P R E S E N C E This is about your character's personality and behavior. It can also be about how other people might feel in the presence of your character, the 'aura' so to speak. Further, this can be about how your character communicates, how they make decisions, how they interact with things, and maybe how they use language. It is up to you how much of this you go through here. If you want to be mysterious, then keep it vague.
C H R O N I C L E This is your character's story so far. You can tell it in any way you like, but the basic requirement is at least some noteworthy events. Also include when and how they became Regalia. This transformation is so personal that it could be anything. However, if you are unsure of your idea, then check it with me first.
H O M E This is a section about your character's place of birth. Choose a nation on the map, and then describe whatever you want about its language, culture, history, traditions, and climate. If you choose the same nation as another character, then you can coordinate with that player. You may use real world comparisons to make it easy for the reader.
T R I V I A Likes, dislikes, and random interesting things about your character.
S O C I A L If you want previous relations with the other characters, it can be disclosed here. This section could also be for general comments about the other characters, if your character knows them. This section is optional.
P R E S E N C ECécile moves like a mist over water—demure, graceful, ephemeral, a being caught between the world of the living and something far deeper, perhaps eternal. There is a quiet, understated grace about him, an aura that suggests still waters running deep beneath a surface of calm indifference. Cécile's silence is not the silence of apathy, quite the contrary, but of someone who listens to the quiet hum of existence, as if in communion with things most people overlook. When he speaks, his words come slowly, deliberately, as though each thought has been sifted through an ancient sieve of wisdom. His voice—gentle, hushed—makes others lean in, drawn by a magnetism they can't quite place, as if in Cécile's presence, the air itself feels more delicate.
Those around Cécile are inexplicably soothed or unnerved, depending on the weight of their own souls. Cécile doesn’t judge, but his steady gaze and the aura of solemnity he carries has a way of making people confront the truths they’ve hidden away. People often find themselves revealing more than they intended, offering up pieces of their soul like driftwood to the shore, their own edges softening, their anxieties dissolving in the gentle pull of Cécile's presence. It's easy to forget, in those moments, the boundaries that typically define the self.
Decisions are made with careful precision, not from a place of hesitation but from an innate understanding of the consequences each choice may bring. Cécile weighs his actions as one would weigh the stars, considering not only the immediate but the everlasting. The reality is that Cécile is quite afraid of the unknown. Having been tucked away in a small pocket of the universe for so long, relative isolation has made him wary of those from the mainland. Therefore, any action he takes is done with great sensitivity to ensure the least harmful outcome. Though Cécile is not entirely beholden to his natural naivete, there is so much about the world that he has yet to experience, so his confidence in traversing these new, foreign lands leaves much to be desired.
He does not give orders or commands; instead, he suggests, and others may feel compelled to follow as though it were their own decision. Communication, for him, is an art of listening as much as it is of speaking. And yet, despite the mystery that surrounds him, there is an undeniable gentleness. His empathy is not worn on the surface, but it radiates from him like the soft glow of a distant star—subtle, but ever-present.
There is a soft melancholy to Cécile's demeanor, a wistfulness that lingers in his gaze. It is the melancholia of someone who has touched the edges of death time and time again, tasted solitude like a vintage wine, and found in it a sort of beauty, and pain. He is never hurried, never impatient; time itself seems to slow in his presence, as if reality bends to match his rhythm. Others may struggle to define him—some see Cécile as a cold, others as profoundly kind—but all agree there is something ethereal about him, a quality that places him just beyond the reach of the mundane world.
As the Regalia of Anima, Cécile is an enigmatic but relatively well-known figure among the people of Eshea and, to an extent, in the immediate surrounding nations. His pure image and sacred role as a Funérailles has served him well in some respects—in furthering his identity as someone who is beloved and cherished with a sort of reverence one might bestow their innocent, first love. Cécile guides his followers and those abroad through their mournful hours and tempers their midnight terrors with pleasant, sweet dreams. It is only natural, then, that his innate temperance and virginhood is a virtue no one can deny romanticizing.
C H R O N I C L ECécile’s story begins in the cradle of luxury, where golden light bathed his early years and marble halls whispered promises of power and privilege. The youngest of three, he was the delicate thread in the grand tapestry of his family’s legacy, his father Raynaldus, an eccentric politician of boundless ambition, and his mother, Hippolyta, a regal beauty with the blood of Dalmascan royalty running through her veins. Though he was born in the western country of Nibelheim, it would be in Eshea, his father’s homeland, that his life would be truly shaped.
"There is nothing more honorable in this world than a proper burial."
They moved back to Eshea when he was only four, settling in the gleaming city of Montá—the Citadel—a renowned city of old-world charm, encased in a fortress of metal, keeping its timeless beauty protected from the world outside. This was a place where the elite thrived and were shielded from the woes of the less fortunate. Raised under the Citadel’s silver skies, it was here where Cécile's childhood began (soft and sheltered)—his days filled with the luxury only the Montágasque could understand. His world was one of silks and gemstones, the quiet hum of politics brushing against the air, and the certainty that his future would be paved with the same power his father wielded so easily.
But Montá was a city of strange traditions, and fate or something far older, as it often does, had other plans for the noblesse, aristocratic youth. At the age of ten, the Council of the Citadel chose him for a role unlike any other—a Funérailles, or Hopekeeper—a role both revered and immeasurably isolating. They sent him away, far from the gleaming walls of Montá, to a small house adrift on the ocean’s endless horizon. His task was solemn and queer—he was to officiate the seaside burials of those who died at sea, a child shepherding souls into the depths. This custom of funeral rites was called Mer de rêves (The Sea of Dreams).
"Freed...from the chaos..."
His only companions were mourners who came to bid their final goodbyes, and the fragile höpes, delicate birds whose brief lives measured the time the friends and family of the departed should grieve/mourn. When a höpe died, so too did the mourning period. The silence of the sea was his constant companion, vast and unbroken, except for the occasional supplier from distant Tenshi, who brought sustenance and supplies.
"I never chose to be a Funérailles, a Hopekeeper, but I will continue to do what I must with dignity and respect, if only for those who can no longer do so for themselves. Perhaps, that is the only reason why I am here."
Isolation bore heavily on Cécile's spirit. The weight of solitude and the ever-present specter of death chipped away at the carefree child he once had been. Yet in his quiet despair, the Dominant of Dreams, Anima, took pity and reached out to him, her blessing falling over him like stardust on still waters. Her magic allowed Cécile to escape, if only in spirit. Through astral butterflies, delicate creatures spun from his very essence, he could soar beyond his floating home, seeing the world through their eyes. His butterflies danced over cities and mountains, entering the dreams of strangers and wandering through lives that were not his own. It was through these dreams that Cécile experienced the world he had been torn from—the bustling streets of far-off lands, the laughter of children, and the simple joy, sorrow, and love of human connection, though fleeting, as none of it truly belonged to him.
The years passed, and Cécile, now marked by Anima’s magic, became a Regalia—touched by her gracious divinity. This honor earned him a reprieve from his duties, a rare pardon from the Citadel council. He was granted passage to the Festival of Lights, where other Regalia would gather, each tethered to the divine in their own way, each worshipped by those who sought their favor. As Cécile stepped away from his floating prison for the first time in a decade, the world beyond the horizon shimmered with possibilities unknown. The Festival awaited, but so too did the changes that would shape his life in ways he could never have anticipated.
H O M EEshea is a country of quiet grandeur, where the soft patter of rain on cobblestone streets is as constant as the gentle hum of political intrigue. Its capital, Océanteau, perched like a jewel upon the surface of a vast, tranquil lake, resembles a Venetian dream, with grand buildings rising from the water, their spires reflected in the endless ripples below. The lake’s narrow canals wind like veins through the city, connecting plazas adorned with marble statues and ancient cathedrals where whispers of worship rise like mist to the heavens. From this central heart, the River Léon weaves its way through the countryside, threading together the smaller cities (resembling the Cotswolds) that dot Eshea’s landscape like forgotten pearls, each distinct yet united by the lifeblood of their common river. It is a rainy land, where the skies seem perpetually veiled in soft gray clouds, and the air is always cool with the promise of a downpour. At the very least, Eshea does experience all four seasons, with Spring and Fall being the most prominent and rainy.
The people of Eshea, much like its landscape, are varied and diverse. Their language, the French-esque Eshiyaos, is flowing and melodic, resembling that of North Accadia, though spoken with subtle differences in inflection and dialect that create a unique harmony all their own. In Montá and Océanteau, the educated elite switch effortlessly between this native tongue, the Tenshi language, and the English language that dominates the entire world. Venture beyond these famed cities, and English is fleeting and unreliable. However, Eshea’s coastal cities are rich with the cultural remnants and dialects of Tenshi immigrants. Eshean society is most devout to Anima and Ultima. Those more in tune with their Tenshi culture and heritage, tend to be less enthralled by these two figures.
Eshea’s social order, however, remains rigidly defined. It is a land where prestige and wealth reign supreme, where influence is as valuable as gold. To truly belong here is not a matter of residence, but of power—whether by lineage, fortune, or political savvy. Power is traded like secrets, and survival means mastering the art of staying relevant in the eyes of those who hold the keys.
Though Cécile was born in country of Nibelheim, his earliest memories belong to Montá—the city encased in metal and privilege, known to many simply as The Citadel. Nestled in the foothills of the towering Montague Mountains, hence the city name, Montá stands as a testament to wealth and exclusivity. Its imposing metallic wall, gleaming like a fortress from ages past, encircles the city, guarding its treasures and residents from the outside world. Within those walls lay a contradiction—a city steeped in old-world beauty, where the streets are lined with elegant art nouveau façades and grand Edwardian mansions, yet ruled by cutting-edge technology and humanoid AI bots, which cater to the elites' every need and those who can afford to visit.
Despite the constant hum of automation, Montá feels more like a preserved relic of a bygone era, its cobblestone streets winding through low- and mid-rise buildings that echo an age of grandeur. The absence of towering skyscrapers lends the city a distinct intimacy, where ornate ironwork balconies and stained glass windows adorn nearly every structure. The influence of Tenshi culture is palpable here, too—rich silks, flowing robes, and delicately embroidered patterns mingle with the traditional Montágasque attire, a reminder of the wealthy Tenshi immigrants who had once made Montá their home. This diversity of culture, however, does not extend to a diversity of class. Montá’s ethos revolves around lineage, prestige, money, and the endless pursuit of political power. To become a Montágasque citizen requires more than just residency; it demands birthright, immense wealth, or the favor of the city's ruling council—a group that upholds the city’s oldest, most exclusionary traditions.
Amidst this affluence, Montá’s charm lay not only in its architectural splendor but also in its natural beauty. The city is known for its rolling hills, softened by the frequent rain that makes the landscape lush and vibrant. Roses—delicate, fragrant, and ever-present—cling to the walls and blossom in every garden, painting the city with their soft, transient beauty. The seasons in Montá unfold like a tapestry: spring brings life to the roses, summer glistens with rain, autumn wraps the hills in gold, and winter veils the city in mist. Yet through every season, the ever-present cloud of tradition lingers—a reminder that this is not a city for the ordinary, but a world where the wealthy thrive and those outside its walls remain forgotten. Cécile, once ensconced in this opulent life, grew under the watchful gaze of this insular society, learning the unspoken rules of its labyrinthine politics and old customs, until fate pulled him away from it all.
T R I V I ALikes:
Reading books
Brewing tea
Singing (Cécile has a really pretty singing voice and can often be found humming to himself)
Chocolate, but anything sweet really
Painting
Caring for the höpes
Dream journaling
Stargazing
Writing poetry
Transcribing old sheet music
Swimming
Dislikes:
People touching him without consent, even friendly physical gestures he instinctively recoils from
Technology, he's terrible at using it
People with bad intentions
Slimy things
Other:
As a Funérailles (Hopekeeper is the more modern term people use), he can be identified by the "Mark of the Funerailles", which is a pair of symbols engraved in the palms of his hands by the previous Hopekeeper. He usually hides these marks by wearing a pair of violet gloves, which coordinate with his silk slip
Usually has a small book on his person at all times
Can usually be found carrying a parasol
He is the ultimate waifu who can cook really well; he had to learn how to cook for himself since the age of 10
He is a Montágasque citizen who also has citizenship in Nibelheim due to birth and Dalmasca due to maternal ancestry
He speaks Montágasque, a dialect of the core Eshean language (the French-esque Eshiyaos), but he also speaks English with a posh/received pronunciation-style British accent, which is the primary accent in Montá.
S O C I A LCassiel (Estranged Friends)
Cécile and Cassiel met by chance during a star-gazing festival on Cécile's last day of freedom before departing to become a Hopekeeper, a time when both were overwhelmed by their respective destinies. Cécile, afraid of a future he did not choose, found reassurance in Cassiel's company. They maintained a long-distance friendship for a few years, but Cassiel’s growing cynicism and detachment caused a rift, leaving Cécile hurt by his former friend's callousness. Once kindred spirits in the tender days of youth, they now drift like strangers in the twilight of adulthood.
Nyx (Distant Cousins)
Cécile and Nyx share an eternal bond, bound by blood through a shared grandfather, a man whose infidelities shaped two families living worlds apart. In early childhood, Cécile’s days were spent with his cousin Nia and the Stryxs, but when the Heartfilias returned to Eshea when he was only four, their connection faded, leaving only faint memories of a fleeting time together. Now, both stand as Regalia, wielding immense power of the Dominants. How will the paths of these cousins converge again? Only time will tell.
P R E S E N C EBold, boistrous, at times literally larger than life, wherever Akamu goes, it's hard not to notice him. Generally amicable and carefree, Akamu's rumbling laugh is regularly meme'd throughout Accadia, and the image of his impressive (and usually shirtless) physique and pearly white smile commonly adorns tourism advertisements, billboards, and even calenders for the Resort City of Kalani. Overflowing with confidence and optimism in abundance, it seems to be practically impossible to bring his spirits down. He regularly refers to others by shortened nicknames, often incorporating elements of islander monikers and lingo into his speech.
Like many Accadian islanders, Akamu is easygoing to a fault, effortlessly relaxed and unflappable in the face of most hardship, seemingly having a calming effect on people wherever he goes. Not to say he never takes things seriously, and Akamu certainly has his moments of concentration and seriousness, but for the most part seems to take the punches as they come easily, and embodies the idea of 'go with the flow'. Exceedingly rare is the sight of an angry Akamu, and the terrifying, literally earthshaking wrath that follows.
While supportive of the common people and their struggles, it is rather obvious that Akamu's sympathies begin to wane quickly when corporations get involved. While rarely ever outright aggressive towards corporate interests, Akamu displays a blatant disregard and disdain towards many of their endeavors. This is especially the case when it comes to the mining and acquisition of Crystals, which he staunchly disapproves of- though admits their necessity for many lives around the world. Attuned to nature and the world around him, Akamu prefers to keep things simple, and while not a luddite, is abysmally bad with technology, failing at all but the simplest tasks- outside of social media anyway, which he appears to be rather adept with.
Akamu avidly engages in sports and athleticism of every kind, though he is a particularly avid surfer. Along with his presence on social media, Akamu has cemented himself as the archetypical 'surfer bro', often being one of the first results when searched online. He has a love for many of the simpler things in life, and is content to drink and laugh with just about anyone. He enjoys music and dance of all kinds and is a big party animal. A rather simple man, Akamu finds a sort of purity and vicarious happiness when witnessing those who earnestly pursue their interests.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Akamu has quite a positive relationship with both his primary Dominant, Titan, and the Dominant of Nature, Gaia. More surprising is his popularity among followers of Leviathan.
C H R O N I C L EAkamu was born in the small village Akta in the rural areas outside of the self named Kalani City, on the island of Kalani. Akamu spent the vast majority of his early life and childhood as a follower of Leviathan. It was a surprise then, when at the young age of 12, Akamu was revealed to be blessed to be the Regalia of the Dominant, Titan. The details of how he became blessed are largely unknown, but popular legends tell the tale of a young village boy coming across a traveler who had been pinned underneath a landslide while hiking across through one of the less popular mountain trails. Titan, perhaps intrigued by the sight of a boy attempting to lift a rock many times his size, or simply impressed by his courage took an interest in him. As the boy prayed to Leviathan to help him find a way to help the man, Titan came to him and laughed, asking him what the Great Serpent might have been be able to do for him so far away from the sea. Amused by the boy, or impressed by his answers, Titan decided to offer his blessing, granting the boy the strength to save others. Now with the strength of Titan, the boy was able to lift the mountain and saved the man. The story has become something of a local fable in recent times. Akamu's story is often told across the Accadian islands as a tale to inspire courage and bravery in young children.
As a child of a rather inconsequential village, it was rather easy for the Accadian Government to assume stewardship over Akamu. While a capable learner, and easily capable of causing destruction, Akamu's lax attitude did little to make him a proper soldier- though that wouldn't stop the Accadian Government from making him a public servant. A defender of the people, Akamu raises the spirits of Accadians as a firefighter and conservationist for Kalani City, having notably been responsible for putting a stop to a terrible forest wildfire that threatened the city some 4 years ago.
As a Regalia, Akamu is generally well known by most Accadians, and is extremely popular among Southern Accadian Islanders, often regarded as a local hero. Akamu is notable for using his earth magic to aid in the expansion and revitalization many of the diminished farming areas around the islands, which in turn has allowed for a reduction in the amount of overfishing used to compensate.
Akamu's Dominant form has only been revealed once since his blessing, during what the Accadian Government has now labeled a terror attack. During what amounted to a foreign entity's attempt to kidnap Laura Genevieve, a recently realized fellow Regalia, not an insignificant amount of damage was done to the surrounding land and people. The sight threw Akamu into a rage, resulting in him taking on his Dominant form, in which he used powerful earth magic and overwhelming strength to (literally) bury the attackers. To this day, no Government has claimed responsibility for the attack, and is one of the few times Akamu has regretted having his power. Following the attack, Akamu spending the next several months working tirelessly to restore the land he'd destroyed in the process.
H O M EAkamu hails from the island of Kalani, one of the largest islands nestled within the Gulf of Accadia. Aktu, his home village is a small fishing and farming town just outside of the greater Kalani Metropolitan area. The island itself is rather mountainous, dominated by a set of volcanoes in the center, with the vast majority of its population centers focused by the coast and its surrounding lowlands. Southern Accadia- particularly its islands possess a strong culture of spiritualism and community. Respect of nature and of people are among some of the most extolled values, with many often seeking balance between spiritualism and modernity. Generally warm, friendly and modest, most Accadian Islanders are often worshippers and followers of Leviathan and Gaia, though as of recent times, worship of Titan has seen a noticeable rise.
Tourism makes up most of the island economy, for better or worse, and Kalani City in particular has become quite popular for both its world class luxury resorts and the chance to see a real life Regalia walking around the streets. Clashes between modern ideals and more traditional ones are becoming more commonplace, as the rampant commercialism has begun eroding the natural ecosystem and more or less spit in the face of many islanders' spiritual values. Outside the cities, rural Accadians generally remain friendly, but are more cautious towards outsiders and tourists, with some small groups of traditionalists being outright hostile towards who they see as trespassers who trample upon their lands and values.
Perhaps expected of those that live on islands, Southern Accadians have a particularly strong maritime culture, regularly engaging in fishing for food, sport and export. Unsurprisingly, activities involving water- sailing, swimming, surfing, are all incredibly popular amongst Accadians Islanders. Most Islanders learn to swim shortly after they learn to walk, and while not capable of breathing underwater, many are able to hold their breaths for extended periods of time compared to other humans. Charms, jewelry and traditional tools are often made from fishbone, shark teeth, pearls, and other seaborne entities. Leviathan Fangs- traditional daggers made from serpent teeth are particularly popular among youths and tourists as trinkets and souvineers.
T R I V I ALikes:
Surfing, Fishing, Sailing, Skydiving - Basically most activities that would get one's heart pumping or are related to the ocean or beach
Music, Dance and Parties - Obviously
Nature and Spiritualism - Perhaps surprisingly
Sushi
Dislikes:
Sitting still for too long
Liars and cheats
Megacorps and corporate entities- particularly those involved in the mining industry
Unassorted:
Akamu is perhaps unabashedly a bit of a hypocrite: While often condemning those that do what he feels is wrong, he is more than happy to turn a blind eye to the activities of those that he trusts or cares about.
Kalani City prints a yearly Regalia-themed Calender with his likeness on it. Copies of the calendars sell out fast and have become something of a collector's item.
Akamu's has a considerable social media following, and regularly vlogs or takes photos of many of his activities
Akamu's love of hiking has unintentionally been misinterpreted as a method of worship to Titan. Every year, hundreds of followers of Titan will visit Kalani to hike up the mountain trail to pray to the Dominant. According to Akamu, Titan (probably) finds this quite entertaining.
S O C I A LLaura Genevieve, Regalia of Gaia - One of the other Regalia from Accadia, Akamu views her much like an adoptive younger sister, and commonly refers to her as such. Following the attack several years ago, Akamu is fiercely protective of her. Akamu dotes on the younger Regalia, often showering her with gifts when they meet on occasions like holidays or birthdays.
P R E S E N C ELaura is known for her vibrant energy, enthusiasm for life, and ability to enjoy each moment. She is often the life of the party, the butterfly as the cliché goes, and excel in making others feel comfortable and entertained. Laura is also observant, practical, and live in the present moment. She is driven by her senses and a strong desire for great experiences. She communicates in a warm, engaging, and straightforward manner. She prefers conversations that are light-hearted and fun but can also be deeply empathetic. Laura is not afraid to express herself and her emotions openly and often use stories and humor to connect with others.
As a person, Laura is exceptionally outgoing and thrive on interactions with a wide circle of friends and family. She is highly observant and sensitive to others' needs, often going out of her way to make sure everyone around her is having a good time. However, she handles conflict by avoiding it if possible, preferring to keep the atmosphere light and positive. This is not always the best course of action, and she knows that. When making those kinds of decisions or decisions in general, Laura tends to rely on her personal values and the impact of her actions on others. Laura is pragmatic and realistic but may make decisions quickly based on her gut feeling, sometimes without considering long-term consequences.
Laura's vocabulary use is not stellar. She uses the word "like" in almost every sentence as a filler word for anything and everything. The word "uhm" is subconsciously used a lot when she is thinking or frankly does not know what to say. Laura uses the word "totally" as a filler to emphasize almost anything as well as a replacement for the word "yes". Laura says the abbreviation "OMG" instead of the actual phrase "oh my God". She also uses the phrase "for sure" to indicate certainty and replace the words “absolutely” and “yes”. A sort of slang word she has picked up on the internet is "brainrot", which she uses to indicate anything that is annoying, tedious, too much of, or very slow. Laura also uses a plethora of affectionate nicknames for everything and everyone.
Laura has the ‘little sister’ aura. Seeing as she is so energetic, social, and a bit of a tease, it might be too much for some people to stomach. However, Laura means well and only want people to feel good. She has somewhat learned to go into an ‘official role’ when acting and speaking as the Regalia of Gaia. It is a way to cope with the situation and what her life is and likely will be for a long time. But, she is very good at relaxing when it is possible, reverting back to her true self right away.
C H R O N I C L ELaura belongs to a big family. There are five siblings, aunts and uncles, grand parents, and cousins, all living in Accadia. Coming from such a vast family, and one that likes to get together for all kinds of festivities and traditions, it helps that Laura is as social as she is. Most of her life was very normal with everyone going to school and work, and then going on vacation during the summers. However, most of those vacations were spent in south Accadia, but the family did occasionally travel overseas when it was possible. Her father is a corporate man, and her mother is in finance.
Laura’s blessing occurred during cheer leading practice in her junior year of High School. All of it happened very fast, but she felt something just before the Dominant Form engulfed her. It was a sense of calm but also fear of the future, as if she suddenly had to do something important or become something she was not equipped for. After Laura had transformed into the Dominant Form, she hovered above the football field for an hour in a sort of meditative state, communicating with Gaia. Naturally, the word of this happening spread like wildfire, seeing as the field was full of teenagers with cellphones.
After the blessing, Laura’s popularity at the school skyrocketed. All kinds of people from media, government, law firms, and corporations came knocking on the Genevieve household. There was whole slew of things they had to explain, guide Laura’s family through some legal procedures, consider sponsorship, and a whole bunch of other things. Some people, especially a young teenager, probably would have hated it, but Laura enjoyed it. She had no issues with being the center of attention or being a public figure. She already wanted to be an ‘influencer’, and this Regalia thing was exactly the kind of boost she dreamed of.
As time passed, Laura began to notice the downsides of being a Regalia. There was this huge pressure on her to be wise beyond her years, speak with strangers about their problems, spend time on healing the sick and weak, and be asked to go to new places every day. It was not as bad as some other Regalia, who had the really popular Dominants. However, Laura’s situation was a bit unique, because her Dominant resides beneath everyone's feet. Laura had experienced Gaia as a child herself, as everyone does, so it was slightly bizarre. Unfortunately, problems and issues are not Laura’s strong point, and she barely managed to get through all her duties. She just wants to live free, dance, go to parties, hang out with friends, and be careless. However, what she needs is a kick in the ass that will finally make her realize her place in the world and come to terms with it.
One such kick came in the form of an attempted kidnapping. Persecution of Regalia for various reasons is fairly common, and naive targets such as Laura are especially favored. However, a fellow Accadian came to her rescue, who turned out to be the Regalia of Titan. The man instantly became Laura’s hero, and he has been that ever since. He is her brother from another mother to the letter, and their Dominants are very friendly with one another as well, being of the Earth and Nature elements respectively. Laura is eternally grateful for Akamu’s bravery, and she makes sure that he knows that every time they meet.
H O M ELaura’s home and place of birth is Accadia. One could almost consider Accadia to be two separate nations — the north and the south. Laura is from the north, which is the ‘party islands’ of Accadia. The south is more like Libra’s paradise with white-golden beaches, palm trees, turquoise waters, and a rich culture among its people. Laura loves to vacation in the south but ultimately home is where the heart is, and she loves to party. She is quite the figure these days in the Accadian night scene, appearing at various clubs and restaurants as a promotional event.
The native language of Northern Accadia resembles the French language. Laura is fluent in this language and speaks it at home. However, the worldwide language, which resembles the English language, is a strong second language in Accadia. This is because South Accadia has a different native language that resembles the Maori language. So, these two parts of the islands use the common language to speak with each other. Laura knows how to speak basic South Accadian, though.
The government of Accadia is heavily sided with the North. This likely has roots in some form of colonial activity centuries ago. There is a bit of injustice going on when policies are made, some of which disproportionately favors the north. However, even if the south is relatively simple in their way of life, the overwhelming majority of tourism that Accadia gets is in the south. North Accadia has its night life, but it is mostly the same people that come around every year, and then some tourists that were in the south anyway. Additionally, in terms of corporations, Vanguard is the corporation that has the most investments in Accadia.
Life in the north is fairly simple but extremely expensive. Laura was lucky to have parents that were well off, so they never had any problems. However, it is not uncommon to see homeless people in the cities, and especially in the countryside. Although, it is in the countryside that people with challenges will find refuge and good life, if they so choose. There is not much countryside to see in North Accadia, but most of the South is good old nature. Laura does engage with charities, though. She has no problems with giving away the Coins that she does not need.
T R I V I AL I K E S
Cheerleading
Dancing
Parties
Fashion
The beach
Love
Positivity
Taking selfies
Lollipops
Lazy summer nights
Puns
The zoo and animals
Regalia lore
D I S L I K E S
When people don’t listen in conversations
Long and boring meetings
People with no fashion sense
Pushy salespeople
Passive aggressiveness
Slurping
People that walk slowly
Negativity
No parking spaces
People with loud headphones
Being shushed
Laura watches a lot of videos online: feel-good stuff, behind the scenes fashion show clips, DIY home decor transformations, and tutorials for hair and makeup. On social media, she likes OOTD posts, memes, inspirational quotes, curates images boards with self-care routines, and she also spreads good vibes in the comments.
S O C I A LA K A M U L A F A E L E This guy is Laura's hero and big brother from another mother. He is so awesome to hang out with. Laura visits him every time she is in the south, and she is his guide when he is in the north. Then there are various holidays, dinners with families, and lots of good fun.
P R E S E N C EThe first thing one might notice about Cassiel is his radiant aura, a subtle ebbing of celestial light that follows him like a cloud of mist. It seems his every pore is ready to erupt with light, but it is constrained to his porcelain skin. To those who do not know him personally, Cassiel seems the very embodiment of virtue: disciplined, stoic, and purposeful. His movements are deliberate and elegant, forever executed with grace; his words are warm and considered, but assertive. One could be forgiven for assuming him to be the perfect gentleman.
The second thing one might notice about Cassiel is his magnetic charisma; one part natural, and one part exhaustively trained — he is a man of undeniable charm. He is quick and clever in his repartee, with an acerbic retort holstered at any given moment to draw upon an unwitting sparring partner. Depending on your station, you may well have had an absolutely delightful encounter with him, in which he exhibited nothing but the most chivalrous of behaviours. This, of course, is a well-rehearsed act.
While Cassiel is indeed sharp of wit, he does not pursue good etiquette for his own benefit. In truth, he is a deeply arrogant man, who, having been idolised since childhood, has been groomed into demigodhood; told by many that he is an exemplar of all that is good and pure; tainted into something of an egomaniac. He thrives on the adoration that chases him, but never has it sated his appetite — for in his twenty-two years of living, he has never, in his own eyes, at least, had a relationship that hasn’t been somehow beneficial to the other party. Never had he a loving mother, or an unconditional friend; it was sycophants that swarmed him, snatched away his innocence, and bled into him a permanent distrust for his fellow man. He maintains his public image of goodness not from true kindness, but from calculated faux-empathy borne of a desire to be adored.
Any sense of hopefulness is absent in the young man, who is a nihilist at heart. Cynical, and jaded by his obligations, he has grown to care about very little. In private, he lives laissez-faire, unbothered by the consequences of his often chaotic lifestyle. Despite remaining in eternal pursuit of fulfillment, he remains hollow, detached from any sense of purpose. Indeed, he will do his duty; indeed, he will fight for the greater good — but not because he dreams of saving the world, but because it is his destiny; his birthright.
C H R O N I C L ELittle is known of the early childhood of Amon Calathes, who would come to be known by the bestowed regnal mononym of Cassiel. His parentage is a topic of media speculation; some claim he was raised in a monastic orphanage, or that he was born to migrants who made pilgrimage to Cetra — or even that he was taken by Cetrites from another nation during infancy. During childhood, he was identified as the Regalia of Ultima by 'eme', the figurehead of the church of Ultima. He received a comprehensive, non-secular education; schooled by the most scholarly academics amongst the clergy, tutored in martial skills by knight-penitents, and rigorously media-trained by executives. 'eme', all the while, acted as a motherly mentor-figure, granting him his name, as well as a princely role within her inner circle. In the eyes of the Cetrites, Cassiel was marked by Ultima; a living embodiment of her ideals; the avatar of her divine providence. Being rapidly elevated to near-messianic status is a dangerous thing for anyone, and even more-so a child — but the extent of the damage would not be evident for years to come.
"I give them light."
The world first met Cassiel when he was but eleven years old, and within days he was a household name. Charismatic, blond-haired, and angelic, he was doted on as a symbol of both national and global affection. His boyish charm and divine heroism was received well by the masses, and as the years passed, his celebrity became near-unparalleled. Teenage girls plastered posters of him on their walls, world leaders broke bread with him, and every talk-show worth their salt had him in attendance as their star guest. His rise was meteoric; but controlled. His handlers marshaled his every move, embellishing his angelic looks, training his soft-spoken humility. As he matured, they nurtured his image of ‘child saviour’ into a fully-fledged symbol of idealised goodness. Every smile, every appearance, every act of bravery seemed effortless, but in reality, each was the cynical creation of an executive. By the time he reached adulthood, the public saw him less as a regalia, and more as a living saint.
"Fame is a handsome leash. Envied; but it tightens around your throat all the same."
But within the gilded cage there was isolation. Surrounded by admirers, followers and sycophants, Cassiel learned quickly that trust is a dangerous thing. In his teen years he was often manipulated by others; exploited by political figures and corporations to benefit their agendas. He became distrustful of everyone, and deeply paranoid — anyone who had every claimed to love him, in his eyes, was playing a role within a PR master-plan. This seclusion, along with the pressures of perfection, the flatterers and fawners, turned the once hopeful boy into a deeply jaded young man. He had once genuinely strove to be the symbol of hope that others saw in him, but the pressure and praise warped his self-image. With authentic connections with others being few and far between, Cassiel found comfort in embracing the power that had been forced upon him. He became arrogant, callous, and egocentric. In public, he maintained the image of a “golden boy”, but in private, he was a dejected nihilist, and a temperamental control-freak. As his innocence left him, he reclaimed much of the leverage held over him by his once-superiors; if he was to continue to be their poster-boy, he would do so on his terms. He became a royal brat who went unchecked; surrounded by enablers.
"They do not love you — they love the idea of you. And once you realise that, you’re free to do as you please."
Cassiel remains an international treasure, but he has sought to test the limits of his freedom in private. Rumour has it that his relationship with 'eme' is strained as he distances himself from her influence; though she has never said an ill word about him publicly. Now well into his twenties, Cassiel has entered a strange paradox; he has become disillusioned with the shallow adoration following him, and yet he is hooked on it. Behind closed doors, he pursues indulgent, destructive behavior, in hopes of sating his emptiness, seeking thrills to feel alive — secret affairs, extravagant parties, dangerous vices. While, for now, his spotless public image perseveres, it threatens to crumble should his debauchery see the light of day. With some media outlets reporting on an alleged addictions and outbursts, the cracks may already be forming.
H O M ENaming and language conventions take inspiration from hitorical demonology, particularly Judaist angels, and Johann Weyer's Pseudomarchia Daemonium. Nation: Cetra Religion: The Resplendency (Ultima) Capital: Malkuth, "The City of Light" Ruler: 'eme', "Our Mother"
Cassiel hails from Cetra; a technotheocratic nation that is entirely governed by a powerful church known as the Resplendency. The Resplendency recognises all Dominants as sacred; akin to holy angels; but places exlusive divine worship upon Ultima, who they consider to be Etro; the God of Gods. To adhere to the doctrines of the Resplendency, it is important that you pursue purity, balance, and devotion. As Cetra is the centre of Ultima's worship across the world, it is considered something of a holy-land to her followers. Many make pilgrimage to visit the City of Light, though not all are granted passage. Sectioned off from its mainland border by a fortified bulwark, and surrounded by treacherous seas, it is no simple task gaining entry to Cetra.
If you want to cross the border at all, in or out, you must have a C:Visa, which is only granted to those who are considered true followers of Ultima (and, perhaps hypocritically, the vastly wealthy and powerful). In Cetra, to reject Ultima’s teachings is to commit blasphemy, and nonbelievers are considered dangerous heretics who are unwelcome. Thus, accentuated by its proximity to some of the more liberal nations, Cetra is a monument of intimidation to all. Its military is second to none, and it's wealth is vast. Given its extremely defensible location, it is considered by many to be the most dominant nation in the world.
The megacity of Malkuth, though widely adorned in gold, appears bleak and smoggy across most of its vicinity. Poverty runs rife, and wealth inequality breeds poverty. Surveillance is stringent and overbearing, religious and cultural freedoms are restrictive, and the Net is heavily regulated — or, as much is it can be in such an interconnected world. To the general populace of the world, Cetra's image is mixed. Many resent it as an iron-fisted tyrant-nation, while others continue to view it euphemistically as a holy land.
Within the city, a great golden ziggurat rests; it acts as both cathedral and palace, housing the most important individuals in the Resplendency; the most focal among them being Cassiel and 'eme'. The entity known as 'eme' is mysterious, considered by many to be a living fragment of Ultima herself. Thus, she is a pope-like figure who governs the nation in what is said to be Ultima's image. Her legion of templars, known as Knight-Penitents, roam the lands as fearsome wardens of force and control, extinguishing any sign of dissent without hesitation.
In terms of climate, Cetra is extremely humid and warm, but suffers from a lack of sunlight due to its thick smog. Caustic rain and lightning storms are frequent. The sea that immediately surrounds it is notorious for its boiling temperatures, making it incredibly unsafe for travel.
T R I V I A
As a thrill seeker, Cassiel is known to chase the kick of an adrenaline rush, craving what others might fear; fast driving, unrestrained duels, and even the occasional brush with death.
He is somewhat of a neat freak, with an obsession for cleanliness, always ensuring everything is organised and spotless. He is meticulous with his hygiene and personal appearance, which had once been a part of his celebrity obligation, but is now ingrained in him.
Whether it’s learning a new skill or mastering an existing one, Cassiel is always in pursuit of challenge. He also admires genuine competition, gaining respect for those that rival his talents.
Cassiel is an avid star-gazer, finding solace in the distant beauty of astronomy. Likewise, he finds great pleasure in observing sunrises and sunsets, and many other grand marvels of nature.
Cassiel enjoys strategy and puzzle games, always striving to challenge his own mind. He particularly enjoys strategic games that also hold a competitive element, such as chess.
He is an avid reader of foreign literature. He privately enjoys reading philosophy and poetry from other cultures, even if he refuses to admit how much he relates to their themes and critiques.
Suffering from insomnia, Cassiel's times of rest are few and far between. During periods of prolonged sleep-deprivation, he may tend towards being especially erratic.
Cassiel enjoys gardening, maintaining a greenhouse of exotic plants in his home, tending to it assiduously. It is incredibly neat and well-organised. The plants are purely ornamental, serving no function, and he forbids others from touching them.
S O C I A LBeth (Complicated kinship)
Cassiel and Beth have a strained relationship. Having been in the same household for the past decade, the two have carried similar burdens and pressures, but have never truly been able to offer eachother solace. Cassiel had always hoped for more in the way of kinship from Beth; desiring comfort and affection from her when he was at his most vulnerable during adolescence, but she was ever cold-shouldered. Their fleeting moments of connection, though few and far between, left Cassiel even more the hungry for her approval, and though his outlook on the world has grown darker, he still longs for Beth's validation. A mutual resentment hangs between them both, and has led to Cassiel being increasingly cruel and barbed with Beth. His bitterness, of course, stems from a longing for what could've been, but never was: family.
Aethalos (Admired mentorship)
During his years of training, Cassiel had many mentors; one of his favourites was Aethalos, who helped hone his martial skills through his teenage years. Though she was a ruthless teacher in many respects, she was thoughtful and seemed to take a genuine interest in Cassiel's development. They had a playful, competitive dynamic as Cassiel grew older; with Cassiel even developing an adolescent crush on her — though he was swiftly rejected due to both their age gap and her lack of interest in men. There was always a sense of respect from Cassiel, which was unusual, as he very rarely displayed deference to anyone; but Aethalos had earned it. She remains one of only a very small group of people that Cassiel is willing to take criticism from. However, there is an added complexity to their relationship since she left Cetra, as Cassiel's retinue has painted a negative picture of her, labelling her a traitor. In truth, Cassiel doesn't care all that much about the political affairs of Cetra, so he misses Aethalos' company. They have not crossed paths since her brush with death, and it can be assumed their next meeting might be a little more icy given her antagonism towards his nation.
Cécile (Estranged friendship)
Cassiel and Cécile met by chance during a astronomical festival during Cassiel’s first PR tour, when both were overwhelmed by their respective destinies. Cassiel, burdened by his newfound fame, found normalcy in Cécile’s company. They maintained a long-distance friendship for a few years, but Cassiel’s growing cynicism and detachment caused a rift. Once confidants in adolescence, they are like strangers again in adulthood.
Laura (Neutral)
While Cassiel and Laura have met in passing on a handful of occasions, they have never had a private conversation. As two of the most observed people in the world, they have much in common; but their fame is vastly different. Cassiel holds no significant thoughts on Laura, but considers her lifestyle to be rather vapid and ignoble.
Akamu (Neutral)
As with Laura, Cassiel has crossed paths with Akamu, but only ever in 'red carpet' situations, having no private relationship. They likely have been amicable and polite with one another, but only at a surface level. Cassiel holds no strong opinion on Akamu but, given his need for control, and Akamu's desire to 'go with the flow', they are fairly contrasting; whether their differences are complimentary or incompatible, it remains to be seen.
Nia, Liza & Mathias (Unfamilair)
Cassiel is yet to meet or form an opinion on some of the lesser-known Regalia.
P R E S E N C E He may no longer be a follower of Shiva but some habits remain, quietness is to be valued, hospitality is sacred and politeness is as natural as breathing. That said he tends to be overly detached, traveling has made it difficult to form long lasting connections so nowadays he does his business, and leaves as soon as it is done.
That doesn't mean he doesn't care, he wouldn't do half the things he does if that was the case, he just prefers to burn bright and quick then seek the next battlefield.
When he was much younger he used to be rash and abrasive but time and discipline have mellowed him out, nowadays he is able to control his worst impulses and think before acting, even though his internal thoughts have not changed that much. Somewhat stern and uncomplicated, he prefers to tackle problems head-on, believing that letting a problem persist leads to festering and rot.
His relationship with the cult of Iffrit is friendly, with his home it's strained and with his cult it's complicated.
As a wanderer he prefers slower methods of transport, be it carts and trucks driven by farmers, walking if it is an option if he doesn't have to spend more than two weeks in the wilderness. It doesn't originate from a loathing for modern vehicles but rather a wish to take his time and reflect, it may be slow but it is ever forward.
C H R O N I C L E Born in a small rural town in the mountains of northern Spiera, there were a few things that were clear the moment he was born, cold was his people's way of life, a warm house wasn't to be denied to anyone and Lady Shiva was the Dominant they followed.
He never quite fitted.
Active where others were placid, loud instead of quiet, and quicker to resort towards violence -merited or not.
It was perhaps a quirk of fate, an old swordmaster arrived at their village, he was an old follower of Ifrit and this was to be his last pilgrimage. Of all the other children it was he alone who dared to approach the stranger, pestering him with question upon question, despite this the stranger took the time to answer each one with patience, perhaps recognizing something within him that mirrored his own youth. There was a faint sense of disproval from the elders of the village but that only drove him to interact further with the swordmaster until one day he finally decided to pop the question.
'Can you teach me how to use a sword?'
... Admittedly he was never the most eloquent person.
What followed were some of the hardest and most rewarding years of his life.
At first it was grueling work. As a young boy he was filled with impatience, wanting to leap straight into swordplay, to swing and slash as he had seen in stories. But the old master was unyielding, the lessons were about discipline, the control of one's body and mind. Hours were spent holding stances, practicing footwork, and learning to breathe in a way that harmonized the spirit with the movement of the blade. Even though he was quick to anger and frustration, he never quit. Each day, he returned, determined to prove himself worthy of his Master's teachings.
Slowly, the sword began to feel like an extension of his own body. He learned to harness the aggression that had once gotten him into trouble, to channel his fiery nature into something controlled, something dangerous yet disciplined. The more he learned, the more he realized how little he truly understood before. The sword was not just a tool of violence; it was a path to mastery over himself.
He even managed to convince the old Master to teach him how to use a little complementary magic, nothing like a dedicated caster could but mere tricks to serve in conjunction with his sword.
His relation with the rest of the village changed too, although most were put off by his new obsession -with some of the most conservative members even objecting to it- it proved to be an overall boon to his social standing, no longer was he the firecracker that kept causing trouble but instead a polite teenager that had found a sense of purpose.
But nothing lasts forever, sooner than he wished his Master decided it was his time to depart. As a last gesture, he gifted him a blade, a small crystal, and some parting wisdom.
"Fire doesn’t seek peace -it seeks to burn, to grow. And you, boy, you are a flame"
If only the both of them knew how true that was.
Life moved on, he kept with his training now all by himself, practicing each day in the quiet solitude of the mountains. Though the village carried on with its usual rhythm, the absence of the swordmaster left a noticeable gap in his life. He tried new things, fishing, woodworking, smithing. Nothing ever clicked the way swordsmanship did.
There was a restlessness inside him growing every day.
It came to a head one fateful winter. News reached the village that a band of raiders, notorious for pillaging small settlements around mining towns, was heading toward their remote mountain home. But these weren’t just common thieves, there were rumors that they were followers of Ifrit’s darker aspects, flame and destruction without discipline. The villagers, usually peaceful and insular, were unprepared for such a threat. As panic spread through the village, many advocated for fleeing into the deeper mountains or hiding in the caves until the raiders passed. But that wasn’t an option for him. This was the first time in his life that the sword he had spent years mastering would be put to real use, his mind burned with purpose, and the flame within him truly roared to life for the first time.
Against the wishes of the elders, he took up his sword and set out alone to face the raiders. He knew the terrain better than anyone and used that to his advantage. Perched on a narrow cliffside path, he watched the raiders approach, waiting until they were close enough. Then, with the discipline and precision his Master had drilled into him, he descended upon them. The fight was brutal. These men were not like the quiet villagers he had grown up around, they were strong, experienced fighters who lived for battle. But he was faster, more agile, and -most importantly- his flame had a purpose. Every swing of his sword was driven by years of pent-up energy and a fierce desire to protect the village he had once thought stifled him.
He cut and was cut away, fire was used as a distraction by both sides, for every enemy he felled another two took its place, a few bullets grazed him and his blood ignited like never before. It wasn't long before he lost himself to the fire of battle
[And you, boy, you are a Flame]
...and found 'SOMETHING' gazing at him.
When lucidity returned to him he stood amidst the aftermath of the battle, wisps of fire licking his wounds, for the first time in his life, the cold failing to affect him in any way. Around him, most of the raiders were either dead or unconscious, with the remaining few watching him with a mix of emotions.
It was... uncomfortable, the way they looked at him, awe, fear, and hunger in each of their gazes.
Vitality was still flowing inside him but he was tired, more tired than ever before, around him 'Flakes' were slowly descending and landing in everything, including the riders. He had some suspicions about what had transpired and the reason for the particles falling around him. With as much strength as he could, he ordered them to leave and never return.
Miraculous enough they complied, their gazes clouded.
His return to the village was met with a mix of emotions. The villagers, who had heard the commotion and seen the distant flickers of fire in the night, initially greeted him with astonishment. Some were relieved, grateful for his bravery and for warding off the raiders, while others watched him with trepidation, unsure of what had truly transpired on that battlefield. The strange sensation of fire coursing through his veins hadn’t left him, it pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. He could feel the eyes of the villagers on him, some filled with admiration, others with uncertainty. His mind flashed back to the raiders' gazes, their fervent obedience when he had ordered them to leave.
Something had changed in him.
In the days that followed, he tried to return to normal life. But nothing felt the same. The villagers treated him differently, even his closest friends seemed distant. There were hushed conversations whenever he passed, glances stolen when they thought he wasn’t looking. The fire inside him, once a source of comfort and purpose, now felt like a weight, an uncontrollable force that had burned too brightly for too long.
He couldn't stay, that much was clear, the feelings for his actions were grateful but the knowledge of what they meant was weighing down everyone. So he made his decision. He called a meeting with the elders and announced his leave.
There were attempts to stop him, but he could tell they were halfhearted.
He packed his belongings and took one last look at the village that had been his home. The snow had begun to fall again, covering the ground in a fresh blanket of white. It was beautiful and cold, a stark contrast to the fire that now roared within him. And so, with the blade his master had gifted him, a heart full of resolve, and a spirit aflame with unfulfilled potential, he stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him. The journey ahead would be long and uncertain, but he was ready to embrace it with the full force of his flame.
For the last 5 years he has been wandering, imitating his Master pilgrimage, and searching to find himself through the edge of his blade.
After all, fire seeks to grow and he is a Flame.
H O M E The capital of Spiera is a temperate country known for its metal ores, its expensive wines, beautiful ships, and its historic temples. Much has been done to preserve the ancient parts of the city, and as seen from the drones, one is struck by the clear divide of darkness between old and new during the evenings. However, unlike the usual template mainland, the mountains tend to be very cold all year long with heavy winds due to their closeness to the sea.
Mathias's birth home is called Gazet Village, a small rural town in the mountains of northern Spiera.
The main worship is Shiva, but shrines exist to Leviathan and Garuda. The village's closest neighbor is a mining town and one of the biggest concerns for the elders of the village is the new tendency for the youngsters to migrate there in search of a better life.
The town is small, barely reaching above 100 in population it is headed by an elected council of six elders. It is identical to hundreds of small settlements found in the northern regions of Spiera and the surrounding nations.
T R I V I A Likes -Sour candies -Swordsmanship -Cold -Followers of Shiva -His cult
Neutrals -The remnants of that band of Raiders have formed a cult around him, inducting others with similar mentality into their ranks, however, the cult possesses a strange method of worship. They seek to attack him, to enter in battle, and force him to enter his Dominant form. It is only then that the surviving members are 'worthy' of absorbing the residue. -His Master was a relatively high-standing member of the cult of Ifrit, and a well-known Grandmaster swordsman.
S O C I A L Has heard about a few of the most famous ones but has never met anyone(?)
P R E S E N C EWise beyond her years, Liza is a polite, soft-spoken and non-confrontational individual without a speck of malice in her body. She never raises her voice or utters a curse regardless of anything and would never speak badly of anyone; not even behind their backs. Her thoughts, however, are another matter entirely. She doesn’t lie often, if ever, but her words are sometimes cryptic and give very little away for others to tell the difference and she hardly bothers to explain herself. As much as she can be peculiar, she holds herself and others to a certain standard and she makes no effort to hide her disapproval of those who fail to meet it, though it may not always be readily visible.
Despite her background, or lack thereof, Liza has little issue cooperating with people, but the opposite cannot be said to be quite as true. Though it could not be said that she is inefficient in her work, she offers little in the way of reprimand or assurances for those who’ve worked with her. Her overly polite yet paradoxically judgmental demeanour tends to put people off, to either no notice or care on her part. She is never uncivil nor antagonistic in her words or actions, and yet many who have met her would rather avoid her after the fact, seemingly against all logic. Often, she is described as less walking and more gliding, like a lizard on ice; quiet and imperceptible until someone notices her. Or, to be more accurate, until she allows it.
While Liza rarely goes out of her way to directly help individuals, preferring to deal with problems at their source, she has no issue with providing advice or even aid if requested. She never acts without considering the results of her actions, but she accepts without fuss that she simply cannot control the future regardless of her choices. Liza often stares at nothing, as if she is aware of something no one else can see; a sentiment more accurate than anyone knows. What she truly feels at any given moment remains something only she is privy to and her goals, as with her patron, are beyond your understanding.
Liza is gentle, but she is not kind.
C H R O N I C L EBefore Liza became a Regalia, she was Nobody; a mystery in a city that crushed the hopes of those who dared to dream, and broke down and rebuilt the will of all who entered, just to shatter it like glass all over again. She was different, but not in a way anyone would be proud of. On the surface, Ochiwa was a brilliantly shining city in the ever-prosperous island nation of Tenshi. All its citizens were known to be kind and well-mannered and always welcomed outsiders with open arms. That, however, had deteriorated into a lie over time. A mere façade meant to hide the chaos festering beneath, sustaining itself on the destitute citizens who toiled ceaselessly with no end in sight while the rich indulged in the luxury wrought by their sins.
"Power does not corrupt. It merely strips corrupt men bare."
Liza held no sympathy in her heart for the poor struggling in the disgrace of a great city, no love for the wealthy few who profited off their labour and no regret for the actions she took that changed it for the better. For, while the elites of the city took advantage of its less fortunate citizens to make themselves richer, hiding beneath their masks of false charity, their true actions did not go unnoticed for long. And they were soon to learn that disregarding the law was not without consequence, and they were going to bear the full, unrelenting weight of their folly.
"They believe themselves untouchable. That they are above the law. Show them how wrong they are, my dear shadows."
As an agent of her country, Liza did things that would forever haunt the minds and hearts of most people. She was not like most people. People who knew her name were few and those who knew her face were fewer still, as was standard for those like her. Ochiwa became a different place almost overnight after the Kurai Lin passed through, delivering their judgement and sweeping away the corrupt like a hurricane. The citizens rejoiced for their restored freedom, but they would never know who saved them. Liza was a saviour of the city, but a hero to the people, she was not.
"A sharpened blade is meant only to kill. That is why they exist."
She was Kurai Lin. The keepers, overseers, judges, and executioners of Tenshi’s laws; guardians, in a sense. They were the ones who were sent to do the jobs no one else would. That was who she was, all she was. Until it wasn’t. The day her life changed forever was the day she left the place she once called home. No longer needed, she found herself lost, adrift in the sea of life with no direction. Her life had been simple before; she never had to question her purpose or whether what she was doing was right or wrong. Without anything to tether herself, she found herself unmoored and drifting directionless. That was when Gilgamesh came to her—a beacon of stability within her turbulent storm. Liza didn’t know why she was chosen then and still doesn't. Maybe it was curiosity, or perhaps it was simply pity, but the result was clear as day. Whatever the answer may be, she was forever grateful for her Dominant’s intervention.
After Liza became a Regalia, she was a nobody, because it was all she had ever known in life. The difference was that now, she had her own purpose, as well as the means to achieve it.
H O M ETenshi is a temperate mountainous and heavily forested island nation with smatterings of volcanic activity mostly known for its mixture of ancient traditions and modern restyling, exquisite cuisine, and agriculture. Despite its modest size, Tenshi is quite technologically advanced, though its military is somewhat lacking compared to some others, aside from its powerful Navy. Though they are not the most welcoming of foreigners, they are a major supplier of produce that many mainland countries depend on. None of this is to say that the country is perfect, as it has its share of unsavoury factions, though its peacekeepers effectively enforce the law on most levels. When it comes to faith, Tenshi has a long history of worship for Gaia, the Earth Mother, though a fair few also reserve their religious fervour for Leviathan as well. The eastern and southernmost coast of the island sits on a major tectonic belt, making it prone to destructive earthquakes and tsunamis.
The people of Tenshi tend to value decency above all else, presenting a respectable attitude in all matters in which they are involved. Their language, the Japanese-adjacent Tenshin, is pleasantly smooth yet complex, with an important system of honorifics and many different dialects depending on location and education. The written form is separated into two syllabaries, partially based on an ancient language. While Tenshin is the main language used island-wide, due to the strict education standards upheld on Tenshi, a significant portion of the population is versed in at least two other languages, generally Common and/or Eshiyaos.
Though no longer an absolute monarchy, Tenshi still has a strictly defined social order. An emperor/empress is chosen and serves as head of government until either their death or abdication and the title is then passed down to the next in line. They have considerable authority on many matters in accordance with previously established constitutions, though their decisions are not necessarily final on any of those matters. The government rules based on tradition and stringent regulations and keeps watch on the corporations that operate within its borders, the most prominent of which is Monarch. The upper echelons of Tenshi possess a strong and long-held foothold in the country, but just as the laws are strictly upheld, so too are the rich and powerful to be kept in check.
At the top of the hierarchy sits the current ruler of Tenshi, Empress Kusanagi Usui, aided by her seven advisors. In recent years, a rise in political corruption and corporate crimes has led to the creation of a unique caste of individuals carefully selected and trained to uphold the laws and virtues of Tenshi by whatever means necessary. Its existence known only to a select few, the Kurai Lin is a covert group that answers only to the Empress’s court and operates with a higher authority than typical law enforcers.
The capital city of Tenshi; Kaihito, is a sprawling metropolis combining the best of two worlds; the ultramodern technological prowess of the present day and historic shrines of the past, as well as the Imperial Palace, a leftover from a bygone era. Surrounded on three sides by luscious woodland and mountainous terrain, including the country’s highest peak, Mount Aoji, the city is a metropolitan marvel of history and technology seamlessly blended in a show of wealth and prosperity. The steady march of progress is displayed nearly everywhere in the city through robotics, Artificial Intelligence, and other advanced technologies. Distribution and use of crystals are strictly, but fairly, regulated as a whole.
Outside of the cityscapes of Tenshi, the countryside is a vibrant and lush environment filled with rivers and lakes, wherein a major amount of agricultural production and trade occurs. It experiences great variance in its seasons, with bountiful springs, hot summers, pleasant autumns and heavy winters year round. Residents of the countryside tend to be less traditionally inclined, though they are still a generally pleasant crowd.
T R I V I ALikes:
Structure
Sour candy
Trust
“Dislikes”:
Disorder
People who act without thinking
Miscellaneous:
Liza is extremely adept at wetwork, though she claims to find it distasteful. Whether or not that’s true is up for debate.
She is slightly short for a Tenshi native at 5’4, but her heels add three inches to her height, making her appear above average. She has considered making them higher, but she wouldn’t be able to keep her balance if they were taller.
Liza is not an orphan but doesn't often mention her family.
She is skilled in multiple martial arts disciplines, but her lack of physical strength has limited her options to ones that don’t rely on it. She compensates for her weakness quite well.
She makes an excellent cook if one considers turning basic ingredients into poison an art form; she is used to it.
One of her names is fake and the other is miswritten, though she never says which.
Liza has a collection of knives and tools from every city she’s ever visited. Her collection is incredibly varied.
Liza wears a choker to cover the tattoo that marks her as a Kurai Lin, even though no one would recognise it.
At first acquaintance, "Beth" lives up to all appearances, more than satisfies all assumption: she is silent, standoffish, and thoroughly uninterested; judgy and annoyed and aloof. When, at great duress, she must appear in public, assuming she will deign to arrive at all she will arrive late; and once afforded the chance, will sooner depart. When she must inhabit a crowd, always she stands at the peripheries, near smoking areas and punch bowls, where solitary people can linger without seeming purposeless. Despite her unusual appearance she moves slowly and with great measure, so much so as to easily skulk up behind people without her meaning it, startling them terribly. And when she must speak, she speaks with vitriol; caustically; spitefully, as if she aims to make them all regret it who have ever attempted to vivisect her like a book in their hands, read her like a still-living frog with the glistening scalpels of their eyes...
In addition to all these other conspicuities, hardly helping her "affability" is the massive executioner's-sword—longer than she is tall—which ever and at all times rests scabbarded upon her back. Always ergo she exudes the air that she is there (wheresoever she may be) to do a duty—not to revel or commemorate. Certainly not to enjoy herself.
However, with abounding patience and just a little prying, one just might chink her armor, break past her frigid shell, and find her—well, not so very different whatsoever. Very few can count Beth among their true friends and allies (mostly for a dearth of patience on their part) and those who can, hardly recognize her voice with any greater ease than could an utter stranger hearing it for the first. She offers to these "confidants" (if one can call them such) little counsel, and less encouragement. Even her cold, artificial gaze does not soften; if anything it worsens with fellowship, as the young death-priestess, in beginning to understand her companions, begins as well to assess and measure them relentlessly. One must suppose she sees potential they're not reaching, purposes they neglect; unless, of course, familiarity truly does breed contempt...
Still, somehow managing to break down all her misgivings and caution (and overcoming more than a few prejudices themselves), allies—true allies—may one day, despite all unlikelihoods, spend just enough time around Beth to feel her silence, her interrogative glare, her callousness—...change. Metamorphose, almost. No longer will she seem to barely tolerate their proximity but coexist beside it. Hers will no longer be a glower of derision but of restrained concern. One or two souls even walk this earth who may at one or another time have called her odd presence a soothing one, seeking out her stoic, almost serene composure amidst times of crisis the way storm-thrown sailors seek the shallows.
On the one hand, perhaps such a weary and cynical soul should not occupy a body so vibrant and supple and fresh with life. On the other, Beth has seen things most people never will, nor should: she's walked through the depths of human depravity, along the heights of human suffering, and, just maybe, abreast of death Himself.
C H R O N I C L E
At the center of Malkuth, City of God, is a ziggurat; the Crucible of the Enduring Flame, it's called; walled, peaked, and setbacked all in electrogold. Every Cetrite has seen it issuing from the smogs, the poisoned mists, the perpetual rains. If not in person then on their billboards, and their bulletin screens; their illegal holodeck headsets.
A palace at the center of a city at the center of a peninsula in the middle of a smoking, toxic sea. How many Cetrites—no—how many Ultimites all the world over do you suppose have wondered what actually happens in the very heart-chamber of that edifice? What ultimate truth should await them there: a goddess of flesh or a goddess of steel and wire; born of the cosmos or born of the industrious hands of man, crafted in their own image, to their own specifications; a convincing replica, or a true spark of the sublime?
Allow me to tell you now, for it is in that room that one Regalia's story begins.
It's a rat's-nest of screens and wires, that room; cramped, for all its affectations, with heaps of useless, burned-out bioelectrics; hardly given to the opulence infesting the rest of the Crucible; bare of wall and (save for the grime) bare of floor, with no sources of light save for the screens, the all-surrounding screens. Yet despite this squalid modesty, only two men may occupy this room of their own will: the Archlictor, of course, who visits as he pleases; and the Neurospex (or Pneumomancer), who may never leave. For once he has plugged in, neuroport on one end of the jack and the Goddess-Machine terminal on the other, it is far too dangerous to luxuriate in the thought of un-plugging him. Simultaneously programmer, diviner, and technopriest, an acolyte Pneumomancer's hair quickly falls out, his skin sallows from vitamin deficiencies; his legs, worthless to him thence, will over the course of a few years wither away to vestigial flaps. They must remember to feed him, though he will not enjoy, appreciate, nor even so much as notice their fervent attentiveness. Eventually, the ever-blinding screens will bleach his eyeballs, and the chatter of ten billion voices will put out his ears, and finally he will rejoice, for there will be no more distractions then; no more interference and noise-data to pollute Her voice. Her glorious, triumphant voice, cutting through the ether and directly into his jellies like a vibroblade! And in a palace filled to brimming with messengers, with all their hearsay and interpretation, he alone, from that moment until his expiring moment, communes directly with Providence.
Seven-and-twenty years ago the Pneumomancer, of course, had no name at all, yet another useless appendage molted like a snakeskin to make way for the enormity of his task. Names are only another weighted shackle, after all, tethering one to worldliness and ego. But Nar-elesh was the name of the acting Archlictor, who dutifully brought the creature its breakfast, a mush of nutricorns boiled in lab tallow; the same austere breakfast as consumed by the Knights-Penitent, only further processed down and poured into a chargeflask for administering through a feed port. But when Nar-elesh scanned himself through the heavy chamber door, breakfast slipped from his hand, spattered the polished black flagstone; for there he saw the technopriest, drowning in his own froth, bleeding from the eyes, convulsing with mad revelations; dangling from his own wire nest like so many nooses. Three minutes later, before the Knights could get there in time to rip the neuroport from his neckplate, and the biosynaptics from his fingertips, the Pneumomancer had already died under the weight of what he'd seen. But not before Nar-elesh had gleaned a few key facts amidst the ramblings, murmured by a tongue half-bitten off in ecstatic terror, in rhapsody, in righteous fury.
"She will not burn who thou shalt baptize with thy jet throwers......"
"West......West, along a sister-shore......To the west, a child is born to reign over the Great Darkness......"
"Go!......while the Red Star of the Morning hast not yet risen......"
And while the Pneumomancer twitched his last, there, on the largest screen, loomed the pitiless eyes of ultima.ene, watching. Expecting.
Nar-elesh knew not whether he had the strength—nay, the courage—to execute the holy will revealed to him—how he prayed that he, or even the dead Pneumomancer, might receive a new translation, a better one, an edict less random and cruel!—but through the labyrinth of speakers and wires which carries Her voice, only silence. The Goddess-Machine did not answer, and that was reply in itself. For if She had chosen to divulge only one way whereby to distinguish the child they sought from the pretenders, then it was the only way.
He begged Her forgiveness, and mustered a battalion to their amphibious carriers.
When they learned of their mission, even some of the most devotion-scarred and battle-tempered soldiers of the order hesitated; objected; wondered if the late Pneumomancer, or even Archlictor Nar-elesh himself, had not misinterpreted. But he warned them not to make him repeat himself, and so they did their duty. So for months did the Knights-Penitent of the Resplendency of Man and Holy Mother raze along the Sulfured Sea. From northern Astaria to southern Castral, where they could still smell the rotten-egg stench of Gaia's Rift, of the Sundering; still see its pollutant smog hazy across the firmament. There they set villages to the torch, and whole families to the sword. And yes: they doused the babies. They lit them on fire. Heard the screams, heard the lungs blistering on the fumes, then the silence which followed. Many wept behind their faceplates, having to shut down their optic sensors and mute their vocal amplifiers to suffer through their mission. An unprecedented number were also executed on the spot for dereliction, left there to be licked away by the briny tongues of the sea, gnawed by the crabs and the shipworms for the obscenity of having refused to murder children in the name of their goddess. But eventually, through a great many trials of faith and fire, the survivors found what they sought: definitely no older than her first or second nameday, born premature (so small, so brittle), and blind in both eyes. Wailing ceaselessly despite that she could not see them, awful in their hulking armor, their grinning metal masks. Nar-elesh watched from the shoreline as, true to the Pneumomancer's words, the house went up in flames, and yet the Knights-Penitent did not emerge from the wreckage. He heard shouting then, first of wrath and then of horror, as one by one the helmeted heads rolled from pauldroned shoulders, pneumatic arteries purging their blood-mixtures through the yawning, eerily clean wounds left behind by a blade as thin as paper. As jet tanks were pressurized in the heat, bursting in columns of oily black smoke; as tempered shadesteel discolored in the flames and curled away, eaten by a preternatural rust; a rust which soon attacked the corpses as well, withering them to a putrescent black sludge, then to powder, then dust. Only one Knight survived, if he was a Knight at all, for he wore a suit not of their uniform, wielded an impossibly large blade, towered over even the mightiest of the dead Penitents had they been at full glory. Some kind of protector-spirit, the likes of which had not been mentioned in the archives in centuries, perhaps not seen on earth for centuries more before that.
And while her family's ashes curled in the flames, there lay the babe—at His sabatonned feet, caterwauling but unharmed. Molten jet thrower jelly sloughing harmlessly off her untouched skin, unbroken by the shrapnel and the splinters. Nar-elesh, too afraid to approach until the Knight's visage had long faded (and how torturously it stared him down in the interim), scooped her up in his arms, rocked her a little in trembling hands, eyes tearing with vindication. Whispered "There, there, I've got you. You're safe now."
And why not? ultima.ene, in Her boundless wisdom, had led him straight to a Regalia—another Dominant's Regalia, robbed from Their service and secured in the Resplendency's service.
Unaware of what true purpose she would one day serve, but knowing, all the same, of its great and terrible nature, on his way back across the Sulfured Sea, prow cutting through the poisoned spray, Nar-elesh gave her an old name, a terrible one, rife with the regret of apostates and the frightened awe of the devout, portending her role as a dark savior and a bringer of nourishing ashes—a name more ancient than Malkuth and the Goddess-Machine and the Crucible: Yrkhalabeth.
Suffering from an extremely rare congenital disease, Beth was both blind and deaf at birth. She has worn hearing implants all her life, but she didn't receive medical clearance for the installation of her artificial eyes until the age of thirteen, before which she had moved through life entirely without sight. Beth did not understand why people were so afraid of her (and her childhood "secret friend") until she, herself, half-delirious from a gauntlet of anti-rejection drugs, beheld Him for the first time: a towering hulk of blades and armor, silent and pitiless, executor of her cruelest desires...
⛧
One would be forgiven for thinking Beth despises nature; after all, she keeps no plants in her cell, does not excite at the nightly newscasts following various weather and climate phenomena, and has never particularly sought out gardens, parks, or greenhouses for her solitude; seldom leaving the smog and the steam of Malkuth in search of nobler views. This however could not be further from the truth. She simply does not wish to inflict upon the wildlife her strange, withering aura, clinging to her like a pestilence and striking down such small, fragile creatures as birds and insects with ease.
⛧
She pretends she cannot speak Liturgian (the ecclesiastic language of the Resplendency)—not just fluently but elegantly. Oh, the songs the Knights-Penitent sing when they think no one is around to heed!...
⛧
With two of her six senses deathly-susceptible to electromagnetic radiation, when Beth does choose to indulge in a rare moment of earthly hedonism, she chooses a sense of which she cannot be so easily robbed: her sense of smell. Rain extracting oils from earth and asphalt, pungent guano on the rooftops, cooking oil wafting up from the Underhives!.....Though she would never dare divulge as much to anyone, there is no better gift to bring her than a deliciously unctuous, long-burning incense; an expensive perfume...
P R E S E N C E Nia follows the Path of Eitrú, a belief in the primordial origins of the cosmos. It is a faith of Nibelheim that holds the Dominant aspects of nature are given form, manifesting in the world through the Regalia. While the original faith is shrouded in tradition and mysticism, Nia is an Ardent of the New Path movement, a modern reimagining of the faith designed for a more global audience. Her role is to guide individuals on their spiritual journeys toward enlightenment. The New Path focuses on helping people detach from materialistic and worldly concerns that interfere with their faith, allowing them to seek greater clarity and favour with the Dominants.
When Nia is spiritually guiding others, she exudes a calm, serene, and confident presence, rooted in true belief. Her practice invites participants to bare themselves to Eitrú, making use of spacious natural surroundings and refuges as settings for her teachings. Through guided meditation, mindfulness, and control of body and mind, she leads individuals toward deep interconnectedness with the cosmos.
Nia is profoundly devout and conveys her message through a gentle touch that permeates every interaction. This presence is especially felt when others open themselves to her guidance. When addressing larger audiences, her passion and zeal become more evident, as she proselytizes with fervour to bring others into the fold.
In her personal life, when not acting in an official capacity, Nia is warm, approachable, and easy-going, offering support and friendship to those around her. While she does not force her spiritual beliefs on others, she will not tolerate mockery or ridicule of her faith.
Those who come to know her true self will discover someone not immediately recognizable—someone who embodies ancient wisdom, as if ordained by a higher authority, perhaps one of the Regalia themselves. She seems to possess an intimate knowledge of Bahamut's avatar, Nyx, the figure behind the resurgence of the old ways of Eitrú.
C H R O N I C L E Nia was raised in the rustic peaks of Nibelheim, living a traditional pastoral life amidst the cycles of the mist. Although her parents allowed her some limited time on the net, she found herself more captivated by the traditional tales told during the misty seasons. These stories felt more real and immersive. The Ardents told the best tales—legends of ancient heroes battling monsters, cautionary fables, and the deep connection between nature and the divine. Like most who grew up hearing these stories, Nia dreamed big, her mind filled with wild imaginings as she watched over the flocks, contemplating the various forms the Dominants could take.
Her first real encounter with the outside world came when a film crew arrived nearby to shoot a new series, A Game of Regalia. The urbanites who descended upon her village brought with them actors from across the globe, dressed in rich costumes and adorned with intricate makeup and oversized props. They portrayed the Regalia of ancient times. Nia, like many her age, would watch the filming whenever she had the chance, learning more about the world beyond Nibelheim. When she spoke with the Ardents about it, they dismissed the theatre as sacrilege. Still, she and other local children were allowed to play small background roles, earning a place on the big screen.
As filming progressed, the crew ventured deeper into one of the more remote areas of Nibelheim, drawn by its foreboding and atmospheric landscape. Despite the Ardents’ warnings of monsters and ancient dangers, the crew ignored them and pressed on. One day, the mist descended so thickly that visibility dropped to almost nothing. The crew sought shelter in their vehicles and tents, waiting for the mist to pass. Unfortunately, Nia was left outside, lost in the fog as she tried to find her way back. Primal sounds echoed through the mist—creatures, monsters of the unknown. Frightened, Nia curled up against a rock, trying to make herself as small as possible. As she whispered to herself, "I am nothing," a low, guttural sound of a large lizard resonated above her. Frozen in place, she waited in terror until the creature snorted and moved away. The next morning, the mist retreated, and the spooked film crew hurriedly packed up and left. Nia rejoined them, but she was forever changed by the experience.
Following this encounter, Nia became deeply drawn to the spiritual aspects of her religion. It was as though she had an epiphany during that night in the mist. She began to wonder about the deeper meaning of life, its purpose, and spent more time at local shrines reflecting on her experience.
A Game of Regalia was a major success, and those who had participated were invited to the capital, Nythavon, for a celebratory event. Nia and her parents attended in person, and she was awestruck by the grandeur of the capital city. Nythavon was a beacon of light, bustling with people and filled with towering buildings that stretched toward the sky—a stark contrast to her quiet village life.
Despite the luxury and splendour around her, Nia felt a strange emptiness. The city felt like it lacked a soul. The Ardents of the old ways had been replaced by new religious movements, ones that seemed mass-produced and commercialised for profit. The Regalia were treated as celebrities, not prophets, and religion had become a tool for control and a justification for behaviour that would otherwise be considered immoral. Rather than feeling awestruck, Nia became disillusioned by what she saw.
The innocence of a girl can only take her so far. Nia realized that the world was far bigger than she had ever imagined, and she felt a growing sense of nothingness, a void, and a crisis of faith. She began to question the fundamentals and tenets of what she knew, feeling a desire to rise above the superficiality she had witnessed. In her search for answers, she attracted the attention of others who guided her to a new way of thinking. When all is stripped away, what remains? What is more tangible than the truth?
During this period of introspection, Nia was introduced to the cult of Bahamut, the Dominant of the Void. Her yearning for a deeper understanding of the cosmos led her to explore the primordial beginnings—before time, before light. She came to realize that reality is shaped by the forms it takes, and it is in the silence between those forms that we truly appreciate them. This epiphany brought her spiritual enlightenment and a profound connection to the Void. As she delved deeper into the teachings of Bahamut, she adopted a new name: Nyx.
Nyx had found her true calling: to become an Ardent and dedicate her life to the service of the divine. She aspired not only to embody the teachings of Bahamut, but also to inspire a renewal of faith in others through her actions and ideals.
Returning to the mists where her transformation began, Nyx sought to confront the experience that had shaped her. This time, instead of hiding behind a rock, she stood in the open, arms spread wide with conviction. As the familiar sounds and cries of the unknown creatures surrounded her, she remained silent except for the words, "I am nothing." Once again, the guttural sound of the giant lizard approached, but this time she was ready. At that moment, she embraced the primordial majesty of Bahamut and was ordained as the Regalia of the Void.
With her newfound understanding and purpose, Nyx set out to modernize the path of Eitrú. While the religion remained obscure and often misunderstood, she aimed to bring new meaning to its teachings and find others who shared her spiritual strength and conviction. She sought to guide them toward the truth, so they too could ascend as she intended to.
Now an adult, Nyx moved to the capital, Nythavon, to continue her great mission. Harnessing the strength of the Regalia, she pursued a higher, divine purpose—to bring enlightenment to a world in need of spiritual renewal.
H O M E Nia hails from Nibelheim, an ancient land in the far west, renowned for its untouched natural beauty, with foreboding, mist-shrouded mountains, deep valleys, and fjords that cut far inland. Defined by rugged terrain and a harsh climate, Nibelheim fosters a deep sense of isolation and resilience among its people.
In ancient times, Nibelheim's villages were formed by scattered clans nestled among the peaks, connected only by narrow, treacherous paths. Harsh winters often isolated these communities, reinforcing solidarity of the clans, as ancient warriors battled over scarce resources for survival. At points in history, when the population outgrew the land's capacity, the people foraged beyond the borders into more fertile territories, gaining a reputation for raiding and settling in foreign lands during these periods of migration.
Nibelheim's culture is rich with oral tradition and history, where bards played a crucial role in communication and entertainment between the isolated settlements, receiving privileged status. These storytellers spread tales of a formidable people—heroes who fought ancient monsters, embarked on great adventures, and celebrated the mysticism of nature. These tales followed during the migrations, spreading a legacy of these ancient people.
As the world advanced and nations began to form, Nibelheim region drew interest for its wealth of natural ores and mining potential. In response to incursions by other nations, Nibelheim's clans united into a single nation for mutual defence. The land's natural borders made it highly defensible, allowing the people to repel invaders. Mining became central to the economy, and the new capital city of Nythavon leveraged these resources to establish trade with the world and bring wealth to the nation.
Despite the nation’s growth, the people of Nibelheim remained rooted in the old ways, following the path of Eitrú. This belief system holds that a primordial force, or god, originated in the wilds of Nibelheim and birthed the pantheon of Dominants. The faith is polytheistic, with no particular Dominant being favoured; instead, all are praised equally part of a greater whole. Ardents, the name for spiritual intermediaries, serve as more than religious leaders—they are philosophers, advisors, storytellers, and keepers of knowledge. They believe in a cycle of rebirth and a deep connection to nature, with the Dominants representing different aspects of natural forces and philosophy. Some believe that through spiritual enlightenment, one can break this cycle and ascend to something greater.
Nibelheim is steeped in mysticism and unspoilt beauty, and as the nation transitioned into the modern era, with advancements in communication technology, Nythavon experienced a cultural renaissance. The once-industrial hub was revitalized into a cosmopolitan metropolis, becoming a modern centre for creative industries that attracted filmmakers, artists, and digital creators. The tales and landscapes of this mysterious land have become popular entertainment for global audiences. This cultural shift has led to a divide within the nation, between the rural communities adhering to the old ways and the urban centres embracing a new creative direction.
Even in the current age, large parts of Nibelheim remain unspoilt by civilization. These wild, untamed regions are shrouded in mystery, with ongoing tales of missing people, monsters, and strange disappearances in the mists. Ghost towns dot the borders of this primal region in the south, serving as a warning to those who seek to intrude upon these ancient lands—places that, to this day, still inspire dread, awe, and terror.
The language of Nibelheim resembles a blend of Gaelic and Norse, with dialects that reflect the speaker’s upbringing. The tongue spoken in Nythavon is more Gaelic in character, with a melodic quality and a heavy emphasis on vowels and softer sounds, giving it a whispering, flowing cadence. This musicality stems from the culture of storytelling and song, and perceived as pleasant to a global audience. The traditional Nibelheim language found in rural areas is more Norse in character, with sharp consonants and a staccato rhythm that reflects the isolated, rugged nature of the people and their land.
T R I V I A Likes
Meditation: Nia enjoys spending time in quiet, isolated places where she can meditate and connect with the spiritual energies of the cosmos. She often combines this with yoga-like postures and exercises that help her harmonize her mind and body with the Void.
Astronomy: Stargazing is one of Nia's greatest passions. The infinite vastness of the heavens humbles her, reminding her of the smallness of individual existence compared to the scale of the universe. She often contemplates how the constellations reflect the Dominants’ influence.
Natural Experiences: Nia finds profound peace in the presence of nature. She cherishes sensory details like the patter of rain on a window, the scent of burning wood, the taste of earthy teas, and the rustic foods of Nibelheim. Long walks through mist-shrouded forests help her feel grounded and attuned to the cycles of the natural world.
Storytelling: Deeply rooted in the oral traditions of her homeland, Nia finds great meaning in stories and folklore. She appreciates the transformative power of stories and believes they carry deeper truths about the world, the divine, and the human spirit.
Theology: As an Ardent, Nia delights in discussing the nature of the divine. She especially enjoys engaging with others who are open to exploring spiritual matters. Conversations about faith, Dominants, and the mysteries of existence are some of her most cherished moments.
Dislikes
Artificiality: Nia has a deep aversion to artificial things, whether they are synthetic scents, processed foods, or materialistic obsessions. She believes society has lost its way, focusing too much on superficial goods and wealth, and straying from spiritual truths. She especially despises the celebrity culture that surrounds the Dominants as it detracts from the divine.
Overstimulating Environments: Nia struggles in loud, overly stimulating environments. Crowds, bright lights, and repetitive noise are deeply unsettling for her, causing her to feel disconnected from her spiritual core. She avoids places where she can't find a sense of calm and balance.
Social Incongruence: Nia cannot tolerate hypocrisy or insincerity. She dislikes people who say one thing and do another, particularly when it involves moral or spiritual matters. Such behaviour undermines the purity of one's path.
Mint Ice Cream: Despite her love for nature, Nia has an unusual dislike for mint-flavoured ice cream. Perhaps it is the overuse of it in toothpaste, it is just unnatural to her taste buds, and ruins an otherwise delicious treat.
Hot Weather: Nia finds extreme heat to be almost unbearable. Accustomed to the cooler, misty environment of Nibelheim, she struggles in warm climates and feels drained and sluggish when she can’t escape the oppressive heat.
Trivia
Puzzles: Nia loves mental challenges, especially puzzles like sudoku, where meaning emerges from absence. For her, these games reflect the nature of the Void—how the blanks and gaps in the world reveal deeper truths.
Music: Nia prefers instrumental and folk music, often played on traditional instruments like the hurdy-gurdy, harp, bagpipes, and gongs. These sounds connect her to her roots and evoke the mysticism of her homeland.
Tattoo: She has a small, discreet tattoo of a black star on her left ankle. Its meaning is known only to a few—it is a mark to guide her footsteps on the Path of Eitrú.
Minimalist Living: Despite having access to modern comforts, Nia leads a minimalist lifestyle. She values simplicity in her possessions, believing that material clutter distracts from spiritual clarity.
Summoner of Monsters: Whispers abound in Nibelheim about Bahamut's connection to the monsters lurking in the mists. Some say that as the Regalia of the Void, Nyx has the power to summon and control these ancient beasts, leading them to do her bidding.
S O C I A L To be developed during interactions with other characters.
P R E S E N C EHaving lived a decade of her life serving as Knight-Penitent for the pious nation of Cetra, every gesture Aethalos makes radiates discipline and efficiency, and every word she utters is as stoic as she can keep it. Observing her mannerisms, one is struck by the impression that the articulations of these movements somewhat impeded by an invisible weight - the weight of arms and armor. While these honorable burdens are no longer attached to her, the habitual movements are difficult to unlearn. These restrictions lend her gait a vibrant sort of valiance, and coupled with impeccable posture, one is struck with the impression of authority and order. To strangers and wrongdoers, her presence in a room often leaves it feeling cold, as if an interrogation were about to take place.
Her strong physique is forged in the fires of zealous duty, for those called to serve Ultima are expected to reflect her perfection. In contrast to the form, however, the skin that covers it is marked with scars and inked lines of prayers to Ultima. These marked portions upon Aethalos' limbs indicate where the armor once latched on to her, delivering stimulants and other such mood-altering substances whenever it was deemed necessary. Her right arm ends in a stump at the wrist, supplemented by a cybernetic hand covered with artificial skin; by sight, it is indistinguishable from a hand of flesh, but touch reveals the truth. To avoid undue attention and invasive questions, Aethalos chooses to keep them covered when she can. Her outfit of choice is a dark suit that contrasts her fair features; it satisfies her need for a uniform while still maintaining a relatively civilian look.
Despite the distance Aethalos' demeanor and appearance creates, her blue eyes reveal a depth of warmth to them, each gaze speaking volumes more than what her lips could express in words. It is, in a sense, the only chink in her facade of intimidation - these days, she has been advised by PR to wear a pale set of contacts to maintain her image in the public eye. Within the confines of her living space, however, she takes to wearing a pair of dark browline glasses. They are a novelty to her, and she takes some pleasure in flouting an imperfection, after spending her life within a citadel that made no room for such human frailties.
Those that manage to make it past Aethalos' icy impressions will be surprised to find a thoughtful individual, always ready to help at a moment's notice. She remembers details about people's likes and dislikes, however trivial, and the information is utilized to make sure those she cares about are as comfortable as they can be in any given situation. She is very much the type to open doors, hold umbrellas, cook meals and watch over the sick - even if she is sick herself. It brings chivalry to mind, though such a value is far more commonly found in wishful movies than in the realities of who the Knight-Penitents are. Perhaps that is why she has left the fabled, promised land of Cetra.
C H R O N I C L EMany criminals fall into the life because of circumstance, but Aethalos Vephariel proved to be an exception. Born to the slums of Cetra, surrounded by its vices and sins, all she wanted was to be good. She turned away from her parents and their folly, even as it hurt, for it was the only way to reach the heights of Malkuth and seek Ultima's glory. Once she had touched upon a fraction of her perfection, then she could return and save them. Thus thought the young girl, pouring her heart and soul into that fragile dream, nourishing it with the faith that only the young can have.
Eventually, this bore fruit, and she was recruited into the righteous fellowship of the Knight-Penitents, on account of her unceasing efforts on study, as well as her services to the dingy community she lived in. She caught the eye of a Knight-Captain, recognizing in her an unshakeable will, and a painful need to be a part of something, anything, that helped others in their strife. And so, on the twenty-first year of her life, Aethalos was barded. Her pristine body was prepared for service, trained and hardened in the rigors of combat, her will fortified by hardship and pain. Finally, the sacred marks were written with steel and ink, prayers indicating where Ultima permitted blessings through science, granting her Knight-Penitents the courage to overcome all evil.
For years, Aethalos would serve, and serve well. She started at the lowest of the low, for even the Knight-Penitents acknowledged that all were cut from a different cloth. Given her parentage and their lack of repute, Aethalos was akin to a muddied rag, more than ready to be washed in the light of service, but still filthy all the same. Little did she know that it would not be the radiance of faith that would cleanse her, but the warmth of blood.
In the beginning, it was the blood of sinners, of those who turned into beasts from their obsessions, their imperfections and their faithless devotion to the impermanence of human passions. She slaughtered them all, burned them down with holy flame, and rejoiced with her fellows in the disposal of all that dare to spit upon Cetra's glory and Ultima's radiance. Even on the day that she lost her hand in a desperate battle, she felt no true pain, only bliss. There was nothing she would not give; in Ultima's service, even her life was forfeit.
Yet, one fateful day, Aethalos' armor failed. It was in the aftermath of a raid, where dozens of immigrant families were killed, for the sin of hiding one rebel, alleged to have committed an act of vandalism and heresy. As her eyes roved over the lifeless bodies, she waited for the bite of the needle to kill the sickening weight she felt in her gut, but it never came, and since that day, the weight only grew. It was a sin of the highest order to doubt, Aethalos knew, but her mind was full of unspeakable thoughts and unending questions. Turning to wine helped some, but it was never enough. She feared that Ultima herself could sense her uncleanliness, and she threw herself further into work, striking more fear into the hearts of those she broke. In their eyes, though, she saw an abomination, and with horror, she recognized that it was herself. Ultima's hold on Aethalos broke on that very moment. Soon after, she began to dig, deeper and deeper, into the filth and the lies that governed the orders given to the Knight-Penitents. Yet she was not brash; she took pains to prepare herself, choosing one particularly egregious case of cruelty, and decided to use that moment to strike back.
On the day that a young family was scheduled to be pulled apart, limb by limb, in the squalid square of Klymenos, Aethalos planned a daring escape that doubled as a statement against the citadel's cruelty. With her knowledge of the guards, the streets and the sewers, she got them as far as the final gate, where all they had to do was climb. Yet Aethalos had forgotten a crucial fact - not everyone was strong. As they all struggled up the wall, the rest of the Knights caught up with them, and the family was torn to pieces before her very eyes. She was sentenced to death on the very same day, and it came to no surprise to her that the most disgraceful death had been chosen as her final fate. Like waste, she was to be thrown into the boiling seas, forgotten, unwanted.
As they pushed her, and as she fell, Aethalos felt relief. Finally, here, the weight in her chest matched the weight of her fall. It was the feeling of redemption, of a balance being righted in the world, for all that she had done. But just as the peace of oblivion as about to be granted to the tired, faithless Aethalos, a sheen overcame her, and she found herself transformed. In the drowned knight's place was a massive serpent, rising up into the skies. In its wake, a storm fell upon the great Malkuth, flooding it, as if the waters yearned to wash away all the blood that had been spilled for its sake.
When Aethalos awoke, she found herself in Votara, surrounded by curious people dressed in white. They accepted her with open arms, told her all was well, and that she was blessed. But they did not know the truth; she was a curse. The guilt still remains. She attempts to assuage it through a newfound duty to those in Votara, but her mind still lingers in the rat-ridden slums of Cetra, yearning to save those she had failed and left behind.
H O M EVotara is a country that takes pride in its ability to create electricity from the blessings of Ramuh and Garuda. This manifests in architecture that melds wind turbines and lightning rods with artful engineering. Tall skyscrapers that reach even the stratosphere are commonplace within the nation, their shapes resembling winding spires that suggest the movement of the breeze against steel. Cults dedicated to the deities of the wind and electricity are commonplace within the nation, and many of them are forward-thinkers, melding advancement with expressions of their faith. The topmost levels of these structures are almost always reserved for the use of their practices and gatherings.
These steel structures act as a contrast to the natural borders of the land, where tall, rocky mountains line the border between Votara and Glasia, their ridges shaped over time by the violent gusts of wind that result in occasional tornadoes in that area. Cults of both Ramuh and Garuda are known to chase storms in hopes of receiving a message in the form of an omen. Those that are injured in such endeavors have their treatments sponsored by their respective cults, and it has become something of a controversy, as the storm chasers' activities have encouraged extremist groups to believe that lightning can, indeed, be caught in a bottle.
The capital of Votara is called the Harbor of Winds, where numerous wind turbines are arranged in an artful manner to depict a scene reminiscent of ancient windmills. Within these buildings are massive shopping arcades, offices and even some living spaces for government employees. It is in one of these windmills that Aethalos resides. The blades of these windmills are also covered in photovoltaic cells, to further maximize all sources of natural energy and minimize the electricity costs of the residents of Votara. These structures also serve a more ominous function - when the city is under attack, the buildings open up to reveal massive electromagnetic discharge rays. They utilize Votera's vast surplus of electricity, some discharging concentrated laser beams at airborne targets, while others utilize more common forms of artillery.
While the nation has a neutral stance, as a whole, with regards to political matters, it has ongoing tensions with Cetra due to the latter's aggressively theocratic ways. The border between the countries are well-fortified on both sides, though Votara takes pains to make sure this fact is not so readily apparent. It maintains friendly relations with Glasia and Tresau, and provides aid to Estren by selling their excess energy to the nation at a favorable rate in exchange for certain ores and other such trade treaties.
T R I V I ALikes:
Strong liquor
Caffeinated drinks
Rain and everything about it - sound, smell, sensations
Physical activity
Routine
Being on time
Feeding strays
Imperfection in art
Dislikes:
Liars
Too much noise
Excessive cruelty
Wastefulness
People who keep touching her right hand "just to see what it feels like"
Wrinkled clothes
Miscellaneous:
A recovering addict due to overexposure to stimulants and other mood-altering substances during her service as Knight-Penitent, Aethalos copes with withdrawal through the excessive consumption of alcohol and caffeine. She strives to hide this from the public eye, as such self-destructive behavior runs against the image Votera cultivates for its society.
Aethalos keeps an anonymous ASMR social media account, where she showcases sounds of different instruments that can be played by the rain.
Ever since she has taken to wearing the suits designed by then unknown designer John Nasios, the latter's services have become sought after by many famous political personalities since then who wish to project an austere image or associate themselves with an air of mystery.
A particularly memorable project assigned to Aethalos once was to encourage the elderly to maintain their physical fitness. Though people doubted that she was the right pick for the job, image-wise, she was surprisingly patient with those in attendance, despite being strict with their regimen.
The sales of umbrellas have risen ever since Aethalos has resided in Votara. Some people say that she has been sponsored by the manufacturers of such products, but in truth, Aethalos simply enjoys the rain and uses her abilities to soothe herself on occassion.
S O C I A L
Cassiel - Aethalos was one of his tutors in combat, on account of her expertise with the ceremonial crossblade. It was expected of Ultima's Regalia to embody excellence and competence in all things, and she did not hesitate to beat the lessons into him if needed, for his own good - though that was rarely necessary, as he was a quick learner. Over time, the two have developed an easy, competitive rapport on the training grounds, with Aethalos possessing a commendable level of competence and an unusual lack of fear that Cassiel did not easily find in the sycophants that surrounded him. During her service as Knight-Penitent, she looked up to him as a symbol of their nation's power and Ultima's superiority, but after the events that led up to her rebellion, she has now come to see Cassiel as a protector of lies. Yet at the same time, she understands that he may be in the dark about Cetra's evils, just as she was, not so long ago, and for better or worse, she still remembers the glory of Malkuth and the cold, fearsome beauty of Cetra's golden gates. She sees both the salvation and doom of Cetra in him.
P R E S E N C ECastaño is a husk in a sense or at least how he sees himself. The proud, hot blooded Castralian he once was with the sense of pride that could not be extinguished even by the coldest winters was gone. His heart and soul that made him a man of the earth had been replaced with a sense of purpose that would only be quenched with vengeance regardless if it was a sentiment worthy of the chase. Castaño had not lost himself in obsession or hate, in his eyes as it seemed. In his outward disposition he wore no hint of emotion nor a mask that served as a faux perception for people. Not many got the privilege of seeing his face anyways and if they did the only description would be an air of grievous seriousness with a tinge of sorrow. He exuded an aura of chilliness, whether that was his doing or Shiva’s he did not know. An aura that made masses steer clear of him when he walked through crowded spaces or resided in the corner of a bar or pub.
Castaño is very meticulous, orderly, and precise about how he approaches everything, down to folding his clothes into his bag a certain way. He reacts to the world around him with a plan, everything had a plan and every plan had a series of back up plans for when things went tits up. He isn’t one for talking, despite constantly talking to himself because he believes he and Shiva share a bond strong enough that she hears him and humors him with a conversation. Dreams and visions are the only time that she is actually speaking to him, but Castaño still acts otherwise. Castaño hasn’t been unable to shed his ability to only process the world and the decisions necessary to navigate through it in a military/spec-ops lens. Every interaction is meaningful and filled with purpose otherwise he wouldn’t engage with waste.
Multilingual from his profession, he speaks in almost every language. Despite that he utilizes english the most even when talking at Shiva. His mother tongue only comes out when envenomated. Normally he feels unworthy of speaking it on a day to day due to his excommunication with his country.
C H R O N I C L ECastaño grew up in the less than lavish parts of Castral, that’s not to say that it was worth any less than the cityscape. No, you see in his eyes the jewel of Castral existed in the countryside. Where people were direct descendants of the soil, the lifeblood of the country that worked under the harsh sun and greenery that covered land to mountains like a warm rug. He grew up poor as did many Castralians, but that didn’t deter them from being one of the happiest countries to exist in their very crowded planet. Castaño was blessed enough to have a healthy family, a house over his head, and the ability to seek out an education. He often tended to the finca his family owned, where he learned how to fish, raise cattle and other livestock, and take from the earth to create but also provide for the earth as to not cheat their relationship.
Eventually he would finish his time in upper secondary and apply for universities in Monterrey, the capital city. He finished his degree in Ciencia Política, following his mandatory service in the military for his country. Castaño surpassed any expectation held for him during his service and offered the ability to join Castral’s special forces, known as the Brigada de Fuerzas Especiales. There were four sectors of special forces in Monterrey. However, of the four the BFE were experts in jungle warfare and direct action missions, not only internally, but abroad just as well. The BFE was the natural enemy of the FARM-EP, Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionaria de Monterrey-Ejército del Pueblo. A guerilla group that specialized in kidnapping, assassinations, extortion, and control of the drug trade in the mountains. Their goal being the redistribution of wealth as well as opposing influence from foreign governments and corporations.
Years of conflict and planned out assassinations had hardened Castaño, multiple bodies of his countrymen piling up behind him by his hands, while the rest of the country was blind to it all with their faith in the Dominants. Castaño would later be scheduled on his most intimate mission yet, becoming a spy and informant for the Monterrey Government and live as a FARM-EP member for the next few years. If he was compromised he would be tortured and made an example to the government and most likely end up dismembered and sent to the National Capitol. Saying goodbye to his family and erasing the rest of his presence, every being born and anything that connected him, he adopted a new identity and joined the revolutionary army. It didn’t take much for him to become a trusted peer with how expansive his skill set was.
He climbed the ranks and participated in the barbarism he had once fought to get rid of. Pieces of him shed and discarded until he was able to stomach his acts of heresy. He greased palms and was mostly silent unless his voice was needed. He advised and planned until he was introduced to the closer circle. They were able to stay afloat in operations by donations from other sympathetic paramilitary forces and governments that had special interests in their success in overtaking Castral. And that is where Castaño first learned of what power resided in crystals. He had been exposed to them before in the BFE but with a clearance too low to use them he had only heard through whisperers of their spectacle. They trusted Castaño with their supply, their secrets, their plans to create weapons that rivaled those of the government.
It was then he realized he had all that he needed to complete his mission and return home. That was until they released a secret that even Castaño could not stomach. The Castral government had been lying to Castaño, FARM wasn’t being supplied by the corporations at all nor were they killing innocent civilians. The Castral government had been turning into a puppet country with the president dealing intimately with the corporations at large to earn his place in their CEO’s inner circle. They had been collecting crystals and influence in order to bring a dominant under their control. Civilians were being silently sent to undisclosed caves to excavate materials to summon one, amassing bodies after bodies. Disgusted by the revelation, Castaño swore fealty to the FARM-EP and returned as a spy for them.
Little did he know that the corporations had eyes everywhere despite how slick he believed himself to be. Birds brought whispers of wind to the central government and were made alert of his plans. Unaware Castaño feigned fealty and brought the information he deemed necessary to the attention of his government. They awarded him a medal for his service and sent him on one last mission. To Glasia where he would infiltrate the company behind the provision of crystals.
Upon arriving at the harsh tundra rife with wind, snow, and everlasting darkness he made his way to the location given to him. The corporation coordinates turned out to be a location for an ambush where Castaño was violently gunned down and left for dead with his pack and winter gear stolen from him so he would freeze even if the gun wounds were not fatal. Castaño laid in a warm pool of his own blood, the heat from the open wounds creating small vapors off his body as the heat rose into the atmosphere. Betrayed by his government and his country he lay choking on his blood wondering if this was all that was left. Eyelids began to draw weak and could no longer remain open. The last glimpse he would catch would be the stars that illuminated the night sky, at least he would die with a view.
At least that was what he thought, until he saw the silhouette of a woman in what he thought was a shawl of white bedazzled with crystals.
“Do you wish to live just yet?”
Castaño on the ropes of consciousness tried to respond to the voice that rang through his head instead of his ears.
“Who, who’s there”
A cold wind chill raised the hair on his skin, followed by an icy finger caressing the wounds on his body, freezing them shut.
“It matter not who I am. Only if you are willing to become my regalia”
Castaño now felt his body suddenly being embraced, his head felt coddled and rested on a bosom that was unfamiliar to him.
“Soy tuyo. Ahora y para siempre, en cuerpo y alma”
Castaño violently awoke, somewhere that had a fire stoking in a furnace. His hands flew out in front of him perfectly healthy with no wound nor hole on his body. Whatever happened to him before must have been a dream or so he thought. Time passed and Castaño learned later the truth of his resuscitation and what it meant to be in indentured servitude of a dominant. Not that he didn’t mean what he said that night, he was forever Shiva’s and together would bring vengeance to the world. They worked over the next few years in secret, crippling Castral, getting closer to the answers of the who and the where without his identity slipping. The two would continue to look for answers with a lead hidden in a festival.
H O M EThe land that is Castral is abundant and a house that encompasses a multitude of biota and landscapes. Castaño likes to believe it was the birthplace or the battleground for the Dominants during their initial inception into this world. The reason he believes in this personal fiction so much is because of the landscape that surrounds him. Castral is bisected in half by both snow covered volcanos and jagged peaks of mountains that act as a natural defense. The last time the volcanoes had erupted was about a century ago. The fear of magma and heated rock still loom over the heads of its peoples, but they learned to live with the imminent peril if the plumes were to erupt and spell their end. The Sande, is one of the longest mountain ranges that expand past Castral and encompasses glaciers, ancient ruins from past civilizations, and contain some of, if not the world's largest mineral deposit.
Beyond the Sande that erupts from the south into the west, lies opportunity for the north and east. In those cardinal directions exist exquisite tropical beaches, where the next two largest cities in Castral are nestled in. It makes for a popular tourist attraction with the amount of lush sands and waters lap at the edge of Castral. Just because they have beaches and mountains doesn’t mean they are excluded from being home to deserts just as well, the most reknown, La Guajira, being a department on the sea home to dunes, remote ranches, and villages of the indigenous Guayuu people. Beyond the harsh landscapes that are surprisingly home to a lot of tourism there is one final region in the country known as Los Solnalo, one of the world's richest tropical grasslands.
Lastly, geographically speaking, are two intertwined segments. The Castral Basin which is the second largest drainage basin that runs throughout Castral and provides the environment to create Castrals rain forest that extends to the countries immediately surrounding Castral. The biodiversity of fauna and flora are the mainstays of the forest that houses both endemic and extant species. Creating a very tropical and warm climate for Castral and its citizens.
Castral culturally has influence from many sources as its residents are a mix of several backgrounds. The indigenous tribes that were there before exploration, the Eastern settlers that ‘found’ Castral and the slaves they brought with them from multiple countries. This helps bolster the Castralians are a vibrant people who make a lot with what little they have. They’re known to be one of the happiest peoples in the world who focus on their antiquity which is represented in their exotic and fast paced dances, their traditional clothing and attire, the food which takes its most popular form in fish from their coasts, bread and bakeries, and range of meats. You would be hard pressed to find a Castralian who doesn’t emanate positivity, animated persona, and general cheerfulness.
The country's language is based on Spanish spoken in the Americas rather than that of European influence. Common language is barely spoken in Castral, only taught in primary and secondary education. Their religion is focused around the worship of Ultima and Gaia with their major show of devotion through a tradition known as the Novena. The novena tradition is where a family member or friend hosts the rest of the family and/or friends in their home to recite the prayers for nine days leading to the 24th of the 12th month. Between prayers there are folk songs to be sung by the group and small dishes of food to be shared. The host and location is changed each day until the celebration where they honor their dominants and then celebrate with gifts and dance until the sun comes up.
A brief history of Castral can be summed up pretty succinctly. Like most countries, it was colonized before it won its independence nearly two hundred years ago. A series of historically important battles took place to ensure its freedom. However it hasn’t been without its bumps. Multiple civil wars were fought until a republic was settled on as its major form of government. Drug trade ran rampant in the country to the point that iconic figures controlled the local police and some politicians with money and influence until he was finally assassinated. Narcotraficantes still plague the country but not nearly as much when it was at its peak. The most recent issue that has been raised is the presence and assembly of guerilla groups forming in direct opposition of the Castral government.
T R I V I A Likes:
The Sun
Tinto(coffee) with bread in the morning and at night
Dancing
Tanning at the beach
Agriculture and Foraging
Journaling to keep a record
Sketching
The comfort of alcohol
Dislikes:
Senseless violence
The cold
Shiva’s personal obsession with him
Being unable to go home
Castaño understands the role and governance of being a regalia in the world. And so he indulges in Shiva’s need to be worshipped and visibly seen even if that goes against and compromises everything the two have been working for. A part of him does enjoy the intimacy that exists when the two are one and he can unarm himself to imbibe in human interaction.
