Adina Allaua
Female
Age: 20
Previous Alignment(s): Australian Magic Association [Beangagarrie clan]. The family that manages the mysteries of Australia in the aftermath of its independence, though there are of course regional sects of such. Due to the damage the Allaua have suffered, they do not hold any particular position.
Motivation for the Holy Grail: The restoration of the song.
Personality: To a stranger, a rather straightforward existence. A self-assured, self-regulated "sadist" who takes pleasure in toying with others. When driven to the brink, this nature cracks as with any person. She screams when harmed, she cries when sorrowed, she strikes out when angered. Beneath all of this, though, is a hollowness that many magi have come to be familiar with.
At a fundamental level, she does not see herself as a person, but as the inheritor of a legacy. At the same time, her legacy is one that is broken, and so there is that hollowness. A magus who dedicates themselves to their legacy cannot be called empty, as they are filled by the dreams and regrets of those who came before. However, what if that legacy has vanished from this world? The result is natural. An empty vessel that cannot fill itself, and that cannot be filled by others. And so, it continues on, little more than a machine being. The outward-facing attitude crafted is little more than a tactical decision, her "face" as a magus, for in acting like this outwardly, it keeps her focus from being drawn onto herself inwardly.
That is to say, a caged child who was never able to escape the shadows of her predecessors, and who in the face of that struggle, chose to fall into them.
The stories and dreams of previous times are there, but they are empty. The old song is beautiful, but it is repulsive as it is something she will never reach.
This opportunity, then, is an opportunity for change. To acquire a wish, to repair the song. Perhaps then, there will be something to strive for. Perhaps then, this mundane existence will be made to ascend.
A magus is a machine that looks backwards, in the end. Such is only a matter of course. A vessel's role is to sing what it is given, little else.
Biography: In the Dreamtime, the world was nothingness before the awakening of the Ancestors. The Ancestors rose from the nothingness and shattered it apart. Energy came into being, and as the Ancestors walked the land, they gave it form beneath their feet. They crafted man, beast, and plant. They split the world from primordial oneness into the great elements. Then, their work done, they came to rest, and their great bodies became the landforms sacred to their progeny. The world was born, and so did the children of the Ancestors come to walk it.
The cultural history of the Allaua began in the old ages when will preceded words, and what magical secrets the lineage contained in those before-times are lost to the ages, as all things were. What lives they led are of no consequence to the present, as in the first place, the beings of that far-off era were entirely different from "this humanity."
The modern magical history of the Allaua, then, can be said to boast a mere seven hundred years of age.
A family born out of one of countless aboriginal tribes in what the modern day calls Australia, their craft is- or indeed, was- the recreation of the Dreamtime. A magus is a machine which looks backwards to reach infinity, and so they did. Reaching into that shared history, they were transcendent. Songs which sank into the land, great beasts which altered the foundation of the leylines, the channeling of Ancestors to recapture lost wisdom. Their goal was none other than to reach a level of spiritual oneness with the Dreamtime, to step into it as easily as they did through their mundane reality, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the great Ancestors.
Of course, it was not to last.
At the dawn of the seventeenth century, the barrier sealing off their internal world was shattered, and the mystery of the land flowed out like water. The oldest arts from a bygone age had long since vanished, but now even the new arts began to decline faster than before, faster than they could be newly innovated.
At the end of the eighteenth century, men spilled upon the land, and brought with them a foreign will. Though they called it the desire for analysis, it was certainly a request to the tribes to lay over and die, so that their mysteries might be plundered. And so, they fought. The organized force that these invaders were was far beyond any expectations. For every one prodigious magus, brilliant creation, or esoteric mystery the tribes could wield, the invaders brought ten. Their mysteries were stripped off of their skin, their land was torn under the conflict, their vaults were pillaged without remorse. And when the dust settled, the invaders extended a false olive branch of servitude. Those who refused to bend, such as the Allaua, were made to break.
That servitude was not eternal, though. Indeed, it lasted merely a century before the invaders departed, and the tribes were permitted their freedom as magi once more. One lineage, the Beangagarrie, was among those least harmed by the invaders, and so they rose up and proclaimed that they would safeguard the people. Those families who had retained enough power to stand at the peak joined them, but of course, these words were empty. If the invaders desired it at any time, they would all be eradicated.
Regardless, the scars the invaders left were too deep to be healed. The lost mystery of the land could not be recovered. The lost wealth of the land could not be regrown. The family lineages were broken to an extent that even the bloodlines of restoration that still walked the land were unable to repair what had been done.
Along with countless others, the Allaua fell into despondency. Clinging to the barest glimmer of their former selves, endlessly reaching backwards, their newfound freedom was no different than the oppression had been. With what few fragments of lost greatness they still held, they attempted to weave the Dreamtime as they once did, but failed. And so, they were forced to change. Reality to falsehood, songs to whispers. Within less than a century, those remaining scraps had been repurposed into a hollow imitation of the old art. They no longer formed the Dreamtime, but merely its image. A shell without substance, without form. The idea of abandoning the old crafts and beginning anew was never an option. To do this was to disgrace those who had come before. To do this was to abandon the song.
The current heir was born to this ruined line, and handed the scraps that remained. No expectations were made of her to accomplish anything, despite her aptitude as a magus being the greatest the family had seen since the old days. Indeed, even a prodigy among prodigies cannot make something from nothing. And so, she was taught the old ways, she formed her mask, and she went along with her life as her parents and grandparents before her had.
When news came of a ritual to the west, it was thought that the path ahead might show an escape, a return to the time of glory. The land was ruined, and abandoning it posed no concern. This was, perhaps, the first decision in her life that could be said to be made with haste. A chance to repair the song, a chance to be something.
And so, she went on her way.
Elemental Affinity: Average One
Magic Circuit Switch: The sound of the old song, before it was broken.
Number of Magic Circuits: C
Quality of Magic Circuits: B
Magecraft: Dreamtime Craft (False): The recreation of the old world. Nothingness to beasts, beasts to land. The craft itself has been lost, and what remains is its mere image. False images and feelings that sink into the earth. The invaders might call this illusion magecraft, but this is does not do it justice. It is not to deceive the world into believing a falsehood, but it is to say to the world 'would it not be beautiful if you were like this?' It does not override the world, but rather utilizes and melds within it. This can be applied to grand songs which ask the landscape to change, or to simple melodies which ask minutiae to shift. As the world fills in the image, it is "full," while being nothingness.
The heir can be said to be the greatest practitioner of this falsehood since it has arisen, as her nature is that of a microcosm of the world, containing those great concepts as one, before they were split apart by the Ancestors.
In theory, this can be turned to more trivial matters in line with expectations of the word "illusion". Concealment of spaces, befuddling of the senses, light and sound to deceive, prayers directed at the minds of others, and so on, but this is a comparatively mundane craft that is not bound to the song.
Spiritual Invocation (False): In the old days, the Allaua took the spirits of great Ancestors within them. While the heir's quality as a vessel is suitable, those old rites are lost. The song now is not to speak to the Ancestors, but to speak to the self. The invaders might call this a hyperspecialized self-hypnosis, a spiritual illusion imposed on the self to imitate such channeling. To the Allaua, it is a prayer that one might become as the Ancestors were. Focus sharpens, the body is refined, mysteries are realized, and one becomes a false Ancestor through little more than the power of delusion. The song continues, though it bears only one listener.
Conversion: The Attribute of the family. They are ones who imbue meaning, rather than power. The affinity of the heir grants this a level of utility unseen in generations.
Magic Crest: Circuits woven into a song that spirals along the arch of the back, but the song itself has been torn apart. Little more than discrete sounds in isolation remain. Shards of the lost pieces can be called on by reciting the original whole, but the old craft is lost.
Equipment: Mundane: Jewels, to place stories within. Standard mundane reagents reflective of the five elements and their connections, such as oil, coal, and clay. Material from the homeland, which is carried on the back of One. Multi-purpose boomerangs. Didgeridoo.
Rise: A gem which symbolizes the creation of the sun, rising from the earth. It has been granted the meaning of Fire and Air, birth and catharsis. Its ordinary use is as a tool of life-giving, meant to counteract the weaknesses of the broken song for the sake of preserving the heir. The heir has granted it energy in addition to this, and in certain rites, its meaning can of course be called upon.
Thrive: A pair of gloves which symbolizes the walking of the Ancestors. It has been granted the meaning of Earth and Water, survival and kenosis. With its hand, materials and substances too hard to bend or too ephemeral to grasp may be touched and shaped as clay, as the Ancestors once melded the world with their steps. In certain rites, its meaning can of course be called upon.
Fall: A knife which symbolizes the time of the Ancestors' rest. It has been granted the meaning of Ether, one-in-all and silence. With its stroke, it calls for an end to things. It is not death, but admonishment that one should sleep. It is meant to be a tool for containment and safety, rather than war, but can be wielded in such a manner nonetheless. In certain rites, its meaning can of course be called upon.
One: In the time before, it was one among many. Now, it is One, the sole survivor of the great destruction and a remnant of the old craft, the core of which is a tjurunga woven with the hair of myriad family heads. In that sense, it is invaluable as a medium for the now-hollow magecraft of the heir, simply by virtue of its existence. It is a stabilizer that can fill in the missing notes, and an old one who remembers the previous times. An angel who has chosen to follow its former master, even when the contract has ended.
Its conventional form is that of a small beast which walks alongside the heir, though it may change this freely, as the great Ancestors did their own flesh. It is fundamentally meant to function as an imitation Ancestor, and if forced into combat, bears might befitting its nature.
However, its true nature is that it is something which becomes the land. The world changes beneath it, and its body becomes a sacred place. It does not need to sing, as the lost song is imbued within its steps.
Pray that this last vault is not plundered as the ones before.
