Minor characters dump
Height: 1.65 meters / 5'4
Weight: 52 kg / 114 lbs
Eye Color: Dark brown
Hair Length & Texture: Long / Smooth
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Earth-brown
Facial details: No features of particular note
Distinguishing features:
Clothing Preferences:
According to traditional Sudhrayarn beliefs, one shouldn’t hide too much of themselves from the natural world and its gifts. Iyen takes that to heart, and tends to wear clothes that could be considered risque and scandalous in certain parts of Viserjanta. She prefers loose fitting items that allow her maximum freedom of motion, and thin fabrics that allow her skin to breathe.
When on official duty, or when she knows a battle is due, Iyen would wear the typical uniform of the Commonwealth military, but with her own personal modifications to suit her style of fighting, as well as to give it a more Sudhrayarn flair.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Sexuality: She's not particular, but leans towards women
Hobbies:
Life Goals / Dreams:
She doesn’t have any at the moment. Not ones she considers seriously, at least. As things stand, she’s perfectly content with going anywhere so long as she’s with Lady Adiyan and Sjan-dehk. With those two around, she’s confident she wouldn’t find herself anywhere too strange.
Personality Summary: Free-spirited || Easy-going || Aimless || Playful || Impulsive || Tactless
Current occupation: Lady Adiyan's bodyguard
Past occupations: N/A
Relatives:
Skills:
Height: 1.75 metres / 5’9
Weight: 65 kilograms / 143 lbs
Eye Color: Black
Hair Length & Texture: Short / Wiry
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Almond
Facial details: Stubble on his chin and jaw
Distinguishing features:
Clothing Preferences:
As someone living outside of Caesonian law, whilst operating within Caesonia, Kidelaut wears whatever that will help in blend in with the crowd the most. That usually means clothes in flat shades, hoods, cloaks, and anything that would hide or obscure his outline. His equipment are supported by waist- and shoulder-belts, much like a regular musketeer.
In a fight, he wears a stripped-down version of the panoply he used in Caesonian service, consisting of a lightened breastplate, a pauldron on his right shoulder, and shortened tassets. All Caesonian insignia are either removed or defaced. When he needs to hide his identity, he wraps a simply, plain orange cloth around his face, or wears a white theatre mask that covers his entire face.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Sexuality: Mostly straight
Hobbies:
Life Goals / Dreams:
A fair and just world, one where the common person's life is worth as much as that of a nobleman. Or the extinguishing of the nobility as a whole, as well as a thorough scouring of the merchant class to address injustices caused by their greed and avarice.
Personality Summary: Well-mannered || Forward-looking || Self-hating || Repentant || Regretful || Tenacious
Current occupation: Sellsword / Insurgent
Past occupations:
Relatives:
Skills:
Height: 1.70 metres / 5’6
Weight: 54 kilograms / 119 lbs
Eye Color: Pale blue
Hair Length & Texture: Medium-long / Smooth
Hair Color: Ash blonde
Skin Color: Rosey ivory
Facial details: They have prominent dimples when they smile
Distinguishing features:
Clothing Preferences:
As a performer by trade, Sioridann tends to wear brighter, more elaborate clothes to attract more attention. A keen enthusiast of fashion, they would also often wear accessories to further accentuate their appearance. Although this can sometimes make it hard for them to do their other activities, it works out when they are working with others – namely Renegade and Seahawk – as Sioridann's usually the only person anyone can remember.
When on the road, Sioridann prefers to be more subdued. Heavy, utilitarian cloaks and roughspun traveling clothes would be their preference, along with tough boots for long treks over rough, country roads.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Sexuality: ???
Hobbies:
Life Goals / Dreams:
The end of Caesonian persecution of magic and its users. A world that embraces both the common and the magical. Bringing those who would hunt mages, and those who allow such hunting, to justice. A purge of the Caesonian underworld and the vices it permits.
Personality Summary: Sociable || Flirtatious || Vengeful || Optimistic || Haunted || Compassionate
Current occupation: Travelling bard / Insurgent
Past occupations:
Relatives: None they find worth mentioning
Skills:
Rasehnyas Iyen Jodhesi • 24 • Female
Adiyan's Shadow, Blade of the Shadowed Green, and Emergent of Sudhrayar
Height: 1.65 meters / 5'4
Weight: 52 kg / 114 lbs
Eye Color: Dark brown
Hair Length & Texture: Long / Smooth
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Earth-brown
Facial details: No features of particular note
Distinguishing features:
- She always seems to be smirking, as if she knows something you don’t.
- She has a few healed and faded scars on the insides of her arms
- Rope burns on her limbs, particularly after a fight
Clothing Preferences:
According to traditional Sudhrayarn beliefs, one shouldn’t hide too much of themselves from the natural world and its gifts. Iyen takes that to heart, and tends to wear clothes that could be considered risque and scandalous in certain parts of Viserjanta. She prefers loose fitting items that allow her maximum freedom of motion, and thin fabrics that allow her skin to breathe.
When on official duty, or when she knows a battle is due, Iyen would wear the typical uniform of the Commonwealth military, but with her own personal modifications to suit her style of fighting, as well as to give it a more Sudhrayarn flair.
Likes:
- Nature; specifically flora
- Exploring new sights and learning new things
- A good laugh and/or a practical joke
- Causing harmless mischief
- Music, dance, and theatre
Dislikes:
- Close-minded people
- Serious and formal situations
- Malicious mischief
- Boredom
Sexuality: She's not particular, but leans towards women
Hobbies:
- Singing, particularly Sudhrayarn and Jafin folk songs
- Dancing, particularly Sudhrayarn dances
- Reading and/or watching theatrical performances
- Daydreaming
Life Goals / Dreams:
She doesn’t have any at the moment. Not ones she considers seriously, at least. As things stand, she’s perfectly content with going anywhere so long as she’s with Lady Adiyan and Sjan-dehk. With those two around, she’s confident she wouldn’t find herself anywhere too strange.
Personality Summary: Free-spirited || Easy-going || Aimless || Playful || Impulsive || Tactless
Background
Current occupation: Lady Adiyan's bodyguard
Past occupations: N/A
Relatives:
- Rasehnyas Jodharsa Gajan; Father
- Rasehnyas Mahyon Jodhesi; Mother (Deceased)
- Rasehnyas Shoyojah Jodhesi; Older sister
- Rasehnyas Daman Gajan; Younger brother (Deceased)
- Rasehnyas Sejar Gajan; Younger brother (Deceased)
- Rasehnyas Sayan Jodhesi; Younger sister (Deceased)
Skills:
- Fighting, particularly single combat
- Marksmanship; pistols and bows
- Stealth and subterfuge
- Tracking and hunting
- Information gathering
- Dancing
- Singing
History Summary
Iyen never intended to be a warrior. Or have anything to do with arms, in fact. The performing arts had always been her greater – and in many ways, only – interest. Songs, dances, traditional theatre, such things were what a young Iyen had seen in her future. Unfortunately, the civil war that tore the Commonwealth asunder put a quick end to those plans. Sudharyar was one of the first provinces to declare themselves for the High Queen, and as such was also the first province to be invaded and occupied by the Imperial Restorationists. Most Sudhrayarns chose to stay and resist their occupiers in a guerrilla war. Iyen and her family were amongst those who decided to flee westwards.
It was a perilous journey, one made all the worse as province after province in East and Central Viserjanta either fell to, or declared themselves for the Restorationists. At Weksah, the Sudhrayarn refugees faced their worst day when almost half of their fleet – and the people they carried – were either sunk or captured in battle. Amongst the former were Iyen’s mother and younger siblings. By the time she and the survivors found refuge on Jafin shores, only a third of those who originally left Sudhrayar still remained.
Deep in mourning, angry, and thirsty for revenge, Iyen did what most of her people did, and joined the Sudhrayarn military-in-exile. She proved to be an excellent fighter, but a poor soldier. Although her skills in various weapons couldn’t be disputed, her personal discipline and ability to fight as part of a larger unit left plenty to be desired. That would have been the end of Iyen’s military adventure, had the High Queen’s Representative in the East – Lady Adiyan – not requested for a personal bodyguard. Iyen was given the task, as it was thought that her personal prowess in combat, and the expectation that a bodyguard would not be expected to fight in the line of battle, would make her a good fit for the job.
For the rest of the war, Iyen followed Lady Adiyan wherever the latter went. Most of the time, these travels also involved the Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi, a certain Wasun Sjan-dehk. Whenever Iyen had to go ashore for her tasks, it was usually in the company or with the support of the Jafin noble. Together, they wreaked havoc on Restorationist forces in Viserjanta’s western territories. And once they were done with the west, the three of them followed Commonwealth forces eastwards, until they liberated Sudhrayar from Restorationist control. Unlike her family, Iyen chose not to stay, and instead continued to accompany Lady Adiyan and Sjan-dehk as they spent the last year of the war tying up loose ends.
By war’s end, Iyen had forged a close friendship with both Sjan-dehk and Lady Adiyan. Moreso with the former; for close to five years, they had eaten, slept, fought, laughed, cried, and celebrated alongside one another on a near-daily basis. To Iyen, Sjan-dehk was akin to a brother, and Lady Adiyan, their motherly and concerned aunt. It thus came as no surprise to anyone that Iyen volunteered to follow them to seas and lands unknown, even when she was given the option of staying behind.
It wasn’t a difficult decision for her to make. Exploring the wider world, and with those closest to her outside of her family, no less? That was a dream. Iyen would have never forgiven herself had she allowed that opportunity to slip past her fingers.
It was a perilous journey, one made all the worse as province after province in East and Central Viserjanta either fell to, or declared themselves for the Restorationists. At Weksah, the Sudhrayarn refugees faced their worst day when almost half of their fleet – and the people they carried – were either sunk or captured in battle. Amongst the former were Iyen’s mother and younger siblings. By the time she and the survivors found refuge on Jafin shores, only a third of those who originally left Sudhrayar still remained.
Deep in mourning, angry, and thirsty for revenge, Iyen did what most of her people did, and joined the Sudhrayarn military-in-exile. She proved to be an excellent fighter, but a poor soldier. Although her skills in various weapons couldn’t be disputed, her personal discipline and ability to fight as part of a larger unit left plenty to be desired. That would have been the end of Iyen’s military adventure, had the High Queen’s Representative in the East – Lady Adiyan – not requested for a personal bodyguard. Iyen was given the task, as it was thought that her personal prowess in combat, and the expectation that a bodyguard would not be expected to fight in the line of battle, would make her a good fit for the job.
For the rest of the war, Iyen followed Lady Adiyan wherever the latter went. Most of the time, these travels also involved the Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi, a certain Wasun Sjan-dehk. Whenever Iyen had to go ashore for her tasks, it was usually in the company or with the support of the Jafin noble. Together, they wreaked havoc on Restorationist forces in Viserjanta’s western territories. And once they were done with the west, the three of them followed Commonwealth forces eastwards, until they liberated Sudhrayar from Restorationist control. Unlike her family, Iyen chose not to stay, and instead continued to accompany Lady Adiyan and Sjan-dehk as they spent the last year of the war tying up loose ends.
By war’s end, Iyen had forged a close friendship with both Sjan-dehk and Lady Adiyan. Moreso with the former; for close to five years, they had eaten, slept, fought, laughed, cried, and celebrated alongside one another on a near-daily basis. To Iyen, Sjan-dehk was akin to a brother, and Lady Adiyan, their motherly and concerned aunt. It thus came as no surprise to anyone that Iyen volunteered to follow them to seas and lands unknown, even when she was given the option of staying behind.
It wasn’t a difficult decision for her to make. Exploring the wider world, and with those closest to her outside of her family, no less? That was a dream. Iyen would have never forgiven herself had she allowed that opportunity to slip past her fingers.
Myaatyun Kidelaut • 28 • Male
The Traitor of Hartworth, Renegade, and Knight of the Masses
Height: 1.75 metres / 5’9
Weight: 65 kilograms / 143 lbs
Eye Color: Black
Hair Length & Texture: Short / Wiry
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Almond
Facial details: Stubble on his chin and jaw
Distinguishing features:
- Healed scars on the outside of both arms
- Rough callouses on fingertips
- Chemical scarring on the back of his right hand
Clothing Preferences:
As someone living outside of Caesonian law, whilst operating within Caesonia, Kidelaut wears whatever that will help in blend in with the crowd the most. That usually means clothes in flat shades, hoods, cloaks, and anything that would hide or obscure his outline. His equipment are supported by waist- and shoulder-belts, much like a regular musketeer.
In a fight, he wears a stripped-down version of the panoply he used in Caesonian service, consisting of a lightened breastplate, a pauldron on his right shoulder, and shortened tassets. All Caesonian insignia are either removed or defaced. When he needs to hide his identity, he wraps a simply, plain orange cloth around his face, or wears a white theatre mask that covers his entire face.
Likes:
- Views of the Caesonian countryside
- Calm, melodic music, particularly instrumentals
- Aiding the weak, the sick, and the forgotten
- Meting out justice
Dislikes:
- Injustice of any stripe, in any place
- The Caesonian upper classes, and profiteering merchants
- Exploitation of the weak and powerless
- Greed and avarice
Sexuality: Mostly straight
Hobbies:
- Sketching Caesonian scenery, particularly that of the countryside
- Scribbling his thoughts in a journal
- Peaceful meditation, especially at the end of a long day
- Exercising and keeping himself fit for task
Life Goals / Dreams:
A fair and just world, one where the common person's life is worth as much as that of a nobleman. Or the extinguishing of the nobility as a whole, as well as a thorough scouring of the merchant class to address injustices caused by their greed and avarice.
Personality Summary: Well-mannered || Forward-looking || Self-hating || Repentant || Regretful || Tenacious
Background
Current occupation: Sellsword / Insurgent
Past occupations:
- Apprentice blacksmith
- Apprentice leatherworker
- Apprentice carpenter
- Apprentice fletcher
- Apprentice gunsmith
- Apprentice chemist
- Squire
- Knight
Relatives:
- Myaatyun Satsuut; Father
- Myaatyun Kiisu; Mother
- Myaatyun Yatkyaki; First older brother
- Myaatyun Ratsaada; Second older brother
- Naangse Daiyat; Older sister
Skills:
- Melee fighting, particularly with heavy weapons
- Musketry; long arms
- Small-scale unit tactics
- Tactical planning
- Blacksmithing and leatherworking
- Basic chemistry
- Basic art, specifically sketching
History Summary
Maybe he should never have touched that hat.
Maybe he should have left it where he had found it; forgotten on a muddy road, and soaked by the falling autumn rain. Maybe he should have pretended that he hadn’t seen it drift from one of the woman’s over-laden baskets. In hindsight, it would have certainly saved him plenty of trouble, and a world’s worth of heartache. But Kidelaut, honourable and dutiful knight of Caesonia that he had been, simply couldn’t leave it alone. He just had to pick the damnable thing up. He just had to run over to the woman to return it. And then, he just had to help her carry her finished hats over to the millinery’s warehouse.
Still, that could have been the end of it. There had been no need for him to seek her out in the following days; no need for him to come up with silly excuses as to why he kept running into her, and there had surely been no need for him to – after a few ‘chance’ encounters – join her for dinner and drinks after her shifts at the millinery. But Kidelaut did all of that. Then, he did more. He grew to love her, and she grew to love him. And for a few sweet months, that was all that mattered to Kidelaut.
But as with all sweet things, the bitterness that followed cut deep.
Kidelaut never gave much thought to the intricacies of hat-making. Who did? A hat was only ever a thing to be bought, to be worn, and to ultimately be left collecting dust in a closet. But the woman – Kidelaut’s dear lover – taught him many things. One of which was how raw fur was separated from hides and matted together to form felt. It was a simple process, really, and one with a strange name – carroting. Anyone could be taught to do it, and so everyone who worked at the millinery was expected to work the carroting station – ‘fingering the felt’, as the workers called it – at least once a day.
Turning matted furs into smooth felt, however, involved the use of a chemical. The orange stuff, as it was colloquially known. What comprised it, how it worked, and what exactly it did, Kidelaut never found out. He did know, however, that it contained a poison. A dangerous one; one that accumulated in the body over many, many periods of exposure. It was a slow, insidious, and cruel killer. It had no cure. And it was that which afflicted Kidelaut’s lover.
Naturally, Kidelaut ignored common medical knowledge, and went about seeking a cure. Although his efforts were in vain, he did uncover an alternative to the orange stuff. It wasn’t completely safe, but it was at least a lot less likely to poison an unsuspecting worker through regular use. And it wasn’t even anything new; it was already in use in millineries outside of Caesonia.
Kidelaut took his findings to the merchant who owned the millinery. The merchant listened attentively to his words, took them all in, and disregarded them with a flippant explanation. This alternative chemical wasn’t unknown to the merchant, but it was simply too expensive to bring in the quantities needed to replace the existing stocks of orange stuff. Kidelaut, naturally, pointed out that the millinery could afford it in exchange for just a year of reduced profit. Their doors would still be open, Kidelaut argued. The merchant simply had to live with a year of less money. And naturally, he was shown the door.
So, Kidelaut went to the lord he served. Surely, the man who had, so many years ago, given a young Kidelaut – back then a mere youth of sixteen earning his keep by working odd jobs and fighting in tournaments – a chance would be more reasonable. Once again, Kidelaut presented his argument. And once again, he was told, albeit in a nicer manner this time, that his suggestion wasn’t feasible. The lord couldn’t order the merchant to make the changes because the merchant would simply up and leave for another holding, and the millinery alone hired most of the locals. Its disappearance would be disastrous.
And that, really, was all the answer Kidelaut needed. What use was a lord who couldn’t even corral a single merchant? And what worth was a merchant whose greed blinded them to decency? His mind made up, Kidelaut began to make his plans.
He stayed with his lover throughout her final years. He watched as the poison took her health, her mind, her body, and when she had nothing left, her life. The very same night she drew her last breath, Kidelaut prayed for her soul, asked for her forgiveness, and – as per her request – cremated her and scattered her ashes in a nearby meadow.
The next day, Kidelaut returned to the merchant and cremated him as well. Sadly, he failed to properly kill the man before setting him alight. Kidelaut then left for the wilderness, where he killed every guard, every mercenary, and every bounty hunter his former lord sent after him. When the merchant’s son took over the millinery, Kidelaut sent him a message containing the exact same things he had told his father. And when the son chose to ignore it like his predecessor, Kidelaut returned to finish things once and for all.
He roused the workers – already upset about the hazards of their work – into action, and together they stormed the millinery and torched the place to the ground. The lord’s guards arrived and, naturally, slew a number of the workers, but the survivors fled with Kidelaut back into the Caesonian countryside. Most decided to leave for greener pastures, but those that stayed became the core of Kidelaut’s loose group of part-time mercenaries, and full-time rebels. They wouldn’t stay together for long, of course – it made it too easy for the King’s men to catch them all at once – but when needed, they would come together to raise more havoc for the powers that be.
Maybe Kidelaut should never have touched that hat. But he never regretted doing what he did. For he had been blind before he met his lover, oblivious to the evils of the land, and she had helped him see.
And now, Kidelaut would make sure the rest of Caesonia saw what he saw as well.
Maybe he should have left it where he had found it; forgotten on a muddy road, and soaked by the falling autumn rain. Maybe he should have pretended that he hadn’t seen it drift from one of the woman’s over-laden baskets. In hindsight, it would have certainly saved him plenty of trouble, and a world’s worth of heartache. But Kidelaut, honourable and dutiful knight of Caesonia that he had been, simply couldn’t leave it alone. He just had to pick the damnable thing up. He just had to run over to the woman to return it. And then, he just had to help her carry her finished hats over to the millinery’s warehouse.
Still, that could have been the end of it. There had been no need for him to seek her out in the following days; no need for him to come up with silly excuses as to why he kept running into her, and there had surely been no need for him to – after a few ‘chance’ encounters – join her for dinner and drinks after her shifts at the millinery. But Kidelaut did all of that. Then, he did more. He grew to love her, and she grew to love him. And for a few sweet months, that was all that mattered to Kidelaut.
But as with all sweet things, the bitterness that followed cut deep.
Kidelaut never gave much thought to the intricacies of hat-making. Who did? A hat was only ever a thing to be bought, to be worn, and to ultimately be left collecting dust in a closet. But the woman – Kidelaut’s dear lover – taught him many things. One of which was how raw fur was separated from hides and matted together to form felt. It was a simple process, really, and one with a strange name – carroting. Anyone could be taught to do it, and so everyone who worked at the millinery was expected to work the carroting station – ‘fingering the felt’, as the workers called it – at least once a day.
Turning matted furs into smooth felt, however, involved the use of a chemical. The orange stuff, as it was colloquially known. What comprised it, how it worked, and what exactly it did, Kidelaut never found out. He did know, however, that it contained a poison. A dangerous one; one that accumulated in the body over many, many periods of exposure. It was a slow, insidious, and cruel killer. It had no cure. And it was that which afflicted Kidelaut’s lover.
Naturally, Kidelaut ignored common medical knowledge, and went about seeking a cure. Although his efforts were in vain, he did uncover an alternative to the orange stuff. It wasn’t completely safe, but it was at least a lot less likely to poison an unsuspecting worker through regular use. And it wasn’t even anything new; it was already in use in millineries outside of Caesonia.
Kidelaut took his findings to the merchant who owned the millinery. The merchant listened attentively to his words, took them all in, and disregarded them with a flippant explanation. This alternative chemical wasn’t unknown to the merchant, but it was simply too expensive to bring in the quantities needed to replace the existing stocks of orange stuff. Kidelaut, naturally, pointed out that the millinery could afford it in exchange for just a year of reduced profit. Their doors would still be open, Kidelaut argued. The merchant simply had to live with a year of less money. And naturally, he was shown the door.
So, Kidelaut went to the lord he served. Surely, the man who had, so many years ago, given a young Kidelaut – back then a mere youth of sixteen earning his keep by working odd jobs and fighting in tournaments – a chance would be more reasonable. Once again, Kidelaut presented his argument. And once again, he was told, albeit in a nicer manner this time, that his suggestion wasn’t feasible. The lord couldn’t order the merchant to make the changes because the merchant would simply up and leave for another holding, and the millinery alone hired most of the locals. Its disappearance would be disastrous.
And that, really, was all the answer Kidelaut needed. What use was a lord who couldn’t even corral a single merchant? And what worth was a merchant whose greed blinded them to decency? His mind made up, Kidelaut began to make his plans.
He stayed with his lover throughout her final years. He watched as the poison took her health, her mind, her body, and when she had nothing left, her life. The very same night she drew her last breath, Kidelaut prayed for her soul, asked for her forgiveness, and – as per her request – cremated her and scattered her ashes in a nearby meadow.
The next day, Kidelaut returned to the merchant and cremated him as well. Sadly, he failed to properly kill the man before setting him alight. Kidelaut then left for the wilderness, where he killed every guard, every mercenary, and every bounty hunter his former lord sent after him. When the merchant’s son took over the millinery, Kidelaut sent him a message containing the exact same things he had told his father. And when the son chose to ignore it like his predecessor, Kidelaut returned to finish things once and for all.
He roused the workers – already upset about the hazards of their work – into action, and together they stormed the millinery and torched the place to the ground. The lord’s guards arrived and, naturally, slew a number of the workers, but the survivors fled with Kidelaut back into the Caesonian countryside. Most decided to leave for greener pastures, but those that stayed became the core of Kidelaut’s loose group of part-time mercenaries, and full-time rebels. They wouldn’t stay together for long, of course – it made it too easy for the King’s men to catch them all at once – but when needed, they would come together to raise more havoc for the powers that be.
Maybe Kidelaut should never have touched that hat. But he never regretted doing what he did. For he had been blind before he met his lover, oblivious to the evils of the land, and she had helped him see.
And now, Kidelaut would make sure the rest of Caesonia saw what he saw as well.
Sioridann Morcant • 25 • ???
The Whispering Death, Songbird, and Melody of the People
Height: 1.70 metres / 5’6
Weight: 54 kilograms / 119 lbs
Eye Color: Pale blue
Hair Length & Texture: Medium-long / Smooth
Hair Color: Ash blonde
Skin Color: Rosey ivory
Facial details: They have prominent dimples when they smile
Distinguishing features:
- Healed whipping scars on their back
- Healed point burns on arms and abdomen
- Burn scar on right hip
Clothing Preferences:
As a performer by trade, Sioridann tends to wear brighter, more elaborate clothes to attract more attention. A keen enthusiast of fashion, they would also often wear accessories to further accentuate their appearance. Although this can sometimes make it hard for them to do their other activities, it works out when they are working with others – namely Renegade and Seahawk – as Sioridann's usually the only person anyone can remember.
When on the road, Sioridann prefers to be more subdued. Heavy, utilitarian cloaks and roughspun traveling clothes would be their preference, along with tough boots for long treks over rough, country roads.
Likes:
- Making someone smile, especially with their performances
- Anything cute, adorable, or just endearing
- Sweet desserts
- Striking fear into Magehunters
- Mingling with a tavern crowd
Dislikes:
- Magehunters and those who enable them
- Caesonian authorities
- The flesh trade
- Discrimination against magic users
Sexuality: ???
Hobbies:
- Knitting, sewing, textile crafts in general
- Songwriting
- Singing, particularly folk songs and original pieces
Life Goals / Dreams:
The end of Caesonian persecution of magic and its users. A world that embraces both the common and the magical. Bringing those who would hunt mages, and those who allow such hunting, to justice. A purge of the Caesonian underworld and the vices it permits.
Personality Summary: Sociable || Flirtatious || Vengeful || Optimistic || Haunted || Compassionate
Background
Current occupation: Travelling bard / Insurgent
Past occupations:
- Apprentice tailor
- Mage's assistant / apprentice
- Streetwalker
- Tavern waitress
Relatives: None they find worth mentioning
Skills:
- Performing Arts: Singing, Dancing, Acting
- Manipulation, both magical and normal
- Seduction
- Tailoring
- Rumour-mongering
- Planning, particularly for long-term tasks
- Make-up and disguise
History Summary
Sioridann never was an agreeable person.
Or they assumed they never were; they couldn’t think of any other reason as to why their mother would so readily sell them to a trader of illicit goods so soon after their father’s death. And as if to rub salt into the wound, they were chosen out of seven other siblings. At least the money was good – or at least, that’s what Sioridann often drily hopes – otherwise the suffering they would go through for years would be all for naught. And it was indeed a terrible few years, the time they spent with the trader. Sioridann witnessed just about every possible depravity one could imagine, and had the same inflicted upon their person.
But in hindsight, and in an ironically twisted way, it was during that time that Sioridann picked up most of the skills that would prove most useful in destroying the very system and people that tormented them.
Sioridann’s time with this dark aspect of the Caesonian underworld came to an end when an adventurer attacked the trader’s encampment. This was also Sioridann’s first encounter with magic, and at first, it absolutely terrified them. To see someone manipulated forces unknown and infernal to crush, maim, and utterly destroy people – even ones as vile as the trader – was enough to put the fear of the Gods in their heart, and Sioridann hadn’t believed in them for years by that point. And yet at the same time, they felt a strange sense of kinship with the adventurer.
And so, after all was done, and the trader and his fellows were no more, Sioridann followed the adventurer as a mere assistant at first, and when their own abilities began to manifest, as an apprentice. This period of their life remains one which they remember fondly. Their days were spent either practising, studying, or helping the adventurer with his daily tasks. An older man, who seemed to carry the weight of the world upon his shoulders, he was simultaneously a father figure and a mentor to Sioridann. Through him, they learned the tricks of living outside of Caesonian law, and the ways of a hedge mage.
But where there’s magic, there’s the King’s men.
Sioridann wasn’t there when the adventurer was finally taken by Magehunters – she was busy gathering firewood – but they did witness the gruesome aftermath. And when they finally arrived at the town where the adventurer was receiving his sentence, they witnessed the end of the man who, for a good few years, had been their only friend and companion. And just like that, Sioridann was alone in the world, once again.
For a while, they did everything and anything to survive. But soon, that wasn’t enough. They wanted vengeance. Who were these Magehunters, these people of status who saw it fit to murder a man who had done nothing wrong? Who had, in fact, been the one to dispense justice to those who received none? The righteous indignation burned within Sioridann until one day, they decided to act upon it. Sioridann was no fighter – they were perhaps the farthest thing from it – but that didn’t stop them. With their abilities, it took only a mere rumour, whispered into the right ear, for a Magehunter to be bludgeoned to death in a dark alley behind a tavern.
Another whisper, and a Magehunter was killed in a drunken brawl.
A few whispers, and a group of them were stabbed to death by an angry mob.
And this was how Sioridann wandered from village to village, town to town, and city to city. Each time, they would first see if there were any Magehunters around. If there were, they would then take the time to ingratiate themselves with the local tavern crowd. Not a difficult task for someone as skilled in the art of seduction as Sioridann. Every night, they would sow a new whisper of strife and doubt. Every night, they would nurture it, until the time was right. Then, they need only give things one simple push, and things would take care of themselves. By the time the dust settled, they would have returned to the road.
Sioridann never was an agreeable person. And Caesonia was about to see how disagreeable they could be.
Or they assumed they never were; they couldn’t think of any other reason as to why their mother would so readily sell them to a trader of illicit goods so soon after their father’s death. And as if to rub salt into the wound, they were chosen out of seven other siblings. At least the money was good – or at least, that’s what Sioridann often drily hopes – otherwise the suffering they would go through for years would be all for naught. And it was indeed a terrible few years, the time they spent with the trader. Sioridann witnessed just about every possible depravity one could imagine, and had the same inflicted upon their person.
But in hindsight, and in an ironically twisted way, it was during that time that Sioridann picked up most of the skills that would prove most useful in destroying the very system and people that tormented them.
Sioridann’s time with this dark aspect of the Caesonian underworld came to an end when an adventurer attacked the trader’s encampment. This was also Sioridann’s first encounter with magic, and at first, it absolutely terrified them. To see someone manipulated forces unknown and infernal to crush, maim, and utterly destroy people – even ones as vile as the trader – was enough to put the fear of the Gods in their heart, and Sioridann hadn’t believed in them for years by that point. And yet at the same time, they felt a strange sense of kinship with the adventurer.
And so, after all was done, and the trader and his fellows were no more, Sioridann followed the adventurer as a mere assistant at first, and when their own abilities began to manifest, as an apprentice. This period of their life remains one which they remember fondly. Their days were spent either practising, studying, or helping the adventurer with his daily tasks. An older man, who seemed to carry the weight of the world upon his shoulders, he was simultaneously a father figure and a mentor to Sioridann. Through him, they learned the tricks of living outside of Caesonian law, and the ways of a hedge mage.
But where there’s magic, there’s the King’s men.
Sioridann wasn’t there when the adventurer was finally taken by Magehunters – she was busy gathering firewood – but they did witness the gruesome aftermath. And when they finally arrived at the town where the adventurer was receiving his sentence, they witnessed the end of the man who, for a good few years, had been their only friend and companion. And just like that, Sioridann was alone in the world, once again.
For a while, they did everything and anything to survive. But soon, that wasn’t enough. They wanted vengeance. Who were these Magehunters, these people of status who saw it fit to murder a man who had done nothing wrong? Who had, in fact, been the one to dispense justice to those who received none? The righteous indignation burned within Sioridann until one day, they decided to act upon it. Sioridann was no fighter – they were perhaps the farthest thing from it – but that didn’t stop them. With their abilities, it took only a mere rumour, whispered into the right ear, for a Magehunter to be bludgeoned to death in a dark alley behind a tavern.
Another whisper, and a Magehunter was killed in a drunken brawl.
A few whispers, and a group of them were stabbed to death by an angry mob.
And this was how Sioridann wandered from village to village, town to town, and city to city. Each time, they would first see if there were any Magehunters around. If there were, they would then take the time to ingratiate themselves with the local tavern crowd. Not a difficult task for someone as skilled in the art of seduction as Sioridann. Every night, they would sow a new whisper of strife and doubt. Every night, they would nurture it, until the time was right. Then, they need only give things one simple push, and things would take care of themselves. By the time the dust settled, they would have returned to the road.
Sioridann never was an agreeable person. And Caesonia was about to see how disagreeable they could be.
