[hider=The Winter Princess] [center][color=d15e5e][h1][i]Amaya Selu[/i][/h1] [img]https://i.imgur.com/BBV5in1.png[/img] [B][i]Human ~ 24 ~ Lunaris ~ Princess Appearance[/i][/b][/color] The mysterious Winter Blossom of Lunaris, Amaya is a refined little thing. Her eyes, wide and blue, are pale against the tawny brown of her skin; her full lips are always painted a blushing red; and her curling, chestnut hair is always artfully arranged, inlaid with fine jewels that sparkle as she moves through the world. Amaya knows well the disarming effect of beauty - the trappings and advantages of femininity. She is loath to let anyone see her in anything less than pristine condition, and spends ample time and attention on her appearance. [color=d15e5e][i][b]Magic[/b][/i][/color] While Amaya received training in all Lunarian magic as expected of the Crown Princess, she didn’t take to any of them quite like she took to water. How it flowed and reshaped the very earth around it, the elegant geometry of its crystallization, the sheer undeniable [i]force[/i] of it… Amaya was captivated. She was especially talented in the manipulation of snow and ice, what with the abundance coating the Lunarian landscape. While she became a powerful water mage in her own right, the moon’s dominance in the sky has increased her magic to a startling degree. She’s often caught off guard by her magic nowadays, and has had to return to basics to try and force her abilities back under control. [color=d15e5e][i][b]History[/b][/i][/color] Amaya is the only child of the King and Queen of Lunaris - something her father has never forgiven her for. Had she been born a son, had she been given a brother, had she lacked some other, unknowable deficiency that he found so offensive, perhaps her childhood would have been different. Maybe she would’ve adopted her mother’s warmth as her own. As it was, Amaya grew up guarded, lonely, stubborn, and desperate to prove herself. She wasn’t a fool - she liked to think she was very clever, in fact. She knew that as much as the King would’ve [i]preferred[/i] to simply live forever and never have to bother with Amaya succeeding him, he didn’t have a choice - she was his heir, and [i]his only option[/i]. What was he going to do, name his drunk of a brother as heir? Or her cousin, who could barely read a map without getting lost in his own mind? No, it was either Amaya or a succession crisis, tainting his legacy forever. Still, it was only through the pleading of the Queen, that Amaya was permitted to receive the education expected for the heir to the Lunarian throne. Amaya devoted herself to her studies - statecraft, geography, languages, history, even warfare and battle strategies should the border with Aurelia become contentious during her reign. But while she excelled in academic settings, she had a severe lack of practical experience. She barely knew her kingdom, kept as she was within the expansive castle walls. Her father barred her from council meetings. His advisors and the other nobles refused to speak with her about matters of state, lest they draw the King’s ire. But Amaya quickly learned there were other ways to play the political game - with doe eyes, and a sweet smile. She learned to charm her way through conversations with the noblemen and their gossiping wives, using her demure femininity to draw out information about the state of her kingdom, bit by bit. And while there were somethings they kept from her - the true severity of the blight, the proposals to begin human sacrifices, the growing unrest and risk of riots just outside the castle walls that she never crossed - Amaya found ways to coyly manipulate and influence the decisions that went on behind closed doors, through flattery and sweetness. Amaya was determined to become a worthy queen. She would be compassionate, and fair, and wise, and her father’s corpse would [i]freeze in his marble tomb[/i] as he watched his detestable daughter rule Lunaris from beyond the moon’s gaze. And then the sun disappeared, the Prince of Aurelia proposed, and all Amaya’s preparation and planning shattered like ice. Dawnhaven has seen a very different Princess - one cool and distant, with a carefully constructed mask to cover a deep sense of helplessness and frustration. The added news of her beloved mother’s death and her father’s swift remarriage has only thrown her into further turmoil. The [i]pièce de résistance[/i] though, is that her father’s new wife is already with child - and for the first time in Amaya’s life, she is truly replaceable. [/center][/hider] [hider=The Scarred Priestess] [center][color=lemonchiffon][h1][i]Tingara "Tia" Tomae[/i][/h1] [img]https://i.imgur.com/Klne3tE.png[/img] [B][i]Human ~ 28 ~ Aurelia ~ Priestess Appearance[/i][/b][/color] Tia knows she draws attention - she always has. With delicate features, eyes as dark as the night sky, and a quiet, meditative air about her, Tia is the picture of pious wisdom and mystique. She’s shorter than average, and slender beneath the layers of her priestess robes. But in recent months, Tia has had to come to terms with her two new defining features: the first is her shock of blonde hair, so pale it’s almost white, and unrecognizable from the black hair she was born with. While just as long and thick as before, the stark transformation has been the topic of rumor and gossip amongst more idle members of the clergy. And then there are her scars. Fresh and pink, they are a raised landscape sprawling across her neck, a gruesome reminder of trauma that most are too nervous or polite to ask about - but that doesn’t keep them from staring. While before Tia ignored the stares of others, (even found some small, decidedly [i]unpious[/I] pride in them) now she finds herself shrinking away from crowds, their gazes heavy on her throat. Beneath the scars, her vocal cords are a mangled mess. Her voice, once smooth and clear, is now a weak rasp, and she finds it strenuous to speak more than a few words at once. [color=lemonchiffon][i][b]Magic[/b][/i][/color] Once regarded as the most promising healer of her generation, Tia has felt the depletion of her magic as harshly as her fellow Aurelians. But while her ability to mend, ease, and cure earned her quite the reputation amongst the common folk, few know of another ability she has been fostering - Tia has the gift of prophesy. She’s been instructed to keep this power hidden as she learns to develop it, but it’s certainly caught the attention of those higher in the Aurelian clergy. [color=lemonchiffon][i][b]History[/b][/i][/color] Tingara Tomae was born hungry. The seventh child of a poor family in a village that may as well have been an accidental [i]smudge[/i] on the Aurelian map, Tia was always fed last. With too many mouths and too little food, it was decided that her siblings - older, sturdier, with a better chance of seeing their next years - would be given priority. It should’ve been no surprise then, that when her parents finally gave up on the idea of keeping [i]all[/i] of their children, Tia was the first to go. But it shattered her, all the same. ‘[i]Go, my little beetle. They can care for you better than we can.[/i]’ Tia was given to the church of a neighboring village, and the priests and priestesses set to work molding her into a respectable member of the clergy. They taught her to read using their scriptures, they made sure she had enough to eat after she’d given proper offerings to Aelios, and they disciplined her thoroughly whenever she so much as sighed at their repeated instructions to ‘[i]Sit up straight Tingara, you are not a stalk of grain bending in the wind.[/i]’ It was when she showed an aptitude for healing though, that she first felt their approval like the warmth of sunlight on her cheeks. She had prodigious talent, an unending well of power to draw from, and an innate understanding of the many systems that made up the human body. She nearly sobbed with delight when, after healing a man’s shattered hand, Sister Fumi put an arthritic palm to Tia’s cheek and murmured, ‘[i]Well done, child[/i].’ She never heard those words from Sister Fumi again. The next day, Tia was to be carted away to the Aurelian capitol. She screamed as they forced her into the carriage, tears burning tracks down the skin of her cheeks as she fought against the priests trying to rip her from her home [i]again[/i] - Sister Fumi slapped her across the face. The air seemed to freeze in Tia’s lungs. ‘[i]You embarrass us and you shame Aelios. Go. They can care for you better than we can.[/i]’ The years passed in a blur at the capitol. Tia never went hungry. Her magic was nurtured and her studies never suffered. She joined the older priests on missions throughout the city, bringing Aelios’ light to the sick and injured and collecting tithes from those who offered as payment. She pretended not to notice when the high priests began whispering words like [i]promise[/i] and [i]legacy[/i] and [i]potential[/i] when they thought she couldn’t hear. Hope gripped her heart - and [i]fear[/i]. But when she awoke with a gasp one night, drenched in sweat, and frantic with dreams of unending darkness - when two days later, the sun didn’t rise - that was when the whispers became declarations. Tia was brought before the high priest of the Aurelian church, a dour old man who seemed to see through her without looking. ‘[i]My child,[/i]’ he’d murmured. He’d clasped her hand and smiled at her, and Tia swore she didn’t need the sun to ride again - not when she had this light beaming at her, filling her soul until she glowed. ‘[i]You’re home.[/i]’ And thus it was decided that the high priest would take Tia on as his protege in secret, quietly grooming her to take his place at the head of the church when the time came, and refining her gift of prophesy. Tia excelled under his tutelage, even with the disappearance of the sun slowly draining her magic. The high priest stressed the importance of being amongst the people, aiding the needy at every opportunity so they might grow accustomed and fond of her. She was a woman, from an impoverished border village, with uncommon features - the people of Aurelia would need to be on her side when the time came for her to take her place as High Priestess, whenever that may be. Tia drank in his praise like water, desperate for approval, affection - any sign that she would be kept, this time. Perhaps that is what led her into more and more dangerous territory. Against the requests of the clergy, Tia joined a scouting mission of three soldiers and a ranger, venturing out into the outskirts of blighted territory in search of survivors. She doesn’t remember much - a cart carrying a handful of survivors, freshly healed. A bone-deep weariness after struggling to pull her magic to the surface again and again. A shout. The flash of fangs and glowing blood-red eyes. A scream - hers? No, that wasn’t possible, not when her throat was [i]burning[/i], filled with something hot and sticky, coming up through her mouth, spelling onto the muddied silk of her robes, and - Numbness. The inky, sunless sky littered with stars above. Her hand slick with her own blood as she tried desperately to hold the shredded remains of her throat together. And then a light so blinding and pale she’d almost thought the sun had risen again. When she finally woke up hours later, was on the ground, covered in her own blood, and surrounded by bodies. Her hand was nearly melded to her throat, it was so coated with dried, flaking blood. Tia felt a scream building in her chest, terror reaching a boiling point as she looked around at the corpses of the soldiers, the ranger, the people she’d healed not hours ago… But when she screamed, nothing but a strangled, breathy rasp came out, her vocal cords scratching together like gravel. Tia, half dead and delirious with grief, eventually managed to walk back to the nearest outpost. The soldiers nearly killed her on sight, thinking she’d become blighted herself. It was only when Tia saw herself in the washroom mirror that she understood - the scars were ugly and fresh on her neck, an imperfect and desperate heal as she’d laid dying and drained. Her hair, once raven black, had bleached to a blonde so pale it was nearly white. The high priest’s disappointment was like dying all over again. A voiceless priestess couldn’t conduct a sermon - she couldn’t inspire, she couldn’t recite scripture, she couldn’t [i]lead[/i]. Tia couldn’t lose him, lose [i]home[/i] again, she was so stupid and useless and [i]she was going to be alone[/i] and - ‘[i]My child… the church may have a use for you, yet.[/i]’ And so, Tia finds herself traveling to Dawnhaven. She has been tasked with a sacred duty for the good of Aurelia, and she will not fail the high priest. Not again.[/center][/hider] [hider=The Unruly Mason] [center][color=darkorange][h1][i]Elio Azkona[/i][/h1] [img]https://i.imgur.com/3MGk5HT.png[/img] [B][i]Human ~ 29 ~ Lunaris ~ Stonemason Appearance[/i][/b][/color] Though he has lived his entire life within the confines of Lunaris, Elio caries his Aurelian heritage with far too much pride. He has his father’s copper skin, dark hair, and fiery eyes that set him apart from most of his countrymen. While he was resentful of his father’s blood in his early years, he has since learned to wield it as a weapon — to charm, disarm, and antagonize, as he pleases. He has a tall frame, well muscled from a life of labor (yet another tool for troublemaking in his arsenal). But his defining feature is his cocky smile, signifying he knows just how much trouble he is, and just how much he [i]revels[/i] in it. [color=darkorange][i][b]Magic[/b][/i][/color] Earth magic didn’t come naturally to Elio — no, his father quite [i]literally[/i] hammered it into his head. Now, Elio wields it as naturally as breathing. The absence of the sun has only strengthened his magic — and as it stands to reason that all the truly exceptional earth mages are Aurelian, Elio reckons that he’s one of the most accomplished earthworkers left, surpassing even his exacting father. His magic and skill as a stone mason has made him instrumental in laying the literal foundation of Dawnhaven. Naturally, this has only fed his ego further. [color=darkorange][i][b]History[/b][/i][/color] Elio was born a bastard; his mother, a recently single Lunarian girl on the rebound, his father, an Aurelian immigrant leveraging his earth magic to make an absolute [i]killing[/i] in Lunaris as a stonemason after generations of mediocre living down south. It was only after Elio was born — and clearly of Aurelian stock — that his father finally agreed to settle down and make an honest woman of his new wife. He named his son after the patron goddess of Aurelia in an act of pure [s]spite[/s] love for the sun-kissed land that had raised him. By the time Elio was old enough to hold a hammer, his father was teaching him the family business. Azkona Stonework was — and still is — renowned throughout the Lunarian capital. The work is precise, quick, reliable, and most importantly, [i]expensive[/i]. Their Aurelian command over earth magic helped father and son become the standard in Lunaris for masonry. But while the Azkona name is tied to quality and prestige, [i]Elio[/i] is a name often spat through clenched teeth… or whispered with a breathless gasp. Cocky, unbothered, and far too entertained with himself, Elio gained a reputation for troublemaking. He is as at home in a tavern brawl as he is in another man’s wife, and while the Azkona grip on the Lunarian masonry trade is ironclad… well damn, if Elio didn’t try his best to ruin it through his antics alone. He enjoys seeing how far he can push people and just how much he can get away with — but he enjoys the fallout even more. It turns out though, that antagonizing half the city’s men was not good business. Things finally came to a head when Elio pissed off a client too influential and proud for either Azkona man to intimidate. A drink led to a tryst, led to a brawl, led to Elio stewing overnight in a jail cell with bloody knuckles and more charges levied against him than even the formidable Azkonas could shrug off. Elio still doesn’t know the details of whatever deal his father struck to get him out of that cell. But it was clear that if he stayed in the capital either his father’s business would be well and truly ruined, or Elio would be rotting away in a cell for the foreseeable future — or [i]dead[/i]. He’d simply made too many enemies. So when the royal decree came down that they’d be building a new settlement, his father volunteered Elio without hesitation. It’s not apparent that Elio has actually [i]learned[/i] anything from this whole ordeal. If anything, being so relied upon for the creation of Dawnhaven, combined with the festering indignation of being sent away by his father, has only made him more reckless. Unfortunately, he's too good at what he does to be rid of him. [/center][/hider]