This is a character I've been playing in a discord RP server. You'll have to forgive some of the lore inaccuracies, maybe she'd be elven or Hundi if I work her into a proper lore-fitting character.
ADALIA
(Just imagine she has Hundi ears)
| 20-25? | Female Hundi | Curse-eaten Scribe |
| PERSONALITY |
The outline of Adalia’s personality can be summed up in a single word: anxiety. At any given time her mind is nearly overloaded with a huge amount of questions, parentheticals and doubts. She is indecisive, clumsy and will always try to defer any judgment calls she makes to another authority figure she trusts, although given her shyness the number of those who Adalia considers as trustworthy is astoundingly limited. Overall, she is bright and can think quickly when the situation calls for initiative, but often gets entirely bogged down by her own thoughts unless someone is there to direct her out.
Underneath all that chaos, there is a strong throughline of determination, and she can have bursts of motivation and passion when she believes strongly in something. That is, she can overcorrect for her indecisiveness with recklessness and hot-headed directness.
| BACKSTORY |
Adalia's early childhood is a blur to her and remains a constant mystery. She knows that she was a quiet and sickly girl, lucky to be in a sheltered and rich household. She knows that she developed an interest in magic from a young age, and miraculously discovered her affinity for it despite her Hundi bloodline. She knows, at some point, there was a massive snowstorm...
And that's all she remembers before waking up somewhere different -within a cottage-like library near howling, water-shriven cliffs. She was sitting among a large collection of various arcane tomes that were collected from across the globe, and strewn about those tomes were twisted and charred corpses of some unrecognizable flesh masses. Her questions with passing travelers were met with confusion, as the young Hundi girl had seemingly popped up from absolutely nowhere. Several years in her memory had simply vanished from existence, along with any trace of where she had come from or where she was going. She had somehow been transported to a world far removed from her own, a familiar land shaped by forces yet entirely foreign to her.
Her only comprehensible clue to her past was an old journal laid clean amongst the altar of the library, presenting itself as the key to all her questions. Her journal. It was written in her handwriting, with her signature, frenetic dance of pictures and diagrams scrawled all over the pages and ink bleeding through each page like a festering wound. Only, she could not only decipher the frenzied writing style, but the entirety of the journal was buried under ciphers and ciphers, and in a language that she could not understand. Somehow, this other side of herself lost to memory had written instructions to a whole host of mad and monstrous rituals that her sane self could not understand.
It took some time before Adalia could gather herself, orient to her surroundings, and set off into the wide world. Out of the madness, there was a single sentence that she could still read in her journal, the only sentence that was dignified with legibility: FIND THE IRON ROSES.
| EQUIPMENT |
Enigmatic Journal: A journal Adalia found beside her when she awoke in the seaside cabin. Its contents are as unknowable as they are kaleidoscopic, formatted in strange and archaic languages. Despite this, Adalia can sense an intense power trapped underneath all its writings, and she can invoke fragments of it through enunciating its contents. Perhaps if she were to find some kind of library or linguist she'll be able to find out what happened eventually... It is seemingly indestructible through any conventional means, and it always returns to Adalia whenever she loses it, even if she tries to get rid of it intentionally. When someone with the intent to harm attempts to approach Adalia, it will suddenly open up to a random page in an attempt to get Adalia to read it. It can be described as ‘generally cursed’ and gives off ‘bad vibes’, but is otherwise an ordinary looking book filled with scribblings of an insane madman.
Enchanted Coffee Cup: A lifesaving cup of coffee, with little exaggeration. This dainty little cup fills itself upon the user's whims with a warm cup of coffee with too much sugar. It is decorated with traditional Hundi calligraphy and depictions of past Hundi conquests in tiny fonts. Bearing many scratches across its surface, it has certainly seen better days - but it is a faithful companion to Adalia's long nights.
Slightly Cursed Jewellery: Her travel funds. It is a small jewelry box full of lavishly decorated accessories, as if taken from a duchess’ chambers. Most of the jewelry is ‘slightly cursed’, such as making the wearer dance terribly or keep stubbing their toes. They're fun party tricks, although the jewellery box came with the warning that the jewellery are capable of being 'improvised demolition tools'. Better not think about that too much.
| SKILLS |
Various Hexes: From what little she can understand of her journal, it is brimming with a complex interlocking pattern of hexes. Adalia has since picked up a few of her own, although most of them focus on disarming and debilitating than doing real harm. This include hexes that slow enemy reflexes, make them lose their sense of balance, or be temporarily blinded. These can all be powered up tremendously if it is invoked directly from her journal, but also gain random side effects that Adalia tries to avoid.
Tracelight: Adalia can summon a small controllable orb of blue light that illuminates the surroundings. This light gives off special luminosity that dispels any arcane sources of blindness or invisibility and highlights a holographic recording of the surroundings several hours in the past, much like a security camera. This orb can track some distance away from Adalia before it must be returned to Adalia.
Gravity Manipulation: Her specialization into celestial magics came with a mastery over gravitational fields. She can increase or decrease the gravitational pull over large areas to several times their magnitude for brief bursts, or have a finer control over smaller objects with a greater force. In the brief time she spent to relearn her usual repertoire, she has learned to apply this to various applications such as faux-telekinesis, faster travel and a clumsy style of fighting close quarters with her staff that includes briefly manipulating its weight in various positions.
Wildlight: A panic response whenever things go poorly, and something that Adalia avoids whenever possible. She picks out an unknown spell from her book and casts it at full strength. Her innate affinity with celestial magic will translate whatever magic that is cast into a frenzied torrent of light in front of her, scorching and blinding any creatures in a wide radius. However, side effects may vary greatly depending on the spell cast, ranging from a simple overload of Adalia's energy to summoning of nearby spirits or transmutation of nearby materials.
| TALES |
One, two, three, four. The glasses clink against each other as she adds the fifth member to the party of empty bottles, the leftover liquor shining in the tavern campfire. Some of the brown-black liquor had congealed themselves into the mugs into sweet-bitter spots, left neglected from a bartender who had decided several hours ago that the strange girl in the corner was neither a threat nor a responsibility. The lone Hundi remained in the chillness of the room, bathed gently in the low humming of the lights above. She was rather overdressed for the weather, her little figure puffed up and overcoat dragging each time she shifted around in her seat. Her brown hair flowed listlessly over her eyes, picked up and twiddled absentmindedly. It was a little cold, and more than a little late.
Adalia could feel the sores from her terrible slouch slowly spread their tendrils of pain from her lower back to her shoulder, the rest of her body barely awake enough to even understand that they were supposed to be in much bigger pain than they were. Her backpack, scrunched up in the corner, had fallen asleep from its post and lay scattered drooping unto the floor, but Adalia paid it no mind. The entirety of the world was swallowed up in the pages in her hands, those leaping and snarling strands of words and logic tangled up in a huddled mess of ink. She mutters carefully words traced underneath her fingertips, taking extra precaution to not draw any attention - not that anyone in the now empty bar could ever care. Then, with a whimper of disappointment, she massages her sore shoulders and tries again. No, not this time.
It had been several weeks since she had arrived in this small village, her way rarely helped by the outdated map she carried with her. It was a satellite village branching off to the side of the main pathway through the border of Thaln, and one that Adalia had sought shelter in for the night. Yet as the night waxed into being, her mind remained on her ever enigmatic journal, its inscrutible contents ever occupying her memory. She had thought she found a lead, some kind of pattern that could even get a crack open into the contents of the journal. An incantation, hidden within the mad scripture, spoken like a locksmith's miracle.
Thought, of course, is past tense. Now is present tense, and it is not doing her any favors. Adalia slumps over and nibbles on the pages of the book, a petty, animalistic revenge against the thing that had plagued her mind for so long. This thing that had contained her rapt attention for too long, and the answer to her questions that remained so tantalizingly close, so utterly far. Why was it in a language she could not understand? Why was it ciphered in so many arcane glyphs to ward off any attempts to steal it - or even get rid of it?
Why the hell was it in her own damned handwriting?
Adalia's joints rejoices in painful celebration as the girl rises finally from her seat, and what could be dust falls off her lap. This time - this time, she'd go back over what she knew, and this time she'll just try to keep to the outline of what she knew. Nothing too deep - only the surface. Yes - Adalia lightly taps her forehead yet again to remind herself of this little mantra.
Number one. The journal was - is, old. Just looking at the journal could give anyone the impression of its age, but just flipping its pages lent a deeper look into the true depth of its age. It was leatherbound, with binding methods that was different from all the books she saw even in the sea-side cabin, so it was likely that she found the book and wrote in it rather than the other way around. But why weren't there any other writing other than her own? Was the book an empty relic of some kind, or was it her handwriting because she was the one looking at it?
Number two. The book is cursed. Very, very cursed. The last time she showed it to a curator, the curator got overeager with the decoding and got blinded for two days. It seems that there is a security measure involved with just any old person trying to take a crack at the puzzle. Then again, it also seemed to curse people that would present a threat to Adalia's person or itself, and the curator had a rather peculiar way of approaching the book. In any case, the thing was *alive* in some sense, and it seemed to listen in on everything around it and act of its own enigmatic mind.
Number three. The journal is hers, whether she liked it or not, and in more ways than just her own handwriting. The words, even the ones that she could not plainly read, has a sort of rhythm with its punctuations. When it is - was - 'sane', it is stuttering and repetitive with its first header throughout its paragraphs, in a similar style Adalia remembers writing with. Its punctuations appears in similar stages, and in similar frequencies. It could only mean one consistent writer, even though that writer's handwriting got visibly worse over the course of the journal.
...And that is about it. Or was it? Come on. Open the book up a bit. There's more to dig here, surely? Adalia lets the journal go from her mouth and paces around the aisles next to the bar stools, catching stray looks from the weary bartender. "Miss." Adalia could hear the end of the bartender's grumble float off in its tired lilt, like a shambling, weary dog. Perhaps her time was up, after all. Adalia presses her lips together and smiles an apology. Adalia looks at the now slightly dampened book, watching with queasiness as its shadows flicker and slither across her hand. The day is finally dead.
Adalia Black hair, black eyes, short with light skin. Mid 20s, Hundi. Myself. Woke up a couple months ago with retrograde amnesia. I have this cursed book written in my handwriting, and I've had a couple strangers chase me for it. I found notes that made me go to the Iron Roses Knights for safety, but I have no clues other than this book to figure out my past. Hundis like me are supposed to be from a northern country called Ithillin, but somehow I can speak both Ithillaine and Thaln. I must've had some kind of educated upbringing.
Fanilly Danbalion Blonde hair, blue eyes, short with light skin. 16 years, human. Apparently the captain of the Knights? She's a little awkward but it's clear she has at least some experience leading stuff, which is good. Apparently the Knights pick the Captain according to whoever is born on the full moon, and Fanilly had to take up the banner at a young age. I'm glad I don't have to shoulder such a burden at a young age.
Tyaethe Radistrin Long white hair, red eyes, short with pale skin. Unknown Age, vampire. The Youngest, but that title is misleading. She does look pretty young and short, and I thought she was barely older than Fanilly when I first saw her. But she's supposedly a vampire who's lived all this time and was in the original founding members of the Knights centuries ago. She certainly acts acridly enough. I've been avoiding her since I've heard her reputation is pretty fierce, but I can't tell if that comes from battles or just her usual attitude.
Fionn MacKerracher Short brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, stocky and tall. Mid twenties, human.
Gerard Segremors Unkempt black hair, amber eyes, fair skin, average height. 21 years, human.
Fleuri Jodeau Average height. 25 years, human.
Rolan Herzog Short black hair. Fair skin, average height. 27 years, human.
Gertrude Jager Blonde long hair, green eyes, light skin, short. 19 years, human.
