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_{Race: Blight-Born} 𐌙 _{Blight Trait: Soul Drain/Form Shift} 𐌙 _{Kingdom: Lunaris} 𐌙 <sub>Role: Hunter

Age: 48</sub> 𐌙 _{Height: 6’8”} 𐌙 _{Weight: 312 lbs} 𐌙 _{Hair Color: Red} 𐌙 _{Eye Color: Purple, glowing}

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_{Race: Blight-Born} ⚜ _{Blight Trait: Emotional} ⚜ _{Kingdom: Aurelia} ⚜ <sub>Role: Doctor

Age: 27</sub> ⚜ _{Height: 6’2” (7’5” including ears)} ⚜ _{Weight: 142 lbs} ⚜ _{Hair Color: Purple/Green Blend} ⚜ _{Eye Color: Purple/glasslike}

⚜Biography⚜

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Céline was born far to the east of Aurelia’s capital,deep within the arid desert sands, to a group of nomads. These nomads wandered the land, believing its entirety sacred to Aelios, who descended from the heavens and kissed the land, scorching it to sand; cleansing it of corruption. The nomads lived their life with a religious fervor akin to zealotry, wandering the desert in an endless pilgrimage. For this, the nomads were blessed with a natural affinity to Her light and fire. It is little wonder then, that a daughter of one of these nomads, blessed in neither and would be treated as a cursed blight upon their troupe. Céline’s childhood was painful, forced to work harder than all the others and beaten if she ever did it wrong or stepped out of line. Before her 8th name day she overheard her parents speaking with the nomad leader and elder. There were plans to sell Céline into slavery, but rather than allow that to happen, she left deep into the night. Running as far and as fast as she could, no idea where she was going, no idea where safety truly was, just knowing it wasn’t back where she had been.

For two days and nights she ran, finally collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration; believing it to be the end, Céline closed her eyes, awaiting death’s embrace...

It was quite the surprise when she awoke sometime later, in a bed, under a sandstone roof, an old man attending to her. The man, named Galuf, was a healer for the village he lived in, as he was returning from a supply trip the man had chanced upon Céline. He asked her story and though she was wary, something about the man made her willing to share it with him. Galuf considered Céline’s words carefully, allowing her to remain with him for sometime until her condition had improved. Though the man had intended to let her go, Céline quickly showed that not only was she a hard worker, but had a clever mind to boot. Galuf took Céline in and taught her everything he knew, first the basics, then how he was more than just an ordinary healer. Céline had grown up only knowing the spells of conjury used by the healers within the nomadic troupe. Galuf however, had developed techniques to mend flesh and bone with nothing more than thread, cloth and wood. He treated invisible wounds with potent poultices and restored vigor with hearty draughts. Practical medical applications, he called it.

Years passed and the clever girl had grown into a woman, intent on learning all there was of the world around her, helping and healing others along the way. The nomadic spirit had apparently not been lost to her as she began to wander the lands, from village to town from kingdom to kingdom, helping all those in need. When the blight began to appear, Céline found herself in the worst areas of the blight, hell bent on figuring out what she could about the disease and trying to ease the conditions of those who suffered. This would turn out to spell her doom, as spending months in blight ridden territory had taken its toll on Céline’s body. Though she helped and aided as many as she could, she had almost entirely neglected herself in the process. During her travels, Céline found herself in a familiar place once more, lying in the dirt, unable to move, grasping onto the last tether to life.

It should have come as no surprise that she would awake again from death’s embrace, but Céline was shocked to find herself still on the road and alive; not only that, but she felt better. As she reoriented herself, finding a river to clean herself off at, she soon realized why she no longer felt like she was dying. The long protrusions jutting above her head, her raven black hair discolored into a purple sheen with green tips, the glasslike features of her eyes. Céline was no longer dying, because already had…

⚜Abilities⚜

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Céline is much weaker compared to other blight-born, but she makes up for this with her ability to manipulate the emotions of those around her. As someone who vowed her life to healing, she does not abuse this power without due consideration. This being said, as a blight-born she does need to feed and will absorb the small and latent emotions of those around her. Due to the way she uses her abilities most don’t even notice she’s absorbed something from them, but it’s like living off of nothing but winter berries; Céline will survive, though it won’t be very filling. When Céline does have enough energy and should the situation call for it, she can transfer emotions into others, overriding their feelings if necessary.

The Echo: If someone is feeling a particularly strong emotion it can trigger a phenomena within Céline’s mind where she experiences events from the emoter’s perspective. These are events that have already transpired and like future prophecies are not always crystal clear depending on the individual’s level of focus. This ability comes without warning and is always mentally draining.

Amaya Selu

Human ~ 24 ~ Lunaris ~ Princess

Appearance
The famed 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.

Magic
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 force 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.

History
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 preferred to simply live forever and never have to bother with Amaya succeeding him, he didn’t have a choice - she was his heir, and his only option. 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 freeze in his marble tomb 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 pièce de résistance 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.

Tingara "Tia" Tomae

Human ~ 28 ~ Aurelia ~ Priestess

Appearance
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 unpious 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.

Magic
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.

History
Tingara Tomae was born hungry. The seventh child of a poor family in a village that may as well have been an accidental smudge 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 all of their children, Tia was the first to go. But it shattered her, all the same.

‘Go, my little beetle. They can care for you better than we can.’

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 rolled her eyes at their repeated instructions to ‘Sit up straight Tingara, you are not a stalk of grain bending in the wind.’

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, ‘Well done, child.’

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 again -

Sister Fumi slapped her across the face. The air seemed to freeze in Tia’s lungs.

‘You embarrass us and you shame Aelios. Go. They can care for you better than we can.’

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 promise and legacy and potential when they thought she couldn’t hear. Hope gripped her heart - and fear.

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.

‘My child,’ 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. ‘You’re home.’

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 burning, 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 lead. Tia couldn’t lose him, lose home again, she was so stupid and useless and she was going to be alone and -

‘My child… the church may have a use for you, yet.’

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.

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I Heal When I Put My Mind To Something

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Age: 28

Race:Human

Kingdom: Aurelia

Role: Ranger

Magic: Earth, Wind

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Short Bio:
Maddelena De Abondiolis
“Boss, the horses are ready.”

A wide grin spread across her face, both at being called boss and the fact that they would be setting out again into the wild. Clapping her hands she deftly shoved herself away from the table; her chair teetering precariously behind her as she abandoned it in her eagerness.

“Well c’mon then.There’s money to be made.”

A wave of her hand and the men loitering the tavern filled out after her, some of them barely old enough to be called such but each of them boisterous and self assured in their movements and though she’d never say it Maddalena was proud of her small hunting band. Hers. The thought grew the vivacious grin on her face, last nights nagging about getting themselves killed long forgotten. They had begun to travel further and further towards the borderlands, the promises of richer furs and plumper game outweighing the rising rumors of more and more blight born attacks. Like so many others in her group they simply thought it was just a rumor spread to keep children in line; after all it had been years since they first appeared and not once had she’d seen one act so violent as they described.

The beginning of that day played over and over in both her waking and sleeping hours. She lost how many hours she had spent wishing and writing out how differently she would have done things. Cursing herself for being so headstrong and stubborn, Harvok telling her they should turn back, even her horse had tried to buck her in a desperate attempt to keeping her from going forward. She knew that it was all hindsight, the tell tale sign of the stag running from something, the silence of the forest beyond their own breathing and the horses gait slowing.

The one moment she would give anything to go back and stop herself.

She could’ve stop it.

There was so much red, and the screams. The same screams that ripped themselves through her when she woke, the ones she swallowed, the ones she buried into pillows. She tried to tell herself eventually the memory would fade. That if she ran far enough the burning stares of hatred and blame wouldn’t reach her. It wasn’t her fault. The one thing she couldn’t even believe, no matter how many times her mother had told her.Walking through the same streets they used to roam and brag that they would own, visiting the same tavern they had called their base, the stables where a few of the surviving horses now lived without their owners.

Maddalena couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the guilt of it all so when the opportunity to travel to Dawn haven, a new start, where no one would know her she took it. She ran, ran from everything. The cold north would be her penance, she would be simpler there. She wouldn’t seek glory or fame, just simply hunt. Furs, meat, berries, herbs. Anything they would need from the forest, she would brave it herself to get so that others would stay safe. The addition of Blight Born into the settlement was a huge adjustment for the young woman, the fear lacing her veins like ice, the guilt she had for feeling that way. She had meet them before, she knew that all of them weren't violent and mindless, some just couldn't contain their hunger, especially the new ones but her body still stiffened when one walked by and bile raised in her throat so she avoided them shamefully. They did nothing wrong, and knew nothing of what happened to Maddalena, the woman she left behind, the version of herself she could never be again.

Here she was just Lena, the ranger.

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