Lukas Costain

18

Male

Single

Prince of Orewyn

Air - Being Prince, Lukas's studies included magic practice. He's been using his magic since he was extremely young for combat and for sneaking around the castle. Thus he's become very proficient at air manipulation. He mainly focuses on sound for music and sneaking purposes, but has begun to practice the ability to fly for combative purposes. So far, he can only fly for a limited amount of time, but it takes quite a bit of concentration.

Lukas has the ice blue eyes that he shares with both his parents and sister. However, unlike them his blue eyes aren't cold and ruthless. His bright eyes show kindness and acceptance along with his persistent smile. His hair is a silvery white, a trait that no one knows the origins of. It's kept at a medium length and is taken care of daily, but never styled. The prince stands at a menacing 6"1' and has a lanky, but defined build.

As Prince of Orewyn, Lukas is given the most luxurious of clothing. This, of course, isn't exactly comfortable. So, instead of dressing like royalty every day of his life, Lukas prefers more comfortable civilian clothing. However, this doesn't mean he dresses like a total slob. The Prince walks a fine line of fashionable, but not over the top. He does wear what is required of him to royal events, though.

Lukas's biggest fear is that his sister will change when she becomes queen. He's afraid that she will become more distant and become a different person in order to appease the people. He just wants her be the same Laurelin that he knows and loves.

Unlike his sister, Lukas is quite the people person. He is used to being around people because of his childhood, but what he truly enjoys is listening to their stories. He's a fairly laid back guy, which means he gets along with most people. He can be both a chatter box and a listener, adapting to whatever makes his conversation partner most comfortable. He's a very emotionally centered guy and isn't afraid to show it unlike most males. He'll cry at sad stories, and get scared of large reptiles, it doesn't matter what others think. Being an emotional guy, music helps him release all of it in a way that can please others as well. He started playing music for his sister, but it soon developed into something he enjoyed as well.

Despite being a musician, Lukas is a stranger to love. He is surrounded by women who only want him for his status, and his parents are too busy running a country. Laurelin is the only one he feels love for. What he knows about romance is from the fairy tales he read as a child. The princess is his best friend and sister, and if someone has an issue with her, he's not afraid to lash back. However, Lukas's version of getting back at someone is never physical, it's always with passive aggressive statements and sometimes abusing his power as prince. However, he's much more a man of words than actions unlike his sister.

The mark on his wrist is just another part of being royalty. Since the royal family is deeply religious, Lukas knows that his destined partner is out there and is secretly excited to meet them. He is also excited to meet his sister's partner because he wants what's best for her. As long as the guy isn't a complete dirtbag.

Lukas was born 14 minutes after his sister, Laurelin. The two were born into the royal family, so they had only the best education. However, they lacked the moral support from their parents. As children, the two would sneak out of their lessons and duties and play together. Each found their own hobby this way. Laurelin's was plants and her magic, while Lukas's was music. He was required to learn a few instruments for educational purposes, but continued to learn others for fun. He even started to compose music in his free time. The prince and princess were close. They relied on each other for emotional support. However, there were somethings that they couldn't help each other with. Lukas loved stories, and learned how to treat women from both his etiquette classes and from fairy tales. When he grew older, he learned that many ladies wanted him for his position as royalty. So he became cautious with romance. As Laurelin became more immersed in her responsibilities, the two no longer spent as much time together. However, their bond did not falter.

When the two were barely two years old, a war broke out between Orewyn and a neighboring country named Galinas over a piece of land rich in resources. The war was difficult and lasted longer than anyone expected. However, after 4 years of fighting, a peace treaty was made, dividing the territory with a majority belonging to Galinas. Because of all the damages, the Queen decided to raise the taxes on the people. The peasants were not happy. Not only did they believe that the country lost the war, but now they had to pay for it with their hard earned money. Furthermore, the peace between Orewyn and Galinas was not stable. There was still animosity between the two countries and it's people. However, now with the festival of destinies approaching and the next queen approaching the throne, people are starting to place their hope in Laurelin to lead them. Lukas, on the other hand, is expected to become a figure head of the country. No more than a pretty face to fuel the gossip and reassure the people of the queen's decisions. However, the prince had been preparing for this his whole life and is silently resigned to his necessary duties.

Faceclaim: Lucky Blue Smith
Color Code: 44D8E2

Laurelin Costain

18

Female

Single

Princess of Orewyn

Earth (Flora) - From the moment Laurelin discovered her connection with nature, she spent every moment she could in the royal garden. From learning how to control and nurture her magical abilities to discovering how to grow plants without magic, Laurelin has dedicated herself to the practice. She is currently able to manipulate a plant’s growth rate and its physical properties with ease. However, despite the large amount of effort, Laurelin is still unable to spontaneously generate plants. She hopes finding her destined will be able to give her enough strength to finally discover all possibilities of her magical gift.

Coming to a height of 5’11, Laurelin is relatively tall for her age and has a slender build of only 135 pounds. She has the same strange silver-white hair as her brother and it extends past her stomach when it’s not wrapped up in one of her mother’s favorite hairstyles. Thanks to the status of her blood, Laurelin’s hair is typically braided and elegantly wrapped in some form of a bun. Laurelin also posses high cheekbones and unique sharp blue eyes, and is often described as beautiful and alluring. Of course, she could hardly care about the opinions of others. If it were up to Laurelin, she would walk around the castle in trousers with her hair hanging freely. Unfortunately, being the princess of Orewyn and the daughter of her mother requires a more distinguished and respectful presentation. Similar to her hair, Laurelin is required to wear elegant articles of clothing, meaning dresses, dresses, and more dresses!

Laurelin’s biggest fear in life is losing her brother, she can’t even picture a world without him. The thought of losing him is almost too unbearable in itself.

Laurelin Costain is princess of the kingdom of Orewyn and heir to the throne. People across the kingdom are praying for the day she will take the throne and become queen in hopes that she will one day bring the kingdom back to its original glory. The citizens are expecting their leader to be charismatic, responsible, intelligent, powerful, kind, loyal, and dedicated to making the kingdom a better tomorrow.

If only they actually met their future queen…

Laurelin Costain may be the crown princess, but she is far from ready to inherit all of Orewyn. Rebellious to the very core, Laurelin has an extreme difficulty listening to any rule, at least without keeping her mouth closed. As such, Laurelin has an incredible habit of getting into trouble, especially from her mother. Whether it be escaping the castle to collect rare herbs or simply ‘forgetting’ to attend various events where her presence is required, Laurelin has been confined to her chambers more times than her brother has been complemented on his mature behavior. Laurelin just likes to speak her mind, and the way she sees it, people simply just hate hearing the truth. Unless Laurelin is faking it, she’s never been able to make friends with anyone, with the exception of her brother. Where Lukas succeeds in social skills, Laurelin has always been the fighter. She stands up for what she believes, damning the consequences. Once she makes her mind on something, it’s difficult to stop her, even if she knows she’s doomed to fail. Laurelin is also hardworking and extremely stubborn, traits she is quite proud of. Should things ever get physical in a confrontation, she isn’t afraid to back down. While she’s relatively weak in physical strength, Laurelin’s greatest strength is her ability to never hold back.

While Laurelin is quite the aftertaste, she does recognize the sense of responsibility and duty. When things come down to the line, Laurelin will be there to support her family and the kingdom of Orewyn. She might hate every second of it and complain the entire time, but she will be there. Now, that doesn’t mean Laurelin will comply everytime, because, she won’t. Unless she deems it absolutely necessary or she’s in a good mood, Laurelin will most likely avoid it altogether and hide away in her garden.

Born as the eldest child from the ruling family of Orewyn, Laurelin grew up in a constantly evolving and unstable environment. Before she could even talk, Laurelin has had the future of the kingdom hanging over her shoulders. Unlike other children her age, she was overwhelmed with her studies and the responsibilities that came with being royal. Everything was almost too much for Laurelin, and the only reason she got through the stress was because of her twin brother, Lukas Costain. Whenever they could, the two would sneak away from their responsibilities to play games and simply relax. With Lukas, she didn’t have to worry about being the future queen of Orewyn but could just be herself. Laurelin thanked the gods every day for the blessing of her brother. There was no one else in existence she’d rather spend her time with than Lukas. He meant everything to her.

As the expectations of being crown princess grew, Laurelin began to hate the position altogether. She started to act out, ignoring her studies and even lashing out at her mother and father in public. Thanks to the tight influence Queen Brona has on the kingdom, very few people have learned of the disrespectful behavior Laurelin possess, but those who know her personally are more than aware of her moody outbursts and snarky comments about existence. Laurelin hated what others described as her ‘birthright’ and the only place she felt truly at ease was in her garden. Laurelin enjoys plants far more than she does socializing with people. Something about being in nature is sacred and she could feel it bring her closer to the gods. While one might not expect it at first, Laurelin is really religious and takes extra measures to pray and show respect to them. She has complete faith in the destined and while she doesn’t think anyone could possibly lover her, she believes the gods will help her in discovering her destined.

When Lukas and Laurelin were thirteen years of age, life within the castle became even more overwhelming. A neighboring kingdom by the name of Galinas took interest in a piece of land that was full of valuable resources, land Orewyn also had its eyes on. After four long years of fighting and negotiation between rulers, the kingdoms finally reached an agreement and divided the land amongst the two, greatly favoring Galinas. The war took a toll on both the kingdom and the royal family behind it. Laurelin’s distaste for royalty grew even more and she began to distance herself from her parents and little sister, Auley. With the kingdom badly damaged, the queen made the ultimate decision to rob the peasants of their money by raising taxes. The peasants grew enraged by this decision, and even more pressure was placed upon Laurelin to set things right when she became queen. Laurelin feels quite troubled and distressed as the days of being queen become closer. If it were up to her, she would give this position to her brother, someone who deserves it far more than her. Regardless, Laurelin hopes to forget all of her troubles as the festival of destiny begins and simply focus on finding her destined.

Dairmud Altercop

21

Female

Single

Innkeeper. The success of her family’s inn, Granger’s Plenty Inn, assures her family a solid economic standing at middle class. Her father’s position as a priest also earns her family a respectable reputation in her village.

Dairmud’s element is Light. As she has a Mark and little hope in ever finding her soulmate, Dairmud was never really interested in mastering her magical abilities. Afterall, she would lose them eventually. However, the healing aspect of Light has always fascinated her, and she’d dedicated herself to become as proficient in it as possible. Having a healer always around in the inn was good for business. She always attended the lessons held in the temple, as Prym was lucky enough to have a Light priestess. Under Master Horsfell, priestess to the Light goddess Cair, Dairmud grew to be proficient in her healing capabilities, being able to mend almost anything. Injuries above a broken bone, however, require a lot of energy. Light generation comes easily enough for her, though she’s known to create a blinding flash of light when startled. Her invisibility and teleportation abilities are extremely limited.

With warm eyes and gentle smile, Dairmud is as welcoming as the inn she runs. At 5’7” and with an average build, she certainly doesn’t stand out amongst the village girls, if not for her family’s name. She keeps her wild brown curls tamed in tight hair buns for work, though she likes letting her hair down as much as possible.

Thanks to the success of Granger’s Plenty Inn, Dairmud can afford to dress herself nicely, though she prefers simple dresses. They’re more practical, after all, and her usual apron seems more appropriate atop them. That’s not to say she doesn’t like to dress up, and on the rare occasions she does she cleans up quite nicely. But for the most party, she’s fine with her plain dresses.

Dairmud’s biggest fear is that she’ll never find love. While she’s not concerned with finding her Destined, she is afraid that the fact that she has a Mark will estrange her from possible partners, which is common amongst Marked.

Dairmud has grown up in the bustle of the inn, working alongside her family. All she’s known is its bustle. If there’s one thing she’s come to love, it’s that. The buzz of life. The chatter of friends. The warmth of love in the air. They’ve all shaped her into a cordial young woman, generous but practical. She likes to keep herself busy and loves the feeling of wholeness at the end of a hard day’s work. Maybe a little too much. Dairmud can be a bit of a workaholic. And a bit stubborn, too.

Surrounded by her loving family, Dairmud couldn’t be any happier. Lately, however, seeing how happy her brother and his wife are together, the Mark on her right arm has been a growing concern in her mind. She wanted what they had. She wanted to love someone and be loved. Her Mark was supposed to guarantee her love. But the chances of her ever finding that love were astronomical. If anything, the Mark was a curse. Most of the village boys who would notice her would take one look at the dark spot in her wrist and look the other way. But who can blame them? Dairmud couldn’t. Imagine knowing you’re not your loved one’s Destined. Still, Dairmud couldn’t help but feel angry, mostly at herself.

Hopefully, however, the Festival of Destinies will change that. Not that Dairmud has her hopes up. She’s too practical for that. At the very least she can make some friends. Maybe even make her famous lemon cakes for them.

Prym is a small yet thriving riverside village south of the Royal City. It’s a small, tight knit community, living a peaceful life on the Orewegian countryside. Certainly the last place for those seeking adventure. Still, it’s seen many travellers come and go, none of which ever had a bad word to speak of the town. All they could talk about was the beautiful lands, the clear air, the lovely people, and their fantastic stay at the Granger’s Plenty. The inn is the home of Andren and Heovan Altercop and their children, Brannon and young Dairmud. While Andren serves a priest and overlooks the maintenance of the local temple, Dairmud, her mother, her brother and his wife Joslin run the inn. Together, they cook, brew, and clean for everyone who stops by the village, and for any of the many residents that just enjoy a short stay at the inn. In it, they’ll enjoy some of the best food and ale around.

Andren was an educated man, a historian returning to his home in the Royal City when he first stayed in the Granger's Plenty Inn. There, he met and fell in love with the innkeeper's daughter, Heovan. They were wed, and rather than taking Heovan away from the home she loved, Andren decided to make Prym his home. He gave his children, as well as his wife, the sort of education he enjoyed. Eventually, however, Andren realized innkeeping was not his calling and became the town priest, were his love for history and theology served him well. Dairmud's heart grew to share the same passions as her father. Needless to say, she became obsessed with reading, devouring any book she could get her hands on. She also grew in a deeply religious young woman, which reflects in the immense care she shows for the shrines in both the inn and the Altercops' living area on the above floor. However, she grew more and more disheartened at the fact that she could never put her knowledge to use while working in the Granger's Plenty.

Not that Dairmud wasn't content with her life. She loved her family and her inn. If it were up to her, nothing about it would change. Except maybe her relationship status. She’s old enough to marry, yet not many suitors have come forward. Not that nobody was interested in her. It was just her Mark. But there was one boy, Tomin, who didn’t seem to care. He was a farmer’s boy, a poor but gentle soul. Dairmud waited for that rumored day to come, when he’d ask for her hand in marriage. She’d dream of his gray eyes and how they would glint in the same loving way her brother’s did when he looked at his wife. She wanted that very badly.

Four days ago, that dreamed seemed to crash all around her. Every youth with a Mark was required to attend the Festival of Destinies with the intention of finding the prince and princess’ Destined. Dairmud was only really concerned with the two months she’d be away from home. Afterall, she didn’t expect to find her Destined at all. But Tomin seemed very worried. What if she did find her Destined? What would happen to him? Yet, kind as ever, he put Dairmud’s happiness above his. It was her destiny, after all. If someone came, someone whose fate the gods designed to intertwine with hers, then he would move aside and let her be happy. If not, he would always be there for her. She promised she would be, too. But they both knew better.

FC: Ellie Kendrick, #FFF08F

Faolán Black

Twenty-Four

Male

Single

Faolán is a guardsman who protects and serves the Royal City. At least one son in each generation of his family has served in the guard faithfully, and as a good, respectable profession, pressure usually falls on the eldest son to do so. In the hierarchy, he is in the strange middle ground between nobility and peasantry: high enough to receive a decent education, but low enough to still be considered 'commonfolk'.

Light

• Faolán doesn't use his powers often, preferring to live as average a life as possible. Occasionally, he'll conjure a light to read by (when he goes without candles in his house) or heal a shallow wound. He received less than a year of mentoring for his Elemental abilities in his youth before quitting, so while he knows the theory – it didn't all go in one ear and out the other – he's more than rusty. At the very least, his control will always be impeccable. He spends so much time concentrating on not accidentally creating a flash of light that his powers are always locked down and under his control.

Faolán would be a handsome man, if only he took a comb to his hair once in a while, and shaved away his messy stubble that creeps in whenever there's not any pageantry required for his duties. He is wealthy enough that he is never unclean, although it is not surprising to see black marks on him from the charcoal he uses to sketch with. Instead, Faolán is unkempt only as a result of his permanent state of distraction; his eyes on the sky and his head in the clouds too often to worry about looking sharp.

As a guardsman, Faolán is physically fit, boasting an athletic build improved over time through drills and the daily challenges he faces. It suits him well. He might not be the tallest of men (5'10" is short compared to his siblings) but he has an imposing presence about him – he takes up space, commands attention. Some things aren't masked by general scruffiness. Pale blue eyes are made brighter by the dark circles under them, remnants of long nights spent awake, squinting at the pages of a book by candlelight.

His Mark rests on his right wrist, same as everyone else who has one, but he covers it up. It is hidden under crisp white bandages or leather wristguards when he is on duty; otherwise, it can be found underneath fashionable beaded bracelets. Repeated observation would betray that Faolán holds said arm close to his chest or behind his back, and has at some point made the decision to switch to using his non-dominant hand for every task from writing to sword-fighting.

Faolán doesn't fear many tangible things with a physical presence to be scared of. As he grows older, what wakes him up in a cold sweat is the product of too long spent alone, away from his remaining family. He worries constantly that something might happen to his brothers and sisters when he's only present in the financial sense. Anything could happen to them while he's guarding other people's families in the Royal City – sickness, bandits, freak accidents. His greatest fear is that the next time he sees them will be the last, whether it's because of their inevitable drifting apart or something more sinister.

In his formative years, Faolán was told that the just thing to do – if he was in a position of power over others – was to be merciful. He considers it the burden of responsibility: to do good, even if it costs a piece of oneself. Charity comes easy to him. He's someone who lets the unfortunate kids on the street get away with stealing to survive (much to the chagrin of his superiors); someone who feeds the stray cats in the neighborhood until they're loitering outside his front door every morning (and he doesn't have a rat problem anymore); and someone who could easily afford a better place in a better part of the city if he didn't have unquestioning devotion to taking care of his siblings. Someone taught him duty and familial obligation when he was too young to know better.

There is still mischief in him, paired with a dry, deadpan humour that few realise exists. He disobeys orders more frequently than some would think, masquerading it as incompetence at his job when a child makes off with a loaf of bread to feed himself. It's lucky that the Captain likes him. Faolán has a rebellious streak that he keeps well-hidden in his guard uniform. There is a reason why he was never interested in being a knight or a general. Guards protect and serve the people. The hand is tipped in favour of the nobility. It's only right that some people stick up for the little guy if the spirit of the law isn't being followed. Justice doesn't need to be blind, dumb and deaf to inequalities as some of his fellow guardsmen seem to believe.

Faolán is a poor conversationalist. He's too quietly-spoken, reserved, and it's an accepted quirk that sometimes he just fades out to stare up at the sky, lost in thought. Sometimes he's more blatant about it, pulling out his notebook to sketch out a concept before the idea forsakes him. As expected, the only friends he has are those who smile fondly when it happens. That one abandoned dream – the one where he's an artist, doing what he loves – never truly disappeared.

Of course, there is at least one aspect of his job that suits his character: the danger. Faolán is a thrill-seeker, and there is none better than the thrill of chasing a criminal down a labyrinth of streets, though of course he would prefer if they didn't go via rooftops. He doesn't consider himself blood-thirsty, but there's something fulfilling about a fight (or a fair duel) that leaves him just as satisfied as the ending of a good book.

As far as the Mark is concerned, Faolán hates it. The legend seems to be the only thing his family talks about when he's around these days. He's not a pious man, and while he believes well enough that his magical potential is god-given, he doesn't like the idea that his fate has been written out by someone else. Faolán already has plans to never marry, because he doesn't like the idea that someone has been chosen who has 'perfect' for him, and neither does he like the stomach-churning implications that if he falls in love with someone else, it won't be as strong as what could be with his Destined. It is natural to hate what one fears.

Faolán was born in a small town only a three-day journey away from the Royal City. His family relocated there to inherit a sizable house from a relative, useful in their end-game plan of having children and settling down to farm or some other 'safe' profession. Faolán's father was Kyran Black, the Captain of the Guard in the city, and he spent little time at home – only able to travel out once a month for a few days before he returned to the career was putting food on the table for his family. Affording a proper education was possible, and so Faolán was given lessons from the retired tutor up the road, where he learned his numbers and letters, history and literature. In his free time, he didn't climb trees or fight mock battles with wooden swords but instead sketched landscapes and people with sticks of charcoal and later expensive paints.

Growing up with three brothers within two years of his age was difficult, for Faolán most of all. The twins, Conall and Culainn, had each other; Fergus was a handful at the best of times; and ultimately, none of them were like the eldest. He was the one with the Mark on his wrist, the one whom their mother doted over. Her sister had been in a similar position, living a life that was nothing if not interesting in search of her soulmate, selfishly using much funds available to her as a member of minor nobility. When Faolán finally met Aunt Eileen, he was surprised to see a faded, almost-imperceptible birthmark and no supernatural powers in sight. Whilst Faolán was considering the implications that he didn't have to abide by Destiny's plan for him, Conall and Culainn were hounding him about his future love. Would she be pretty or smart? Was it the girl down the street? What if he didn't like her?

By the time Faolán was ten years old, he had developed something of a complex about it. He left the room whenever the topic came up, and kept the Mark itself hidden beneath the sleeves of his tunic or a strip of fabric stolen from the sewing kit. Exclusively right-handed, he made the conscious decision to switch to his left, frustrating his tutors with his messy scrawl (which has seen no change to this day) and confusing his grandfather, who was at the time teaching him how to use a sword. He would still draw and paint with his right-hand, but he would never do such things in the presence of others anymore. There was the weight of embarrassment and self-consciousness on his shoulders. His mother put him forward for an education in the magical arts, which he squandered and truanted, and eventually he refused to go back.

In his teenage years, he was assisting his mother with the housework and the taming of his two younger sisters, Sorcha and Sloane, who each arrived suddenly and without warning. They were both promised to be "the last". Faolán's father was not often present, having fewer periods of respite in which he could travel back home from the Royal City, but when he was home, he was irritable – not at anyone in particular, but Faolán could only take so much pestering as to when he would apply to join the guard, especially when he was considering fleeing to the Artist's Guild across the sea. They parted on bad terms.

They received word that he had died before they could meet again to repair their relationship. Faolán took it the hardest, a guilty-conscience plaguing him. He left home the moment he turned seventeen to live in the Royal City, but not before having lived through a year of trying times in a household of hungry mouths to feed and no bread-winner. His pay afforded him a spartan living in a room downwind of a tannery, and the rest was sent home. Life as a guardsman proved difficult for Faolán. He daydreamed too often, socialised too little. If it wasn't for his father's reputation as a fair and just captain and his poorly-hidden Mark, he would surely have been kicked out several times over in his first year. The fact that he wasn't is something he calls 'divine intervention'.

A rocky start, but he settled. The home-sickness never truly passed, but it became manageable over time. His superiors stopped giving him the awful patrols through dark alleys in hopes that he would be stabbed and save them the trouble, and eventually (after repeatedly making up for his rookie mistakes) they warmed up to him. Faolán still volunteered for the more dangerous parts of the city to patrol, if only because they were home to him, but he was also given the privilege of 'guarding' the noble courts, where nothing ever happened, except drunken lords and ladies occasionally making passes at him. The current captain is grooming him to be the next-in-line, sure that in a few years, Faolán will receive a lucrative offer to work in the castle itself.

Faolán was more than happy to slave away at his duties, refusing the invitation and ignoring the celebrations that would rage on around them, though the captain 'suggested' (without accepting 'no' for an answer) that he take some time off for the Festival of Destinies. The city would be packed to the rafters, and while it was all hands on deck in the run up to the event, it would be just asking for a smiting to make a Destined work when he ought to be out there looking for his soulmate. That was fine – Faolán intended to use his free time to go visit his brothers and sisters... until they learned of his plan, and decided the only way to help their dear, hopeless older brother out was to live with him until the festivities subsided – if only to keep him from running away from fate.

Colour: #b2b8cc
Faceclaim: Jude Law

Nora Bellwood

20

Female

Single

Merchant of "magical" wares /Con Artist

Lightening- Nora, despite hours of solitude practice, has little understanding of her power. She can't control when or how it'll show up- instead it is tied much more with her emotional state. The most she can do with some modicum of regularity is causing a little spark between close objects. Nora might not know it, but her extreme perception of other's emotional state she uses for manipulating, is actually part of her magic. Once, and only once, did Nora teleport herself across a field. She's not even sure it actually happened, it must have been her misremembering. She was only 6 after all. But one second she was staring down the charging horse, and the next she was safe behind the fence again.

Nora is conventionally beautiful and she knows it. Her head hangs high, which causes her to look down on most. She is tall, at almost 5'11, with straight chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Her clothing, at first glance, seems to be of the latest fashion, with bright colors and ornate designs. However, upon further examination, it's obvious the beads are cheap, and the fabric of poor make. She wears the epitome of a poor man's idea of a royal. It's a close match, but still a dupe. Her hair is often in delicate braids, and her face made up. Light freckles dot along her cheeks and across her nose, giving away how much time she spends outside. It is obvious she is vein, but her beauty almost makes it forgivable. Almost. She constantly wears bangles and large pieces of jewelry, making her jangle slightly as she walks.

If pressed, Nora would tell you she was most afraid of heights. And while they made her heart race, like most things that came from Nora's mouth, that was a lie. She's most afraid of being average and forgotten. Fading into the background and never being someone of importance is what keeps her from staying alone with her thoughts too often. Not only does she fear never impacting the world, but impacting anyone. Her inability to be sincere with anyone makes it difficult for her believe she matters, really matters, to anyone else. Being alone as she fades away cripples her soul and drives every decision she makes.

Nora's has a contagious exciting energy about her. When she talks to you, you feel like anything is possible. When she smiles, you feel seen. It's a skill she's perfected with years of practice. Manipulating those who can only see the surface keeps her true intentions hidden. The glint in her eye hides the hand she has taking your pocket of coins. The cheeky smirk and light laugh hides the fact that the necklace she is pawning off on you can't actually glow in the presence of a lie. The truth is, Nora is scared. Scared someone will call her on her shit, and point out exactly how little she actually knows about the world, about herself. Despite the air of confidence (and a hint of arrogance) she exudes, Nora is naive and young. Nothing yet has mattered more to Nora, then proving she's not a low-life merchant but rather destined for greatness. She truly believes that if she can raise her social status, realize her true abilities, she will no longer feel so alone. Someone might finally be able to see her.

Nora never knew her parents- not her real ones anyways. She was raised by her Aunt and Uncle, helping them with the apothecary shop. When she was older, she spent her time making trinkets and jewelry which she would sell as magical items with unbelievable claims. Tricks of lights, or friends on the inside helped fool travelers into spending more gold than the trinkets would ever be worth. She was a great salesmen, able to push more items than anyone would need. Her Uncle's shop never had better business than when she was working.

The money she earned in the shop were spent on fabric and other items to help her sew and create more lies to sell. With time, her work became better, more intricate. Nora had a real talent with a needle and soft metals. As she got older, she realized just how blind people could be if you knew how to smile here or a give a light touch there. She stopped selling her wares to common travelers and instead aimed higher. She embedded herself into Lords and Lady's inner circles. She played the game better than anyone else and it was working. She was moving up, slowly, but up. Each lie made the next easier. Each person she befriended was another tool to get her away from an average life. Nora was making moves.

Nora used to be devout. She used to pray everyday, looking and waiting for the Mother and Father to finally let her know her adventure was there and waiting. She got tired of waiting though, tired of feeling like no one was listening. Even the mark on her wrist was starting to feel like a lie. There was no one out there, no one besides herself that was going to make her life happen besides herself. She was going to bring out her powers, even if she never found her destined.

FC: Cecilie Haugaard, #543b72

Edwyn McReid

22

Male

Single

Bard

Lightning
Training his elemental abilities in his spare time has been quite effective for Edwyn. Though he's had little in the way of formal training, he's able to Manipulate Electricity and Static Electricity with some measure of skill. Though his skills as an Empath are lacking somewhat, he can vaguely sense the emotions of a singular person with enough focus. Teleportation is completely beyond him.

Edwyn is thin and lean (139 Lbs), with broad shoulders and a tall frame (5' 11"). His brown hair is curly and unruly, and looks not unlike a mop. His eyes are sharp and observant seeming, in contrast to his somewhat softer-seeming face, which has the very beginnings of a beard. He’s prone to wear the common clothes of a traveler, lots of rough cloth and leather.

Isolation
Edwyn is afraid of being alone. His household as a child was lively, active. His family was large, and there was often guests. Even when he was out of the house, he was always accompanied by a friend from the village or a sibling. When he began travelling, he was truly alone for essentially the first time in his life. It felt foreign, unnatural. From then on, he tried to travel with caravans or with a companion.

Many people have claimed that Edwyn likes to hear himself talk. He’d dispute such a notion, but he does talk a lot. This, combined with a good sense of humor give him a sociability that suits his profession. He’s generally frank and honest with his thoughts, and doesn’t hesitate to voice his opinions.

On the negative, Edwyn really doesn’t know when to shut up. Beyond that, he’s vain and cocky. He’s not quite arrogant, but he does hold a great deal of confidence in himself. Edwyn is also not very comfortable with commitment, and the thought of settling down appalls him.

Somewhat of a romantic himself, Edwyn likes to believe that he’ll find his Soulmate and live happily ever after with kickass powers. “Likes” is the keyword. A string of semi-recent romantic failures have left him somewhat jaded.

Edwyn was the eldest of four children, born to a smith and the daughter of a baker in a little agrarian village called Ulrichstead. His father, Jon, had high hopes for his firstborn son, especially seeing as he was Destined. He wanted to make a warrior, a hero out of him. Though Jon had little skill with a blade, as soon as Edwyn could hold a sword, they trained. His son proved to be competent enough, but he had no taste for it, and he soon plateaued in skill. Disappointed, Jon then tried to shape his son into a master smith, even better than he. To Jon’s dismay, his son hated smithing even more than combat. Soon, there were other children to look after, including sons who would make far better smiths than Edwyn. Left to his own devices, Edwyn started messing about with an old lute he found among his late grandfather’s things. He fell instantly in love with the instrument and his father saw no harm in letting him keep it.

Edwyn had more than an interest in the lute, he had talent. It wasn’t long before he developed a fine singing voice. Soon enough, he’d play in the tavern with a bucket at his feet and take home a respectable amount of coin. At the age of sixteen, with his father’s blessing, he left home and began wandering. The money he made in various taverns, plus the occasional blue-blooded party he’d be hired to play at, was usually more than enough for the road. Granted, his was not a life of luxury, but he was quite satisfied with it. He made his way to The Royal City on his own, and is currently staying in a tavern, awaiting the start of the festival.

Ciara Keogh

21

Female

Single

Traveling Bard

Water - Water Manipulation
Ciara can control and move water - she's not very well practiced at it by any means, but she's quite capable of mustering enough force to knock a man on his back with a good blow. In addition, she's also a powerful swimmer, and while she can't quite breath underwater, she can hold said breath longer than anyone should be able to.

Ciara is a pale, brown-haired girl of short stature and slight build. She's unmistakably pretty, in a waifish sort of way, and it's been said that her eyes are deeper and bluer than any lake in the land. Her wardrobe is fairly limited, a result of her nomadic lifestyle, and as such she usually wears some sort of practical traveling dress, and tends to leaver her short, curly hair around her shoulders.

She's never seen without her lute on hand, and tends to have it slung across her back for every occasion, every single day. Her shoes are invariably practical and flat, good for both walking and dancing on top of bars, and she has never been known to wear jewelery or any kind of outward ornamentation, save the occasional ribbon in her hair.

More than anything else, Ciara fears being lost again - with no home, no identity, no place to go. To wander from town to town, living as best as she could, with nobody recognizing her or even looking twice at her, save with ill intent. She has had enough of having nothing for a lifetime - she will never, ever go back.

There are, in essence, two Ciaras - the first, and the one that most would be familiar with, is the jolly, peppy performer, strumming her lute and dancing on tables and singing raucous songs at the request of every inn patron she recognizes. This person is energetic, fiery, and passionate, and it's more or less a complete fabrication.

The true Ciara, the one that only shows when she's alone, is a much more somber, quiet person, not prone to great fits of passion or loud declarations of anything. This person is shy and introspective, and loves nothing more than to sit and watch the rain fall in the woods for hours on end, strumming the slow songs her mother taught her. It's worth noting that she doesn't resent her stage persona or feel forced into it, really - in fact, she sort of admires it, but knows that she could never be so loud and extroverted all the time. It's an act, something to rile up the crowds and get them tipping generously, and people are often surprised at just how awkward and uncertain she can be, if they see her performing and approach her later.

Does she believe in the Destined legend? Sort of. Destined love stories appear in enough of the songs she plays that she'd be a fool not to put some stock in them, but she's seen too much of the real world to really expect a perfect man to come riding out of nowhere, bound to her by fate. Still, some part of her, the little girl in love with love songs who'd never seen hide nor hair of hardship... part of her hopes, at least.

Ciara was born on the outskirts of the kingdom of Orewyn, in a quiet town nestled in a riverbank, deep in the woods near the border with Galinas. In truth, nobody had ever really bothered to name the town, it being so small and generally unimportant in the area, and those that lived there only referred to it as 'the town' on account of never having lived anywhere else; though on a few maps of the region, it could be identified as 'Galemara', for the river it was on. Ciara's family was something of an oddity - they were the first new family to settle there in three generations, and remarkably worldly at that. In their youth, they had been the most famous traveling minstrels in the land, wandering the kingdom singing the old songs, songs that had been lost to all except them. They had come to the town seeking to put it all behind them, to start a family, lead a quiet life. Stories told that they were Destined for each other, but they never said if that was true.

Ciara was their only child, and they doted on her relentlessly, teaching her all that they had learned of their travels and filling her head with faraway places and old songs. She dreamed of leaving that small town, that lazy river and those friendly people, and traveling the world - of course, when the day for her travels finally came, she was far from ready for it.

It was a border skirmish between Orewyn and Galinas - a 'minor incident', on the scale of kingdoms. Two rival lords - one from Orewyn, one from Galinas - both got it into their heads that the village was part of their kingdom's territory, and marshalled their armies to defend that claim. Everyone knew they were just looking for an excuse to fight, and they had it. There were a few engagements in the woods outside the village, but that was nothing new for Ciara; but when war came to the village proper, that was quite a surprise indeed.

The lord from Galinas had received a report that the soldiers of Orewyn were hiding out in the village, sheltered by the townsfolk, plotting an ambush. It wasn't true, but that didn't matter. He ordered his men to raze the village and slaughter the peasants, and they did so with cold efficiency. The evening sky was filled with smoke and screams and equal measure, and that tiny village that had survived years of war barely was destroyed after only a few months of peace. Ciara alone managed to slip away in the chaos, with nothing but her mother's lute and the clothes on her back.

She wandered for years, sleeping where she could, begging for money in crowded streets. She foraged, she stole, she did things she was not proud of to survive, but ultimately, she endured. She had sold her mother's lute for food long ago - it wasn't until years later, when she was eighteen, that she found another, abandoned. In the backpack of a man who wasn't looking. Because he had drank too much and passed out. He wasn't taking proper care of it, anyway. As soon as she touched it, all her mother's old lessons returned, and she played on and on until her fingers bled. She almost didn't notice that passersby were dropping coins for her as they passed - almost. Ciara the bard was bored.

Since then, she has become something of a minor celebrity in Orewyn - if you know anything or about music or frequent a local inn, chances are you've heard of Ciara Keogh, the beautiful bard with a voice like the rain, whose music is fit to make a roomful of hard men weep, or a funeral burst into dance. She'd likely say that it's coincidence she happened to be in the City during the Festival - maybe, she even believes it.

Face Claim: Eleanor Tomlinson
Color Code: 6ecff6

Duncan MacArthur

25

Male

Widowed

Hobo, former innkeeper, former sailor, former priest.

Duncan's life since he turned 19 has been dictated by his ability to control air. Years of experience of applying it to actual battle have allowed him to figure out quite a number of uses to apply to personal combat. From forcing the air out of an opponents lungs, to gagging them by stopping the movement of it in their throat, to changing the flight of arrows, his use of air magic in combat is by far where most of his knowledge of his abilities lie. Still, the entire reason he began using his magic was to be able to control the weather, and years of making the attempt at sea, and devoted study at a temple to Olwyn have allowed him to make some breakthroughs there- creating enough wind to fill a ship's sail's comes easily to him, and Duncan can even create an "eye of the storm" around him with effort, making a small area where the clouds part and the weather calms. While he knows flight would be his favorite application of his magic, he considers it a luxury has has never had time to learn- his other abilities carrying far more weight in his day to day life over the past few years.

Duncan, at first glance, is not much to look at. He is garbed in a traveler's cloak that is so dirty that its former life as a priest's garb is lost on the casual observer, and the rest of him isn't in much better shape. Simple commoner's clothes lie underneath, clearly well worn and roughly patched in places where they've begun to tear. A sword- indicative of those preferred by sailors, rests at his side, although if the condition of the hilt is any indication the blade is likely rusted to uselessness. Finally, and perhaps most notably at first glance, a patch covers his right eye, hiding it from view.

Duncan above all fears that he may never allow himself to find peace. Not in a mental sense, but rather that his wanderlust and inclination towards adventure will ultimately destroy any good situation that he ever manages to make for himself. Whether it be a well paying job, a home he loves, friends he makes, or lovers he takes. Ultimately he fears that he'll never be able to hold onto anything, and given the choice to stay or leave, he'll always choose to throw them away in favor of the road.

As someone in his home town would say, Duncan is "A Steady Breeze blowing over the Raging Sea". Generally calm and open, he has an inclination towards spreading advice even when it isn't wanted, and mingling with anyone he finds interesting at a glance. Still, while he has few buttons to press, he finds it increasingly difficulty to hold back once his anger is awakened- and whether violent or verbal he usually tends to cause lasting harm before being able to calm himself. It's a bad habit that grows increasingly more common as he starts to drink, and so he tries to stay away from alcohol in spite of his love for it.

As both a former priest and one of the Marked, Duncan has no doubts as to the validity of the Destined legend. Still, more than anything it fills him with unease. He sees it as a curse for anyone he is Destined to be bound with, and he also feels he's been robbed of the freedom to find his own partner. Though the Marked can supposedly settle down with people they are not Destined for, he has already been a widower, and is convinced that would be the fate of anybody else he tried to marry that he wasn't bound to.

Duncan grew up in a small port town, the son of a barkeep selling food and drink to the sailors who pulled in to port. In spite of being one of the Marked, he grew up with few expectations for himself, and a good life already planned out. He would marry his childhood sweetheart, Jeane Cromwell, take over his father's inn, and experience life through the stories his patrons told over mugs of ale. Just as his father had before him. For the most part, this reality held true for almost twenty years.

However, there was always an... itch inside him. Whenever he felt the wind blow against his face Duncan felt the strongest urge to move, an urge that he fought constantly. His wife was both sickly and insecure, believing inevitably that the woman he was Destined for would walk into the inn one day and steal him away. So he stayed. Stayed with his wife. Tended his father's inn. And fought any urge to leave and see the world.

Until Captain James Cunningham walked into his inn and changed everything.

The man had caught rumor that Duncan was one of the Marked, and was dead set on hiring him to serve on the Marauder's Forlorn, a renowned pirate hunting vessel. Men and women skilled in Air were always valued at sea, and for days the captain tried to convince Duncan to join him. First regaling him with tales of his journeys, victories (never defeats), and wondrous cities he had taken port in. Next he tried to entice the young man with promises of fame and glory as a member of the sea's greatest pirate hunting ship.

Finally, he spoke of riches- and more importantly, a chance to find a cure for Duncan's wife on a far off shore.

Jeane, of course, was completely against it, afraid her husband was just using it as an excuse to leave and find the woman he was Destined to be with. To her credit, she was right about the first point- it was an excuse. He had been looking for a reason to leave his home for years, and this was finally one he didn't have to feel guilty over. He knew it, she knew it, and Captain Cunningham knew it.

At the cusp of 20 years old Duncan set sail aboard the Marauder's Forlorn, and spent the next three years of his life as a member of Captain Cunningham's crew. His captain pushed him constantly to improve in his studies of magic, coveting the day that Duncan would be able to bend the weather to his will like the most powerful of air mages. Any engagements that the ship participated in were just more practice, and over time he found a myriad of ways to surprise or disable his opponents for an easy kill. In the course of three years luck and skill resulted in him barely receiving a scratch, and Duncan felt himself invincible until he lost his eye and nearly his life during an everyday engagement to a no-name group of brigands. Magic did not make up for the overconfidence of youth, as it turned out.

Recovering in a hospital bed on a foreign shore, he felt like returning home for the first time since he set out. So he took his leave of his Captain, with his sword and loot he had obtained over the course of his service and set out to be reunited with his wife. What he found instead was a grave, and was horrified that mixed in with his grief was the slightest feeling of relief.

Disgusted with himself, and having no desire to take on his aging father's business, he left his old man with the money he had earned at sea and set off once more. This time he traveled by land, completely without a purpose, trying to lose himself in the vastness of the continent. When he reached a new town or village he would offer his hand working until he saved up enough money for the next stretch of his journey before setting off once more. For months he traveled like this, perpetually penniless and drunk nearly as often, before stumbling on a small temple to Olwyn, god of the air, atop a small cliff on the side of a rarely traveled road. Tired in more ways than one, he stopped there for the night. When the old priestess that tended to the building welcomed him inside, Duncan broke down and opened his heart to the woman, telling her his life story.

When he finished, they sat in silence for some time, when finally she offered him a place at the temple. Maybe, she suggested, serving the god would serve to calm his soul and give him purpose. She had intended it of course as a way to help heal him, but Duncan embraced it as a penance to pay for the mistakes he had made.

So he stayed there, first learning the teachings of his god, and later greeting travelers as a priest. For over a year he tended to the temple and old woman, embracing his new home as he had embraced the sea years before. Indeed, he was happy, in spite of the spectre of Jeane haunting his mind. However, the temple was not the sea. He was not moving, instead Duncan was stagnant, confined to one place once more. The itch returned more strongly than ever, each time a breeze blew over that small cliff. He fought it as strongly as he could, busying himself with the study of his magic when possible, but both he and the priestess knew he would one day leave with the wind.

Four months ago that day came.

Fashioning his robes into a traveler's cloak, he slipped away at night without so much as a goodbye, heading towards the Royal City. He knew of course of the festival that was going to take place there, and the old priestess had urged him for months to take part. Now was his opportunity, perhaps to find his Destined. Find happiness. Find himself.

Though he was terrified of what the last one might mean.

Veronica Mercer

20

Female

Single

Lower Gentry - Apprentice Healer & Apothecarist

Fire Elemental
- She can control and manipulate fire. She has average skills, and knows the basics, but has never been properly taught.

Veronica is pretty, and out of her two sisters, she resembles her mother the most. She has straight brown hair that reaches the middle of her back. Her most prominent feature are her beautiful eyes, which are a magnificent color mix of golden yellow, warm browns, blue, greens, and a few hazel speckles. The tricky thing about her eyes is that they seem to change color in different lighting, from green to brown to blue and back again. On the sunshine filled days they appear greener, and in the candlelit night they appear more of a mix of blue, browns, and gold flecks. She has a dainty nose, pouty lips, and a pretty smile.

Her wardrobe consists of dresses, kirtles, and surcotes. She tends to be drawn towards the simpler and feminine designs. If she is not wearing her hair just plainly down, she is most likely sporting some kind of pretty braided styling. She typically smells of wildflowers, as she spends most of her time in her father apothecary, or in the forest gathering plants.

She is afraid dying. Do to her occupation she has seen her fair share of death. The unknown, about what comes after is daunting and the actual dying part scares her. Watching her mother and older sister die helplessly was also terrifying.

Veronica is kind natured young woman. She comes off as quiet and considerate, but there is a wildfire in her eyes that is often overlooked. Strangers typically notice her serene disposition and pretty face. But that's not all she is. Veronica is as intelligent as they come, and as tenacious as her father. She resembles her mother physically, and has the same natural grace and gentleness. Her parents always said she was an old soul. Even as a child she was mature beyond her years.

Her father considers education very important, thus she is articulate and freethinking. Her mother raised her with a strong moral background, so Veronica values fairness and charity quite a bit. She is extremely loyal and protective of those she loves and puts her trust in. Strong and independent, she is a girl who makes her own decisions and cuts her own path. The plight of others tends to weave its way into her sensitive heart, but this just makes her all the more adamant in her work to help others. She is a stubborn and strong willed woman, with strong convictions. Not one to be the coveted meek and obedient wife of medieval ideals. Her curiosity can sometimes land her into trouble. Towards people she dislikes she blunt, and callous, and not great at hiding her she truly feels about someone. Though she is content with her life in the village helping her father with his work, she sometimes longs for something more.

She was never a big fan of the Destined legend. Once her parents explained to her what the mark on her wrist meant. The idea that she had a soulmate out there in the big wide world that she'd most likely never meet didn't faze her. It was that fact that somehow her fate was already written that bothered her. That her choices and actions made no difference, that destiny was already set in stone. Veronica also always wondered why. Why was she marked while others were not. And so she disregarded her mark for most of her life. The fact that she would lose her powers if she didn't find her destined love, was more good news then bad. Having control over fire was never something she was happy with. In her opinion the only good fire could bring was warmth on a cold night. Otherwise fire was just destruction, something that burned everything in it's path to ash and dust.

Her father, Arthur was the youngest of five sons, and thus there was nothing to inherit from his father’s prosperous merchant company. Especially after all his older brothers got their shares, and quickly ran the business into the ground. He pursued his passion for medicine and became an apothecarist. Rather than appealing to the nobility and rich with his skills in medicine he chose to settle in the mining town of Culldune, and help the villagers for practically nothing in return.

Veronica’s mother, Enya was the only daughter of a local noble family. Their elopement was not approved of by Enya’s family who had hoped to marry her off to a wealthy nobleman, and thus she was disinherited for disobeying her family, and marrying below her station. Fast forward six years later and Veronica was born. Two days of painful labor in late winter, during one of the worst storms of the decade, she came into the world.

As a child, Veronica and her family lived above their apothecary shoppe. It was a cramped and cluttered home, but also one full of love. She was very close to her father, who she called papa. Though her father was always very busy, he always had time for his daughters. In his spare moments, he would teach Veronica about all the medical plants, how to read, and write, and everything else he knew. At night before bed he would tell her stories, and point out all the constellations in the sky. He instilled in her to always follow her heart and do what she thought was right. She liked to help her father in the apothecary. Young Veronica didn't want to just marry, have babies, and spend the rest of her life cooking and cleaning, she wanted to forge her own destiny, and do as she pleased. She wanted an adventure and to make a difference in the world.

Veronica was seven years old when her mother died after giving birth to Veronica’s youngest sister Amelia. It was a crushing blow to Veronica, and her father was never the same after her death. Her mother's side of the family had a change of heart with news of Enya’s death, and they offered to take Veronica and her sisters in to be properly educated and raised as noble ladies. Arthur refused not wanting split his family apart, or lose his daughters. But four years later after Veronica's oldest sisters Gwendolyn died during an outbreak of scarlet fever Arthur agreed, and he left eleven year old Veronica and little Amelia to their grandparents. She would not see her father for the next three years.

Her life with her overly strict grandmother, and fearsome grandfather was not exactly pleasant. Being waited on by servants and treated differently by the villagers she always though of as her friends was hard to get used to. Cooped up indoors, learning to dance, play instruments, and become a reverent passive wife to whomever her grandfather chose, was not her cup of tea. Besides their best efforts to brainwash Veronica into their way of thinking, she was steadfast in her beliefs. Unfortunately that was not the case for her little sister Amelia who seemed to thrive under their guidance as materialistic snobs.

Veronica was fourteen when her grandfather told her she was betrothed. That only solidified her resolve to runaway and look for her father. So she "borrowed" a few of her grandmothers jewels, and after six months of searching she found her father destitute and drunk in the slums of the Royal city. She cleaned him up, took care of him, and with the last of her money helped him get back on his feet. She found work as an apprentice healer. But a year later her father fell back to the bottle. He acquired so much debt from gambling that he ended up in prison, and Veronica was left on her own.

The master healer she worked for gave her a place to stay, as she waited for her father to be released from prison. Work took over most of her time, and finally two years had passed and her father was out. Veronica and him made their way back to Culldune, where the village was happy to welcome them back. They moved back into their old home, and opened up the apothecary again. Thankfully her father stayed away from the booze and the cards. Life became simple and peaceful.

Her godfather Rupert owned the local copper mine. He had hired a young man named Cedric to help run the mine. Veronica and Cedric disliked each other immediately. She saw him as arrogant, and presumptuous. He was handsome, but she couldn't help wanting to roll her eyes every time he opened his mouth. He saw Veronica as stubborn, and a know it all. Basically she had mild disdain for Cedric and he was indifferent towards her. Overtime their bickering and retorts turned to playful teasing, and flirty remarks. Then one night of drinking, and a spontaneous kiss later, they were on their way to a cheeky romance.

Cedric proposed to her six months later, and she said 'yes'. She had never thought she'd ever want to get married, but Cedric made her feel happy, he supported her, and loved her exactly for who she was. She couldn't see ever loving anyone, like she loved him. The couple ignored the fact that she was marked. They planned to marry in a year or so, once they saved enough to have a proper wedding, and find a place to call their own. Sadly a month later the mine he was working caved in, and Cedric along with a dozen of the other miners died.

Now she is twenty years old. Her father was the one who convinced her to go to the festival. He said that whether she found her destined partner or not, it would be a once in a life time experience.

Faceclaim: Astrid Berges-Frisbey
Color Code: 8882BE

Darius Arenar

19

Male

Single and Reluctant to Mingle

Lower Nobility, Eldest Son, Squire to a Knight

Earth. His primary focus is Earth Manipulation, but he has also dabbled somewhat in Seismic Sense.

Darius stands at an imposing six foot five, with medium length black hair and bright blue eyes. He has a light skin tone that is a bit on the pale side. He has no facial hair, having been urged to shave his stubble before embarking on the trip (and he had been trying so hard to grow a beard...) Moving down to the rest of his body, he possesses a strong build due to his years of martial training, although he had not taken to it with as much enthusiasm as one would have liked. He has a small scar underneath his left eye from a training accident.

As for his actual clothing, the outfit Darius brought to the capital is rather... ornate for his taste, but his parents had insisted it would help him make a good match. He wears a white silk shirt, and a fine green coat with a golden trim, with matching green pants and fine leather boots with golden buckles. In order to show off his background in combat, the outfit also includes the outfit also includes one gilded steel vambrace on his left arm, and a gilded shoulder plate on his left shoulder. Only his left side - his right side is unarmored. Utterly impractical. Well, he does have a gilded steel greave on his right ankle... but not one on his left. There's also a golden half-cape over his right shoulder. Some might find him fashionable, but he finds it ridiculous. But his parents insisted it was fashionable, and could barely afford it, so he wears it... for now.

When he actually has a chance to change, he will likely ditch the armor and the half-cape.

Darius's biggest fear is that he will let his family down. More specifically, he will die without improving the House's fame or fortune, leaving his family in an even worse position than they were when he inherited the land. Although he was hardly a model child growing up, frequently quarrelled with his parents, and was never overly close to two of his three siblings, he still cares about the future of his House and wants them to have a legacy.

Darius is an introvert. It isn't that he's socially awkward, it's just that he doesn't like to engage in subjects he has no interest in - his contributions tend to be minimal, often described as cold and distant. Should the conversation turn to what he deems to be more practical fields (see: likes), he can talk a mile a minute, provided the person he is conversing with is fairly intelligent and at least somewhat informed on the issue. He is not a snob; he respects people who admit they are ignorant on a certain subject, and he is more than happy to fill them in, but what he truly despises is people who know nothing about a topic and try to pretend that they do.

He tends to keep his emotions closely guarded, and frequently asks questions in a mature and clinical manner. Usually, its out of a simple desire for more information, other times the questions are framed as criticism, and on other occasions he is trying to find a more efficient way of doing something (or at least find out why a more efficient way doesn't exist.) He believes it is important to criticize those around you and listen to criticism from others. When not in a conversation, he's usually off away from the crowds, reflecting on his day or pondering something he read about, and will usually wait to be approached unless he sees a friend.

When it comes to the Destined legend, he has some skepticism and reservations towards it, but ultimately believes that at least some of what he heard must be true, so he is willing to give it a shot. Although not a romantic at heart, if he finds someone he will truly be happy with, he will embrace it.

Darius was born as the eldest son of House Arenar, one of the poorer noble houses of the realm with very little in the way of wealth or renown, but they still had enough income to educate their four children. Growing up, Darius had always been a well-read boy, and spent most of his time in his father's library while his siblings were playing. Once he had poured through every book, he went through them all again, and began to question things he had not noticed the first time. For fictional literature, he pondered the true moral of a story. For military history, he questioned why a general employed a certain move. And for history in general, he wondered if that was truly how it happened or if it was just propaganda made up by the victors. His most prominent interest was philosophy - why were we here? What is our purpose? All of these questions were asked at a very young age, surprising even his parents.

Eventually, his parents came up with a plan to make their house more renowned. His father was good friends with a knight - Sir Gerald of House Vendal, who agreed to take Darius on as a squire. His parents already believed Darius would be an excellent estate manager, but they wanted him to learn combat, leadership, chivalry, and courtly graces as well. They also managed to squeeze in some time for him to practice his magic.

Unfortunately, Darius did not change as much as they had hoped. The knight he served had a library even larger than his father's, so when he wasn't training or learning chivalry and etiquette, he was there reading and isolating himself from the rest of the world. His training taught him the basics of etiquette and courtly behavior, but the words and motions came awkwardly and without grace. They tried to teach him of honor, but he frequently questioned and even criticized parts the knightly code - mainly, the restrictions they placed on fighting and tactics. But he still managed to become a skilled swordsman and a half-decent horseman. He did not wish to be a knight, not truly - he would have instead preferred the role of scholar or historian, and often thought of getting up and leaving. He stayed only because the knight he served had been good to him, and his parents had insisted it was for the good of the House.

He still has a few years to go before he is ready to reach knighthood. Unfortunately, the Festival for the Destined has interrupted his training. As usual, he is somewhat skeptical of the idea, but if it is the only way to develop his powers and form a good match then so be it. Part of him actually looks forward to it.

The Arenars control the Barony of Darwick. Their 'seat of power' is a small town named Daralt, where they rule from a fortified manor on a hill, but it is not overly lavish or decadent. Daralt has a population of 2,000. The only other settlement in the Barony is a village known as Elkwood, with a population of 400. The two settlements are separated by a river, which a bridge has been built over. It is not located near any major cities or along any major trade routes, so it does not receive much traffic. Their chief export is lumber cut from the local forests, but they also have some farmland along the river and roads.
Colour = 008000, FC = Iwan Rheon

Boen Keld

25

Male

Single

Sellsword/Bodyguard

Earth Boen is adept in his earth abilities. Little know that his left arm is actually fashioned in clay for he lost it as a teenager in a duel. He can create a cast out of clay to mimic his actual appearance. It guards his skin against cuts, slashes, and mild burns. He can even make duplicates of himself on the battlefield to act as decoys. While they are immobile and solidly stand in place, in the heat of the moment, not too many combatants can tell him apart from the fake thing. He can encase his body in dirt and submerge beneath the earth to reappear to catch an enemy off-guard.

Boen, during the day, is always wearing black, medium plate armor with hard-boiled leathers. His armor is simple with no ornate colors or decor. He is covered from head to toe, his helm having a nose piece that goes down the bridge of his nose, and a vented face mask. At his hip is a stone bar that is his primary weapon. Out of armor, usually during the night and when he is off-duty, Boen wears the clothes of a commoner. White, wool tunic and black wool trousers with goat skin moccasins. For being not the most friendly of men, he is handsome outside his armor. He has a well-practiced resting-bitch face to keep giddy women and riff-raff from bothering him. The sellsword stands at 6'2", weighing 171 lbs, with hair as dark as soil and eyes a hazel like the gold sands of the desert. The birthmark on his wrist, he keeps covered up beneath bandages.

Losing limbs or eyesight. Losing a limb has already happened, but he plans not to let it happen again. If someone were to threaten taking either, it would trigger some PTSD.

The line of work Boen is involved in requires a man not afraid to kill and definitely one not afraid to hurt someone’s feelings. He has killed men and he has beaten men senseless all for coin. A sellsword isn’t a chivalrous job, and he most of the time doesn’t think about the job. If his employer says “protect me at all costs” and pays him a pretty penny, then Boen will do so without letting his feelings get involved. It is the only way he can perform his role as intended. He can be rough around the edges, and isn’t too social. When he goes to a tavern, he goes to drink in peace and decompress from his day’s work. Anyone who tries to ruin that usually gets to taste his fist. The sellsword is pretty fearless, but at the same time reckless. He will crack a chair over the back of the head of the biggest and meanest guy in the pub without a care. However, the last time he underestimated a guy, he lost his left arm. When he’s off, he’s resting and training. As far as the legend goes because of his line of work, he doesn’t expect to meet his soul mate. He doesn’t imagine ever finding one, and he couldn’t imagine it happening to him. He just…couldn’t believe it if it did.

Boen hides the mark on his wrist so as not to draw that kind of attention. While the sellsword isn’t really shy, he just isn’t planning on the whole “destiny thing” happening anytime soon and would actually be bothered if it did. Would he have to protect the person? Was he obligated by fate to be with the person? The soul mate just sounds like a pain in his ass.

The sellsword never had a formal education, so all of his wit comes from personal experience. This also means he isn't well-versed in several subjects so enough of the smarty pants mumbo-jumbo just tell me who y'want dead. Boen has a distinct accent, but most people won't ever hear his true dialect for they won't comprehend it. The dialect of Keld will leave many lost and confused, and so when Boen speaks he is mostly using a very watered-down version of it. If Boen meets someone familiar with the Keld speech, he tends to become proud and happier. There aren't too many people who speak Keld, and not many people who he'd expect to find in Orewyn.

Boen Keld; Boen of Keld, from the Land of Keld a country to the southwest of Galinas, was born to a painted woman. Her name was Melena Keld; Melena of Keld, the “Desert Rose” (due to her ethnicity hailing from the desert country Salahar). Although Keld was more of a grassland than a desert, within Keld, Boen resided in a small town called, Springbrook in a brothel named Cashmere. Springbrook was overall a peaceful place but slavery and prostitution was an all-time norm in the society. Once Boen was seven-years-old, Melena wanted him to have a life away from the brothel, and so asked one of her johns to take him and raise him as a steward. Boen’s guardian was a knight and horse lord for the Galinese calvary at Black Fort by the name of Sir Keagan James. He left Cashmere to Sir James’s estate on Goat Hill (northeast of Springbrook in Galinas). Sir James had merely been his mother’s lover, and for her sake, he had done the favor of raising Boen; but Sir James was no knight in shining armor. He was rough on Boen. He treated him like a slave and struck him whenever he failed to complete a task to his liking. One day, Boen had had enough and when Sir James was on his horse, he made the earth rise over one of his horse’s hooves. The horse collapsed on Sir James, crushing his leg, and instead of help him, Boen took the opportunity to flee. That moment, spurred by a fit of overwhelming rage, had been the first time Boen had used his power.

At ten-years-old, Boen escaped his abusive life and fled back to the only place he knew: Cashmere. Cold and bitter reality was revealed to him at an early age then. In the past three years, his mother had been ill. Her unclean life had finally buried her. For the first time ever in his life, Boen had nowhere to go and he nearly had returned to Sir James. Out of fear of the consequences he would face for wounding a Galinese knight, the boy instead decided to care for himself. He left Springbrook, Keld to get as far away from Sir James and his reach as he could. Boen travelled to Orewyn and settled in the city of Tradewind, known for its large markets. Tradewind settled on a popular crossroad, which naturally made it a city of trade and diversity. Boen worked whatever job he could find. He cleaned dishes in taverns, delivered milk and eggs, and discovered his talent for sculpting. He made extra money selling his work as a side job.

When Boen was fourteen-years-old, he protected one of the tavern wenches of the Harley Tarley from a drunk. He smashed a jug over the drunk’s head, and since that day, he felt inspired to take on manlier jobs. No more wench work. He picked up a sword and started learning how to use it. At sixteen-years-old, he became a sellsword. It was difficult at first for he was a boy in the eyes of majority of his employers. His competition was older and more seasoned swords. The work was easy initially, but eventually he ran into a situation where he actually had to guard his employer. His employer at the time was named Gaillart Owin. He liked to gamble, and he also liked to cheat money into his pockets. His cheating had earned him enough money to hire a bodyguard (Boen) knowing that his karma would return with vengeance. A skilled assassin by the name of Grey Wolf came to the inn Owin was staying at to take his life. Boen was surprised that he actually had to fight and for not only his life but the life of his employer. He had bitten off more than he could chew. Grey Wolf defeated Boen, taking his left arm. Boen survived the confrontation but Gaillart Owin did not. The trauma and failure nearly made Boen quit the sellsword business for good. During his recovery, he had laid down the sword and decided that he wasn’t all that skilled after all. Depressed by his handicap, and how his life seemed to have no happy ending, he tried to drink away his sorrows. He was thrown out of the Harley Tarley when the owner learned he didn’t have money to pay for what he had drank, and while he laid in the gutter hoping to just die, by morning he couldn’t get up. His body was nearly half-buried in the ground, reminding him of his powers. He experimented fashioning himself a new arm from clay, and instead of arming himself with a sword, he decided to arm himself with a stone rod. With his new arm, Boen’s perspective on life was revived. His survival had made him a stronger person, and he intended to see his life through to the very end.

Boen became a better sellsword using his earth power to aid his fighting techniques. He was hired to protect and fight for merchants and nobles. The pay was nice; and now at twenty-five-years-old, his work takes him to the capital of Orewyn, protecting a merchant named Sym Alein as he plans to sell roses, chocolate, and wine at the Festival of Destinies.

Color: Brown
Face Claim: Gary Leo Taylor
Boen carries a distinct accent being from Keld. Keldians are an interesting folk, and only Galinese or those educated in the Land of Keld would recognize the accent.

George Andre Tir

23

Male

Single

Blacksmith. Though a trainee and primarily the grunt for heavy lifting, George maintains his position as a decent-enough paying job for his family.

Fire: Perhaps mimicking the story of the born child after a tragic event, George has a very practiced touch in the element of fire, generating sparks and flames that stated the many flames that ran the forgeries in full-power.

Furthermore, George has dabbled in explosion generation. This comes in the form of flames that engulf his massive hands. When his hands make contact with an object or surface, a hot spark bursts into life. His hands are not hot to the touch however, and the explosions are light in damage and small in radius so far. This is a skill seldom used.

Sprouting early to reach 7 feet in height with more than enough mass to spare and support his frame, George is a giant in any town. He is broad, burly, and strong, and his worn-out clothes barely contain his body. So much so, everything he wears seems to highlight his innate strength and durability. The man is dark-skinned with short hair and a smooth face. Though his size is intimidating - if not frightful - his small, brown eyes betray his gentleness and even sadness from being misunderstood and mistreated.

He is perpetually dirty no matter how hard he tries to clean himself up. Smoke, soot, and dust from the forges seem to cling to his skin permanently, and his clothes have burn marks and wear and tear, evidence of his choice to not bother getting new ones in his line of work. When out of work, he tends to cycle through the same few sets of fabrics he keeps. Unfortunate that a man could grow to his size and live in a world too small for him.

George’s biggest fear is not being able to find the one true love that he may spend his life and grow a family with. Social status, failure to meet expectations, economic stability, too many factors lead to a repeating cycle of doubt that he could attract a woman, someone he could be proud of showing to his family. Having a family would complete his life, and until then, he stays with his.

A giant with the force of a storm but with the heart of a family man, George is the juxtaposition of two worlds, exemplifying that there is more than meets the eye. Because of this, he does show frustration to him being used as just a man who does the heavy lifting and nothing more - far from it, he sees himself as someone much more capable: of leadership, of guidance, of love and compassion, and of trust and open-mindedness. He takes his lessons from his mama really well.

Timid but loud, shy but forceful, he can be a terrible mess with deal with if you upset him. He would not show away from a fight to protect the ones he cares for, but would rather not fight if opposition was directed at him. That is not worth fighting for. But, with the Mark on his arm, and believing in the legend of finding your Destined soulmate, he grows tiresome of the loneliness but does not want to be proactive in his struggle. A bit of a show-off, but a gregarious, towering man at best, he remains patient for his partner in life.

Salahar is a place of many sights, smells, sounds, and experiences to explore. A nation born in the shimmering gold sands under a scorching sun so hot, it is only matched by its people’s hearty, lively, and strong spirits. Not without temperament, the Salahari are a proud sort with a diverse social standing and rich folklore. One story told of a night of blazing fire - ruining and destroying the lives of many - only for the morning to witness the birth of a newborn: a sign of cyclical life, and that life goes on, and we must look for and tend to it. It has come to be that anyone born after an unfortunate event that the new baby be blessed with good luck to come his way. Born to a strong mother and a sick father, George Andre Tir was the last of four children to be born before his father’s debilitating sickness finally took him. George was that newborn after a devastating moment.

Despite being the youngest, George’s height was nothing short of an anomaly and a miracle. Feeding him, tending him, controlling him, George grew up rapidly and the mother was struggling to care for her children. The children, being older with some forms of income, nevermind how low or how pathetic, all did their part in raising the family. The loving family raised George to be a very homecaring person, and with his size being considered auspicious by his siblings and in fact the community (perhaps for utility and gain rather than fortune and prosperity), they took care of George.

When he came of age, knowing responsibility and the limits of his vigour, he was taken in by a borderline-exploitative blacksmith, under his wing to become a blacksmith just like his employer. His strength and thick skin bearing through the heats, the hits, and the smokes, George proved himself useful and he found a stable job that he has had even now at the age of 23. This was great progress for the forgery business in Salahar, George’s place of origin and current life, the desert country of many estates, treasures, home to many massive trade routes and histories prized, forgotten, cherished, and forsaken.

Though slow to make upward progress, being pitied upon and looked down on, his mama told him to be patient - for the time will come, she would say. That is really what he is doing nowadays, biding his time, seeing what the world has to offer. Better yet, George hoped to see what it has planned for him, for luck would have it that enough wares have been made to organize an exhibit of sorts - to showcase the craftsmanship of the Salahari in Orewyn. Trades and exposure potential very high, the expedition bode well. George, as the assistant to the chief, will seek out and learn from this new pace in life, and perhaps even find his Other to be Destined.

Jamie Ducane

21

Male

Single

Stable hand/ Horse trainer

Earth Fauna: Jamie does have some control over his powers, but not a whole lot, even now that he is older. To be truthful, he is slightly freaked out by his powers and has never actively tried to figure them out. He is a fairly good empath. He feels the emotions of any animals within a 1 radius of him and knows how to calm them down when needed. Because of this, animals love him and even wild animals will often come up to him just to inspect him. He feels some emotions of humans, but he has to be concentrating on the person and must be very close to them.

Jamie doesn’t really have any control on his telepathy. Every now and then he can hear the faint whispers of the minds around him, but it has always made him so freaked out that he doesn’t often concentrate enough to hear anything more than that.
Jaimie has animal morphed once since discovering it was even possible. It happened when his father died. He was so distraught and full of grief that he took off running out of the barn when he found his father’s body. He had no idea what else to do, so he just ran out his sadness through the fields by the stables. Before he knew it, he was a horse galloping along. He transformed back some time later, wondering if he had just imagined what happened. He has never been able to do it since.

Once you get past the dirt and slight smell of horses, Jamie is actually quite the attractive guy. He stands at roughly 6'2, with a strong build to him. He has a curly mess of red hair, that is long enough to just cover his ears, and a bit of red stubble around his jaw line and cheeks. His eyes are a deep blue color. They almost seem like they could look straight into your soul sometimes. The odd park about his eyes is how they seem to glow a shade of bright, icy blue whenever he gets angry. It's as if they they were made right out of a glacier. It’s at this point that it is just best to leave home alone. Above his left eye is a small scar that is about 2 inches in length. He got it when he was 17 by a horse kicking him in the head while he was shoeing it. On his right wrist he bares the mark of the destined. He was always curious about the thing and if it is really as rare as his mother has told him it is.

Being as he doesn't exactly have a lot of clothes, Jamie can usually be seen wearing a dirty white shirt and brown leggings. He has one black leather jacket that was made for him when he turned 18 and a black shirt that he only wears on special occasions.

Losing the person he loves once he finds her. He has been waiting for the right person to come around that will be worth giving his full attention to, but no one has caught his heart quite yet. He fears once he finds this person that they will be wretched right out of his hands and be forced to just live with their memory.

Most people that meet Jamie, generally tend to say he was a pleasure to be around. He has a charm about him that is simply hard to not like. He can be quiet when he first meets people, but once he likes you he gets over his shyness. Though he doesn't enjoy admitting it, Jamie has a likeness for fighting others. He can very easily get angry and once he is, he even looks for someone to fight with him. It takes a lot to calm him down when he gets like this. Usually only knocking him out with a fist to the face works to get him out of his rage filled state. It is because of this anger that he spends a good amount of his time at the stables with the horses or out in the woods. He absolutely loves animals. He mainly has a love for horses since he grew up with them, but his love for animals extends to almost creature he comes into contact with. He enjoys their company and the peace that they give to him. The stable is his safe place. He has no want or reason to get angry there.

Jamie has a pretty strong dislike a fear of water. He is hardly ever seen near a large body of water and has no intentions on getting on a boat any time soon. Part of the reasoning for his fear is the night terrors he often has. A good amount of them are him drowning in a lake and never being able to get to the surface. This stemmed from when he fell into a river when he was little and almost died from not being able to swim.

He also fears his powers a little. More so the telepathy than anything. Whenever he hears the whispers he thinks he is going insane.

Jamie was actually born in the very stable he works at. His mother had married the town stable keep and often helped her husband with his work. She went into labor when she was cleaning the stall one day and had Jamie not but a few hours later. He grew up handling the horses and tending to the stable. This is where his love is for animals grew so deep. As he grew older, his father began letting him handle more things when it came to the stable and the animals. He was getting older and knew his son would have to take over sooner or later. It was certainly good he did think in such a way since, on Jamie's 18th birthday, his father died while putting away the horses. It took many weeks for him to get over his father’s death and even longer to be able to look at his mother without growing sad from her grief. Now Jamie deals with a good percent of things for his mother, including handling the customers needing to keep their horses there. He has come to know a good amount of the people in the royal city and has even caught a glimpse of the royal twins before.

Lately things have been a little busy around the stables with The Festival of Destinies coming up rather soon. His mother almost fainted upon hearing the announcement that all marked from all over the kingdom were invited. She had been talking the festival for days that it might come and was happy her son would have a chance to meet his destined. He knew how much she wanted him to find someone to make him happy and build a family with. She was one of the biggest reasons he'd actually decided to go, he at one point had half a mind not to. Deep down he wanted to find his destined, but if that happened then he knew he would always have to live in fear of losing her. A fear he wasn't sure he wanted to live with yet.

Rhea Bennett

24

Female

Technically married. Possible widow, separated for over 5 years.

Pirate

Water. Beyond basic manipulations, she hasn't done or tried much to master her abilities. Her powers are mostly used to help the movement of her ship, creating and slowing currents as well as calming waves in storms. Occasionally she finds use for it in combat, but has no knowledge that healing and freezing are even even possible with her element.

Rhea was born and raised in Orewyn, but one would never guess such from the looks of her. She’s too dark for one; hair, skin, and eyes, all Salahari in colour and shape. Her way of dressing doesn’t help to fit in much either. While practicality is important for her work, she never learned the virtue of modesty and never compromises her love for opulence; mostly manifested in large pieces of gold jewelry.

Rhea is all too aware that without her element she’d be nothing. The idea of it lessening with age is unbearable. The possibility that the legend of the destined may be true and eventually her power will diminish before she dies isn't something she is comfortable living with.

Rhea lies. Frequently and unabashedly. Her own frankness about her dishonesty is what she believes makes her just as moral as any saint or knight, if not more. To her the rest of the world is just as corrupt and greedy as herself, she just doesn't try to hide it. Lying is a talent she trained at more than her own element, and there are few binds she can't talk her way out of. When she can't talk her way to safety she flees. She has no lofty ideas of bravery for herself, there is no fun in a fight that would end with her death. Fighting with odds in her favour however, is a thrill of its own, but even then she never relishes the killing that so often becomes necessary with her career.

She indulges in drinking, gambling, sex, and brawling as she likes, giving no restraint to her own desires. This leaves her perpetually both satisfied and wanting to fill the next flighty wish in her mind, and usually drunk. For all her faults and callousness, Rhea does have a heart, however she tries to bury it. She cares deeply for her ship and crew, would even be loyal to them, if she believed in such a thing, and has a soft spot for children. Particularly those in circumstances similar to her own when she was young.

Rhea was born in one of the Royal City's many brothels. Her modest beginning followed through most of her life. Her home was a whorehouse, but a well-kept one, with children permitted to stay without selling themselves, so long as they did other labour. Despite their proximity Rhea was never close with her mother, a Salahari woman who had gone by the name Gypsy for so long she’d forgotten her own. But it was no loss, instead she was raised by dozens of young, working women, always eager to share raunchy stories and give lewd advice to the adolescents with them. No one in the house cared she was an elemental, she never knew more than to make waves in the baths. Talents such as lying and acting were the ones taught and encouraged in her home. On her sixteenth birthday, her role in the house changed to one of ‘proper employment’. It was no shock, or dreaded event, just how her world worked.

A year after, Captain Bennett arrived. He was a young naval officer, assigned his first ship and came to Rhea’s home to celebrate. He was more interested in her mark than Rhea herself had ever been and, after leaving a large sum of coin, took her away with him. It wasn’t a bride or servant he was looking for, though both inevitably happened, he wanted an water elemental to go with his ship and make it the fastest in any fleet. There was a good deal of training from other naval elementals at first, but eventually Bennett’s ship never suffered from opposing or stagnant currents. They were married just after their first voyage. Eighteen months after that, she stole his ship.

They had caught a small crew of pirates, fleeing a ship of their own that had been sabotaged by another group. Bennett took the men, killed their captain on the spot, and locked the rest away to be returned to the Royal City for hanging. Rhea had long since become bored of her life as a naval captain's wife. The nearly two years on board with a neglectful husband had given her plenty of time to learn the workings of the ship, navigation, and even map reading. With an experienced crew, Rhea felt confident enough she could survive on her own. A storm forced them to dock two days out from the city. While Bennett was sleeping, she stole the key to the ship’s cells and freed the men imprisoned.

There were two of Bennett’s own men on the ship that night, but with an water elemental speeding them along into a hurricane they had no choice but to come along. Rhea could not control the storm, but she managed to calm the waters around them well enough that her new ship and crew, both only marginally worse for wear, came out alive and with a new respect for her. They were pirates, but she had saved their lives twice over. From there out she did as she and her men liked, pillaging merchant and trade ships in the Shimmering Sea and never either Orewyn or Salahari long enough to be caught. From her crew she learned some basic combat, and the best places to attack shipments or lay low.

Traveling to the Royal City would be a death wish if anyone recognized her, but Rhea decided the festival to be a worthy venture, to find either coin or more water and air elementals to join her crew.

Color; 8FBC8F
Faceclaim; Sibylla Deen
Ship's name; The Libertine

Arthur Donovan

25

Male

Single

Scientist/Inventor/Painter

Fire – Arthur is a Firestarter. Though he cannot manipulate fire and is still as vulnerable to it than anyone, he can make almost anything combustible burst into flames with a snap of his fingers, though the power of the blaze depends on the effort and what he’s trying to burn, exactly – pitch soaked wood will turn into an inferno with barely a thought, though something like, say, a person would take a lot of effort just to get smoldering.

Arthur is a tall, scrawny fellow, a side effect of working through so many meals. He often seems shorter than he is, due largely to his squirrelly behavior and general twitchiness, and his brown eyes are often distant and out of focus, like he’s looking past anyone he’s talking to. He keeps his blonde hair short and combed back and his face impeccably clean shaven, and he’s very big on personal hygiene and bathing.

In terms of clothing, Arthur has two distinct looks – one of the massive variety of identical fine outfits he wears to social functions (where is attendance is often mandatory), blue and yellow suits that are just as loud and noticeable as the man himself. When in his workshop, he dresses more like a blacksmith than a nobleman, with a variety of impeccably scrubbed aprons and rolled up tunics that he parades about in. He also has a pair of eye covers of his own invention he usually wears strapped to his head – to keep any bright lights or chemical accidents out of his eyes, as he will explain at length to anyone who asks or even seems like they might be interested.

More than anything else, Arthur fears being… stopped. He’s terrified that he may one day lose his touch, run out of inspired ideas and bottomless energy, reach the limit of what he can discover. He is, at his core, a futurist, and the idea of being stuck forever in the present is an awful one to him – not to mention the disappointment this would be to his reputation.

’Eccentric’ is a word that is often used to describe one of the greatest minds of the modern age – ‘mad’ is another. Arthur is brilliant, energetic, and very, very odd, having very little sense of social propriety and thinking out loud at almost all times. He’s an obsessive neat freak who needs to have everything ‘just so’, and tends to be constantly moving or hopping from foot to foot. His pace is at all times relentless, and he’s very capable of working from dusk till dawn without a break if a project captures his attention.

Arthur is absolutely driven by the thrill of discovery and invention. He wants to know, to build, to understand everything, and believes that all mysteries exist to be solved. In defiance of his reputation as a solitary creature, Arthur loves people – he’ll tell anyone who wanders into his workshop about his latest project with childlike wonder and passion, answering questions and gesturing emphatically whenever he feels that his guest is understanding him, which is, of course, rare. It is true that he is often alone, of course, though this is mainly due to a distinct shortage of people willing to converse at such a high level (or to put up with him for an extended period of time).

As for the Destined myth, the subject absolutely fascinates him. Understanding the phenomenon is one of his recent passions; what causes it? Is it hereditary? Something to do with the humors? Does one person truly only have one person they could match with, or an abundance? Can the supernatural effect of meeting a person’s destined be measured physically? Arthur considers the festival the perfect time to answer these questions, and the fact that he himself is Destined is merely a convenience in this quest for knowledge.

Arthur was born the fourth child of the Lord and Lady Donovan, two of the most important nobles of Royal City Society. He was well-educated, but generally neglected by his parents, with the assumption that he would eventually be sent to study the religion of the realm, as was the custom for the youngest sons of nobles. It certainly didn’t help that, as the boy grew up, he experienced an enormous amount of difficulty fitting into the fashionable society of his peers, being very prone to talking the ear off of distinguished guests and bouncing up and down on nice chairs in the middle of balls.

All the while, the child was prattling about nonsense – complex machines of gears and pulleys, magnetic stones and their applications, the potential uses for a chart of the stars. He devoured scientific text after scientific text hungrily, yet was just as prone to tossing valued books of his father’s library in the rubbish, texts on ‘alchymy’ and ‘occultism’ for being ‘unscientific’. It wasn’t until he was sixteen years old, when one of his tutors looked into his private notebook, that it became apparent that the boy was not simply mad – or if he was, he was twice as brilliant.

Inside that notebook, the young man had sketched the future. Beautiful paintings, more realistic than those of the great masters, measured by geometry instead of by eye. Complex mathematical equations, architectural blueprints, maps of the human anatomy, designs for fantastic devices, self-propelled carriages, machines that belched steam and smoke, weapons, tools, and more. Arthur was a genius.

Now, his parents took note. At first they tried to hire him every tutor in the land to cultivate his scientific mind, but it soon became clear that they were learning more from him than he from them. Instead, they simply furnished him with a workshop and whatever he said he required for his work. Often, his siblings would approach and attempt to assist him, but one by one he drove them off, back to their world of music and dancing and high society.

When he was seventeen years old, he invented a new irrigation system that revolutionized the kingdom’s agriculture overnight. By the time he was nineteen, he had written texts on medicine and created works of art that were heard of across the world. When he was twenty-one, he was called for an audience with the Queen herself, who was so impressed by his work and his passion (if not his manners) that he was hired on the spot to serve as the family’s Royal Scientist. Officially, he is required to wait upon their orders and to perform whatever research or invention they deem necessary; mostly, though, they just leave him to his own devices, allowing him to live within the castle and furnishing him with all his equipment and resources, provided he credit their wisdom and benevolence in all his successes.

Color: fff200
Face Claim: Marco Reus

Etienne Smite

24

Male

Well… He’s always been popular but nothing long term… Or serious

Carter. Hired out to haul loads from one city to another. While not the most exciting service, it’s physical and full of fresh air. Etienne is not particularly educated nor worldly. He would certainly be considered ‘common’.

Fauna. Etienne has little traditional practice in this area, though one could figure that perhaps Etienne's popularity and general sociability is his natural talent to understand peoples moods and react accordingly. Who knows? As for the animal part, he's a soft hand and a kind voice, it's easy to make friends with the beast people this way. But no, he's little control or true practice.

Etienne as always been considered a handsome lad, with sandy blonde hair cut short on the sides and curled and long on top. Bright blue eyes framed by girlishly thick lashes contrast with a soft mouth and sharp smile. While never owning what one would consider lavish clothes, he dresses well for a boy of his means, sturdy trousers of reliable materials, worn certainly but not dirty or torn, with equally practical and well fitted shirts and vests. It’s clear he takes pride in his appearance and never seems shabby or unkempt.

Drowning has always been a concern for Etienne. When he was little he fell into a stream, and would have been swept away beneath the current were it not for a passerby pulling him out. The feel of the water pulling him under, the weight and the cold pressing on his chest, the air bursting in his lungs…It haunts him. And after this initial dunk Etienne never tried to learn to swim. Avoiding any water too deep to cross by foot or too swift in current his entire life, Etienne will take the longer, more difficult route if it means avoiding the drink.

Etienne is charming, handsome, thinks himself funny, quick to laugh and to make light of any situation. It is almost impossible to get him to behave overly serious or stern, and often times this makes him seem roguish or childlike. Still he is a hard worker and while uneducated is by no means slow. His attendance for the Destined is good natured interest and curiosity. Never did he spend much time brooding over the mark on his wrist, but if it is real and he might have a Destined mate… Why not find out? At the very least the festivities are sure to be fun.

Not everyone has particularly interesting histories, and Etienne would fall into that category. Born into a common family, with parents who lived their lives the best they could and put food on the table for their children. Etienne was the youngest of the brood and the only one with a mark, his older siblings making their way into the world by the time Etienne was 12, he had the house to himself. Being creative and clever he found ways to stay out of trouble but still have fun, becoming quickly and easily popular with the other neighborhood children, his easy smile and bright laugh turning many who would be foes into allies instead.

Starting to work with his father around the same time that his other older siblings left the ‘nest’ Etienne enjoyed the time on the road, learning about more than his little home and his little neighborhood. To see the world and all the different people in it. There was a freedom in that.

And so Etienne takes the carting jobs, even if the pay isn’t want it used to be, and enjoys his time in new towns and on the road. A simple life but a good one.

Face Claim: Daniel Sharman

Color: 00a651

Rhoslyn Lovell

21

Female

Once engaged; fiance died in a fire. She has since remained single.

Rhoslyn is the daughter of Lord Felix Lovell, and therefore her family has close ties with the royal family of Orewyn. However, the land her family was granted is a small, somewhat insignificant territory which makes their status as "noble" fall on the lower end of the spectrum.

Lightning.
Rhoslyn was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to study magic for most of her life, therefore she is at a somewhat advanced level. Her studies often had one goal: control. Due to the dangerous nature of her abilities, it was important that she was taught to keep them under control so as not to cause any damage or harm to others-or herself. Therefore, she is at a somewhat advanced level. She is very skilled at empathy, giving her an advantage in social situations and in dealing with her temperamental father. She can sometimes use static electricity to get onto rooftops or to shock people who cross her (only sometimes.) Manipulation of the element is still something she has yet to master, and like teleportation, something she has only done once, drains her energy dangerously.

“Pretty as a peach,” could be a good descriptor but it just doesn’t seem to do justice to the intoxicatingly beautiful girl. If her parents thought they were lucky to have a child special enough to be marked, they were nearly ecstatic when she grew into such a gorgeous woman. With long, dark hair and nearly flawless porcelain skin, save for a few light freckles across her nose, Rhoslyn is about 5’3 and weighs in at 130 pounds or so. She has a small frame and is rather skinny for a girl who often wants to eat everything in sight.

Her everyday wear consists of basic dresses, though for special occasions she’ll be dressed to impress in expensive gowns approved by her lavish mother. Half of her hair is often tied back to reveal a lovely, heart-shaped face with rather high cheekbones. Her smile could probably start a war, but the most striking feature she has to offer are her strong brows set above dark eyes that are framed with thick, long lashes.

Living the same life as her parents. Two people were never more unhappy than Felix and Priscilla Lovell, and Rhoslyn never wants to be like them. Being a woman in her time and of her status makes it hard for her to be independent or have any sort of control over her life. Even her destined soul mate is already supposed to be set in stone for her. She doesn’t want to become someone else’s property, nor does she want to belong to anyone in general. If she must ever be married, Rhoslyn wants to feel genuine love for the other person. In all honesty, feeling like a slave to her own life and feeling like she’ll never amount to anything more than what has been set out for her is Rhoslyn’s biggest fear.

In the presence of others, especially those of nobility, Rhoslyn is the perfect young lady. When first meeting her, you will get the impression of a girl who is thoughtful, intelligent, and somewhat quiet. She was raised to be respectable and mindful so as not to tarnish the Lovell name. Considering the fact that she was their only child and had the Mark, this behavior was heavily berated upon her as being of utmost importance. So to all those who have the pleasure of gaining her acquaintance, she will never disappoint. However, it is all just a performance to her; a coping mechanism to deal with the life she hates. It became apparent to her over time that the people who seem to faun all over her are either concerned only with her status or her appearance, never genuinely interested in who she is as a person.

When she isn’t around her parents or those of high rank, Rhoslyn lets her soul run free. She’ll climb up to rooftops to be alone with herself, or she’ll play small pranks on those working in the fields. She sometimes sings when no one is listening or she’ll escape in the night to ride into the very nearby village, disguising herself as a commoner in order to be around the buzz of life. Life she never seems to be able to touch or be apart of due to her “duties.”

In her opinion, she cannot be her true self when she is with her family. Her insecurities glare at her every time her mother addresses her appearance or her behavior. The fear that her father will become angry if she just does one small thing wrong causes her to act as perfect as she possibly can. The weight of that perfection, something she never seems to achieve anyway, puts her in the most depressed and dark state of mind when she is home. Seeking the approval of her family just to be shot down every time gave her a cold resentment toward her parents and the life they live. It is only when she is away from them that Rhoslyn feels truly comfortable and at peace.

Rhoslyn is the first born child of Lord Felix and Lady Priscilla Lovell. She is the only child to have survived past childbirth, and the only person in her family thus far to have the Mark. The territory her family presides over is a small amount of land between Bellmare and the Royal City, near an even smaller village. The manor consists of some agricultural fields that peasants work on and then the house she was born in. Being born with the Mark made it apparent to Felix and Priscilla that she was an elemental, and a special one at that. As a baby she would often shock midwives while they were holding her or even her mother while breastfeeding. Sometimes she would randomly begin to cry when Priscilla became stressed as Rhoslyn sensed her emotions through her empathy abilities. Being an elemental himself, Felix decided to have her study the magic beginning as a child so she could control it better.

Growing up on the manor was difficult for the women of the house. Lord Felix had a hot temper, a tendency to become erratic, and would often take it out on his daughter or the servants. The abuse Rhoslyn suffered as a child at his hands was traumatic, not helped at all by the ever scornful gaze of her mother. It was a strange thing, but it was very clear to Rhoslyn that her mother held a slight hatred and jealousy toward her daughter, something she would disguise as “love” and “concern” for her wellbeing. It wasn’t Rhoslyn’s fault that she had been born with the Mark, or that she was beautiful, or that she was so popular amongst those of an equally high or higher status. Her abilities of empathy made it easy to talk to others, know what they want to hear. And her Mark, someday there was a possibility that she might meet her Destined and live happily ever after. Priscilla, an aging beauty, unfortunately married to an abusive icicle, and never the best conversationalist, seemed to resent these traits and features that she herself was never able to possess. And so she judged Rhoslyn’s appearance constantly, belittled her every move, and scolded her every time she made a minor mistake. Funnily enough, Rhoslyn almost preferred to be around her father because at the very least he would just smack her when he was made and then be done with it. Her empathy abilities made things slightly easier once she got a better grip on how they worked, but nothing could ever seem to really stop the abuse.

The only person she was ever able to connect to or see as a parental-type figure was her tutor. He was a priest by the name of Hector, and her studies with him remain the only times during her life in which she was happy. He taught her everything she needed to know about her abilities from the time she was a child until her adulthood, and gave her the hope and guidance she needed to continue on in life. He was the only person who seemed to genuinely care about her, and would often comfort her during the most stressful phases of her life and engage in real conversations about her dreams and her future. They grew close over the years, with him even affectionaly referring to her as "Rhos," as a nickname (something no one else ever cared enough to give her.) She never really believed much in meeting her Destined soulmate, but Hector planted a tiny seed of hope in her that maybe it could happen.

When she was about 16, a war broke out between Orewyn and the neighboring kingdom of Galintas over some land. Lord Felix, who was required to pledge allegiance to the royal family and provide soldiers when necessary was gone often to attend to this business. In his place, Priscilla was the Lady of the Manor and had full control of his estates during this time. Her behavior was more strict than Felix and she was almost ruthless towards peasants and their servants. When she was 17, Felix was killed during a raid on a village he had been traveling through. This left Priscilla a widow and totally in charge of the estate. After the war ended, with the kingdom damaged, taxes were raised on the peasants which caused those in the village near the manor to greatly detest the Lovell’s.

Eventually, at the age of 18, Rhoslyn became engaged to a lord from a different region. It was of no concern to her mother that this was something her daughter didn’t want in the least bit. Even more unfortunate for Rhoslyn, the man turned out to be a fiend who intended to have her as a slave for his own desire. One night, a few days before the wedding, she was caught alone in her father’s old study with the man. In all honesty, Rhoslyn had intended to run away and had only been searching for money and other things she might need. The lord had walked in on her, and, angered, attempted to rape her. Rhoslyn fought back as hard as she could but there was no way she was going to overcome him and so in a panic, she managed to teleport across the room. Chaos ensued in the moment as this act had caused lighting bolts to strike not only the lord, who fell dead, but the whole room which caught in flames. She fell unconscious, drained of all energy, but was ultimately rescued by one of the servants without much damage to herself. She was bedridden for weeks.

Fortunately for the Lovell’s, the whole manor was not destroyed, however, questions did arise on the curious circumstances of the visiting lord’s death. Priscilla blamed it on a “candle” which had accidentally fallen. But everyone who worked on the manor became suspicious, even fearful, of the Lovell girl.

Life after that became harder. Her studies were halted and she was forbidden from using any elemental magic by her mother. Priscilla said it was to protect Rhoslyn from harm, but it was really only to protect the estate and their name. Rhoslyn still practiced in secret, but never attempted to manipulate lightning or teleport again.

As the Festival of Destines comes closer, Rhoslyn knows the only reason Priscilla is taking her is for the sake of making an appearance and improving their status. And, if by some chance Rhoslyn meets her Destined, it’s just a chance to pawn her daughter off on someone else. The tiny seed of hope that Hector planted in her long ago is still there inside Rhoslyn, and she secretly does hope that she’ll meet her true love in the Royal City. But she has bigger plans, and she fully intends to run away once they arrive so that she, too, can be rid of her mother once and for all.

FC: Lily Collins
Color: #82ca9d

Elian Valent

19

Male

Single.

Knight of high nobillity

Elian’s elemental proficiency is Water. He’s not got the best control over his abilities, given that his is the way of the sword, not sorcery. However, that doesn’t mean he can’t call upon the power should he need it - in particular, his healing skill. Though not as effective as healing through Light, it can come through in emergencies, and it can pay to have someone who can perform basic first aid.

Strong, yet slender, and standing at 5’11, Elian is equal parts average and oddity. With white hair and amber eyes, he doesn’t exactly blend in. And though he’s rarely crossed blades with anyone, his training keeps him in good health. He has a scar across his chest, just above his heart, from his first battle.

While he’s most comfortable garbed in steel or leather, it isn’t always appropriate. And so, when such times come, he wears a simple linen shirt and a black tunic over it, with his ever-present cloak trailing behind.

Bereavement – Elian has been to dark places. He has no blood relatives to speak of - only the people he knows in this world. He fears not for his death, nor being alone. But he cannot lose this new family. It would destroy him.

A mostly solemn and serious youth, Elian very rarely lets loose. People who attempt to elbow into his life may well find he has his pointed barbs. That isn’t to say he hates company; just that he’s a private person. He’d rather keep to himself than make awkward small talk.

And if you respect his boundaries, you may well find that he’s got a good deal to offer. He has the time to ponder, and from time to time he’ll share some of his thinking. It’s his philosophy that life should not be wasted that brought him to savour each moment as though it were a painting or a feast. But, most of all, he’s dedicated to his duties as a knight. He practices swordplay and archery, and trains one hour daily, with few exceptions.

As for the Marks, and Destined, he’s never truly let it affect his life. Not since then, anyway. If he meets his Destined, he will. And if he doesn’t, he won’t. That’s for chance, fate, and luck to decide. Though, privately, he does dream of romance and love, if only to know the girl he might fall in love with.

Elian was born to Arne and Lorelai Valent, both high nobility. They owned the lands that rested against the backs of the mountains to the west, and were well known by the people to be firm, but generous. He grew up with all the benefits of a noble boy, and on occasion walked among the townspeople with his mother. She often told him tales of the Destined, and how, out there somewhere, there was a girl who he would fall in love with, and that she was going to love him. In fact, the only thing he was unhappy with in his life was his father’s attempts to teach him swordplay. Elian had no wishes to learn the arts of war. Even so, the Lord Valent persisted.

One day, though, when Elian was in his mid-teens, his uncle came by to visit. Venen Valent was the black sheep of the family, as the second son, and having never succeeded in being a scholar, a soldier, a merchant or anything else he’d ever ‘tried’. But he was still Arne’s brother, and so was welcome in his house. Venen was not of the same opinion. The same night, in a bid for power, he snuck through the house and murdered both of Elian’s parents. If the boy had not been wandering around the halls at the time, he would have met the same fate. As it was, the crime did not go undiscovered or unsolved for long. Venen was sentenced not three days after, his attempt at taking his brother's title thwarted.

Alone in the world at fourteen years old, Elian found himself full of despair, and unwilling to take up the mantle of his parents, he withdrew into himself. For weeks, he remained this way. It was only when a knight walked into town that he faced the sunlight once more. Given it was his duty to host the knight in his home, Elian tried his best to be courteous and entertaining. But she asked him what troubled his heart, so he told her. After thinking over his story, she then offered to take him on as a squire. Remembering his father’s wishes, for him to learn combat and the like, Elian accepted. Determined to honour his parents’ memory, he was apparently one of the best students the knight had ever seen.

Half a year past, Elian was knighted. Ever since, he has been serving the Crown in whatever was asked of him. He recently returned from a journey to the south in order to attend the festival.