@Poi My character! Not two things, number 1 if the history is too much I'm sorry I'll edit! Number 2, I wasn't sure if I should assign numerical values to my healing spell or if we just wanted to rp properly but I'll add it if I need to! Just let me know :D
Name: Skyler Limien
Age: 17
Race: Faerie
Class: Druid
Appearance notes: Skyler stands at about 5’10. With his death, Skyler found he had translucent wings on his back.
Notable Traits: Easy going, enjoys conversation, always willing to try something new
Belongings: A bandolier for vials, an oak wand, a small journal, a small leather bag
Abilities:
Personality:
Skyler prioritizes fun and new experiences. Relaxed and generally carefree, Skyler firmly believes since everyone is going to die anyway, you might as well enjoy the trip. He’ll never pass up the opportunity to experience something new, be it talking to a stranger at the bus stop or diving off a 50 foot cliff into the ocean. He empathizes well with others and only if you are truly insufferable will he get angry, although it presents as irritation rather than rage.
Other:
Loves coffee. Cannot start his day without his caffeine.
Thinks butterflies are cute but caterpillars are a plague upon the land.
Age: 17
Race: Faerie
Class: Druid
Appearance notes: Skyler stands at about 5’10. With his death, Skyler found he had translucent wings on his back.
Notable Traits: Easy going, enjoys conversation, always willing to try something new
Belongings: A bandolier for vials, an oak wand, a small journal, a small leather bag
Abilities:
- 1 - Botany & Alchemy: A natural study of the former and an eager student of the former in this new world, Skyler studies producing magical potions and elixirs with this new world’s flora and fauna.
2 - Flight: Although he does have wings, he has yet to full adjust to them. Doing more than hovering is taxing because he doesn’t have the strength to sustain flight yet. He spends plenty of time apologizing for hitting people with them. He tends to forget they exist.
3 -
Heart Beat Healing: A spell that wraps a target in a green aura that seems to pulse with life. Heals the target for a small amount per beat over 15 seconds. Must maintain concentration on the spell.
Tension Root: Vines burst forth at the feet of the target, grappling them. As the target moves, the vines tense and force the target to hold still for a few moments in order to loosen them again. Lasts 30 seconds or until the vines are destroyed.
Tension Root: Vines burst forth at the feet of the target, grappling them. As the target moves, the vines tense and force the target to hold still for a few moments in order to loosen them again. Lasts 30 seconds or until the vines are destroyed.
Personality:
Skyler prioritizes fun and new experiences. Relaxed and generally carefree, Skyler firmly believes since everyone is going to die anyway, you might as well enjoy the trip. He’ll never pass up the opportunity to experience something new, be it talking to a stranger at the bus stop or diving off a 50 foot cliff into the ocean. He empathizes well with others and only if you are truly insufferable will he get angry, although it presents as irritation rather than rage.
Lacks motivation. The same comment from kindergarten to fifth grade. Every teacher and instructor lamented the lack of self-application but his parents brushed it off as needing time to grow into his strengths. His mother always said you shouldn’t rush something that’s growing otherwise they’ll have weak roots. Really, Skyler just didn’t care. Cooped up inside in a small room with a person droning at him all day- not fun. He wanted to be outside, enjoying the sun, enjoying his friends, enjoying life.
Fun was feeling the wind whip through your hair as you raced across the frozen pond. Fun was making poor jokes with your mom while you pulled weeds with her. Fun was nearly breaking your arm playing catch with your dad and building a treehouse in the summer. That was fun. Life was good and easy.
His mom died on his tenth birthday. Her heart was weak and she’d been in and out of the hospital for a year before it gave. They tried to find her a transplant but she was too low on the list. A small part of him blamed himself. She died on his birthday. He stopped having fun then. His teachers called him unresponsive, his therapist said it was grief, and his Dad tried to connect. All he did was come home, do his homework, and watch his mm’s garden wither and die, just like she did. He made a mark in the window sill for everyday it struggled. Two years, it took the weeds to choke out the garden.
It was reflex at first. Something inside was done with this nothing. Mechanical and stiff, he pulled out weeds and dead plants, tilled the ground, and brought in a new layer of topsoil. It was therapeutic his therapist told his Dad. He started caring again, as he spent days researching and planning what to grow and how to tend it. His father gave him a budget and Skyler expanded the garden and finally started smiling again. His friends were ecstatic and his life turned up again. Life was good.
At 17, Skyler made a decision. Siblings, no older than nine, looked both ways before crossing the street- twice over like their mother said- and started across as the signal beeped. The traffic light shone red. But the semi didn’t slow. It hurtled forward, bearing down on the children. They froze. Time slowed as his heart raced and the succulent in his hands slammed against the ground as he dropped it, diving into the street. The children seemed to get across with the push. He bounced seven times down the pavement. He only stayed conscious for two.
He blinked and glanced down. His hands were dirty, a small notebook with his hand writing detailing different leaves lay next to him. A small patch, a garden he thought, of flora was growing healthy and hale in front of him. But, the memory creeped back to him, it wasn’t always. He found it abandoned and dying and decided to bring it back. It had taken magic and love but he’d done it. Brushing off his hands, he packed the journal away, picked up his wand, and stood.
“Fiiiiiinally!” He jumped as a woman clapped him on the back, “Druids take so long to figure themselves out. Once you get them on a project, woowhee buddy, they never stop! Months, boy, months! Now time to get your dead self back on his feet no?” She twirled away and glanced at him expectantly before disappearing into a building he hadn’t noticed before. He shrugged and followed. After all, why not?
Fun was feeling the wind whip through your hair as you raced across the frozen pond. Fun was making poor jokes with your mom while you pulled weeds with her. Fun was nearly breaking your arm playing catch with your dad and building a treehouse in the summer. That was fun. Life was good and easy.
His mom died on his tenth birthday. Her heart was weak and she’d been in and out of the hospital for a year before it gave. They tried to find her a transplant but she was too low on the list. A small part of him blamed himself. She died on his birthday. He stopped having fun then. His teachers called him unresponsive, his therapist said it was grief, and his Dad tried to connect. All he did was come home, do his homework, and watch his mm’s garden wither and die, just like she did. He made a mark in the window sill for everyday it struggled. Two years, it took the weeds to choke out the garden.
It was reflex at first. Something inside was done with this nothing. Mechanical and stiff, he pulled out weeds and dead plants, tilled the ground, and brought in a new layer of topsoil. It was therapeutic his therapist told his Dad. He started caring again, as he spent days researching and planning what to grow and how to tend it. His father gave him a budget and Skyler expanded the garden and finally started smiling again. His friends were ecstatic and his life turned up again. Life was good.
At 17, Skyler made a decision. Siblings, no older than nine, looked both ways before crossing the street- twice over like their mother said- and started across as the signal beeped. The traffic light shone red. But the semi didn’t slow. It hurtled forward, bearing down on the children. They froze. Time slowed as his heart raced and the succulent in his hands slammed against the ground as he dropped it, diving into the street. The children seemed to get across with the push. He bounced seven times down the pavement. He only stayed conscious for two.
He blinked and glanced down. His hands were dirty, a small notebook with his hand writing detailing different leaves lay next to him. A small patch, a garden he thought, of flora was growing healthy and hale in front of him. But, the memory creeped back to him, it wasn’t always. He found it abandoned and dying and decided to bring it back. It had taken magic and love but he’d done it. Brushing off his hands, he packed the journal away, picked up his wand, and stood.
“Fiiiiiinally!” He jumped as a woman clapped him on the back, “Druids take so long to figure themselves out. Once you get them on a project, woowhee buddy, they never stop! Months, boy, months! Now time to get your dead self back on his feet no?” She twirled away and glanced at him expectantly before disappearing into a building he hadn’t noticed before. He shrugged and followed. After all, why not?
Other:
Loves coffee. Cannot start his day without his caffeine.
Thinks butterflies are cute but caterpillars are a plague upon the land.
