A single drop of water makes the ocean deeper still.

Wikorooh is an atypical specimen of the Eeaiko. He has the same bluish colored skin and dark hair that blends in with the ocean abyss, but his body is larger and more muscular than a normal Eeaiko male. He is also a fair bit taller than the average Eeaiko. He is not handsome, but he is not ugly either. He bears a warrior’s countenance.

Wikorooh dresses in a manner similar to that of humans. Following the example of the neighboring Nikanese, whose lands are not far from Neemaiyak, he wears a loose fitting kosode made of sea silk. He imitates human culture by adorning himself with tattoos and using human weaponry, which has given him a strange reputation among his own people. In truth he admires mankind for their diversity, both in appearance and beliefs. Sometimes he thinks to himself, if he was born a human, then maybe he wouldn’t have felt so lonely during his formative years.


Wikorooh speaks the language of his own people just fine, but what is remarkable about him is how ably he can speak human tongues despite how recently he has begun to associate with them. From local human fishers and merchants, he has learned to communicate in both Avincian and Nikanese over the span of a few years. He has a broad understanding of vocabulary, but his accent may sound unusual, and like any Eeaiko his vocal patterns can be a bit alien.



Wikorooh’s magic use is focused on the fine art of underwater combat. With the power of kinetic enhancement he is able to match the speed of the threshers and sea dragons which he chases down for food and sport. Beneath the waves he is like a living bullet, able to reach speeds over 100 kilometers per hour no matter how strong the ocean current is. He is also very skilled in liquid manipulation and can effortlessly produce and shape water according to his will, using it for both offense and mobility when forced to fight on dry land. He has some experience in other types of magic as well; his aptitude in chemical and binding are intended to create self sufficiency, as being maimed by a sea monster’s teeth could easily spell the end of him during his long, solitary hunts. He knows a little bit of arcane magic too, to help regulate his body temperature in icy waters among other things.

❖ Arcane: Apprentice
❖ Binding: Apprentice
❖ Chemical: Adept
❖ Kinetic: Expert

Mana Type: Venomblood



Born to a pair of subsistence fishers, Wikorooh was the eldest son of his family of twelve. Feeding so many mouths was hard work, and from an early age the oldest children were taught the family trade. While other kids spent their time after school gossiping with each other and playing games, Wikorooh was learning how to fully exploit the bounties of the sea to make ends meet. Trapping. Spearing. Cleaning. Preserving. Foraging. He could not boast to others of having great wealth to invest, and the amount of time spent putting food on the table left the young hunter with little time for creating new ideas. In their prosperous community his family was viewed as peasants that did little to contribute to the city’s grand projects, and while his childhood was not isolated he did encounter his fair share of bullies.

Despite being a small boy from a low class family, Wikorooh had always carried himself with pride. He refused to suck up to the bigger, meaner children, and he was not afraid to share what he thought about their childish cruelty. They could never be as scary to him as being surrounded by a swarm of sea scorpions in the middle of a kelp forest. Perhaps it was this pride that made him a target for others to pick on. Like crabs in a bucket they descended on him, and while he was still a runt Wikorooh found himself subject to all manner of harassment. Though his mother always asked him why he came home covered in bruises, Wikorooh gave her a convenient excuse each time. He never let himself cry in front of his parents, not only because he wanted to reassure them, but because he was too stubborn to let the abuse demoralize him.

Years passed and Wikorooh grew up. He became larger and stronger, until he was one of the tallest males in his community. As his skill with the spear grew, he alone could hunt prey that normally required two or three grown men to slay. As time went by his tormentor’s eyes became filled with uneasiness rather than disdain. He was not a target to them now, but a threat. His newfound strength earned him respite from his childhood enemies, but it did not make him any more popular. Up until he became an adult Wikorooh had few friends and no lovers to speak of. This didn’t bother him much. He was focused on continuing the family trade, and his brothers and sisters were as good friends as any other. He was content.

The turning point in Wikorooh’s life came when his manas started to fully express their characteristics. He could not commune with other Goldbloods the way all Eeaiko are meant to. He could not share his magic with others. To make things worse, it seemed that his mere presence was enough to make other magic users sick. His blood was cursed, and in order to separate him from the wider population he was declared a pariah. His parents did their best to defend him, but ultimately Wikorooh became an alien to all except his own flesh and blood. Even his siblings grew more distant. For all the love they had between them, Wikorooh could not control his abilities well enough to keep from hurting them, and their association with him was making it difficult to pursue their aspirations in Eeaiko society. Something had to change before his existence became a burden to the family.

Wikorooh took matters into his own hands. He was the oldest and strongest of his father’s children. He had the necessary skills to survive the ocean’s cruel depths. On an unremarkable date in the middle of the night, he gathered his meager belongings and ran away from home. He knew little of the outside world and had no destination in particular to go to. There was a very real possibility that he might die in a cold, dark place with nobody to mourn him. The young Wikorooh knew this, but love overpowered the fear. He left his family’s future in the hands of his brothers and sisters, whose talents he always believed to be far more valuable than his own. Someday they could become artists. Builders. Leaders. His only regret was that he would not be there to see them grow.

At fifteen years old, Wikorooh spent several months in solitude at sea. He ate whatever he could fish or scavenged off the corals, and when nightfall came he slept in caves or wrapped himself in the leaves of balloon kelp. During that time he met few members of his species, and the ones who did happen to cross his path instinctively kept their distance from him. After all, he was a strange Eeaiko without a place to call home. He could be nothing other than an outcast. The act of surviving was enough to occupy his thoughts most of the time, but Wikorooh eventually felt the loneliness creeping into his mind. As going back home was no longer an option, and with the isolation steadily driving him mad, Wikorooh chose to do something many Eeaiko considered taboo.

Wikorooh knew of humans. He had seen their shipwrecks scattered across the sea floor, and he had seen the shape of their galleons casting shadows at the water’s surface. History taught that they were a species full of thieves and conmen. In the past they had committed great injustices to the Eeaiko. But if his own people did not love him, what harm was there in seeking companionship among thieves? When the seas were calm and the sky was full of blue, Wikorooh darted towards the first ship he could find in hopes of finding another mind to connect with.

What he found was not a merchant galleon, but a puny boat not much bigger than a canoe. Inside this little wooden craft Wikorooh met his first human. He was a skinny sort of fellow, with narrow eyes and pale skin blistered by the sun’s rays. He wore robes that the lone fisherman had never seen before, and judging by the state of his body the man seemed to be starving and unconscious.

Fearing that his first human contact might be a dead man, Wikorooh poked his head over the side of the boat and raised his voice. With a combination of shouting and shaking the boat, he was able to rouse the human from his state of unconsciousness. The man was too weak to raise his head, and his human tongue was unintelligible to Wikorooh. However, unlike everyone else he had met, the stranger’s eyes betrayed no fear. The Eeaiko could not explain why, but he felt drawn to those eyes.

There was a language barrier between them, yet it was clear to Wikorooh that this human would not survive without his help. He took pity on the land dweller and, over the course of the next few days, nursed the marooned sailor back to health. There was no helping the lack of freshwater out at sea, but raw fish and sea fruit both had plenty of moisture and essential vitamins. It was enough at least to keep the human alive, and the more he ate the healthier he became. During this time the two of them tried to communicate with each other, but they could only convey basic ideas via hand gestures and body language. Wikorooh would never learn why the man was lost at sea nor what he did for a living. He only knew that his name was “Hiroshi”. None of it really mattered anyways. For the first time in months, the outsider could feel the joy of connecting with another sentient.

A few days after meeting each other, during one of their fruitless “conversations”, the sailor gestured rather insistently towards a small dot on the horizon. An island. Wikorooh understood what the human wanted. The boat had no sails and its oars were long gone. He wanted to go home, but he needed Wikorooh’s assistance. The idea of there being other humans made Wikorooh anxious, but at the same time he was excited. He fashioned a rope out of monkey vine and used it to slowly drag the human to land. He was unable to swim at his usual speed for fear of capsizing the vessel, and he had to spend more time fishing and foraging to feed an extra mouth. Slowly and steadily the two traveled together. Along the way they tried to teach each other words from their respective languages. When Wikorooh greeted the human, it was no longer “maun hoorek”, but “ohayou gozaimasu.” The two had gained a rare bond. To the human, Wikorooh was his savior, but he had also saved Wikorooh even if he didn’t know it. To feel companionship and purpose again after months of living alone was a blessing.

When Wikorooh and Hiroshi made landfall, the Eeaiko discovered the land he would later learn was Nikan, home of the samurai. The two unlikely friends parted ways then, but not for good. While Hiroshi went back to his home, Wikorooh discovered that other Eeaiko had built a small settlement called Neemaiyak not far from the island’s shore. Unlike his rather isolated community, these fellows were familiar with human culture and language. They even had a tentative trade agreement with the Nikanese. To an isolated village on the edge of Eeaiko civilization, a strong warrior like Wikorooh was a welcome sight regardless of his past. He continues to live there to this day, protecting his new family while learning more and more about the humans who he gained a newfound curiosity towards. Over time he adopted Nikanese clothing and weaponry, adding his own Eeaiko flavor to their manner of dress and fighting styles. In time, he even became brave enough to visit their settlements. The Nikanese people could be vicious and warlike, but they also produced great works of art and culture. Sometimes they could be quite selfish and isolated, and other times they showed even more cooperation than the Eeaiko peoples. It is that duality of man that Wikorooh finds fascinating, and for the time being he has decided to continue observing human society from a respectful distance, once in a while lending a hand to others lost at sea. Perhaps you might meet him someday?

Wikorooh wants to experience more of human culture. He is interested in their food, their music, their language, and everything else besides. He spends a lot of time prodding the locals for rumors and information. He is also trying to become more educated, as he was not able to receive more than a basic education due to growing up poor. Wikorooh spends a lot of his free time reading human literature so he can learn about not only the Nikanese, but other human cultures as well, like the neighboring Rettanese to the northwest. He has recently taken an interest in the humanities, and is sometimes inspired to write his own poetry.


Wikorooh has a hoard of oddities that he has collected from the human shipwrecks and trash piles. He has pilfered everything from coins to crab pots. Perhaps there are valuable relics and artifacts hidden within his hoard, but he wouldn’t know enough about human craftsmanship to realize it. He also has a pile of colorful shells, pearls, and sea sapphires collected from his foraging trips. His current weapon of choice is a naginata that he salvaged from the site of an old battlefield from the Nikanese civil war. He doesn’t know enough about their superstitions to fear the vengeance of the dead.









Hex code: ccf7ff

”Of course I am the best, otherwise I would not be here”

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Black, messy hair and gray eyes and somewhat below average height. The young lad in his twenties certainly doesn’t look too professional and does not pretend to be. His attire is made to stand out. The fur-lined clothing combined with the metal accessories not truly befitting of his class gives him the general appearance of a bandit. The tekkō, suneate and belt serve as added weight to the skyborn’s frame. He binds a red cloth around his arm every time he has beaten someone who considered themselves better than him.


Not everyone is born on equal footing. Some are born silk whilst others in cloth, yet there are the unfortunate few that do not receive even the common people’s privilege of the cloth. Some are born in even lesser standings due to the sins of their parents. The son of two Hinin beggars, used for pity from the passerby and as soon as that faded was thrown out. Having to grow up by collecting the scraps of the scraps. As a petty thief the boy raided the food supply of anyone and anything, be they human or animal. A couple years ago he was caught trying to steal food from the Ōno clan.

Being pardoned upon swearing allegiance to the Daimyo himself. Many still doubt his loyalty and honesty in his words. Some have given him the derogatory nickname of Sorazaru due to the way he moves and acts.



By not having owned much through much of his life he has gotten quite the complex of proving that he is better than others for they do not know the life of a street urchin. He’s not one to be efficient around fights as his complex around proving his superiority causes him to “play with his prey” so to say.

He has no respect for most people of a higher social class than him however the daimyo himself is one of the few exceptions.


Even if he usually has no respect for any form of authority he does wish to prove himself to Ōno Murashige as both a way to repay his debt to him as well as climbing the ladder in the daimyo. He is rather content with his life but something in the back of his head to strive for more, to wish to bring one’s self even further up on the hierarchy.


Having picked up lots of small bits during his wandering, he has acquired a rough understanding of magic and how to best apply it. His favored techniques all fall under the Kinetic school as he mostly uses it to become even more nimble and sometimes when needed put a little more punch behind his light body. In recent years he has picked up small bits of both Chemical and Arcane techniques, making him truly a pest on the battlefield.



Having to steal to get by. He has gotten quite adept at infiltrating homes and even a castle at one point. Making full use of his Skyborn to get in unheard. His swordsmanship has been completely self taught and thus can become quite unpredictable from the normal swordsman. Taking inspiration from looking at others' fights and movements from performers.



Being a previous street urchin the boy has not properly trained with the blade or any weapon for that matter and thus can not wield it as well as any other swordsman. Another obstacle he has to face on the daily is intrigue with his lack of proper etiquette.


❖ A strangely well made blade.
❖ Spoils of battle on his frame.
❖ A Gourd filled with spirits.
❖ A satchel of coinage from the Daimyo

"No matter how much I wished for my simple life back, I can’t reverse time to dance with the cherune."
“I only have one complaint, brother. You only sent a bottle of good beer, not a whole case.”

Born in Hendland, Roslyn's fair skinned and stands at 5'2" (157 cm). Clusters of light freckles scatter across her cheeks and nose, adding a young charm. Her brown hair flows down to the center of her shoulders with flowing strands that refuse to be tamed. Often, she manages it by tying it up in the back just to keep it out of her hazel eyes. Her figure has a budding hint of curve and rather lithe, like one made to move gracefully. On her fingers are old calluses and a few burn scars on her arms from brushing hot surfaces.

Her dress, though limited, varies depending on the occasion. They lean into simple and practical for her upbring with only hints of decoration.

Within the brewery's inner walls, she wore breeches and a tunic due to the heat. As she bloomed into a young teenager, additional coverage beneath the shirt was required.

On normal days at the academy or for travel, she wears a simple blue dress with shortened sleeves. In front was a criss-cross corset that helps keep her waist the ideal slimness. Beneath the dress are a pair of travel boots stopping at her ankles.


-Avinican
-Perrench


Primarily Mana Type: Blackblood
Secondary Mana Type: Agitator

0- Magnetic
3-Arcane
1-Binding
3-Chemical
2-Kinetic

When Roslyn first came to the academy, she dove into the magics that benefited her craft the most. This included a focus on arcane, binding, chemical, and kinetic with each serving a different purpose.

With arcane, she heated and maintained temperatures based on what was best for the brew. Sometimes she had to mend damaged metal or extend the light of a candle during the darker hours of the day. However, her favorite use of the light side of this magic is turning herself invisible. It reminds her of her childhood and lets her melt into the background, escaping the family pressure for a short time.

Her chemical studies allowed her to observe the changes in the wort and hops. If pressures reach unwanted levels, she can speed up or even stop the reaction. She's saved a few keelers from rupturing in this manner.

Due to the workplace's tenancies for injuries, she began lessons in binding. A part of her hoped to also ease her brother's pain by removing more dangerous tumors and prolonging his life. Despite this, she still carries a salve on her person as a precaution.

Kinetic aids in moving larger barrels and speeding through the building to relay information among the workers. They might not be the biggest producers around, but there are numerous workers aiding their production.



Roslyn grew up in Arkney, Hendland as the second daughter of Aaren and Blythe Wicke. Due to a genetic disease that riddled her with tumors, her mother's first marriage arrangement had been canceled to save face. Even with the Binder's best efforts, they believed her body would one day give out from all the unusual masses. Raising debt forced the noble born family to accept Eustace offer of funds in exchange for Blythe to marry son, Aaren.

Despite the grim reality, the two adults grew to love each other. First came their son, Garith, and two years later their daughter Rolsyn. The noble side of her family remained distant until Roslyn turned five. Blythe's father had passed in a carriage incident bestowing them a modest inheritance. A manor, few servants, and a small reputation.

Within the same year, they moved in to the home and established their new status.

Her brother underwent a RAS test at the age of eight after nearly setting the drapes on fire. He scored rather high for a child his age, surprising everyone. At the time, they lacked the fund and an agreement had been set on by the parents. They would wait until his fifteenth year before he went to the academy. For most of this time in her life, her father focused on her brother and his future.

In her seventh year, Roslyn wandered from a servant girl into a small open field. There, she had her first encounter with the cherune. She recalled fond memories of giggling and chasing these 'people' about her size. Often she danced while they appeared at the corner of her vision, only to disappear as she twirled about.

No one ever believed her. Any adults she mentioned it to it often told her that it was just her imagination. Eventually she started to believe it was.

A year later, she manifested magic. She used what she spotted from the cherune to try and sneak up on her brother. Sadly, it was more like a shimmer than actually hiding her from sight. Still gave him a fright causing her to giggles then apologize. When she underwent the test, she scored notably lower and her father decided she would use her magic in the brewery. She was never meant to follow her brother into the academy, but they shared basic lessons beside each other. After this point in her life, she began to bond more with her father and grandfather in their efforts to survive. This was their role in the family and in time, it would become hers too.

By the time she was nine, her mother became bedridden. Her head was plagued by aches, weakened limbs, and failing eyesight. An ugly memory to the mother that spent time on family picnics and games with her children. Her mother's time was starting to dim. Roslyn immediately took more interest in caring for her mother, spending nearly morning and meal times with her. Despite her efforts to lift the woman’s spirits, Roslyn slowly watched her mother's health decline even more. The last happy memories were on the morning before Roslyn’s twelfth birthday. The day’s routine started off normal as her mother closed her eyes, resting upright in her bed. Roslyn touched her cold skin and realized she had passed peacefully shortly after. Funeral arrangements followed shortly as the family grieved, any prior celebrations forgotten.

In the weeks after mourning, Roslyn found her life slowly changing.

Her brother continued to focus on his studies, rarely leaving his room. Their once strong bond began to waned in the wake of their mother's death. Meanwhile, her father withdrew into himself for a few months. This left her grandfather and her to run the brewery until he recovered. Sadly, age had started to catch up with Eustace. This left much of the leg work on her shoulders as she relayed orders, kept the keelers at the proper temperature, and more. It was the hardest time in her life, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it.

When her brother began to show signs of bumps along his eye, her father summoned the binder. Much to their dread, her brother had inherited their mother's disease. Her heart dropped knowing she had to face another loss of her family. So far, the binder told her that she had a clean bill of health.

Roslyn watched her father, with good intentions, withdraw his decision to send Garith. Instead she would take his place after her fifteenth birthday.

In less than two years, she shifted her focus from the brewery to other studies. She never thought she would have to cram years of information in her head in such a short time. The worst part was that her brother was forced to become her tutor during this. This drove away any enjoyment from whatever she learned under his bitter lessons. She saw the darker aspects of him rise to the surface and their tensions rose the longer they spent time in each other's company. Despite her soft protests, her grandfather and father refused to change their minds. Was for her brother’s own safety and health. Finally, she fell into silent acceptance of their decision.

The building tensions finally broke on the day Roslyn left. An argument had erupted in her room, resulting in Garith leaving it in a huff. Meanwhile, Roslyn stood in the corner and hid her pain from sight.

The time had finally come.

Roslyn didn't know what to expect when she arrived at the Ersand’Enise Academy of Thaumaturgy. Before she left, her father's words rang in her head. They might not have the funds for a second year and she would need to wait to return. That dreadful fact haunted her for most of her first year and drove her to find a solution. Most of it was a bit of blur as she struggled to adapt, learn, and grow. Some events stuck out like the Forked Towers challenge and the Silk Gates incident. Other things faded to the back of her thoughts, no reason to remember them. Somehow, she managed to obtain a scholarship before the year's end, but this was just a small bandage for continually bleeding issue.



Roslyn's main focus within the academy is her family's brewery. In a way, it feeds her an excuse to learn about the various magics while she's forced to focus on the most beneficial. She hopes with the right knowledge it will improve production and quality. In addition, she plans to figure out connections to spread their goods from their little town. The main struggle is figuring it all out.

In the back of her mind, Roslyn misses the simplicity of the brewery. A time where things didn't depend on her to solve everything. Now if she stops or stumbles, the weight of her responsibilities starts to crush her. It’s the last thing her family needs and she wants.

Roslyn fears watching her loved ones die. Her mother's decline and sudden death left scars below the surface, even when she choose not to think about it. Even worse, she hates the sensation of helplessness as she knows her brother's fate. No matter what she finds or does, Roslyn knows it changes nothing. Perhaps this is why she secretly dreads going home every holiday.



On person:
Small pouch (hidden in her dress) with a few small coins
Tiny, hand pounded tin with salve for burns, cuts, and other small wounds.
Dress depending on the occasion (cloak for colder weather)
Ankle traveling boots

In room:
Large book with several pressed flowers (a wide variety)
Small wooden box with a single, untouched beer bottle
A small bundle of letters from her brother, father, and grandfather hidden underneath her bed (includes problems/successes with the brewery, fund information, updates over her brother's condition, etc)
Clothes- Pair of breeches, shirt, a few dresses, etc. Some string for tying her hair up. All of them are worn slightly in places, but suitable for her station.









-Roslyn enjoys dancing, especially the more fast pace ones. Something about it calms her and reminders her of simpler days. In the moment, her body moves with purpose, fluid gestures and steady pace that reflect her love. It's not a surprise that it is a side subject she's been studying on and off.

Will add as I discover more about her.

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Below is a list of a baker's dozen potential typos that I thought you would probably want to address. I know it's hard to catch them while writing the CS and you've been pretty busy, so I thought I'd give you a cheat sheet and you can zap 'em when you have time. A couple are more recommendations or matters of opinion. Take them as you will!

”Eat. Drink. Smoke. Live. Die. At end, make life worthy for you.”

❖ [ Arcane: ]– [ 0. Neophyte ]
❖ [ Binding: ] – [ 0. Neophyte ]
❖ [ Chemical: Culinary ] – [ III. Adept ]
❖ [ Kinetic: Motion ] – [ II. Apprentice ]
❖ [ Magnetic: ] – [ 0. Neophyte ]
❖ [ Atomic Magic: ] – [ 0. Neophyte ]
❖ [ Blood Magic: ] – [ 0. Neophyte ]
❖ [ Temporal Magic: ] – [ 0. Neophyte ]
❖ [ Dark Magic: Summoning ] – [ V. Expert ]
❖ [ Command: ] – [ 0. Neophyte ]
❖ [ Primordial: ] – [ 0. Neophyte ]