Basic Information
Full name: Lumao Suulaliva
Age: 27
Birth Date: 3/7
Race: Corvi
Alignment: There can be no true law without exception. There can be no permanent freedoms without law. The key is when people have learned to do the right thing without needing to be pushed by Raziel, when people can be kind without motivation.
The Revenants are among the purest evil in this world, but the Nephilim can only create goodness through force. What is peace, if it was made with violence?
Appearance
Feather Colour: His mother always said he looked like a checker board.
He is covered primarily in endlessly black feathers from head to toe, with the exception of his face. Thick, bright stripes of white run completely across his chest and his neck. Thinner strips of a matching shade also dangle on his wrists and ankles, as if they were bracelets.
Eye Colour: Bright, piercing yellow. Other's eyes are immediately drawn to his.
Face Shape: Angled, coming to a pointed knife of a chin. His cheekbones are high and proud, his eyebrows are raised and structured, his lips are long and black. His nose is masculine, rugged. Clearly it broke at one point, then failed to ever heal correctly. It is a structured, sharp face.
Skin Tone: Pale under the feathers.
Height: 4'5" / 135
Weight: Corvi are incredibly light; lighter than any healthy human could be. For a creature as large as a humanoid to fly, the bones must be hollow and the frame must be thin.
60 pounds / 25 KG
Body Type: Petite in the extreme. Bird-like.
Natural Markings: None, other than the white feathers.
Scar(s): Many, many, many scars.
Three deep gashes strike through his face, two on the nose and one across his left eye. Dozens trace his wings.
Speaking of wings, they're shattered. Patches of leathery skin are revealed on both, interspersed between rotten feathers. The left wing is bent out of shape, literally being forced at a crooked angle, yet it never heals.
A long, featherless, rubbery stretch of scar tissue worms along the front of his neck.
Tattoo(s): None.
Personality
Lumao is incredibly considerate. He attempts to put others first. It is his honest belief that, if everyone were kind and if everyone thought of others before themselves, there would be no need for war or violence. The world could be at peace, so easily.
3 Words:Artistic, hippie, merciful.
Like(s): He loves to listen to others, to be in company without having to interact, to simply appreciate the presence of another.
He loves to create, to collaborate, to show off even his non-magic art.
He loves those silent relationships, where you do not need to remind eachother that love is there: you both already know.
Most of all, he loves when others love righteousness without needing to be forced.
Dislike(s): Revenants and the militarism of the Nephilim.
To Lumao, anything aligned with Alithe is rarely better than a Revenant. Yet while he respects the Nephilim, they are too cruel; too unforgiving.
The Revenants are black, yet the Nephilim are not white. They are only a pale gray: an attempt at goodness that falls short.
Want(s): To see a world without violence, without hate, and without murder, where he can travel to sell his art without being attacked by robbers who can't pass up attacking a flightless Corvi sitting on a walking pile of rubies.
Fear(s):When his journey begin, this idealistic artist promised himself he would never harm anyone. The world is too beautiful for that, he told himself. However, it is just as dangerous. In time, his promise decayed into only harming those who would end his life, and in time that decayed into only harming those who end his life or the life of an innocent. What if it continues to decay? He fears that he may soon be no better than the Nephilim, claiming love but acting in hate.
Favourite...
Colour(s): White, black
Time of Day: Midnight: peaceful and beautiful.
Food: Trail mix, with chocolate and berries.
Animal: All of them! Especially the one he built himself.
Place in Terra: The public art-station in Wellborough. It's a wide, open centre where all artists can create. It looks almost like a town square, but it is caked in clay tables and painting supplies.
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special Ablilties:Lumao is a wizard to the core: he is drawn to knowledge and bound by curiosity. His knowledge of the world's lore is impressive for his age, as is his myriad forms of magic. But you know what they say about someone who knows a bit of everything. "Jack of all trades, master of none." He knows many magics, yet he has only become an expert of Mystic Art.
Like all mystically-inclined Corvi, Lumao was born with a modicum of talent for bending shadows. But as he grew,
he realized that darkness is not a substance in-and-of itself: it is simply a lack of light. To control the shadows is to control the light. He has since practiced creating blinding lights or concealing darknesses. Within magical circles, this is known as "phantasm", and is widely regarded as the only useful magic Corvi may learn.
The true masters of phantasm have learned to bend light to such a degree that they can even bend it
around them to become entirely invisible. Lumao is only an apprentice by comparison.
Also, he does have command over a good bit of healing magic: enough to cure himself or others of
simple wounds and sicknesses. But like his phantasm powers, it is limited in comparison to true healers. He is still a Corvi- this entire field of learning is a massive challenged for him.
And last but far from least, he has discovered the uncommon mystical art of Mystic Art: the power of creating paintings, statues or figurines and animating them to life. This ranges from the simple, such as moving paintings or dancing clay, to the truly amazing, such as living statues and voodoo dolls. This is the only supernatural power he has even begin to fully understand.
Lumao has made a good deal of money by selling paintings that move: drawings of sultry women who *ahem* get more sultry on command, watercolours of children that can be seen dancing in blowing fields, or so on. Peasants are initially frightened, but the nobleman... they're more expectant of such things. The Mystic Artist has no shame in admitting that he is overpaid.
Yet, even knowing that he could live a wealthy and long life this way, Lumao still finds more joy in the art of golems: creating living statues. Most, he sells as personal body guards to kings and nobles. Dwarves especially: they love nothing more than being protected by a stone soldier that fights for them.
It should be noted: none of his creations will ever kill or maim without express command. He builds that right into them.
Sounds useful, right? It's rarity primarily stems from the unusual materials required: a golem needs several precious gems to focus it's magical energies. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, gold, silver... the list goes on.
But despite their obvious warfare applications, Lumao did not create his personal golem for combat, or even in the figure of a warrior. It is a...
...drumroll please...
...turtle! He built a turtle! A gigantic stone turtle, to be exact, about the size of two grown humans. His name is Shell and he's Lumao's best friend. Its eyes are crafted of emerald, its body is the blackest stone but its plated shell and claws are fiery ruby.
It's primary purpose is for the sake of companionship during travel: it is not as fast as a horse, not even close, yet it never tires. The middle of its shell has a built-in dip that Lumao fits right into. He can sleep on its back with relative comfort. Not only that, but it can be used to channel magic.
Though it is not for harming anything seriously, he has used Shell to defend himself. When it stomps, the ground shakes. When it glares, light blinds threats. It can act independently of Lumao, so that it is a constant company in peace or in conflict. It has some simple, animalistic intelligence.
Essentially, Shell is a pet/bed/magic-conduit/defender.
It should be said, as a final note: Lumao has never and never intends to use voodoo dolls, though they are a part of Mystic Art. They are powerful, but a peaceful man has no use for them.
Good at...: Well, not flying, that's for damn sure.
He's a skilled sculptor, painter and all-around artist.
Bad at...: Flying. And speaking. And killing things.
Traits
Good Habit(s):He is always on time, he always tries to consider another person's needs, he always tries to comfort the mourning and sad. He has mercy even on his enemies.
Bad Habit(s): He taps his feet along with flaps of his wings when impatient. He also tends to pick at the leathery patches of exposed skin barricading his scars.
On a sadder note, he still tries to fly when nobody is around. He always falls.
History
The Past
He was born into the "ruling" family of a village which didn't have a ruling family. It was there he learned the beginnings of shadow magic. It was there he learned violence. His family was a flock of semi-mystic criminals who ran the town as a mob of gangs.
It was an all-corvi village that they reigned over, where being 4'5 was being intimidating. His father cherished Lumao's strength. If a mark stopped paying up, it was up to him to beat the gold out of them. Few Corvi are skilled mages, but he did have that natural ability for cloaking himself in shadow, which he found amazingly useful in the life of a thug.
Growing up, he never questioned his place. The strong take from the weak, and isn't that natural?
It all changed the day a group of dark mages finally noticed their lawless little settlement. It was such an easy target. No defenses, no connection to the crown, no protectors. Just a few scattered "tough guys", and Lumao.
They came to find sacrifices to Alithe. He tried to defend his home, when tribute was demanded. At first they laughed. Then they made an example of him.
He was thrown to the ground like a ragdoll, tossed around. He tried to fly away, but the leader only had to put the very tip of his boot down on Lumao's wing. He tried to vanish into the darkness, but the mages saw right through it like daylight. He was a toy to them.
Then the real agony begin. They swarmed on him like crows on a corpse. His wings were torn to shreds. His throat was ripped open. He saw a flap of skin hanging from his face and had to wonder how much they had already cut off.
This is what violence is, he realized. This is what pain means. This is what it is to be crushed, this is what it is to become nothing.
Even there, under those cruel knives chopping for his wings, Lumao knew that he could never inflict this on another living soul again. Even for his father.
At that repentance, something miraculous happened. The burning pain in his wounds was pacified in a numbing cold. Gushing blood congealed to hide his open throat. Fractals of ice cracked their way across the ground beneath him.
Blood stained over his eyes, blurring his vision in red. But even through that he could still see that the dark mages had collapsed to the street floor.
He crawled over, slowly, to the limp bodies of his attackers, only he found they weren't so limp. They were stiff. Dead statues.
He touched one cautiously. That was a mistake. It was as if all the heat had been sucked right from their bodies, so much that it
hurtHe wiped the blood clear with one weakened arm, so that his sight could now show where the ice was coming from: a figure in deep blue. It was wearing hooded robes and a cold face.
One gloved hand outstretched to lift him up.
"I am Kaezira of the North."----
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After that day, Lumao swore never to do that to another thinking being.
Over the years, his promise eroded. The world is a beautiful place, but full of violence and evil. Seeking out magic is a rough path to walk- he's been forced to defend himself more than once. At first, he would never harm anyone, but that decayed into only harming those if he must to defend himself, and that decayed into only harming others if he must defend himself or someone innocent.
But he still won't kill, and he still won't injure anyone more than he has to. He is gentle even to his attackers.
Inspired in part by his natural "gift" (by Corvi standards), and in part by Kaezira, Lumao further advanced his magic over the following years. Instead of building his power up, however, he spread it out: he began to learn many forms of spellcasting, as opposed to focusing on one genre until it is all you know. Like a certain ice mage.
His first drive for magic was purely born from fear. Remembering how easily conquered he was by the dark mages terrified him to his core, but seeing how easily Kaezira disposed of them rejuvenated his hope. He became determined to learn that power. Corvi may be weak magically, yet he would not give up. He has learned what he knows over years of endless determination and pure motivation.
As he grew, though, his need for magic diminished into a desire. He realized that his fear was misplaced. It was not being weak that was to be avoided, it was violence itself. He began to take on a pacifistic view of the world, which has held (mostly) intact to the day.
Even still, he traveled all across the globe to study his magics, visiting temples and colleges alike. He considers even traveling to the Monastery of Flesh so that he may learn of fleshspinning, or the Institute to learn of runes. Afterall, it would be pleasing to see Kaezira again: to show him how much he's learned.
His wings and his throat are still torn. Dark magic is fused into the wounds; they shall never heal. The scar at his throat stole his speech, the tear at his wings stole his flight. He will never again soar or sing. He can speak only quietly and with extreme difficulty.
Now, speechless and flightless, he refuses to pity himself. He received only what he deserved. Many of his victims cried out for retribution. Though Lumao is not a religious person, maybe this was a God's way of answering them.
He has been there many times before, but he travels to Wellborough again. It is the very best place for maps and news.
