he could. That bucket collided with the back of the woman’s head, and she went forward. She let go through as she arrested her own fall. He gaze turned darkly to Rand, even as he stood in an awkward stance, somewhere between running and fighting as he looked between this dangerous woman and his sister. “Tat….go to our spot, I’ll meet you there! Go now!” he barked as he ran at the woman.
  
  Tatilly did run then, she ran as fast as he legs could carry her. Their spot was just a small little clearing by the lake, hardly big enough for two people, and if you didn’t push through the brush, you’d never find it. She ran, and when she got to the brush she burrowed through like a scared rabbit. It was there she got as low as she could and pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly as she waited. She waited, and waited, but still Rand did not come. Had he been hurt?
  
  He had. The Knight of the Sand was someone he was no match for, and in truth, the warriors of that table would have all had a time of it with just her, let alone her and her companions. Rand had bought time, though very little of it. The woman had him pressed face first into the cobblestone courtyard as she snarled in anger. “Where did you send her?”
  
  When Rand’s answer was not forth coming, she pressed harder, under Rand felt something in his cheek actually pop, and a pain radiated up around his eye. “I asked you a question, boy. You will answer me. The only question is how much pain you will need to suffer.” Rand would suffer. She’d pulled him away from the fire, and not a soul stopped her, though a few had thought to try.
  
  When Rand’s voice reached Tat’s ears…it didn’t sound right. It sounded wet, and slurred. She slowly moved to peer through the brush, to see him….and her. She held him, and it looked like she held him so hard her fingers were in the flesh of his shoulder. His face was bloody, his nose broken, one eye swollen shut. His lips were covered in blood, and a thick strand of it hung suspended from his chin. He was broken as he sobbed. “Ta-tilly…” He sad and sobbed.
  
  The woman’s fingers tightened as she felt the boy try to pull away, which illicited a strangled sob of pain. “Bring her to me, boy, and you may live…”She hissed into his ear. Tatilly couldn’t hear what the woman said, but she watched as Rand shuttered in pain, and watched in horror as he drew in a pained breath. Even with his face as disfigured as it was, and bloodied. She saw the resolve building. “Tat…” He started and the woman’s eyes roved the shore of the lake, looking for where her prey had gone to. “Run! Don’t look back jus-“ He cut off, and it was because even as he shouted to her, the woman reacted. She’d snapped his neck as easily as she might have snapped a chickens. Rand’s body simply fell.
  
  That was when the woman spoke. “Girl…you’ve take something that does not belong to you…What you’ve taken was a gift worthy of Kings and Emperors…I’ll need it back. If you come out now, I’ll take it swiftly, and you won’t feel a thing as you die…If you make me chase you, what I did to your brother will be a kind memory, this I promise on my word as Lady of the Sand…Come out. Now.”
  
  Tatilly didn’t, she held her spot, staring with horror at her brother’s form in the muddy shore of the lake. “Girl…come out!” Barked the woman a minute later. But when no word came the woman began to move, and slowly seek her out. Tatilly was saved though by the soldiers. Soldiers who came to reports of a Knight of the Sand abducting a man, and brutalizing him. They may not have been match one on one, or even two on one, but this was a full ten man squad, and even she would have to fight for escape if she were to live. She hissed into the dark. “I’ll find you, girl. This isn’t over.” Then she fled like a wraith into the darkness.
  
  That night had been six years past. The days that followed it were a series of horrors. Her parents had died in the fire, as had many others. It was another horror when she saw herself though. Her eyes, which had always been dark like coal, as her brother and mothers, had changed. Though the iris’s were still as dark as ever around their rims, there was a strange almost pale and metallic yellow from the pupil to that dark rim. Worse, the edges of her eye lids themselves were black…as if lined with coal, and her nails had taken on a pure black. She looked…evil…It was a frightening sight to see. To a twelve year old, that look was one she was sure would have her shunned, and so she sought to hide it.
  
  She kept her head down, and for her nails, she applied a pale polish, though to her dismay, that blackness simply ate away at it within an hour or so, leaving them as black as before. The years that would follow saw leaving Malkief, as she didn’t want that woman to find her, and she’d nothing left after the fire. No home. No Family. Cosmetics where he friend, and she had to grow in a way to make her use of them seem natural. She found herself moving from one job to the next. One Inn to the next. Each year got a bit easier. The tips a bit better, but all the same she never stayed in one place. She couldn’t. She’d learned quickly the longer she stayed in once place, that things would happen. Fires would burn to hot. Items that should last years, if not longer would begin to break down, just like the polish she’d tried to put on her nails.
  
  Worse, the Lady of Sand knew the signs to look for, and when word reached her of such strangeness, she was sure to investigate. No, Tatilly would not stay long once things started to go amiss. Her life was one of fear, and though she knew of the affects she had on things about her, she knew nothing of the why of it, let alone the what. Her life was fear, and ignorance. She could do nothing but hide.
  
  
  LIKES
  Music
  Cherries
  Art
  People Watching
  
  
• 
  
  23 years ago, a child was born in a whore house known as "The Painted Lilly" It was a place frequented by many, and she was not the first to be born in such a place, and surely she'd not be the last. Every one of the working girls had at one point or another had a child, and Elandra was the first for the newest of the girls. Rayna was her mother, and when she was born, the women told he what she'd need to do, and so she did it.
  
  Rayna left the baby girl on the steps of the church to be cared for by them, along with a note. All the note said was "Elandra Eira Kendale" and that was all. The only thing her mother had left her with was a name. She was found by the priests and sent with them to the orphanage. It was there she learned fear. For the manner of discipline was severe. The caretakers did not live up to their name. They simply did not care.
  
  You would either do what you were told, or you'd be sent to the cellars. It was dark there, damp, and filled with insects and spiders. They would yell, beat, and leave you there for days at a time, only bringing food and water, and changing out the bucket filled with waste. It was humiliating and it left it's mark the first time she was ever put in there. Unfortunately, those marks were easy for them to see, and to exploit. Not everyone who went down there came out unscarred. These were given different tasks to do.
  
  Elandra had many such times in that cellar before she broke as a young girl. Eventually she'd do anything to keep from going in there. Many were the same, boys and girls both. When she was sixteen, she woke the the smell of smoke, and the sounds of horrible screams. A boy, some years her junior had barred the door to the caretakers rooms, and set it on fire. He'd given no consideration that this was the only home for any of them. He'd just let his fear of the treatment dictate his actions, and he'd burned them alive.
  
  Children ran from the orphanage, and when dawn came, a huddled mass of them stood outside watching as the only home many of them had ever known went crashing to the earth as no more than charred wood and ash. When the authorities arrived, those that were young enough were taken and sent to other orphanages, those that were older like her, were simply given to one house or another as servants.
  
  Elandra found herself as a part of the kitchen staff of Lord and Lady Fulton. When it became clear though that this newest addition was drawing to much attention from Lord Fulton, Lady Fulton took steps, and promptly had her hair cut, and pulled up. When that didn't work, she had Elandra stripped, and lashed at the post until her back bled, and she vomited upon herself. Lord Fulton never really looked at her the same after that. The Lady Fulton though, was not afraid to yell at her, to get just what she wanted. In fact she took great pleasure in it.
  
  Eventually the fun ended though, and when she was twenty, and the young Lord Fulton's son was but sixteen, he too took notice of Elandra, and when his mother noticed this, she simply sold the girl, as if she was cattle, to a service house. Being carted off, was probably the best moment for her, for the last three years she'd only had to work contracts. Going to the houses of clients, cleaning, cooking, or carring for young ones.
  
  
• 
  Name: Zea
  Nicknames: Z
  Age: 19
  Gender: Confused (Biological Male)
  Height: 5'6"
  Eye color: Hazel
  Hair color: Red
  Family: Estranged
  
  • Dad: Tobias
    Mom: Laura
    Sister: Hannah (20)
  Occupation: Gaming Streamer, commentator, social media Influencer.
  
  Brands:
  TheRealZea,
  ZeaGames
  ZeaGlam
  ZeaClothe
  
  Sponsors:
  #InClosetClothes
  #TruuBeautyMake
  #HulkEnergyBoost.
  
  Loves:
  Star Trek TNG
  Pocky Sticks
  Pizza
  Korean Food
  
  
  
  It was a small chain of events that shaped Zea's life once he'd left High School. Like so many kids, his parents ended up divorcing when he was in his last year of middle school. Like so many young boys, he ended up lashing out. His sister, Hannah, blamed him, and he blamed her. There was really no end to their bickering. His mom, oddly enough, hadn't wanted custody of either of them, and their dad was the one stuck with them, and he made sure they realized he felt like he'd been stuck with them.They ended up in a two bedroom apartment, in which he and his sister ended up sharing a space. Granted his Dad gave them both the master bedroom, and hand a piece of duct tape running down the room to mark each of their sides. It was amazing how he thought that was enough to seperate them, or to give them space from each other. Most times though, Hannah would simply kick him out, and he'd be in the living room while she took the bedroom, at least until it was time to sleep.
  
  Their Dad was a salt of the earth type, and he spoke rarely, but enforced dicipline. When he spoke, it was typically to stop things from getting worse. In school, Hannah was popular, and that created it's own source of problems for him. While his sister could make clothes from a second hand store look great on her, the options for him tended to be of a lesser quality, or what once was high quality but was now practically threadbare. So he leaned into it. He wore the clothes, often times to big for him, and kind of tried to pull off the punk gamer look. He'd gotten a job at a hotel doing their grounds keeping, and working with the house keepers. He'd help pull all the garbage and bags out, and help out in the rooms if need be.
  
  It had gotten him his first computer, and that was what he truly wanted. He'd seen so many guys streaming the games they played, and make good money doing it. So, slowly he built up his own collection of games, along with his systems, ultimately branching out into consoles as well as PC. His Dad and Hannah both told him it was a waste of time and money, but it was not only his escape, but something in his mind he could make a career of. He wanted to cover the bases and try to be an authority on gaming. There wasn't a day of the week he didn't stream and chat with others online for at least a few hours.
  
  School was rough. He didn't see the value in it with his planned occupation, and his sister and her friends friends didn't make it any easier. She was popular, so her friends and the guys that were attracted to them were all royal dicks to him. He couldn't wait for school to just be done. When his Dad found out that he wasn't going to college like his sister, he blew a gasket. That was probably the most he'd ever heard his Dad say at any time, and with so much anger. He didn't even think he'd been that mad when he divorced his mom. The ultimatum was given that if he didn't plan to go to college, he'd get no help from him after high school. He was good to his word. On graduation, his dad gave him the money he'd saved for him, and told him he had a month to find his own place.
  
  So he found a little studio apartment above a bar for a more than decent rate. It was a bit loud at night, but then again, he was streaming then, and the noise cancelation on his mics and headphones was adequate. Unfortunately, he wasn't doing well enough to make ends meet. So he got a side job as a daytime janitor at the local college, and that was it's own sort of nightmare. His sister, thankfully, didn't attend there, but her friends did, and they gave him no end of hell. They still talked, and so many of her girlfriends had teased him to no end. The guys went along with it too, likely to impress the girls, bu t it did make a mess for him. Knocking him into walls. Accidently tipping over his garbage cans, or even spilling their drinks, only to laugh before going to get a new one, often repeating the process. It was all so damned childish.
  
  That was when Maya, one of Hannah's friends, reentered his life. She was in a year younger than him, and she had joined the college the prior year to major in marketing. It turned out though that her roommate had quit, and she desperately needed someone else to move in. That was when Hannah had mentioned his studio above the Bar. Hannah had actually come to see him after work with Maya. When she'd told him they could be room mates, he'd laughed in her face. She wanted him to move in, and take on the lions share of the rent.
  
  Maya, was a tall girl, taller than most guys at just over six foot, and while she was pretty, she was also kind of a domineering ass. "Look pipsqueak. Let me spell this out for you. You are a go no where janitor at a college. You are trying to make it big as a streamer. That's cool and all, but your not doing well. I looked you up. What I'm going to do, and the reason you'll pay more is this. You get the master bedroom, little guy. You can stream in there, jack off, or whatever it is you do now. The only difference is you get my help. I'm here as a Psychology and marketing Major. I'm going to help you grow your audience. You'll play your little games, and talk to your fans, but I'll be the brains behind the operation. Once you start making more money, I'll get 10% off the top. But only once you break 200k subs."
  
  Zea was a bit stunned at her confidence. He had a bit more than 5000 subs now, but he didn't see how she could grow it. "How would you do that?" He'd asked cautiously. That one question had Maya and Hannah smiling like sharks that had just won. Maya reached out and smoothed her hand down his hair. "I'm not going to teach you to be a marketing major, Z. Leave it to me, and you'll be riding high in no time."
  
  So he'd done it. Moving in with her had a few more challenges than he'd expected. For one, she was a bit of a neat freak. So he had to make sure to be concious of this as they shared a space. The changes, at first, were reasonable. Maya had wasted no time in getting things ready for him. "Okay, so part of your issue is you look like trash on camera. You also look stinky. I could practiclly smell your funk watching you. No one wants to give money to bums on the street. Being on camera is no diffrent. So we need to clean you up. You need to take care of your hair and skin. Long hair is in, and red hair is rare, so you have a look we can make really good use of. But you can't look like you rolled your whole head in a can of oil and got on camera."
  
  She said this as she lifted a lock of his hair with a crinkled up nose. "This is just gross." She dropped it, and took his chin. "Your skin also needs a lot of work. So..we are going to hit up the school salon! They can help with this, and it won't cost you a fortune. Oh! Wait. Becky is studying to be a beautician. I'll have her come help. She owes me a few favors." What followed was an ordeal. He had no idea who Becky was. It turned out she was not someone who knew his sister, or him. She was a mousey little girl, who hardly spoke, but it was clear she had a thing for Maya. What Maya wanted, she'd agree to immediatly. It was also clear she was not happy with Maya living with a boy.
  
  The process she put him through took hours. Why she was in school was anyones guess. She seemed like she could teach a master class on this. By the time she'd finished, he had skin that glowed, and his hair, while still long, looked like silk with a bit of a wave to it. Even Maya was a bit stunned. "Whoa...if you were not a boy, I'd jump you here and now." She'd commented. That look was horrible. He looked a bit too....feminine.
  
  "Maya, I can't go on camera like this!" Maya's eyes though hardened in that moment, as did Becky's. "And why the hell not? Becky just spent hours doing this for you. You look fine as hell, and you will finally not look like some sort of internet hobo. You totally look like the hot memeber of a boy band. Play it up!" That caused him to pause. A boy band? "Alright...we can try it."
  
  Maya's grin was devilish as he agreed. "Great. Next we need to get your makeup going, hun." That was when his frown showed immediately. She pushed her hand over his mouth to keep him from protesting. "Oh stop. I already know what you were going to say. You think make up is for girls. Well, it is. But it is also used by people on...and get this....on camera! Oh wait...isn't your job on camera? Yes it is. It will keep you from looking shiny and gross. It's just some like make up to make you look on camera like you do in real life." She watched his expression shift, and she knew she'd explained this well enough.
  
  So that was how it started. His 'new' look was pretty successful, and though a few people commented on it, the new subscribers didn't know any different. In fact, Maya even went so far as to shop him around. His subscriber base grew, and grew, and soon, he was easily making enough to cover his portion of the rent. Maya managed his socials, and even had him finally sign a contract so she could manage his social, images, and chats. He just had to make content. He was able to quit his job as a janitor, which gave him more time to play.
  
  Maya was working her tail off, bt she was also making enough from her percentage to really help with her schooling too. She had been trying to do more to grow his image. Even she couldn't believe he was doing as well as he was. He'd gotten a few sponership offers, and more than a few items given to him complementary, it was the offer to do something so aveage. Clothes. He just had to wear new clothes sent to him, and then talk about them. It wasn't exactly gaming, but it was something he could do at the same time, and really increase his intake.
  
  So she brought it to him. "Look, Zea. I get it, you are not a clothes guy. Your a big strong gamer guy. But this could really change your demographics. You are in influencer. You don't just influence the games people play or how they think aobut it. You influence their lives. It's no different than your Hulk energy drinks. You get a nice check for that, and all you have to do is drink it on camera. This, you just get free clothes, wear them, and talk about them a few times each stream, or take a few selfies wearing them wherever you are. Drop the brand name and the like."
  
  Zea couldn't really argue with that. So he'd signed on the dotted line. The clothes were really not his style, but the marketing major, and the marketing people at InCloset Clothes, thought he was the right face for the brand. They tended to be tigher, and shiny. In truth, they were probably the first clothes that had ever really fit him right. That was when his branch of makeup came to a sponsership as well. That one he was the most embarassed about. He had to do an intro video on his live showing how he got ready for his streams.
  
  That lead to Becky coming back and showing him more tips and tricks. Different products for different seasons, and how to make it really work with whatever lighting he was using. That got the worst response of any of his videos. He lost a lot of subscribers afte that video. Plent of guys calling him a I'm uncultured or sissy, but it also netted him a whole new audience. Maya couldn't believe how many people wanted to see a guy put on makeup. He couldn't believe it either. A whole new Channel was born. ZeaGames, ZeaGlam, and ZeaClothes. Maya was really breaking out his channels. TheRealZea was his main social were it all came together.
  
  It wasn't until he was sitting in his room, recording for a new video drop, that his sister and Maya walked in, his sister with a bag in her hand. Hannah came up, and her smile was huge. "Holy Cow, Maya...How did you make me a twin?" Maya laughed and shook her head. "I didn't plan to, but dear lord, he does look like your little sister!" Maya snapped her fingers. "We can do better though. Give me your bag." Zea's eyes had gone wide as he looked to his sister in the mirrior and to himself. They did look like each other. The most he'd ever seen, the only difference was Zea had more freckles on his face, and Hannah's eyes were blue, not hazel...
  
  "Holy shit...." he breathed, and both Maya and Hannah laughed at his expression. Maya was giggling as she dug through Hannah's bag. "Oh perfect!" She threw one of the white blouses at Hannah, and a black skirt. Then she took up her phone and motioned for Hannah to get on his other side. They both pressed their cheeks to one side or the other of Zea's and took a quick picture of the three very cute faces. She quickly opened TheRealZea and posted it with the caption. Just going out with my sisters! See you all at the club! More pictures to come #InClosetClothes #TruuBeautyMake #HulkEnergyBoost. Then she hit the send button. That was when she said. "Girls, we are going clubbing!"
  
  Zea was just stunned. "Wait...what? No way I'm going clubbing. I have a stream I planned." That was when Maya showed him the post, which already had likes and comments coming in. "Sorry, babe. But you have other plans tonight. We are obligated now. We've tagged your sponers and let them know there would be more coming. We can't back out without MAJOR penelties now!" She had that evil look on her face, and Hannah was smiling like a cheshire cat. She gave him a hug. "Don't worry, baby sis. You'll have a blast." Then she laughed and took out her own phone to make some calls. She was inviting her friends. Friends he coudln't stand. This was going to be hell.
  
  It was hell. Becky, had come over to help with his makeup. Maya had gone out and gotten clothes from InCloset to really match his sister, and shoes of course. Though she had mercy on him by letting him wear flats. He did end up shorter than his sister, and Becky because this. They were all shorter than Maya already. The guys had laughed, but they also made him dance with them. There had been so many photos and videos. Drinks, dancing. She even had one of Hannahs guys come around and hold him around his waist, cheek to cheek. Her was red with embarrassment, which looked like he was flushed from a strong man holding him.
  
  Then there was the drinks. He didn't normally drink but by the end of the night, he'd clearly had to many. Thankfully nothing major happened. The next day though, when he was looking through his social page, he was stunned. His followers had blown up. His main social had so many comments, and he was...oddly turned on when he looked at the picture of himself being held from behind, and while dancing. What was going on?
  

 

[Belegdraug]

Hello! I may have some proses in mind! Some modifications would be need to fit in but if you want I can send the prompts over!

Please do!