Godomar Vandame.

Two-and-twenty.

Male.

Chaleur.

Tall, sharp featured and with a perpetual expression of dissatisfaction, Godomar cuts an imposing figure as he strides across the deck. He prefers a formal uniform of black framed with purple, every button shone to perfection and every frill delicately positioned, a formality that is, in his opinion, essential to the proper running of a ship. His hands are naturally clasped behind his back, allowing him to look the very signature of a classic Archipelago gentleman as he stalks the ship in search of laziness, slovenliness and disobedience to put to rights. When not dressed in a full formal uniform (for fencing practice or when working the rigging, for example) Godomar prefers an low cut white shirt and hard wearing trousers, though he rarely parts with his boots, each polished to a mirror-like sheen. Even when out of his stuffy formal uniform, he likes to remind others of his superiority with their pristine perfection, though you'd never hear him say that out loud.

Judged by the aesthetic standards of his native Chaleur, Godomar is a very handsome young man, with the wide shoulders and lithe form preferred on the island as well as the symmetrical, sharp features in vogue at the moment. He is only missing the extravagant hairstyle and expensive clothes to get all the way there. He has always kept his hair cut down close to his head for practical reasons and claims fashion is the pursuit of fools and the profession of conmen, however. He is lucky, then, that his preferred attire of an Academy regulation uniform is in fashion everywhere. Or, rather, it is out of fashion nowhere as it never pays to be too dismissive of the Academy. Besides, who doesn't like a man in uniform? The only thing that mars Godomar's good lucks is his predilection to scowl, sneer and otherwise look down his nose at others, though they say that is very much the preferred demeanour of men in Baleine. It's hard to appreciate the velvety quality of his voice of the pools of amber that are his eyes while both are doing their best to belittle you.

With a sardonic smile and an appraising raised eyebrow, Godomar can tell you everything you need to know about him and exactly what he thinks of you. The smile is patronising, assuming for your sake that whatever you've just said or about to say sounded cleverer in your head. It makes you feel smaller, clumsier and sparks a red flush around the nape of your neck. The eyebrow is challenging, goading you into trying again like a red rag in front of bull, encouraging you to abandon the old motto of 'once bitten, twice shy'. And when you do, it's just more of the same, more looking down his nose and more and failing to suppress condescending little chuckles while you're speaking. His friends are few and far between and even they need to weather any number of barbs and jibes on a day-to-day basis, though in his defence he gives a playful nature to these insults, less attack and more poke, but lashes out with all venom on anyone unfortunate enough to try the same jovial mocking to him or one he considers friend.

It's a common criticism of those people who feel the need to tear others down that they do it only because it makes them feel better about their own inadequacies. And in the case of Godomar, this is half right. He has no personal surprising deficiency that he's covering for, he's not secretly a coward and didn't covertly cheat on his examinations. The only secret that Godomar is covering for a rather mundane one; he's not as rich as he pretends to be. The ancient house of Vandame is failing, its coffers long since drained and the family estate crumbling for lack of maintenance. Now, out on the decks of a ship, few care how much land a name has behind it or how many titles your grandfather had. Godomar, however, spent his youth in the Carreau Academy, where a person's family history speaks as loud or louder than their deeds. To be considered for notice or commendation in the Academy, he needed to work twice as hard for twice as long as anyone from a more wealthy dynasty.

As such, Godomar has become adept at two things that define him as a person. Firstly, deflecting doubt (internal or external) and aspersions onto those around him, whether friend or foe. He is bitingly harsh in his criticism, acidic in his wit and disingenuous in his compliments, all as a learned defensive reaction to growing up surrounded by those who found it natural to look down upon him. If you can't join them, beat them. Secondly, he is a singularly driven individual and a hard worker. When he sets himself to the task, he barely tires, doesn't slow and never deviates until it has been achieved or he has collapsed. It's tunnel vision, to be sure, but backed up by a deep reserve of willpower. And while it is less pronounced and more a product of his experience than upbringing, there is a third essential element to his character; he is fiercely loyal. After the cut-throat world of the Academy, Godomar has been refreshed to learn that people out here in the world are capable of interacting without sniping, of giving without expecting to take. It's new to him and he's having some difficulty getting to grasps with the concept but those that show him such kindness secure a spot in his heart, forever.

♦ The Noble Art of the Duel
♦ A Classical Education
♦ Command and Management

As the son of a nobleman who was educated and largely raised in an Academy full of nobles, Godomar has some trouble connecting to those who've lived less privileged lives. For while the Vandame house is poor by their standards, they still possess more wealth most people will see in their lives and he has been afforded access to a standard of life at the Academy most can only dream of. Coupled with his haughty, prickly demeanour, this makes Godomar a hard man to like for those how are traditionally considered his social inferiors and, given the state of his family, an even harder man to respect for a noble. He's caught between the two, far too poor to be real nobility but too proud and too aloof to be a commoner. Most of those people he considers friends are themselves somewhat outside the normal structure of society, such as Zephyrus.

Additionally, while he is supremely well trained at the art of duelling, the theory of ship-to-ship combat and the practise of command, Godomar has no true experience. He has never killed in anger or self-defence, never ordered a ship to open fire upon the enemy and never had to make a decision upon which the lives of his crew hinged. In all these things, he is "so green he pisses grass" to use the colourful slang of the Imperial Navy. In time he is sure to accumulate experience and have ample opportunities to put hard earned skills into practical use but until he has faced those tests, there must be some doubt as to whether he can honestly bare the title of First Mate aboard The North Wind.

Born to Varimir Vandame and Celeste Vandame, Godomar could be said to have been born a hundred years too late. A century ago, the members of house Vandame were influential, powerful and wealthy. Now the head of the house could barely scrape together the capital to hire a single ship and they couldn't even afford to send their son and heir to the Carreau Academy. Godomar was raised on tales of the glory days so that by the time he was seven, he knew far more of what happened in yesteryear than what was happening in his present or what might happen in his future. And that future was more than a little unclear.

There was no money in the family coffers to send him to Carreau Academy and no question of him learning a trade, not one of such illustrious blood. There was only one chance; scholarship. It would be galling for a noble to enter the Academy on such a scheme, as they were usually reserved for commoners of exceptional skill, but better that he be galled within the school than proud within it, it was decided. Of course, the scholarships were awarded based on merit so Godomar would have to prove himself a more attractive candidate than any sailor's son or merchants child.

Varimir, whose spirit had been broken some years ago with his final ill fated mercantile venture, held out no hope that his son would draw the eye of the Academy's scouts but Godomar was not deterred. He taught himself about the theory of sailing and navigation, learning from the family's decaying library, and practised on a decrepit skiff, the last of the ancestral fleet. He nearly killed himself a couple of times by crashing or going to far on the aged vessel but some accident of fate or family had granted him the iron backbone of the Vandames of old.

And so when the choosing came, some weeks after his eleventh birthday, Godomar was gratified but not terribly surprised to be selected to attend the Carreau Academy on a full scholarship. However, while he had been warned that he was unlikely to be welcomed into the arms of his noble born classmates, he couldn't have been prepared for the venom that the son of disgraced noble family who was only got in on grant money would face. He was shunned, ridiculed and had his life made even more difficult than the life of any student in the Archipelago's most prominent Naval Academy already was.

He persevered, however, learning first to ignore the stings of words and then how to use them for himself. His exemplary academic record kept him in the school and he made sure never to stray from the letter of the Academy's regulations but soon any who dared cross him would catch the sharp end of his tongue. More than a few gauntlets were dropped after he handed out a verbal tirade, as the insulted's only way to maintain a reputation after such a volley of vicious insults and listings of their shortcomings.

So, having developed a thick skin and a sharp tongue not to mention numerous Naval skills, Godomar finally graduated from the Academy at the age of twenty one and was somewhat surprised to find that the outside world cared far less for his blood than his record. While the Archipelago's aristocratic system was certainly still in place, merchants care more about the potential in lost profit by hiring a foolish crewman than about breaking with tradition. Within weeks of leaving the Academy, his home for ten years,
Godomar was flooded with offers.

He took a few brief contracts on Merchant skiffs and one on an Imperial junker, serving as one of the officer's staff. They were interesting and helped him learn the realities of the sailing life not taught in the Academy, like banging ships bread on the deck a few times before biting in or how to successfully sleep in a hammock, but he didn't feel interested in extending any of them to longer stays aboard. Instead, he continued to look for the perfect job, the one that would make sure he stood head and shoulders above his erstwhile classmates.

After nearly two years of mundanity, it came. Madame Le Fèvre, allegedly a descendant of the great explorer Cumulus himself, was in the market for a crew and, most importantly, a first mate. The interview was intriguing, not least because the parameters and length of the mission were kept so vague, and Godomar saw many of his former colleagues there as well. In the end, however, he was chosen to serve as first mate to the captain, one Zephyrus Duchamps. He would find out later that it had been the captain's advice that had swayed their benefactor's mind in the matter, as he had apparently preferred Godomar's unflinching belligerence to the snobby condescension of his peers.

Godomar has, for most of his life, had one ambition; to restore the house of Vandame to its former glory and riches. It has been many decades since it was considered one of the great houses of the Archipelago or since one of its children was called upon to give advice in an Imperial Council. This ambition was thrust upon a young Godomar when his father, Varimir Vandame, gave up on the same quest. Since then, it has been a mantra for the only son of the house to console himself with through long years of back breaking toil and ridicule at the hands of his peers. One day, he has always assured himself, they will have no choice but to take it back, to eat their words. The name of Vandame will tower over them and they'll have to bow down.

Since graduating with full honours and a special commendation, however, that dream has seemed a little hollow. After all, the name of house Vandame didn't support him through his trials, he pulled himself through them by willpower and determination. His ambitions haven't changed entirely though, they've simply shifted in motive. It's not the name Vandame that he wishes to elevate anymore, it's the name Godomar. He will have glory, fame, riches, influence and anything else he can acquire through those means available to him. The last hope of house Vandame is as rabidly ambitious as he is stubborn and will not stop for anyone on his climb upwards.

♦ Duelling Pistol — An ornate pistol, designed for maximum accuracy and flashiness at the cost of reload speed.
♦ Family Sword — A family heirloom, this sword has seen many a combat and hangs heavy at Godomar's side.
♦ Spyglass — Using plates of glass, this tube allows for the magnification of far off sights.

Khun

Fifteen

Male

Gekkō

With below average height, a pale white complexion, and a scrawny physique, Khun was quite the specimen and the envy of every male in the slums. His erratic, onyx-colored hair often is wrapped around and partially hidden by whatever piece of cloth he gets his hands on. However, what makes him a cut above the rest is his impeccable taste in fashion. Nothing said style like tattered, baggy mustard-colored pants that he wore for days on end. He usually paired this with stained, white sleeveless shirts or blouses. Khun's footwear of choice came in the form of his bare feet; nothing felt more comfortable, or at least that's what Khun keeps telling himself. Also, he only has one arm; no one really cares though.

Khun is a selfish guy, no need to hide it. Anyone growing up on the streets will tell you that the first lesson you learn is to trust no one and to look out only for yourself. Khun learned this the hard way and his curiosity didn't make it any easier. Let's just say that most of the life-threatening situations Khun gets himself into stems from his natural inquisitiveness. He enjoys the usual vices - drinking, gambling, women, and the rest. You only get one life, and the chance of it ending or turning for the worst the next minute is more likely than you think. However, this doesn't mean he's not a likable person. Especially if you bought him a meal or drink. Just don't expect him to go out of his way to have your back. Being realistic about these things is what he does best. Always trust a drunkard to drink, a murderer to kill, and a coward like Khun to run away with his tail between his legs.

For a child who was abandoned at birth, life in Gekkō wasn't all that bad. Experiencing the struggle it took to survive, in what was known to be the criminal capital of the Ichiren Dysnasty, definitely built character. As soon as Khun learned how to walk, the harsh reality of how cruel the world actually was, made its presence known him. Unfortunately for him, he just didn't know it yet. Cruelty had a name and it was to Khun's displeasure to have met him. Head of one of the many major syndicates in Gekkō, was a man who went by the name Shen. Who he exactly was and where he was from were of little value to a lowly slum rat like Khun. At the time, the only thing that mattered was that Shen, in exchange for Khun's services, provided him with what he needed to live; good food, decent clothing, and a warm bed to sleep in. The relationship the two shared was strictly professional, but it only took a single mistake from Khun to make him realize how dangerous Shen actually was.

A figurine shattered on the floor, mishandled due to Khun's carelessness. What Shen asked for return, was an arm. He gave Khun the option of choosing which one he was going to give up. As expected, Khun chose neither and made a break for it. He woke up beaten, bruised, and bandaged up, with his left arm missing. He was lucky enough to have been saved by some good samaritans who had found him passed out in an alley, in a pool of his own blood. Khun had cheated death, but after that night, he was never the same again. Melancholy had settled in as he spent most of his days aimlessly wandering the streets of Gekkō.

How he recovered from this slump in his life? Let's just say that it only took one night to make him want to live again. Actually, it took a little bit more than that. I believe there were several pints of ale and countless stories from a local from Taureau.



The morning was humid as usual in Gekkō. Khun took a sip from his gourd, some foul concoction brewed by the local boys that helped ease the numbing pain of their daily routines, and let out a heavy sigh. Though he took odd jobs all around the city in order to support his day by day lifestyle, cleaning Lord Hazad's manor was the one he found he took most often and hated the most. He often thought about stealing something from the Lord's lavish collection of foreign arts, but he knew getting caught would mean certain death for him. First and foremost, he was a coward, so he kept content with a sigh and a fit silent swearing, relegating the idea of stealing something and leaving the godforsaken town forever to his fantasies.

Even if he did muster up the courage and manage to accomplish it, where could he actually go? He had few friends, none outside of the city, and certainly none that dealt with the buying and selling of stolen art. He would be on the run for a day? A week? A month? Some uncertain but probably brief amount of time living in fear of being caught before actually being caught and punished horribly. It was a fool's dream.

"Feh. Can't believe this stupid painting could feed a someone for a lifetime..." Khun began his daily ritual of complaints before dusting the area around Lord Hazad's greatest treasure, an original work of the painter Giradelli. It took him about three heartbeats to realize that the painting was, in fact, missing and another three heartbeats to realized that he was truly and thoroughly fucked.

"Oh god. What do I do? The Lord will think I stole his stupid fucking shit painting. I'm so fucking dead, I am. Of course this would happen to me!" Khun frantically paced around the room trying to decided what to do next, because what was next was probably a painful death. He panicked further when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Was Hazad home already?

No, it wasn't him. The whispering voices that Kun was hearing were unfamiliar. These were probably the thieves that stole Hazad's treasure. Should he try to capture them to prove that he didn't steal the painting? No...they sounded dangerous and armed, and even if he could somehow subdue them, Hazad was likely to just execute him for good measure for even being involved. That left one option...

Through the tightest of corridors, trash-filled alleyways, and collapsing rooftops, Khun hastily made his way to the only person that he could seek out help from. Out of breath and panting, he found himself inside one of the most infamous taverns within the confines of Gekkō. The lack of rowdy cheers, lifeless bodies, and broken stools confirmed his assumptions. Surrounded by a drunken crowd, sharing another one of his grandeur tales of adventure, was an acquaintance of Khun.

Squirming through the sweat and ale doused patrons, Khun made his way towards his old friend. Stumbling in front of him while catching his breath, Khun flashed a smile and spoke before passing out. "Hey there, Zeph..."

To escape Lord Hazad's wrath; so basically avoiding death. What happens after that? Khun hasn't really gave it much thought yet. He'll worry about that when the time comes.

"Lexington Vale, but most people call me Lex"

26

Male

Baleine

Lexington has a rough and weary sort of appearance, portraying someone who's matured well beyond his years. He has a tall and athletic build, standing at 6 feet and weighing in at around 175 pounds. He has long hair that he dyed blond everywhere except on the left side, which he shaved close to his skull. The next thing you'd notice would be his icy blue eyes that look like they've been cut from a rare stone. He has harsh eyebrows, a long thin nose, and stubble dotting his chin as well as above his full lips. Both of his ears are double pierced with hoops in all four holes. Lex will usually wear clothes that allow him to blend into the crowd, usually dark slacks and cotton shirts, nothing too special. He's never seen without his cane or the pistol that he keeps holstered at the hip. Lex walks with a distinct limp in his left leg.

Lexington is a charming, gentleman thief. People are usually caught up in his good looks, trustful smile, and witty humor until the next thing they know they're penniless. Behind his bright smile is a cunning and calculating swindler. Lex's one true love in life is money and he's got a fiendish knack for taking it from the unsuspecting. He doesn't view it as stealing, he sees it as a game, one that he cheats at and wins often.

Lex is smart in his own ways, he might not fully understand magic, or be an academic scholar, but he has his fair share of street-smarts. Above all, Lex knows how to adapt, how to survive. He knows how to lift money from people without them feeling a single tug, effortlessly able pick locks, and heists and scamming are a second nature to. You may like him, but don't trust him for a second, not unless you want to be robbed so fast that you won't even remember his face in the crowd. Lex is a negotiator, a smooth talker, always having something to say. Lying is a necessary skill, as well as a poker face, Lex has mastered both. Deception is his best friend, he'll do whatever it takes to get a job done.

Lexington is slow to trust, mostly because he's so untrustworthy himself. It takes time to become his friend, but if or when you do, you might as well be family. Even to those close to him he remains sort of an enigma, he tells very little about himself or his past. This is because he believes that information is power, sometimes even more powerful than money. If one thing is certain about Lex, is that he has a love for life. He finds finds even the mundane to be beautiful, but has a passion for anything that gets his adrenaline pumping and heart racing.

● Thievery - If you have it, Lex can probably take it from you. Deception and distractions are his best tools. He has quick hands and light fingers. These skills usually manifest when Lex is pickpocketing, lock-picking, scamming, etc.

● Fighting - Lex has been fighting since he was a little kid, always has, always will. He doesn't fight with the concept of honor, no, he does whatever it takes to win. Lex is well versed in sword fighting, and is a pretty good shot with his pistol. Most of the time, Lexington doesn't even use his hidden sword or pistol, preferring to just beat people with his cane. Having adapted an odd style of fighting on the streets, Lex aims for pressure points and weak spots, using speed and precision instead of strength and brute force.

● Adaptation - Lex, above all else, knows how to survive. He'll do whatever it takes to stay alive and well, usually without regard for others.

Lexington might have quick hands, but he's not quick on his feet... At the age of 10, Lex's leg was broken by a thug and it never healed quite right, leaving him with a distinct limp in his left leg. Which is why he's always seen with his cane. Though money is his motivation, it can also be used against him. His interests are easily swayed if the right sum is offered. Lexington's most frustrating flaw comes from not being formally educated. Everything he's ever learned has been taught by either pirates or by his own mistakes and studies. Sure, he's quite articulate and knows how to read and write enough to get him by, but in the limelight of a scholar, he pales in comparison.

The first lesson Lexington learned in life was that the slums of Baleine take kindly to no one. Lexington assumes that his father disappeared well before his mother gave birth his brother and himself, because he never met him. He figures his mother was ill during her pregnancy because unfortunately, she died during childbirth due to complications. Thankfully, the doctors were able to save Lex and his twin brother, Athas. With no parents or relatives willing to take them in, the brothers were thrown into the foster care system of Baleine. The twin's early years were a mix of different parents and trying to find a place called home. Since most of their caretakers never actually gave a shit, the brothers were forced to care for themselves at a young age. It started with dipping into distracted women's purses, and transformed into full-fledged pickpocketing.

Athas and Lexington were crime protégés by the time they were 8, while also getting into their fair share of trouble and scraps. It didn't matter how often they were knocked down, they found strength in each other and trudged on. Soon enough they fell into the gang life, though if Lex knew what was to come, he would have been scared straight to a life a purity. It all came crashing down on the young brothers when a heist went south. They were supposed to be robbing a house in the upper class district but they were ratted out by another member of their gang for cash. Lex and Athas were jumped before they could reach the target's house. Their opponents were members of a rival gang who wanted more territory in the slums. The thugs beat Lex senseless, breaking his leg in the process. The worst was what they did to Athas. They made Lexington watch as they slit his brother's throat. An image that haunts Lex every time he lays his head on a pillow or closes his eyes.

Too young, his brother was taken from him too young. The thugs took Lexington and sold him to a band of pirates for a hefty sum. Once again proving how powerful money was. Lex was put to work immediately, basically a slave for the next few years of his life. They'd send him out to steak for them, or they'd put him against other kids his age and have them fight for their entertainment.

At this point, Lex was used to going from one shitty situation to the next, so he did the only thing he could do, he adapted. And it worked, the gang of pirates who bought him, their leader saw something in Lex. Their boss, Maddox, ended up taking Lexington under his wing. Lex played along too, as if he could actually care for the man who kept him as a slave in a damn airship like a dog. Lexington escaped by stealing from one of the criminals on board. He lifted the man's pistol without him even knowing that Lex was there. The next thing anyone knew, their captain was being held at gun point by Lex, who was now a young adult. The crew begrudgingly released Lex, ashamed that they were bested by a young thief. Lex ended up on the streets once again, left to his own devices. Although this time around, Lexington decided that he would survive on his own terms. This was how the gentleman thief was created. Instead of brute force and fear, Lex preferred charisma and quick hands. He made sure he stole from the rich, and that he never hurt a soul. Lex prefers it better this way, he knows how to fight dirty, he's caused his fair share of blood, but he loved the rush of pulling of a heist without anyone knowing what hit them.

This is how Lex survived his early adult life. With his dirty money he was able to secure his first real home and didn't have to keep moving because gangs were no longer after him and he was rarely even seen performing a steal, let alone caught. It looked like this would be the rest of his life, carrying in surviving, just the thought left Lex feeling empty. His brother had aspired to be so much more, Athas had dreams of exploring, of living a life that didn't require him to steal to survive. Lexington adopted his brother's dream as his own, and when he heard about The North Wind's daring expedition, he realized that he had to join the conquest, for Athas. The only question that needed to be asked was how would he convince the Captain to let him aboard? It took some convincing and some trademark, Vale charisma, but he was able to create a valid arguement as to how he was needed on the ship. Lexington explained that not only he was willing to work however he was needed on the ship, but that he also had useful knowledge the crew might need. A lot of applicants had book-smarts and theoretical knowledge, but not many had the street-smarts Lex had. Lexington promised that The North Wind would probably be a target to pirates and thieves due to the nature of their expedition, he assumed that thieves like himself would want a piece of whatever the Ship came back with on their way home from the expedition. Lex was a servant to a band of pirates for many years in his youth, he knows how they work, their tactics and thinking. And the best way to not be robbed is to rob others before they have the opportunity to take what's yours. Lexington guaranteed that if he was aboard The North Wind, not a single item would be taken from the ship without him knowing.

Lexington is in search for treasure beyond imagination. He wants to explore the unknown in hopes of fulfilling his brother's dream. He hopes that he will return from the trip with enough money to justify not having to steal ever again. Lex is doing this to clean his conscious, to let go of the life that killed his brother, to live a life worth living.

● Cane - Lexington is always seen with this beautiful and deadly cane. He uses it to assist his walking and to fight when needed. Lex almost never uses the hidden blade, preferring to smack around his opposition instead of stabbing them.

● Flintlock Pistol - Lex knows not to bring a blade to a gun fight, so if the stakes are raised he will always fall back on his pistol to solve problems his cane can't. He keeps all the equipment and cleaning tools needed for it on his person.

● A gold ring - This ring is always found on Lexington's left hand, nestled on his middle finger. This is no ordinary ring though, if twisted in a precise way, a small, sharp blade will be opened. This has gotten Lex out of a couple unpleasant situations in which he was tied up.

● A lock picking set that Lex uses often, with these in his hands no lock is safe.

● A well drawn picture of a young boy that looks strikingly similar to Lexington is always kept on his person. He's often seen looking at it when he think's no one is watching.

Rahab'in al-Somail-Dokar ibn Hakim

Twenty-Four

Male

Chaleur/Calor

Smooth, tawny skin lacking any real blemishes, Rahab inherits more than a title for status. Everything from the set in features to the feather tufts of hair speak of a mountain of wealth. The ability to afford exotic soaps and spices settle into Rahab's skin. Products that come off the market for small fortunes more expensive than a decent plot of land waft in his hair and along his silk clothes.

For a man who's hobby consists of disarming and triggering traps and running through dilapidated ruins for a living it's extremely hard to tell from a simple glance. Even if he has callouses on his feet and hands or a stash of ripped up leather and cheap cloth they aren't things people imagine him with. When people can see him and when he's not in the 'safety' of uncharted islands (or even in a private room for comfort), Rahab often dresses to impress or simply looks impresses. Some people say soft or genteel, but he prefers comfort. Just more ties to his heritage and upbringing that's evident even in his proper stature - always poised for and settled for esteemed company.

He's tall and affords most things to the 'controlled breeding' of Chaleur's arranged marriages, though he owes only athleticism to his own hard work. It's mostly for stamina built through running through endless corridors and mountains of rubble. His eyes are a vibrant brown and his hair shines a heavy black color; he talks with exact enunciation and a low baritone with slight rolls to his R's; he smells expensive and different every time he walks by. He's rich and, despite running from that life any chance he can, he doesn't seem to care about subduing his status.

Rahab has a thirst for knowledge that drives him, with a stubborn streak and a hotheaded determination to further boost him. It makes for an energetic young man with enough enthusiasm to spare. It also means that Rahab dives first without looking and second without knowing. He'll leave an impression, at least, potentially in the ground.

Further interactions with Rahab allow his demeanor to breathe, exposing itself. Being raised without want and with every need satisfied far above the necessary threshold makes for a very spoiled individual. Rahab is no different in this and feels almost entitled to a number of things. It rubs people the wrong way, especially as this attitude is overshadowed by his own passions. In a sense, it's easy to misplace the trait, but not quite so easy to brush it off. Coupled with the fact that Rahab is also stubborn in a very persistent, prodding way, it makes it that much more frustrating to deal with him.

Deeper still, Rahab hides a lot of his less than savory nature beneath a wide and loud front. He doesn't want people to know that he'll run away from his problems rather than face them. It's the entire reason he is where he is. Ignoring issues comes easily when he's been taught that money can buy near anything. When in reality Rahab holds more power than he knows, which comes off as scary more than thrilling. He's not worried about making change; he's worried about becoming another pawn to his family. It's scarier still when he knows deep down that he already is. By doing nothing, he's condemned his home to the coiling snake of nobility.

Those are things he won't tell a soul. He'd rather let people see a spoiled brat than a coward. He fumbles with conversation with people. It's easy for him to keep up the act simply because he has no idea how to change people's minds. Socialization isn't a thing he's built for. Dealing people was something his family did, not something he ever really wants to do. Thus, 'spoiled, bratty, rich asshole' seems to be a common title for him.

● Linguistics (Ancient Languages)
● Trap Disarming
● Reconnaissance

A man of Rahab's status would have everyone believe that he can do anything. He'd be able to convince them too, if not for the fact that he's an awful liar and can't navigate conversation to save himself. Having been of high status for most of his life, Rahab hasn't needed to do much other than look pretty and study hard. The conversation skills were supposed to be genetic, since his entire family hold a considerable amount of political power. The lack of combat related skills, however, makes sense. Bodyguards and mercenaries can be bought. Plus, money can do wonders in place of a silver tongue.

Rahab dives into ruins without much thought to his well being and his work often doesn't require persuading if money or valuables are within reach. Rahab has yet to run into a situation that lands him in a bind, but so far his work has been cushy, simple jobs. Though, his judgment isn't the best, either.

Of course, there's always running away. From experience, he's rather good at that.

Chaleur suffers incredibly from an already large gap in its societal structure. Nobles have unmistakable power sitting atop Chaleur's social ladder, with the ashen* beholden to the bottom of the rungs. With the recent occupation, this gap has only grown. The higher ups sit on even more power and wealth than previously and have enforced a number of ways to ensure the caste system remains in check. This has only given the various families that make up these nobilities more ammunition to chew and spit at each other.

Tied to one of these families, Rahab has always found himself shown only a modicum of the political field. As a method of keeping their family in check, the parents tend to skew details to ensure that they remain in the best light. This gradual spoon feeding of information churns out a number of children who have only one side of the story and a bias to keep their family on the top. Even when the truth is uncovered, they remain ever loyal to the cause - little soldiers for a war of words.

Of course, some children find away to break the mold. For Rahab it came as an accident. While still in his studies, Rahab found interest in the prior civilization beneath the depths of the cloud seas. Each of his siblings took to a hobby in their studies to provide them with enough culture to pass the meat grinding social parties of their nobility. A hot topic at the time was Ancient Languages, something that caught Rahab's attention near immediately. Concerning his knowledge, it opened quite a few doors that brought him further away from his father's words.

With Rahab's mindset, it was very difficult to instill anything that he didn't want to hear. Thus, it pushed him into doing things he might otherwise not - a rebellious streak a mile wide. He skipped out on classes to further his own interests and only attended things he thought were useful to his passion. Further studies were skewed toward a career in linguistics. The sudden turn from politics to a pipe dream enraged his father, but Rahab kept at it.

Eventually, Rahab found himself itching to get off the island. The endless power struggles came to a head and if he didn't run, then he'd get caught in it. So he bought out a spot on a research vessel full of mage students on their way to a pocket of unmapped ruins. He spent days running through endless corridors, decipherign the language and finding an endless fountain of knowledge. It spurred further adventures down the road, more and more perilous.

In his treasure hunting stint, Rahab forged a number of skills he found invaluable and that a number of teams could take value from (an added bonus from the hefty stipend he usually offered them). The second time he hitched a ride, the ship he'd bought his way onto sent him ahead as a joke. He was expendable, after all. When he came back wounded, tired, and elated the patch job scouting became a common occurrence. Rahab would venture out first, map the corridors, trigger and unhinge traps, then report his findings. It was both his enthusiasm and a smidgen of luck that kept him alive through each and every trip forward.

Much of this came at a great cost and not only in money. Each time he'd go off and return, his parents would punish him and threaten worse. In the recent months, they've threatened disowning him, something he's feared since he began. As his parents take to the political floor once again, however, Rahab has decided to take another chance and push his luck further.

To secure himself a spot on The North Wind, he's stolen a small fortune from his parent's vault in order to fund the adventure to a head. He'd found out through rumors; something about a relative of Cumulus setting to finish the old man's job. An opportunity of a lifetime for Rahab and at such a perfect time. He set out as soon as he could with the money in tow, as well as a listing of all his relative skills. Every crew needs someone to translate and transcribe things, after all - if they want an easier time navigating ruins, that is.

Escaping the political scene in Chaleur. Ever since the occupation, power seems to have shifted balance and his family is doing everything in their power to leech off of the misfortune. Instead of working to stop them, Rahab has taken to treasure hunting as a 'hobby' of sorts. If an opportunity keeps him away from his family, Rahab's going to take it.

Aside, Rahab does find fascination with learning more and more about the ancient civilization(s) that once ruled the world. He seeks knowledge from artifacts more than he seeks money or glory. Adventure is also a plus.

● Journal - inside is various map layouts of ruins traveled, drawings of artifacts and vistas, as well as documentation of surroundings.
● Pen and Ink - writing tools; the ink is always sealed tight with a cork.
● Crimson Amulet - a one use amulet that's imbued with the magic to create a medium strength shield.
● Fire making Kit - some flint and stuff to make a fire with in an emergency situation.
● Flask - for water or any other beverage he wants on hand.

Gwendolyn Alexander Rowe; Gwen for short.

25.

Female.

Originating from the small island town of Rivensford, Gwendolyn was raised by her scientist father: Silias Rowe. Located on the outskirts of The Archipelago, Rivensford is located west of Bridesend. The town is surrounded by roaring waterfalls; the perfect source of power for any person interested in more advanced machinery. Engineers from far and wide flock to Rivensford to set up shop and further their research into the realm of the machine- or even that of the arcane.

Gwendolyn is five foot and seven inches of cold logic and "superior knowledge". Draped around her bony frame she dons her mother's sun-bleached leather coat; a dusty grey heirloom that Gwendolyn could never be parted with. Underneath this coat she wears a black tank top that keeps her from getting too warm during her heat-intensive work. She has a thick head of mousy brown hair that is cut short, only falling down to the back of her neck. Due to her lack of knowledge in social customs, her hair often appears wild and unkempt.

One of the first things that most notice about Gwendolyn is the unhealthy pale pallor of her skin, as well as the knowing smirk that is forever painted on her face. Another thing that haunts the air around Gwen is the constant shuddering cough she lets out now and again, reminding all those near her of her persistent disability.

Gwendolyn goes through life logically and rationally. Every decision she makes she reviews a few times before finally giving the final perfect answer. Her perfectionism is very obvious in the way she frantically searches for every excuse to be right and give at least fifteen reasons why. She feels that's it's only natural to lecture people when they are wrong, because it would be inefficient and illogical to go through life having the wrong answer to something. While she would love to be one to do this, she is extremely soft-spoken and has difficulties interacting with others when there are multiple people around(as she grew up alone and without friends).

When it comes to engineering and science, however, Gwen gets excited to the point where she might have to use her inhaler. She loves to go on long winded explanations on the inner mechanisms of airship technology, and would never miss an opportunity to have an intellectual conversation about new technology. When it comes to debates about science she can become extremely emotional, and will even come to the point of shouting to prove her point.

Gwen hates to be helped, as her entire childhood consisted of people worrying about her health. She stands on her own, proud of how far she has come despite her crippling lung difficulties. When she is outside of the social pressures of multiple people, many find Gwen to be quick and witty with her speech, drawing on her knowledge of comedies and other sharp tongued pieces of literature.

● Avid Learner- Ever since she was a little girl Gwendolyn found that her father's schooling bored her. She much rather enjoyed pouring over the dusty tomes and scrolls of her father's library alone. Whenever she did so, she would begin to infer, make connections between objects and the forces that affected them. In next to no time, Gwen had already come up with a basic understanding of science and mathematics nearly all on her own. This lust for knowledge led to her father testing her harder and pushing her farther, until her intellect surpassed even his own. Due to her debilitating disease, Gwen spent most of her time indoors surrounded by sheets of paper as she would work through theorem after theorem. Now as an adult she is an avid scientist and engineer learning how to better the lives of others through the power of technology.

● Airship Engineer- Gwendolyn is an adept engineer with a very deep understanding of the inner workings of everything mechanical. Taking things apart and putting them back together better and stronger than before has become quite the hobby of Gwen's. She works tirelessly to hone her skills, tinkering with things on the daily and drawing up plans for things that could perhaps be useful or more efficient. This skill is the most precious thing to Gwen, as she learned everything she knows from her father.

● Practical- As a scientist and an engineer, dreamy solutions have never been one for Gwendolyn. When faced with a challenge she will continue to stay level headed as she works through the problem, taking every logical step until she achieves her goal. She is a very down to earth person and thinker, making her perfect for acting under pressure.

Physical activity of any kind is the bane of Gwendolyn's existence. This can be attributed to the fact that she is asthmatic as well as completely out of shape. Another weakness she displays is her complete overconfidence in her ability to do anything. This strong-headed outlook has gotten her into many a bad situation in the past, however also serves as the thing that drives her to keep going.

Gwendolyn Alexander Rowe was born twenty five years ago aboard a passenger ship on it's way to Bridesend. Her mother, Helena Rowe, was deathly ill and on her deathbed when she gave birth to the baby girl. After successfully saving the life of Gwen, Helena passed away shortly after due to her illness. As it turned out Gwendolyn had been born prematurely. Her lungs were not quite fully developed, and the doctors aboard the ship were worried that she would not be able to survive for long. Much to their relief the child seemed to stabilize over the rest of the voyage, and was rushed to a hospital for treatment soon after.

Gwen's father, Silias, had become overwhelmed with grief at the death of his beloved and the birth of his sickly child. He took the child and fled from his old home in Bridesend to find solace in his life's work; finding out what lay beneath the clouds. However he felt greatly attached to Gwendolyn, and even while he tirelessly worked day and night working on a small vessel to breach the clouds he made sure to teach the child all he knew. She was, after all, all he had left of Helena. Gwen's base of knowledge grew vast in next to no time. The child was not allowed to leave the house most of the time, as her terrible illness would cause her to seize up and have terrible problems breathing. Because of this, Gwen spent most of her childhood indoors pouring over all the books in the library and in her father's archives. Eventually, she stumbled across a book that was of great interest to her. The Adventures of Cumulus Le Fèvre. The stories of wonder and magic caused Gwen's jaw to drop to the floor in awe. She longed to finally be able to escape the house she had been confined to and explore this amazing world outside her dark horizons.

Starting at the age of fifteen the girl entered the annual Rivensford invention exchange, showing off her engineering prowess when she designed and built an airship thruster all on her own. People from all around were impressed with her work, but Gwen did not listen to their praise. She only cared on how she could change the design, improve it beyond measure. While she toiled in her dark room she would hear her father working day in and day out to perfect his pet project. At last, when she was nineteen years old he completed his dream; a craft able to dive below the clouds. Bidding Gwen a quick but tearful goodbye and leaving everything he owned to her, Silias dove below the cloud layer, promising to her that he would return in only a year's time.

When two years past, the truth became very apparent to Gwen. Her father had no intention of returning at all. Now on her own, she vowed one day to follow in her father's footsteps and finally discover what had become of her idol. Fate seemed to favor her in this endeavor, as when she was going on a monthly errand to buy food for her shut in lifestyle she came across two men in the market square discussing an ad they had seen posted down the road. People were wanted for an expedition of sorts; apparently it held promise of adventure, of camaraderie, and most of all...

Diving below the clouds.

Gwendolyn's dull brown eyes lit up at the sound of those words, and quickly she gathered up her things and left her dusty childhood prison behind. Now with a heart ablaze with passion, she sets sail to at last find out what has become of her father and to live the life she feels she was meant to live.

Gwendolyn hopes to find out what has become of her father below the endless sea of clouds. She also wants to go out and experience all of what life has to offer in case her condition worsens.

● Cluttered Tool Belt- A well worn leather belt covered in rusty tools of all varieties. (Spanners, Mallets, Screwdrivers, a Blowtorch and a Rivet Gun.)

● Dusty Coat- A sun-bleached cloak of ragged leather. Used to belong to Gwendolyn's mother.

● Tinted Goggles- A pair of protective goggles that serve to shield the wearer's eyes from bright lights and extreme temperatures.

● Inhaler- A tiny trinket that Gwendolyn (literally) can't live without. The inhaler was designed and built by her father to keep the sickly child from dying at a young age.

● The Book The Adventures of Cumulus Le Fèvre- This old tome is carried by Gwendolyn as a reminder that there is so much excitement away from home. It serves as a motivator for the sickly and scared girl go out and live life to the fullest.

● Blackened Socket Wrench- The last thing Gwendolyn has to remember her father by; his favorite socket wrench. The old tool is notched and charred, but still works as if in prime condition.

Deimos of Tijan

25

Nonbinary (they/them)

Tijan - A small island located close to The Ichiren Dynasty, Tijan is mainly dominated by the large temple that covers nearly every surface of the rocky land. The people who live here are most likely monks or scholars, living out their lives as peacefully as they can muster. Tijan holds a massive library full of found texts and scrolls and essays written by the scholars who make their homes here and many empty rooms which the monks use to house sickly or poor people if they are in need.

Outfit

Baby-faced, short, and lean, Deimos could very easily pass for child upon first glance. Cursed with an extremely youthful expression and limbs that rarely act according to their whim, Deimos is as awkward physically as they are verbally. Standing a mere 5'4" and weighing just over one hundred and ten pounds, they are far from a threatening silhouette and seem to be fully aware of that. Deimos is rather attractive, however, even if they are not entirely aware of it. Vanity is not a virtue after all, and as such Deimos often does not spend too much time worrying or fussing over their appearance.

Tan skin contrasts vividly with Deimos' thick blonde hair which, despite constant badgering from the monks back home, they now refuse to shave. Their eyebrows are thick and dark, often turning upwards with anxiety, and their eyes give off a friendly light when they happen to be in a good mood. Pale green eyes star up at the sky and the stars when and glitter with curiosity when they think one one could possibly be looking. Deimos was happily blessed with an angular and androgynous face, and thanks to this they were able to go about day to day without having to worry about being misgendered. With a sharp, curved nose, full lips, and cheeks full of dark freckles, Deimos holds a relative attractiveness that definitely is not enough to turn heads.

Dressed in the usual modest outfit most monks seem to wear, Deimos is not exactly the most fashion forward person on the ship. They do not entirely understand the thralls of dressing fancily and find that suits and silks are rather lackluster, especially if they get in the way of working. Beneath their tattered outfits Deimos has fields of stars and monk symbols tattooed across their body, and sometimes, on particularly hot days, they will remove their sleeves and these odd markings will be visible to the world.

Bumbling is the best way to describe someone like Deimos of Tijan. They were born into their awkwardness, raised by monks who shared their quiet and soft demeanor, and thrust into a world that was suddenly so much bigger than they expected, so of course they had to be a bit bumbling. Deimos always seemed to cling to the library when they were younger, craving the knowledge that the words held rather then companionship like many other monk children. Thanks to this, they have plenty of book smarts but fall flat when it comes to social situations. They often get anxiety from being in crowds or in tense situations, and have been known to hyperventilate when too panicked.

Despite their social anxiety, though, Deimos is a calm and gentle soul. They have taken a vow of pacifism and will never start a fight if they can help it. Of course, they will not hesitate to protect others or themself when presented with a dangerous scene, but in they end Deimos is strongly against causing harm to any living thing. To the people they have grown to known Deimos is an angel, treating them with the utmost respect and serenity they too would love to receive. Deimos believes strongly in karma, and as such acts according to what they wish to have in return. Because of this ideology, whenever Deimos makes a friend they work their hardest to make sure that person is as happy and content as can be.

Deimos is, of course, a book worm. They do not border on the term 'nerd', oh no, they are the term. Never has their been a better word to describe someone as bookish and meek as Deimos. They rely heavily on the well of knowledge that obtained from countless hours of studying and learning from the best scholars back home. This heavy leaning on their own intelligence, however, makes them a bit prickly when someone attempts to question Deimos' reasoning. Even the slightest insult to the cartographer's intelligence can put them in a bad mood, and while they are rarely angry Deimos does get depression or downtrodden rather easily.

In the end, Deimos is a soft and gentle soul that possesses an enormous amount of awkwardness. Where they fail in social situations they make up for in general intelligence and a thirst for adventure. Their curiosity rivals that of a hunting cat, and even if they are sure to tip toe around stressful issues once something of note pops up Deimos is always ready to learn more about it. Deimos rarely acts out with their emotions, and always seems to plan their steps a head of time before leaping into action. When not furiously documenting where they have been and where they will probably go, Deimos can be found reading wherever there is light or meditating and praying to their God. They work hard to maintain relationships and to prove their worth to their fellow crew mates, and this journey will be full of firsts for them.

● Cartography and Star Mapping - Living with a monastery can get a bit boring sometimes, so Deimos decided to fill up their time by learning how to draw maps from the countless examples in the Tijan library. They are mostly self taught but have a fantastic sense of direction and enough knowledge on the subject to start from scratch. As for star mapping-- Deimos has always had an interest in constellation and has journals full of shapes and figures from the night sky. Both skills make them an extraordinary navigator.

● Herbal Knowledge - Thanks to growing up with a garden full of different leaves and flowers and monks who know how to use them, Deimos has picked up the ability to tell certain herbal plants apart from others. With this ability, they know how to use plants to make certain teas and pastes that could have powerful benefits. They can also tell when certain plants may be poisonous or dangerous to consume and actually have a few pouches of herbs on them for future use.

● Self-defense - Though well known to be a pacifist, Deimos was trained with their fellow monks in martial arts as a form of self defense and discipline. Their style derives from the act of using one's opponent's weight and power against them, and as such Deimos relies on speed and mental finesse rather then brute strength or direct hits.

● Strength - As their usual stature may dictate, Deimos isn't exactly the most strong person on the boat. They have spent so much time building up their mental prowess they they have completely lost the ability to lift anything heavier than a half-full keg of beer or a small pile of books and scrolls. Of course, their monk discipline made them at least a bit quicker than most, but in the end Deimos is completely unfit to be manning any of the heavy lifting around the ship.

● Sailing - Though Deimos had studied the mechanisms of every ship possible in the library, when it comes to actually being out on the open air they known nothing of what to do with the ship. Directions aside, they really do not know the magic in how to get the boat to turn nor how to unfurl and wrap up the sails if asked, and thanks to this they often shy away from doing boat-duties in favor of just charting out their path.

Twenty-four years ago, a child with dark skin and blonde hair was left at the doorstep of the Tijan Monastery-- a child that was born merely one year before. There were no parents accompanying this child, no pets or servants, and the only thing around the small crying bundle was a chain and a golden ring. This child was abandoned on a chilly Tijan night with nothing but the cooing songs of the gentle monks to sooth it and the blessing of an unknown God above to protect it.

Deimos' first memory was this: a dimly lit room, a blurred and concerned face, and a song. A song sung in a language they would not yet understand. A lullaby to calm the soul. Below them, in this memory, was an arm, holding them upright, and beside them was a chest keeping them warm. They had no clue who they were at this time, nor that they were abandoned and found and loved again instantly. This was their first memory and their first unknowable truth.

Deimos was brought into the monastery that night and instantly placed with a crowd of other children. If the tikes noticed the new comer's different hair and skin they said nothing about it, and Deimos was raised in a loving and practical environment as any other child. They were mentored by an older monk named Wangwei and the two grew close as Deimos slowly grew into their own as a scholarly type. Wangwei taught Deimos everything they know about their religion and their way of life, and was well known around to monastery for holding a rich love for philosophy and apothecary, that of which they also passed down onto Deimos. They learned to appreciate life and act according to their own wishes thanks to their mentor.

The happy days with Wangwei could not last forever, though. He was an older monk by the time Deimos was placed under his care, and when Deimos was about sixteen their mentor fell ill. Months passed with Wangwei bedridden, and Deimos, as loyal as ever, sat by their bedside and listened to the last teachings Wangwei had to offer. The night of his death was a mournful occasion for the whole monastery, but his life was celebrated for a week straight with wine and music afterwards. Deimos took part in the festivities only to keep their spirits up, but after the week of celebration ended they locked themselves away in the library to truly mourn their dead teacher.

Deimos studied every book in the library after that, sitting in the farthest corner for days on end just pouring each paragraph into their mind. They took a new found interest in plants and herbs thanks to Wangwei's influence and, slowly and carefully, began growing detached from the monks' hermit-like ways. They began to lose sleep and found their eyes drawn up to the stars mapped above the temple. They drew constellations from memory and mapped out the night sky one hundred different ways just to kill time. Their love for graphs and maps grew with each new scroll they discovered in the library, and soon they had hobbies that were more scholarly than monk-like. Training and meditation continued to play a big part in Deimos' life, but in the end they had begun to crave something outside the usual monotony they experienced.

And that 'something outside' came as a whisper that resonated through the temple halls. A monk, back from a pilgrimage, had heard tell of a grand voyage being planned and knew they were in need of a crew. Deimos devoured this gossip and instantly turned to the head council of the temple, pleading with them to allow them to use the boat as a means to obtain a spiritual journey. After days of pressing and pleading the monks gave in, and Deimos was suddenly thrust into a world that they did not entirely understand with a box full of scrolls and books and a dream to learn more than they possibly could know.

Deimos had nothing to offer but their brilliant mind and a curiosity that was deeper than most may realize. When they approached the person in charge of hiring for The North Wind's journey, Deimos laid their skills bare on the table. Hand drawn maps and star charts splayed across the table, and Deimos stared on with an unnatural flame of determination that seemed to cry 'look at me, look at me and see what I can do'. After a private interview and perhaps a whole hour of rambling map explanation, Deimos was hired as part of the crew of The North Wind, and they were finally getting the adventure they so craved.

Growing up in a monastery can only keep someone entertained for so long. Deimos, after fulfilling his duties as a youth for the monks and teachers of Tijan, sought to experience the world to its fullest. They asked if they could go out to see the world, and when that didn't work they turned and began calling their excursion on the airship a 'pilgrimage'. Once free of the monastery rules, Deimos was free to find all of the knowledge they fervently sought. Their ambitions lay in their endless curiosity and their thirst for adventure, and The North Wind seemed to be the key to their wishes.

● Scrolls x20 — Packed away in their large backpack, Deimos carries around countless scrolls full of old maps and star charts. Half of them are blank, however, ready to be use.

● Calligraphy Set — Ink (in various colors!) and at least a dozen paintbrushes used for map-making and, sometimes, calligraphy.

● Books x10 — Novels and textbooks and essays taken from the monastery. Deimos reads them on their down time or before bed.

● Prayer Beads — Normally tied around Deimos' left hand, these beads are a pale blue in color and give off a faint glow despite not holding any magical properties. They calm Deimos in the midst of anxiety and act as a focus for their nightly prayers.

● Silver Ring — A silver band which has just recently been able to fit around Deimos' finger. The inside of the ring is engraved with the name C. D'Aboville.

● Herbs — Plucked straight from the gardens of Tijan, Deimos has five pouches full of herbs that can be used for spicy teas, healing pastes, and other useful remedies.

Fifteen.

Female.

Leannán, but presides in Chaleur currently.

Searc has the paradoxical appearance of someone whose body has not quite caught up to the maturation of her mind. Obviously young, Searc has full cheeks that haven’t been melted away by dreary, life-pulling time. Her small, button-nose, dusted with light freckles and reddened at the highest peak, whether it’s cold or not, accentuates her cheeks and gives them an even wider appearance than the baby chub. However, her lower cheekbones have begun to thin, showing the beginnings of a strong, diamond-shaped jawline. The dull tan roughness of her lips, bitten to scabs and dried by the occasional dehydration, are disproportionate in thickness as the top is wide and the cupid’s bow is a small dip that barely impacts the upper lip’s shape while the bottom lip is thinner. Searc possess a small overbite, pronouncing the difference in her lip shape, and revealing the front of her teeth, which are slightly larger and with a small gap in-between.

Despite all the youthfulness in her face, Searc’s forest green eyes are surrounded by purple bruises brought by weary day’s work and little sleep. Her normally pale skin has an unhealthy sallowness to it and dark tan lines from where she works in the hot sun all day. The tan lines tend to show along her clavicle and lower thighs, since Searc prefers to wear shorts and cotton shirts that do not cling uncomfortably to her neck, though fit perfectly everywhere else to prevent the shirt from falling during stunts. Searc’s hair, once beautiful locks of light honey blonde, have been horrendously bleached by the day and constantly greased with sweat. Searc’s fingers and palms and heels and soles are rough with visible callouses; her fingernails are slightly chipped with a thin layer of dirt creviced between the nail and the bed.

Searc is young – obvious in her face, her body features, her small height of 5’1”, and even in the way she bounces on her feet. Though, the overwork on her body illustrates a life of hardship and constant struggle.

Certain traits are expected in someone with enough nerve to stowaway on the most famous ship of the moment. Adventurous, brave, ambitious, and definitely thrill-seeking. Searc Brolaigh is none of these. Actually, she is quite the opposite.

In reality, Searc is a lost soul who has no ambition or even a specific desire for adventure. She’s lost and doesn’t really know who she is; she moves through the motions of life, but she isn’t really living. The only thing Searc is focused on is surviving in this harsh, cruel world. Hardly living as a human, Searc lives as a subhuman, willing to degrade and demean herself for the cruel entertainment of upper caste members. Though, her humiliation does not affect her much – she instead believes she deserves it as she has an abundance of self-hate for herself. Everything that has ever happened in her life, Searc blames herself more and finds her life as more of a curse than a blessing. Seeing life as a curse, it should come to no surprise that Searc is an extreme pessimist. The world is dreary and in shades of black and grey for her; no good in the world can be seen. The only thing keeping her alive is her instinctive drive for survival.

Knowing how bleak Searc lives her life, it is a logical leap to assume that she is a rather withdrawn individual. She’s quiet and tends to internalize her problems, preferring her own company over that of others. This is not due to a dislike of other people, but rather of deep ingrained trust issues from her past naivety being taken advantage of too many times. However, if someone were to gain her trust, Searc could be easily manipulated by them as she tends to put her whole being into a new formed bond. Searc is obviously a very lonely girl, with no one to call family.

Not all of her personality is miserable and sad, though. Searc could pride herself on her independence – despite being all alone, she has made a living in the world and can provide for herself. She is capable of doing things on her own and does not want someone to hold her hand through the walk of life (though maybe she needs it). When she sets her mind onto something, Searc is incredibly determined and she is a hardworking individual that will do what she has to until her fingers bleed and her vision blurs. In addition, Searc is rather clever – she catches onto things quickly and can figure out things without help. Unfortunately, however, she has been deprived of a proper education and so she lacks in more scholarly knowledge, but she's not quite illiterate.

● Stealth.
● Intel.
● Acrobatics.

Searc suffers from astraphobia - fear of lightning and thunder. Searc developed the fear after being left by her circus troupe and abandoned to the life on the streets. Searc had to wait out storms in the open and suffer through them which has caused an extreme phobia of them. During a storm, Searc gets anxious and panicked - has vomited on multiple occasions due to her anxiety. On two occasions, Searc had broken into someone's home out of fear of the storm.

Furthermore, Searc has no skill in combat whatsoever and has never fought in her life. Searc has always been the type to runaway rather than face things head on. In all of her life, Searc had chose cowardice over coming to blows - avoiding the problem has always been the best solution in Searc's mind, and so she never learned how to protect herself from others.

Searc Brolaigh was born and raised on a small farm in Leannán. Her caretakers were her loving father and uncle – a year after she was born, her mother had run off with a travelling merchant and that was the extent of which Searc knew about her. Their small farm didn’t have much – a small coop of chickens and a single cow named Aoibheann. The first six years of her life were spent on that farm.

Famines are hard to live through – disease and starvation rattled the country. Searc’s home wasn’t any different. They had survived off the bare minimum of eggs and milk with a few fruits and vegetables they managed to salvage from their dying crops. It became much harder after Aoibheann stopped producing milk and two-thirds of the chickens were killed by a hungry fox. It was at this breaking point that Searc’s father and uncle decided on eating their livestock to survive. Searc was only five years old and didn’t understand why they had to die – she was very attached to the farm animals and she had developed a one-way bond with them as a child. Searc couldn’t prevent her dad and uncle from eating the chickens – they had done it before Searc even knew it – but she was able to save Aoibheann. Searc opened the gate of Aoibheann’s pen and let her runaway.

Without food, her uncle had a weaker immune system. He had an infection of some sort – he would cough up blood and mucus and got violent chills and night sweats. Her uncle eventually died and it was just her and her father at that point. They did what they could to survive – sometimes Searc would go in to town and steal items for them – food, blankets, other such necessities. Unfortunately, the only thing that lasts in a famine is the famine. Searc’s father had caught smallpox – Searc doesn’t know how (though she later believes it was one of the blankets she stole). Searc had become acquainted with death since the start of her life – the famine made sure of that – and after her uncle’s death, she understood disease quite well. Searc was six years old, and she didn’t want to die. She abandoned her father to the smallpox, running as far away as she could, in hopes that she wouldn’t die of it as well.

Weeks went by and Searc made do with stolen food and lived under any possible coverage, even during the rain. There was a point where Searc snuck into a travelling circus to see the sights – and to steal some coin for food – and an old woman caught her with her hands in another’s pockets. The old woman took kind on her and brought her under her wing. The old woman was named Amal, from Chaleur, and was a retired acrobat that travelled with the circus to lend a helping hand as a fortune teller. Under Amal’s direction, Searc began performing with the circus and travelling with them. She learned all sorts of acrobatics – tightrope walking, flips, trapeze, hooping, juggling, aerial silks, contortion, acrobalance. The circus became her family – for seven years, at least.

The circus had been doing a show in Chaleur – Searc was particularly excited to show off her new trapeze routine. Before it was her turn to do her act, Searc was walking along the circus’s caravans, when she overheard Amal arguing with another man over debts. Searc couldn’t hear the full conversation before she was ushered away to perform. However, later, she asked Amal about it – Amal only gave her cryptic, vague answers and Searc figured that was that. Except it wasn’t.

The next night, Searc wasn’t going to be performing, and so Amal brought her out to “meet a friend.” This friend, named Hakim al-Somail-Dokar ibn Fazid, was the same man she had been arguing with the other night. Amal owed him a lot of debts from before she ran off with the circus and now that she was back in town, he had come to collect. Working at a circus doesn’t pay that well, though, and Amal had nothing to offer him. Except for Searc. Fortunately, Hakim had no interest in such areas, but he did have use for Searc yet.

For the next two and a half years, Searc was employed to him as a spy of sorts. She gathered intel for Hakim from on the streets, helping him further his political position with her information. Meanwhile, she lived her life as a street rat. With no steady income, and being forced to pay off Amal’s debts with work, Searc had to resort to performing on the streets to gain money. At times it was bearable, at other times it became humiliating with jeers from the crowd over something or another. With what little money she had, Searc bought food, and for the things she couldn’t pay for, Searc stole. Living her life as a scoundrel, Searc became part of the “Ashen”, the low of the low in the caste system. People watched her from afar, treated her like shit, but Searc bared it with gritted teeth.

Until Searc snapped. It was a break of her anger, or even of her patience – it was the slow shattering of her resistance to such squalor. Searc became so tired of how she was living, or just living in general. Everything became a chore – breathing was a chore. But her drive to live kept her from ending it all. It was only when she caught wind of a special airship leaving that she found a way to escape Amal’s debt and Hakim's cruelty – Searc snuck into the bowels of the airship and said goodbye to her old life.

Searc hopes to start anew. She wants to live a life worth living and this airship might very well be her last shred of hope in the world. Even if it's a life of adventure and danger, Searc wants to feel more like a person than she ever did before and be able to let go of her past. Though, at the same time, Searc feels like she doesn't deserve it.

What does your character always have on them?
● Wire Rope — Typically used for tightrope walking on the streets as it is very durable.
● Cloak — A dark cloak with a hood that helps conceal Searc; it is covered in ash.
● Bag - The bag is completely empty except for three coins at the bottom of it.

Tarybris Brun

Twenty-Seven

Female

Luciole

Despite somewhat gaunt features - violet-colored circles and a slightly ashy complexion - Tarybris’ demeanor betrays a self-assured and rather cheerful personality. Her posture and body language are of someone who is commanding and confident, yet poised and non-threatening; back erect, hips fluid, and a big ol’ grin slapped across her face. She is no Luciolean beauty - not a specimen of refined grace or allure, but there is something very calming and reassuring about the way she carries herself, and this in itself is charming. Tarybris’ clothing of choice reflects her attitude, as she prefers loose-fitting and relaxed, flowing clothing where allowed (the royal vessels of Baleine would never allow a head chef to be so informal). Her fascination with the cultures of the Archipelago’s isles as well as those of the Ichiren Dominion extends to her clothing choices, as when possible she enjoys donning brightly-colored garments of those places. This is either fun, or looks somewhat goofy and misplaced (Ruched silk, for instance, is easily stained by hot water. Oops.). Her appearance, however, is always kept to a strict-level of cleanliness, and she is well-put together, particularly when the situation calls for it. Anything less would be unacceptable.

Nimble and skilled as Tarybris is, her forearms sport scattered scars and her hands are calloused from years of working in hot kitchens, or outside harvesting plants. Her frame - tall and hardy - has allowed her to stand up to a bit of wear-and-tear, though, and ship life has been kind to her. Physically, her hair is the color of flax and set in her oat-colored skin are pale green eyes that hint towards a more humble background. Her voice is both calming, but it is a bit jerky, and there is a slight cadence in the lilt of her voice.

With a bevy of siblings, Tarybris has learned to take a joke, and can make them just as well. In general, she is quite affable and easy-going, and there is a reassuring air to her demeanor - like an aunt or cousin one has fond memories of. She is self-assured, but not boastful or cocky - though she is confident in her abilities, and prefers to meet aggression with comfort. A naturally inquisitive person, she is totally fixated upon not only the flavors of the known world, but chasing new experiences in general. This is sometimes successful and other times disastrous, as some of her concoctions have been less than palatable.

Along this line, though, Tarybris is an extremely adventurous person, and is unafraid to volunteer herself to complete difficult or questionable tasks if it is to an important end. When truly devoted to an idea or person, her loyalty is unquestionable. Her childlike fixation on mundane things - the taste of rind of citrus, for instance - can be sometimes annoying to those around her (she has the tendency to ramble on). As an adult, though, she doesn’t really care.

Her childlike fixation on things endears her to other people, though: Tarybris is genuinely an empathetic person, and when she’s not completely irritating, she is rather charming. Likewise, she will go out of her way to take care of people whenever possible, given that she likes them and they’re not too stuffy.

Recent years upon exquisite vessels have made her more conscientious of the world beyond her corner of the Archipelago, but have also built a slow-burning resentment towards the upper echelons of Archipelagan society - The Chaleuran specifically, who would more often than not be attended by servants when they were not even of royal blood themselves, or even particularly rich. Their society in general was incredibly backwards, and it made her seize up a bit to think they let the poor among them die while they dined upon delicacies without a care in the world. These sorts of thoughts stung though, because she was complicit to this sort of system. Here she was, hypocritically making food like it was some sort of art while people were still dying from famine in Leannán.

The middle-child of her family, Tarybris grew up being needled by her siblings, and had always vied for attention from her father, as had most of her siblings. A need for some sort of validation beyond the reassuring smile of her grandmother had turned her somewhat bitter, and it wasn’t until leaving for culinary school that she felt somewhat at ease about herself, finally independent from her family. Studying cooking, she finally found the sense of validation she had lacked as a child, and secretly felt herself a bit better-off than her siblings. As a result of these things, however, Tarybris is poor at taking criticism, and can be rather haughty when it comes to things she feels she is good at. Criticism has the capacity to really cripple her, more than anything, turning her to emotionally withdraw, and this is the ugliest side of her personality. Now established, she no longer hungers for praise from others, but criticism - particularly from stuffy nobles who have no idea what they’re talking about - can turn her to stone. And while she may deny it to herself, her consuming obsession with food as art (and restoration) has turned her a bit stuffy, too.

● Fan of Knives - Having quite a few years experience cooking aboard fast airships, Tarybris is extremely adept at both cooking and maneuvering around tight quarters to do so. As expected of someone with such experience (and formal training to boot), she can prepare nearly any dish or ingredient thrust upon her with relative ease.
● Robust - Tarybris has expert experience in vomiting, as she has dared to try even the most “authentic” cuisine from dodgy-looking alleyway food stalls. One might suppose she also has a lot of experience working in a high-pressure environment for a long time, and aboard ships in general.
● Trivia Expert - When most of one’s education about the world comes from reading about every ingredient known to man, they’re bound to pick up some weird facts here and there. A great amount of Tarybris’ knowledge about the world is through this lense.

As one might imagine, working in royal cruise vessels to prepare the most artery-clogging, heart-stopping (decadence is always in fashion) variety of foods - in tight quarters nonetheless - does nothing good for one's waistline. And given that Tarybris spends her free time compulsively tasting odd flavour combinations, her physical capacities are rather limited. Anything that requires a great deal of stamina or endurance is a challenge for her; and while she has considerable experience on ships, that experience did not consist of climbing masts, or any of that nonsense. Similarly, she is a civilian, and much more than a quick tussle with knives (and this in itself is dubious) extends beyond her physical capacities.

Tarybris was born to a Luciolean shopkeeper, and a Leannán farmgirl, the latter having escaped to Luciolean with her mother ten years prior to Tarybris’ birth. Her family was large - three sons and two daughters besides Tarybris - and her father was the proprietor of a baking supply shop that had been around for many generations. They were not too wealthy, but very comfortable in the cobbled streets of San Michel, living in an apartment behind and above the shop. Tarybris spent her childhood tidying the delicate aluminum pastry moulds, and transporting some of the goods from their manufacturer, a man who lived a few towns over. Many times they had too much inventory for their shop, which was nestled in a fashionable street of San Michel, and she slept with the towering crates of steel-cast bowls and spoons next to her bed.

Somewhat surprisingly, her fascination with food did not come from her father (though it was certainly amazing to look into the window fronts of neighboring Luciolean boulangeries). It was the neighboring Ichiren tea shop (such exotic concepts were quite popular) that had first awakened her palate. From birth, she had been fast friends with the shop owner’s son (of similar age, though he was much shyer), and one spring day they had been eating lunch together, when he’d shared a sweet given to him by his aunt, for one of the unfamiliar Ichiren holidays. Wrapped delicately in translucent paper that shuddered in the spring air, the small cake was dusted in a slightly nutty, sweet powder. There was a thin, crunchy shell that tasted of woodsmoke, blending with the cloying nuttiness, and the inside of the cake was filled with a sticky paste that clung to Tarybris’ mouth. It was, at one moment, too sweet - some sort of bright legume - but gave way to a bright sourness that sent a shudder up her spine. After a moment, her mouth was filled with the taste of flowers. It was intrigue and exoticism wrapped in a slip of paper.

When she’d learned as a teenager that cuisine was exceedingly popular in Baleine, and that there were sky-vessels that served all matter of foods from around the Floating World, and that this was something she could do as work, Tarybris was hooked. When not working, she spent her free time nibbling weird ingredients she bought with pocket-change from San Michel’s open-air market: funky-smelling curdled yolks from some island under the Ichiren, some sort of healthy lichen drink from Bridesend, a sliver of dried ham from Calor. She read about the grey-feathered pheasants that flocked to some island off of Baleine, which supposedly tasted like saffron. Upon completing some small amount of education mandated by her father, and becoming an adult in the eyes of the state, she applied for a scholarship in a well-regarded culinary institute in Baleine. After two years, she was accepted, and studied under the nose of Archipelagan chef instructors, graduating after two years. She then found work as a saucier upon a lesser-known cruise vessel, The Mourneau.

The fashionable pastries of The Archipelago and especially Baleine and Luciole were generally made using whipped egg whites, which created an airy base that was otherwise impossible to create in the high altitudes of the Floating World. As such, making fresh pastries or bread was impossible on an airship, lest it had a coop of birds aboard. Tarybris’s claim-to-fame, so to speak, was discovering that the juice from an incredibly protein-dense root would form a strong foam when whipped. And this could be used to make all sorts of pastries and breads and cakes with no need for fresh ingredients. After replicating a Luciolean pastry - topped with glazed fruit and caramel, as was the fashion - aboard The Lilliene, Chef Brun became the talk of the Baleinese socialite culinary circle for all of a few weeks (which made her very uncomfortable). After all, what self-respecting patron of the culinary arts could really bear to be on a cruise vessel for very long, without access to a boulangerie? It was truly, truly a revelation. After this incident, and perhaps one involving pickled yuzu, Tarybris became somewhat well-known among fashionable socialites as a chef of haute couture and her career similarly oriented towards serving the elite.

It became less of a struggle to find a good position on any vessel of her choosing after this incident, because she was not only able-bodied and skilled, but also because Chaleuran and Baleienese socialites lived off of feeling special, catered to. Indeed, Tarybris’ scant stint under the limelight catered to this, though it was nothing more than a flash of light in an unending reel of upper-class gossip. Though admittedly, no one could make food quite like she did - warm bread that was not hard or stale (as par the course for vessels), but tempered to be soft with the addition of citrus juice, airy and light from a base of root-foam. Luxurious and comforting, studded with crisp nuts and small dried fruits. While cooking aboard a vessel was light years more interesting than being stuck in Baleine or Calor, Tarybris found it terribly uninspiring. Chaleurean nobles only ever wanted to eat fatty beast-meat in pools of overly decadent butter, and too-sugary pastries served on tiny plates. No one was interested in her pickled fruits, or the breads she made from root-flour, or the small slivers of fish she’d dried with herbs, to make them salty and fragrant and wonderful. And the chefs she worked alongside weren’t too keen on the weird Ichiren vegetables she’s tried to grow alongside the fruit trees, either.

It was incredibly frustrating, not what she’d imagined. And by this point, she was far too experienced to work on a dingier vessel, one of those trade vessels permeated with a rousing mix of sex and excess - though she was leading towards trying to, anyways. Maybe she would go back to Luciole and work with one of her brothers or sisters at the baking supply shop. But that wasn’t a real alternative, and with any luck, Luciole would turn to Calor’s caste system and they’d all be screwed, anyhow. She would sooner try and move to Gekkō and start a tea shop, or make pies there which were actually bombs. The hint of an opportunity came when news of Madame Le Fèvre’s search for a crew arrived. It was intriguing, to say the least. Tarybris had actually met the Madame before, and her name said nothing about how spry she actually was - adventurous and interesting. Affable, even. The prospect of working on a vessel charted by her - a living legend - was too good to pass up.

Heading into her late twenties, Tarybris feels as if she’s done nothing of real interest or value, and this scares her. The years after graduating from school have afforded her the ability to gain practical job experience, but all feels very constrained and stodgy to her. While respectable, her latest position upon a royal Baleinese vessel has left her feeling mentally and physically unfulfilled - without the heady blend of excitement and intrigue that had made airship life appealing in the first place. And hardly any room for her unwavering creativity, curiosity. The North Wind seems like a truly once-in-a-lifetime experience for a civilian like Tarybris; to escape the rigidity of The Archipelago and explore the unknown is an exciting prospect. Perhaps she could grow interesting plants and herbs, fruits on the ship, prepare something other than exquisitely fatty beef or river-fish to Beauchene-wannabe nobility. There were so many places beyond Baleine and Luciole and Calor that seemed unbelievable, exotic, of legend. A patron of The Feuille had once given her an orange fruit from Migiwa he insisted upon having with his fish. The dull, unassuming kaki turned out to have a wonderfully woodlike, slightly spicy yet muted flavor. In one of her old books on Ichiren cuisine, there were a scant few illustrations of the ornamental wagashi made in Tennō - supposedly made from fruits and starch, carefully carved into flowers. An old mentor of hers had once spoken of gold-speckled moss that grew along the rim of The Cauldron, which supposedly tasted like lava smelled, with a dash of citrus. The sulphurous teas of Tijan were rumored to make one spread one’s arms out in benediction. Cumulus had written about horned, multicolored frogs around Kujira that tasted like the wind, and springtime. And so on.

● Roll of Knives - A canvas-bound roll of knives - one for paring, one serrated, and a large one, with general heft - for everything else.
● Codex of Tastes - Rather beat-up and seriously worn, this book chronicles different ingredients in the known world. The margins and negative space are heavily marked up with notes.
● DIY Spore and Herb Kit
● Sachet of Dried Ichiren Plums - A great comfort to suck on.