Monk -> Mage -> Warlock -> Gremory

Blizzard -> Freeze -> Fenrir -> Fimbulvetr

Long skirt, standard blouse w/ mild bishop sleeves (jacket omitted), short boots. In place of bodice on blouse is a dark sash wrapped around midsection (dark brown like pic?) tied in a loose floppy bow on front right.

Kyreth

Kyreth is fairly tall and slim, with a wiry, sinewy build honed from a lifetime of odd jobs and limited food. His stark white hair is short and choppy, lying every which way even as he tries to brush it back, and the only “style” to speak of is the inconsistent lines of a haircut obviously done with a knife. His dark complexion hides the oft-present shadows under his eyes, and a tight-lipped nervous frown conceals a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Aside from his dark grey complexion and his speckling of white freckles, the first things people usually notice about Kyreth are his eyes; entirely white and pupil-less, they’re a dead giveaway of his Tainted blood, even if his horns and tail are covered. His horns are quite short and curl tightly over his head, making them mercifully easy to cover up. His tail is quite skinny as Tainted go, and long enough for the end to lay on the ground - if it ever decided to lay still, that is. It tapers smoothly to a point resembling half an arrowhead.

In an effort to make traveling a little easier, Kyreth hides his Tainted features to the best of his ability, concealing his horns with his hood and hiding his tail under his tunic, wrapped tightly around his waist. With his pointed ears, from a distance he can almost pass for a dark-skinned Elf, although the charade usually fails once anyone comes close enough to notice the distinct lack of pupils in his eyes.

Primordial - Fire

Kyreth has a spattering of white freckles on his face and body, concentrated around his cheekbones (especially the outer corners of his eyes) and the tips of his horns and tail. These freckles, along with his eyes, glow dimly in the dark.

Kyreth is non-confrontational to the bone. Fairly meek and lacking much confidence, he’ll take a lot in stride if it means avoiding a fight. In a group, he’s liable to try and play the mediator, but equally likely to get steamrolled if the parties aren’t convinced by his soft tone and shrinking presence. Still, he does his best to break up fights, even though the practice has earned him a few bumps and bruises in the past.

Abuse is a fact of life for the Tainted, and one Kyreth has grown to accept; when faced with contempt or even violence, he prefers to either escape the situation or endure until it’s over, often with an apology on his lips. While he plays the role of doormat well, he’s not driven so much by self-preservation, but by concern; he has a sickening fear that taking too much exception to “the everyday hassles of life” will only serve to embolden the more sinister part of him, making him do something he’ll regret. To Kyreth, a few scrapes and bruises from those who spurn his kind aren’t worth losing himself to his own innate savagery and confirming their fears.

Even as mankind rejects him, Kyreth also struggles to find community among his own kind. Although he grew up under the care of a protective Tainted community, he’s grown to become even more uncomfortable around them than he is around other races, feeling utterly alien with his aversion to dishonesty and violence. As such, he ended up in no man’s land, finding no home among the Tainted nor the rest of the world. Deep down, he worries that if he were to live among the Tainted again, as he used to, he’d revert back to his old ways and lose all the progress he’s made. Best not to stay too long.

Above all else, Kyreth just wants to lead an honest, unintrusive life. He’s gentle at heart, if a little guarded, and tries his best to be kind to anyone he meets - sometimes to degrees very much undeserved. It’s an uphill battle, but for Kyreth, every meek smile not returned or kind word answered with scorn is just one more step toward atoning for his ancestors’ sins - and his own.

The beginning of Kyreth’s story is not unique, at least among the Tainted.
Left on the doorstep of a Tainted orphanage in the Dregs of Buscon, he was just one of many helpless, crying babies disposed of the moment they opened their pupil-less eyes.

Although the world is a cold and dangerous place for the Tainted, for a blessing the Dregs were somewhat of a haven; with blades drawn and teeth bared to the rest of the world, the Tainted of Buscon fiercely looked after their own, and as such the many orphans of Urchin’s Run grew up with something of a family all around them. Tainted children were more or less welcome just about everywhere in the Dregs, and given guidance and leniency not afforded to outsiders. It was common for those in the community with a little to spare to kick some to the orphans, either in donations to the oft-crowded Dragon’s Clutch orphanage (originally named “Aziaza’s Refuge”, which understandably didn’t stick) or directly to the children themselves, who would often use their spoils to practice the bartering and swindling skills they picked up from their elders.

Things worked surprisingly smoothly. With outsiders generally wary of the Dregs, the insular Buscon Tainted managed to avoid much of the vitriol suffered by others of their kind, running an internal society relatively cut off from the rest of the city. Any outsiders naive enough to wander in usually regretted their time there, falling victim to pickpocketing and cheating at best, or violence at worst. Although conflict between Tainted often crackled, most fights were swiftly ended by bystanders and perpetrators ostracized for disturbing the peace; outsiders, however, were fair game.

And so it went. To Kyreth, it was normal; outsiders hated them, so any foolish enough to intrude on their one sanctuary got what was coming to them. Children were protected, but not coddled; Kyreth and every other child was expected to earn his own way and keep his head on a swivel; “You’ll need that skill one day,” as his elders always said. So, from the moment he was old enough to hold a broom, Kyreth worked; sweeping up taverns, running errands for brothel ladies, playing the innocent accomplice to swindlers - every job, no matter how dingy or underhanded, was worth the room and board it earned him.

But that didn’t mean he liked it. Kyreth was used to the harsh life of the Dregs, but he wasn’t well suited for it; in an uneasy peace maintained through necessity and a hierarchy of might, the skinny, small-horned boy fell squarely at the bottom of the totem pole. Averse to conflict and bad at it besides, Kyreth was easily pushed around by his peers and ordered hither and yon by his elders, with little capability or option to refuse. He made a habit of shrinking into corners when brawls broke out - and there were many - and always flinched at the blows and insults thrown around, no matter how many times he’d seen or heard them. The crass stories of tricking, cheating and beating outsiders that everyone else seemed to enjoy disturbed him, and even as he grew up and his peers grew into their underground society, the underhanded ways of the Dregs never stopped making Kyreth… uncomfortable.

Maybe that was why, despite his community’s tense closeness, Kyreth never really felt like one of them. In a pack of wolves, it seemed he was the runt, never strong or bold enough to bare his teeth like the others did, and shying away from the fervor of their voices when they howled. Though he’d never voice it, he could see why outsiders feared the Tainted; they thought his kind were traitors, devils, and worse - and after all he’d seen, who could blame them? The Dregs weren’t entirely bereft of kindness, but it was never offered to outsiders, who were ironically decried for their intolerance as the Tainted refused to tolerate them.

And that wasn’t even to mention Kyreth’s own sins. They started when he was young, too young to realize they even involved him, but whenever he got scared, or frustrated, or angry… accidents happened. Most of the time, it was just a bit of singed hair or a scorched hem after a particularly vexing scuffle with bigger kids, a leaping candle flame when a tavern patron said something particularly crass, but sometimes they were worse. Once, he set an outsider’s pantleg on fire by accident when the man tried to kick him out of the way, cursing at the “damn devils” in his path. Kyreth had heard the stories of the Tainted, how they were a cursed, fallen race, punished by Aziaza Herself for their alliance with the dragons - to him, it only made sense that his little “accidents” were a result of that unholy union. Why else would fires leap to life when he got angry, if not for some ancient draconic curse?

So he clung to the shadows, and did his best to contain the devil that seemed to dwell inside him. But when his whole world was a slum beset by crime and conflict, how could he possibly avoid feeding his sinister side? Avoiding confrontation was a delicate dance all on its own, let alone prying himself out of underground jobs he’d done for ages without protest. As time went on and keeping his darker side in check grew more and more demanding, Kyreth had no choice: he had to separate himself from the moral depravity of the Dregs and remove the temptation. No, it wasn’t just the Dregs - he had to get out of Buscon altogether, go somewhere new where he could get away from his dishonest life and start again.

So he did. As soon as winter ended in his eighteenth year, Kyreth gathered what few belongings he had and abruptly left, offering no explanation. Knowing only life in the bowels of Buscon, he laid eyes on what lay beyond the city walls for the first time and ventured out in search of something better.

That was the idea, anyway. In reality, it was a miserable endeavor; if it wasn’t hunger and cold snapping at his heels, it was other travelers throwing stones as he passed, or shops and villages chasing him away. More than once he found himself on the receiving end of violent thugs airing their grievances, and he could count on his fingers the number of nights he managed to spend under a roof. But, despite more than once yearning to return to the Dregs and put his lofty ideals behind him, Kyreth persevered, continuing his trek down the coast to Straithmoor. After all, those people were just scared - and Kyreth couldn’t blame them.

Straithmoor welcomed him as much as any other settlement along the way: with curses, stones and pitchforks. But as he searched on the edge of town for a good place to camp, Kyreth found something he didn’t expect: a tiny old woman mending a fence, calling out for him to help her. He didn’t believe it at first, thinking she must have meant to call for someone else, but there was nobody; it was just him, her, and a vast empty field. When he drew closer, he saw her cloudy grey eyes and for a second, thought she was another Tainted in disguise, living impossibly among this harsh and hostile town. But he was wrong - she was simply blind. No wonder she called out to him, she couldn’t see what he was.

Kyreth thought about outing himself to her - it would feel dishonest to lend a hand to someone who might not otherwise want it if they knew what he was - but decided to hold his tongue. After all, if she chased him off, her fence would stay broken, and that didn’t seem to be much help. Resolving to confess after his work was done, he followed her summons and helped her patch the fence. But just as he was about to inform her and take his leave, the woman asked another favour of him. Then another. And another. And more and more until he’d been sleeping in her shed and eating her food for two months in exchange for whatever help he could provide.

Food and board weren’t all she provided, either. She also provided company, companionship the likes of which Kyreth had never known before. He chalked it up to a lonely old woman wanting someone to talk to, but the reason didn’t really matter to him; he drank up every word, every second like a castaway finding fresh water. She told him stories about her late husband, the dedicated rancher; her sons, the fishermen, all dead now; and most importantly, she told him about Selene, lady of the moon and deliverer of the downtrodden.

Selene’s message touched Kyreth to the very core. The only god he knew much about before was Aziaza, who cast down the treacherous Illarin and would probably add every Tainted to her throne of bones upon their deaths - understandably, not an encouraging tale. But until now, Selene was unknown to him, and her mission of succor to the poor and suffering was the first glimpse of hope beyond death that Kyreth had ever seen. He latched on immediately, and became an adamant follower as soon as Berta taught him how. Impressed with his enthusiasm, she even gifted him the crescent hanging in her doorway, insisting that he needed the protection from bad luck more than she did.

Those two months were a dream come true for Kyreth, but sooner or later, everyone must wake. And Kyreth did wake; abruptly and violently. Having got it into his head that he would do something nice for Berta, he went into Straithmoor proper with some proceeds from her farm, hoping to trade them for a chunk of good swordfish - Berta’s favourite. But while the fishmonger took his payment, he wouldn’t hand over the fish. Instead, he laughed in Kyreth’s face, scoffing over the idea of trading with a devil.

Normally, the insult wouldn’t bother Kyreth, and he’d cut his losses and go away. But those were Berta’s wares the fishmonger had stolen, and Kyreth couldn’t tolerate that. As hard as he tried to contain himself, his temper flared - and so did a flame, catching the fishmonger’s stall alight and reducing it and his catch to ash. In an instant, the fishmonger and many of the passerby were on Kyreth, and it was all he could do to escape the town in one piece. He couldn’t go back to Berta’s house, fearing for her safety as well as his own, so he ran until his legs could no longer carry him and the shouts and torches faded into the night.

And that was it. A perfect dream, ruined in an instant. Kyreth was distraught, more convinced than ever that he harboured an evil that needed to be contained. But he still had to eat, and the winter cold was fast approaching, so he made for the road again. Apparently some establishment called a “Bounty House” had just opened in Finnagund, far away from anyone who knew who he was or what he’d done.

Kyreth doesn’t have much, but he does make sure to carry: