[CHAR] Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

[Obscene Symphony]

Lienna Orhneaht

Lienna Orhneaht

_{Lienna's eyes are an icy pale lilac, and her ivory hair has silver streaks which reflect the light as potently as their namesake. In the right light, her skin glimmers like sunlight on fresh snow.}

Race:
Gem
Age:
20
Element(s):
Water
Height:
5'4"

Bio

Bio:
Lienna was born to a young woman whose name she never learned, and who left her daughter with her mother mere days after her birth. In fact, all the information about her mother Lienna could ever draw from her grandmother was that she was a foolish girl with more a head for Air than Water, and that by abandoning her village and family, she was hardly worthy to be named. After all their village, Hima, was in the farthest reaches of the North: If one struck out alone, it would only serve to freeze them out forever.

Though they were Water gems, just like almost everyone in the village, they were outcasts; the superstitious townspeople thought Lienna's mother a traitor and her grandmother a fool for not drowning the child when she showed signs of beauty. They believed that beautiful daughters brought the Drakken upon the village, thus more likely to Reap from them again, and believed that killing a beautiful infant was more humane a fate than the possibility of being Reaped. In hindsight, Lienna wonders if they may have been right.

Despite their effective exile, for the majority of her life, Lienna was happy. Her grandmother loved her fiercely and made a point to teach her all she could, everything from mundane tasks to the stories of the gods and the histories and legends of their people. Above all, however, Lienna's grandmother taught her the core values held in the highest regard by the Water gems of Hima, values such as temperance, wisdom, perseverance, and the like - all made more relevant by their relative solitude. “A strong woman makes choices to improve her life and the lives of others, no matter what those choices may be,” she’d always said, “A strong woman will never give up, not even when all hope is lost and everything is dark and broken.”

The village in which they lived was very religious, and Lienna and her grandmother were no different. They held strong faith with Naia, the goddess of Water, patron of Water Gems. Her grandmother taught her many things about her goddess and her faith, but perhaps the most resounding of her lessons was this:

"Water always finds a way."

This became a mantra for Lienna as she faced life’s natural challenges, and she was growing to be a smart and cheerful girl. However, life is rarely so kind as to leave one unhindered in their development.

When Lienna was fourteen, her grandmother's great age began to manifest in ugly ways. It started with confusion, and wandering from home with no memory as to why. Then her other memories began to slip; she would find herself perplexed by the order in which to layer her furs, and now and then, glance at Lienna with a fog in her eyes. Within less than a year, the wise and vibrant woman Lienna loved so dearly was taken from her and replaced by little more than a husk, the body of a dead woman whose heart had yet to stop beating.

There was nothing Lienna could do but take up the mantle of caretaker. Within a year she was transformed from child to parent, taking on every responsibility of a normal household along with others more specific to her grandmother's condition. All the while, Lienna felt as if she was living with a corpse, and the pain in her heart each time she looked at her grandmother never faded. She had to go through the horrors of puberty alone, had no one to talk to about her natural doubts and curiosities. Above all else, she dreaded the years to come, trapped in her home with the creature wearing her grandmother's skin.

Other:
Lienna has some trouble with reading and numbers, as she never had the opportunity to go to school or access many books. Her preferred use of her elemental magic is freezing water into ice.
Lienna's grandmother is nearing 170 as of now, and has been in the clutches of dementia for six years. Now and then she mutters random things about Lienna's mother, but Lienna has no way of knowing how true her ramblings are.

Lienna identifies with water in every sense. She has always been calm and as wise as a young lady can be without age to help her, stoic and logical with a steady temper. She has always taken life's challenges in stride, with the phrase in her mind,

"Water always finds a way."

Adult Content Preference:
I'm open to taking it to PMs if I think it would be fun or add something to her story. Otherwise, fading to black is fine too. If you're curious, just ask me. come at me with that 18+ content yo

[Emma]

Delete

[Pupperr]

Arden Gaothaire

Appearance

_{**Credit to the real artist of this drawing**}

After living with older Gemminite women for approximately a year in preparation for the next reaping, Arden transformed into the beautiful woman she always was. Her dark hair grew out, her lips were darkened a rich and succulent red, and her dark grey eyes could pierce another from across the room. Arden had always been tall and she had always been lean, as a man she could be described as “scrawny” but as a woman, she is described as “graceful.” The older Gemminite woman often spoke of her as a hidden beauty

Race:
Gemminite
Age:
19
Element(s):
Air
Height:
5’9"

Bio:
Liberty. Freedom. Autonomy. These were all but a few things that Air Gemminites living in Makani believed in. Makani was but one of many small towns scattered just outside of Prìseil Aldentine. Gemminites living in the towns that walled their capital enjoyed a life that was predictable, simple, and tailored to what they needed day by day. It was easy to access the capital when you wished for a busier day and easy to sit back and relax in the less robust atmosphere of your home when you needed to escape. As the towns were close to the capital, the families living there were used to offering their daughters to the Drakkan to maintain peace; this was simply just the way it was and was often never questioned. The Air Gemminites in Makani, however, were growing tired of watching their families be ripped apart. Some of them even began to believe that their goddess, Auram, would not stand for such an act against their own freedoms; the people were becoming restless.

The Gaothaire family were not strangers to the radical thinking that was beginning to shape. With each breeze of wind, their resolve was strengthening. Free Wind. It was the meaning of their bloodline’s name. It was a meaning that the Gaothaire family would fight for on the day of the birth of their baby girl. The Gaothaire’s were not going to let their child be ripped away from them in 18 years time when the day of the Reaping came; they would not stand for her to be offered to a Drakkan for everyone else’s freedom. The Gaothaire’s made a difficult but necessary choice; they would raise their child as a boy in order to protect her. She would be given a boy’s name, she would wear boy’s clothing, her chest would be wrapped, her hair kept short, and she would be taught what it was to be a man.

Arden. Arden will be your name and you are now our son.

Arden was raised with the beliefs, morals, and values of the ever growing thoughts of Liberty amongst the Air Gemminites in Makani. It drove her radical thinking and her dedication to living as something she was not. Being a man was not only for her sake, but for her people’s sake, it was a way to stand up against something that was wrong. It was but one small step toward a changing future. Arden knew the importance of keeping her true identity hidden, she understood all too well the implications of anyone discovering that she was female but most of all, she understood what it meant for all Gemminite women everywhere. Arden was strong, outspoken, but carried a diplomatic and kind voice. In all senses, she wanted to fight for the rights her sisters had been denied for generations.

It was on a night when the moon was at its highest that Arden’s true identity was discovered. The young woman was standing at the edge of the lake, her clothes lying at her feet. The wind blew against her soft skin and for a moment, she lost herself in a dream of a future where Gemminite women would no longer fear their 18th birthday; in a world where her sisters could live freely. Arden’s dream was shattered when a voice sounded behind her..

A woman!? You’re a woman!?

The court of the Gemminites came for the young woman at day break. The Gaothaire family surrendered peacefully, knowing that resisting would only bring turmoil to their home, however; the other Air Gemminites of Makani quietly protested. Arden was apprehended and would be taken into the care of older Gemminite women to learn what it meant to be a woman amongst their kind and to prepare her to be the bride of a Drakkan. It would be nearly a year before the Reaping, a year for Arden to become a woman, a year for her beauty to be realized, a year for the wind to grow within her silently.

Remember Arden, a small breeze has begun the winds of change. You are that breeze that will grow into a raging storm.

Other: Arden often can be heard singing, a pleasure she hid from the world when she was disguised as a boy. Her voice was once described as heavenly, a beautiful sound that is carried by the wind.

Colour code is: color=9BD9E3

Adult Content Preference: Doesn't matter to me :)

Serafine “Sera” Makatza

Appearance

Serafine is uniquely beautiful. She has silver hair, pale porcelain like skin, and burning red eyes (I know the picture has blue, but they're red). She has a thin, small frame and couldn't weigh more than 105lbs.
_{**Credit to the real artist, I did not draw this**}

Race:
Gemminite
Age:
18
Element(s):
Fire
Height:
5’3”

Bio:

”Serafine… why did you do that, why…”

The room was covered in ash. There was a smell of burning flesh… and a scorched body was lying in the center of the room. Whoever the body belonged to, it was no longer recognizable. In front of the burnt corpse was a child, she was crying and talking to herself.

”Daziel...”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It happened almost 7 years ago, the incident is what they called it. She was only 11 years old, a bright young Gemmenite living peacefully, though strangely. There was always something off about the young girl, something that people could not quite describe, but later came to fear.

She was left to watch her younger brother, Daziel; at the time he was 4. Her parents were headed on a hunting trip to prepare for the cold and with more mouths to feed and Serafine growing older, it meant they could both go and leave her to watch the child. Three days went by before the monsters came.

The sun was setting when it happened. Serafine was trapped in the corner of a room, several large figures in front of her. The thing’s teeth were almost as big as her head with drool pooling out of the side of their mouths as they snarled at her. The beasts were easily 10 feet tall with coarse fur that was matted with blood covering their bodies. The noise they made crawled underneath her skin and as they approached her, panic began to settle in.

The Delusion

The first bite sharply dug into her arm, easily puncturing her flesh and oozing hot blood over her skin. The girl screamed in both terror and pain as she attempted to hit the beast with her free arm for it only to be pinned down by another, her bone crushing beneath its paw with a horrific snapping sound. The third one took a hold of her leg, pulling on her limb and away from her body. She could feel her skin tearing away, her bones pulling; she was going to be torn apart.

A hollowing shriek filled the room and then it was hot.

The wild fire grew with uncontrollable intensity as it attacked the monsters; they couldn’t escape. Their screams filled the room until it fell silent. Serafine was hugging her body tightly into herself and rocking when she realized that the room was still. A strange smell tickled her nose and she lifted her head ever so slightly to investigate. There were no monsters… but in the center of the room there was a small burnt body. The girl’s eyes widened and she quickly crawled over to it. ”No… no… no..no..no..no… NO!”

Two days later her parent’s returned to find her cradling the young boy’s burnt body in her arms.

The village was scared of her from then on, often calling her a freak or deranged. Her parents did not attempt to defend her, she was nothing in their eyes anymore, she was merely a stain on her family. As the girl grew older and became a woman, the villages fearful eyes of her grew too. She continued to experience delusions and act strangely. Serafine did not live, she simply existed, praying for a different fate. Her prayer would be answered, though in the most gruesome of ways, when they came for her. The villagers hid, her parents hid, and they left her out there, silently celebrating when the Reapers plucked her from their village. She did not fight it, but as she left she turned her head and looked toward her home, small tears filling her eyes.

”I didn’t mean to… it wasn’t me, I swear. It was Serafine… it was Serafine…”

Other:
Serafine is psychotic; she occasionally has delusions and psychotic breaks. She is in denial of who she is, and often blames the unwanted behaviour on "Serafine" and refers to her wanted self as "Sera" - this is a coping mechanism, not a split personality.

Colour code is B47B84

Adult Content Preference: Doesn't matter to me :)

Höd Ultair

Appearance

Höd is a massive brute of a Drakkan; standing at 7'5" and weighing over 300lbs. He has dark grey skin littered with battle scars and the horns protruding from his skull are far from perfect. He wears golden circlets on his horns, a prize he stole from a Gemmenite he bedded and later murdered. The jewelry in his ears are also from women he had taken in the past. Höd’s face is distinctive due to his blazing purple eyes and the lethal look that accompanies them.

Race:
Drakkan
Age:
526
Element(s):
Earth and Water
Height:
7'5"

Bio:
Eight hundred years ago the Anathos War was won under the direction of King Toran, the first Drakkan to unite the otherwise feral race. Amongst the Drakkan who served under King Toran was Edred Ultair. Edred was a ruthless warrior, one who claimed the lives of many, both Anathos and Drakkan alike. His brutality became known across Drakka and eventually, he was dubbed as the Berserker; an unstoppable force. Naturally, Edred followed his King into battle without question when the war began and fought honourably until he delivered a victory. The Drakkan Lords claimed their Gemmenite prizes, including Edred. The first round of Brides did not last long; dying from either captivity, childbearing, or other horrific acts. As Edred watched the Brides drop like flies and witnessed the birth of their impure children, he concluded that the Gemmenites would be a stain on their bloodline. A stain that needed to be rectified. Edred attempted to reason with the King, but the King would not listen. It was in that moment that Edred began to view his King as the destroyer of their race for allowing such impurities to taint them. He disappeared. For centuries no one could find Edred Ultair and only stories of a Drakkan matching his description raiding the Reaping carriages and slaughtering the Brides remained.

The stories of the Berserker lessened for many years, almost completely forgotten, until one day a brute of a Drakkan reappeared and claimed a Reaping carriage once again. This Drakkan left a survivor each time, one to reignite the rumour of the Berserker. Though the story seemed flawed, as Edred Ultair would be too old in age to spread his wrath even further. What no one had known was that Edred left behind his mark; a son. Höd.

Höd Ultair was born of pure Drakkan blood, though his mother remain a mystery. He looked eerily just like his father and was raised to be just like him, with the ideals of cleansing his race and bringing purity once again. Höd despised those who bred with Gemmenite women, though he was not a stranger to forcing his pleasure upon them. To ensure that his seed did not grace that of a Gemmenite, he only took them once and then killed them. Höd was born in blood and shared the same brutality and ruthlessness of his father. It was these traits that allowed the Drakkan to carry on his father’s title of the Berserker and claim many lives of his own.

Five hundred years would pass before the Ultair name would step foot again in Železna Kri, however; Höd knew that he alone could not accomplish the mighty task of purification and would eventually need to father a child to continue his legacy. Drakkan women were almost impossible to come by and even then, could not simpy be taken for the liking. He would have to win one over. Höd ventured to the capital, ready to reintegrate into the world of Drakka and find himself a woman suitable to bear his children and become his wife.

Other:
A bounty was placed on Edred Ultair’s head for slaughtering the masses of potential Brides, though the bounty was never claimed as he could never be found. Whether he is alive or not is a mystery. All the remains is Höd, who has suddenly shown up in Železna Kri. Only people would know his family name now, though people who were old enough to know Edred Ultair personally might be able to recognize Höd as being related.

Colour code is 6F6B84

Adult Content Preference: Doesn't matter to me :)

[BlackPanther]

Zevi

Zevi Mael

Race:
Drakkan

Age:
150

Element(s):
Earth & Fire

Height:
6 ft

Bio:
Zevi was born to a warlord Drakkan and a gem. He got the short end of the genetics at least in his father’s eyes….and ended up with more gem traits then the usual brutish ones. With him being smaller and more fragile in appearance he was treated more harshly. He was not taught how to fight by his father for thought of being too weak and not worth the effort, while his larger more traditional Drakkan brother was more favored. This lead him to be more adept with words like his mother, but knew when to hide it, developing more of a strong silent personality that does not fully fit his looks. Finding that he was not learning fighting he turned to skills, developing weapon crafting and unconventional skills like sewing….after all if you can sew fabric you can sew skin...and implementing his abilities into some of them.

Later in the years, Zevi was presented to Vonnath like something to be discarded. He did not expect any less, but it made him determined to show that he could fight just like anyone else. He was tossed to Vonnath as a challenge and to be discarded. He trained hard his stubbornness and quick wit showing his skill with fighting in a way that benefited him.

After training, Vannoth and Zevi were tested by his father in the form of a raid. The raid became an ambush resulting in Vannoth and Zevi saving each others lives. Being rather displeased with the outcome, Vannoth confronted Zevi’s father and in order to prove his fighting capabilities and the story as true Zevi fought his older brother and won. After winning, Zevi left his famiy to be a blacksmith living on the same property as Vannoth.

Just before during and after the raid.

As the culmination of all the training, Vonnath and Zevi set out to raid a southern province outpost, something that was meant to be quiet and a test of the training. They practiced on the long road to the south,and took what few men dared follow Zevi into battle- even with Vonnath at his side. The goal was to raid a outpost for the supplies within, and quickly leave before trouble became danger. They did not suspect what happened upon their arrival. Once the raiding party arrived they were ambushed by the enemy forces- and most were cut down by bow and crossbow fire. The rest were boxed in with shield and spear. Vonnaths Rage manifested that day into a blind Berserker whirlwind, and he tore into the ranks of the enemy, receiving one dire wound that until he passed out shortly after the last foe fell, completely spent.

Seeing Vonnath go into a blind rage Zevi curbed any doubt he held about himself and fought the way he could. Knives flying through the air and finding their mark in enemies eyes and daggers being buried and twisted into necks. As he fought his way through he spotted Vonnath receiving a wound. Anger coursing through him he stormed his way to the enemy his eyes stormy with anger and proceeded to burn the enemy with a white hot dagger. His enemy caught off guard he proceeded to mutilate them, anger taking control of him over his usual demeanor.Standing over the corpse he knew he had just proven how brutal he could be and quickly moved to Vonnath, helping him to his feet. They left the Outpost burning, reduced to ash and rubble- Vonnath’s flames and sword left nothing but a river of blood, twisted bodies and ash in his wake, and Zevi’s daggers left none to run, hide, or tell.

Zevi left knowing he had just proven his brutality and thus one step closer to being a son and not a disappointment. Having a similar outlook Vonnath approached Zevi’s father, and suggested a duel between Zevi and his brother. -
“You sent me your youngest son, and asked me to train him. You insulted me and my talent, and then you also made him raid with too few warriors. You tried to kill him, and by sending me with him, you tried to kill Me. . . But no worries, I took your son, and I give you back a warrior who will bring your eldest to his knees. Kill him if he fails, but if you cast him out if he wins, it will be the last time you insult me.” -Vonnath to Zevi’s father. -

Zevi looked over quickly at that statement but then rolled his shoulders. He refused to be seen as weak. Not here, not now. His eyes developed that icy gaze and his hand gripped his dagger. His brother meanwhile held a smirk, the taller bigger Drakkan was fully prepared to kill the younger brat.

Zevi fought with a ferocity unknown to his brother and father, who had underestimated him, they thought little of him and did not know of the talents he had picked up in battle, and perfected on the trip home. However, that did not prevent him from gaining a scar to his face, a reminder of the battle and the day he fully proved himself. Zevi fought, and beat, his elder and more Drakkan brother in a manner that left onlookers aghast. How could a half-breed best a more pure warrior?-

Vonnath laughed, “Zevi fought with me, we were ambushed and he saved my life, and even though i cannot raise a sword above my shoulder, I at least still draw breath to train and support more warriors due to his spirit and tenacity!” -

He continued to point out, that all his life he was shown no passion, and thus no way to curb it or tame it. He may have a long way to go as a warrior, but this youngling was well on his way. Zevi’s father was not amused. He immediately drew his sword and accuse Vonnath of “helping the disgrace cheat”. Before all onlookers, Vonnath Challenged and warned Zevi’s father one last time. Vonnath was a great many things, Brutal, heartless and wrathful, but to call him a cheater, and to insult his profession yet again was too far. Zevi’s father and Vonnath dueled, and despite his wound, Vonnath left the man in a crumpled heap, humiliated and scared from chin to waist with flame and sword. -

“We are off to see the princes, we have news for them. Zevi, your place is not here, where your talents will be wasted. Join me as i give the report, and then go pack your things. You will join me in my own home. You are best put to work- not ignored and wasted to be idol or ignored by a fool who cannot hold a sword.” This was the last thing Vonnath ever said to his once old friend.

Zevi gave one look at his father before turning and walking away with Vonnath never to look at his father again and he was more than fine with that.

Other:
Appearance: Zevi is more gem in his traits then Drakkan. He has steel grey eyes and deep red hair. His horns are a black coloration and his ears are pointed.

Adult Content Preference:
I am good with either. I will follow the comfort levels of the partner and work from there.

[Tracyarmav]

Drakkan, male

Gwillim Gunnvaldr

Picture

Race:
Drakkan
Age:
173
Element(s):
Fire and Water
Height:
2.38 meters

Bio:
Gwillim grew up in the town of Magni located in the southern reaches of the Spine range, just within the Drakka empire. He inherited the elements of fire and water, and worked hard to master the use of both in his fighting. He has an inquisitive, sharp and crafty mind. He keeps in shape, working hard to maintain a fighting physique of brutality. He rarely expresses compassion, and some wonder if he actually can. Gwillim came of age hearing of the Anathos wars and felt robbed by their untimely flight. He dreams of gathering a band of warriors to take the fight to them one day. But first, he has to find them.

To that end he has scoured the lands to the south, encountering, fighting, hunting, and vanquishing many wild and obstinate foes in turn. The southern bandits have labeled him a fiend, for using their own habits and patterns against them in battles and skirmishes alike. Three entire dens of thieves have been left in rotting ruins after his passing, and Gwillim goes on still seeking a challenge. His home is full of many fine pelts, hides, and scaly trophies from the creatures he's encountered and killed in his travels.

Gwillim met his Drakkan wife, Scyrvensal Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr, shortly before they were to be married. Their fathers having earned each other’s respect in the war, it seemed to them that a joining of houses would prove beneficial to both. Gwillim agreed, the union would be most beneficial to both houses, and will gladly do his part, though he harbors no fantasies of love. It seemed his mate held a similar view, though her taste in companions was anything but normal. He was surprised, but honestly couldn’t be bothered to care; as it didn’t threaten the union in any way. In the time since, he’d grown to respect her, and even find her presence pleasant. Together they worked to increase the prestige of their house and raise as many fine children as they could. To that end, his bride had managed to conceive exactly once, and that only recently. A beautiful baby girl, Alfhildr Gunnvaldr, was born to them and they both genuinely treasured this rare jewel. Not that the gems would recognize their actions as being particularly affectionate, but their opinions were only relevant in the case of being certain a potential child wasn't lost mid-term. Alfhildr has just turned 21, and is a strong and healthy child. She has exhibited an affinity for her mother's elements of Fire and Air. Her mother see to her care for the most part, though Gwillim enjoys sparing with his only child. He hopes Alfhildr will surpass both her parents in deed and stature.

Gwillim has been making maps of the Spine and the lands to the south for most of his life now. He and Scyrven have just returned from surveying a series of caves to the west of Magni. He has mapped most of the lands in the southern spine, marking points of interest for others to look into developing into something more profitable than a blot on a map. It’s interesting work, relatively tedious from day to day, but it did have its perks. He particularly enjoyed the skirmishes with the harsh fauna and flora of the region, fighting side by side, or back to back, with Scyrven as they wandered the country heedless of threats to life or limb; as the threats always fell silent upon their weapons.

Other:
Prefers to use great swords/Großes Messer, or bardiches in battle.
Adult Content Preference:
I don’t expect it, but I am willing to write it if desired.

[Vesuvius00]

EDIT-2/27
Adult Content Preference:
I'm fine with PMs but I'd rather fade to black.

---

Nadia Parnel

"I'm Nadia Parnel. I- I like the woods, and quiet."

Nadia Parnel

Race:
Gemminite

Age:
18

Element:
Fire

Height:
5'4"

Bio:
Nadia's parents were both Fire Gemminites who lived and raised her in a woodland cottage a little ways away from any towns or cities. They preferred the calm solitude that life in the woods offered as opposed to the busy life of a townsperson, and the relative safety of living like this. Her father worked as a merchant and so was away often, trading around the country, while her mother was a seamstress. Nadia eventually picked up the skills of both her parent's trades, learning how to make deals with people and how to make basically anything needed for the home that could be done with a needle and thread.

Nadia grew to be shy and nervous around other people at first, but good-natured enough that she would make friends easily. She didn't spend much time in town, but she was known around as a kind, well-mannered girl. She was taken in a reaping that was happening during a visit into town with her father, when a Drakken who was collecting another girl decided that she was a better catch.

Other:
Though her element is fire, it doesn't seem to reflect in her personality as much as it does others of her element. She is shy and contains her thoughts and emotions very well, she does not call attention to herself on purpose and excels at blending in, at least among Gems. She is kind and gentle towards others, but also very fragile, both mentally and physically- she's afraid to use her power around other people. If someone were to say that Fire Gems are like a campfire or a blazing torch, then Nadia is a lit candle on a calm night.

Dress

Onyx Briyll

"I could explain exactly how I feel about your offer, but, given the vocabulary and disposition you've shown yourself to have so far sir, you would likely only understand that what I say is directed at you, gargantuan brute."

Onyx Briyll

Race:
Gemminite

Age:
18

Element:
Earth

Height:
5'9"

Bio:
A librarian's daughter, her mother died when she was too young to remember, and her father was always busy with work around the city's library, so she was pretty much on her own for most of her childhood. With nothing else to do whenever she got bored, she taught herself how to read. She soon fell in love with the fictions she found, mysteries and adventures all just waiting to be read, feelings and images expressed on paper. She spent as much time as possible in the library, and that's where she was when the Drakkens came for her, lost in a fantasy. She didn't fight being taken at all, but only made one request- that she be allowed to bring her favorite book with her.

Other:
Onyx likes wordplay and writes poetry in her free time, her knowledge of books and fantasy making her very imaginative and childish when she wants to be. This fluidity of emotion and imagination makes it easy for her to come up with ideas and plans on the fly, and she's pretty good at lying too. She pictures herself as if the heroine of one of the novels she loves so much, and her confidence could be her downfall.

Dress

Kendra Riu Bell

"Kendra Bell of Haarahle, m'lord."

Kendra Riu Bell

Race:
Gemminite

Age:
18

Element:
Water

Height:
6'0"

Bio:
Raised on a small Island about 5 miles off the warm Coasts of Gemminia, Kendra's village was one of the few where the Gems refused to acknowledge the Drakkan or Reapings even existed. Kendra's parents never wanted her to fear for anything in her life, and so she didn't. She lived happily, up until the Reaping when the Drakkan finally decided to come to the small Island for the first time in almost 2 decades.

Other:
She's very much a wide-eyed innocent to all the bad of the world. Kendra has no prior knowledge of the Drakken, and she has no Idea how she's going to get through this just yet- but there is one upside: She's not scared, not yet anyway. Her parents raised her to be independent and strong-willed, but also they gave her a sense of trust in the world that will be very hard for anyone to truly break. Kendra believes in people, that they will do the right things, because in her mind everyone is inherently good.

Dress

-ADVERTISMENTS-
Found near the Forests - Nadia Parnel
A pretty little Fire Gem in need of a husband. She definitely won't break your heart- unless you actually treat her nicely, that is. Otherwise she'll eventually gain some courage and attempt to kill you be the perfect wife!

Buried in a Book - Onyx Briyll
A down-to-Earth yet graceful Gem. She has a tendency to speak her mind, but the sharp wit and quick tongue is usually held still behind a sturdy book. She would be a loyal wife to any deserving Drakkan, though if you wish for her to submit to your rule, she must choose you, too.

Washed Ashore by Waves - Kendra Riu Bell
A Water Gem that is a bit less go-with-the-flow and a bit more of a child. She doesn't have any Fear in her heart, and there's a painful amount of hope in her eyes. She'd make a good wife to anyone willing to tolerate her optimist's worldview, and a fun one to break if you're into that. A word of Caution, however: a lack of fear inevitably leads to too much confidence.

[Legion02]

Kyrena of Mount Serenity

Kyrena of Mount Serenity

Race:
Geminite
Age:
21
Element(s):
Air
Height:
5'8"

Bio:
Mount Serenity has always been a bit isolated from the world. Spread onto the mountain and the vale below were several huts of the Mount Serenity Geminites. They gather the berries from the wild. The meat they get from the elder creatures of the forest. When they are close to death, they often walk towards the Geminites who release them from their suffering. Everything from a fallen animal is used by the Gems. Many outsiders would consider them less than the Gems living in the cities. This is not entirely true, but it is true that many Mount Serenity Gems rarely if ever visit a city. Once a year, however, they scale the great mountain and pray to Auram. The peaceful, quiet goddess of the Air. They dance and sing their ancestral songs, play flutes to enthral the children and tell magical stories. However, recently this honourable festival was disrupted by a contingency of outsider Gems. Demanding brides for the Drakkan. Before, several Mount Serenity Gems had been given up to maintain the peace. But the demand now was outrageously high. Half the eligible daughters had to come with them. Those that remained were ordered to send three girls every year. Since then, the Serenity Festival ends on a sombre note, where the gifts are chosen.

Kyrena was born and grew amongst her brothers and sisters at Mount Serenity. Truly blessed by the goddess, she was born with soft white hair. Like the mountain snow that melts and gives life to the vale below. Her amber eyes were truly captivating. Kyrena walked around with a smile as bright as the sun. But the Geminite was not merely beautiful. Kind beyond measure, she cared for everyone around her. She was a gentle creature, often caring for the old and dying animals till their dying breathe. Always sad that they had to leave but she understood that it was life. Yet Kyrena was still more than both beautiful and gentle. She was truly gifted by the Goddess as well. Her voice was carried by the air. Reaching further than a voice could. A gentle, warm breeze heralded her arrival. Like the air she floated through the forests of the vale and up the mountain passes.

But then came her 18th birthday, and the Serenity Festival after it. A suddenly realization made dread grow in the young Gem’s heart. Someday she could be ripped from her tranquil home. Someday she could offered up to a brute. Dreading the day, she nearly cried on the last day of her 18th Serenity Festival. Yet others went and she remained. Many let out a sigh of relief. But not Kyrena. The fear for next year was already setting in. And after she wasn’t chosen that year? Well she was already fearing for the year after. All this time she saw her friends leave. Never to come back. Eventually she couldn’t bear it anymore. When the ritualistic request for volunteers was uttered, Kyrena rose up. She would face the evil that would else plague her entire life.

But her imagination still plagues her. Geminites of Mount Serenity rarely saw Drakkan. So Kyrena herself never saw one before. She could only read stories, and let her mind craft the image. In her eyes, the Drakkan were brutes. Too large and built like bulls. With twisted horns and sharp teeth. Ready to rip out the throat of anyone who would stand against them. These images now haunt her dreams. With fear in her heart she prepares for the Ceremony, and deep inside, she thinks she should prepare for death as well.

Other:
Kyrena has a pet Sne she calls Elly.

Adult Content Preference:

Keregar

"Through blood or iron, I will have what was promised."

Keregar

Race:
Drakken
Age:
542
Elements:
Fire and Earth
Height:
7'3"

Bio:
Born right after the Anathos war, Keregar grew up listening to his father’s great stories. How he battled and slaughtered the bug people. Showing bones and battle sites. For back in those days, the scars were freshly carved into the ground. Gemina was hurt. But he also spoke of how he marched into the throne room next to their king, demanding his first bride. He described the broken Geminites, the defeated king in such detail that Keregar still has fond memories of it. But in the end, it were really the wars that spoke to his imagination. How his father raised his war axe and split them in half. The battles were hard and terrible. Drakkan, realizing the severity of the threat, united. A feat never happened before. In Keregar’s mind, an enemy that can make the Drakkan unite, is a worthy opponent.

Together with his father he went to get his first bride when the time was there. Just like his father he marched into the throne room. In a feat to rival his own fathers, he chose the youngest princess of Geminite royality. Protest was loud and fierce. But when Keregar lifted his father’s black axe, the room went silent. For below it was the daughter. He would have her or Gemina would have her corpse. That feat carved him in the memory of the Gems as a terrible creature. One that, over the years, got a name.

The Huntsman. As Keregar grew older, he wanted to rival his father’s tales. Driven by a need for battle, for trophies and a worthy foe Keregar went to raise Kereg-Kor. A hunter’s paradise, it was situated near the south-western woods. A piece of wilderness for Keregar alone. Some creatures he broke to his will. Others he slew. With a new trophy he travelled to get a wife time and time again. Boasting of his accomplishment as well as laughing at the Gems on the other side of the mountain range. But now Keregar is old. He has not yet found his worthy foe. Not amongst the Drakkan, not amongst the creatures he hunts and certaintly not amongst the Gems. He always believed he would die by iron. Now he yearns for a worthy opponent to take him down.

Keregar loved women like himself. With a fiery temper or rock hard stubborness. However, these traits often meant that they suffered even more than the average Gem. He thought he could break them and make them like the Drakkan. But his wives often died, forcing him to get another again and again. Once, however, something peculiar caught his eye. A Geminite as beautiful as Sapphire. But equally fragile. Keregar would have her and even fought a fellow Drakkan over her. Elidia she was called. Unlike his other wives, Keregar did not carry her off in chains. The fragile Gem walked beside him. To the surprise of many, Keregar was growing soft. He permitted her more freedom than his other wives. In fact, in his castle he allowed her to make a garden. A feat thought to be impossible in the harsh lands of the Drakkan. But Elidia succeeded through her earth magic and endless devotion. Green grass broke through the grey ashes. Jagged rocks were covered in moss. It was an oasis of paradise within four walls. Elidia fared better than his other wives. But she too succumbed to the harsh lands. Her death, however, broke Keregar. The softened Drakkan plunged himself in the one thing he knew best: fighting. It is said he mourned Elidia for half a century and Keregar’s eldest sons always have to correct people. It did not last half a century, it lasted a full one. After that, he never loved any wife again. Elidia’s garden went untended. The Drakkan spirit crawled into the plants. Thorns and weed now rule the wild, green place. A scar upon Keregar’s fortress. But also a memory of happier times.

Keregar fathered 7 sons. Two before Elidia, who were strong and mature when their new mother came in their lives. Both are fierce warriors, grown up with the fresh stories and proof of the Anathos’ existence. The other five were born much later. While Drakkan and the blood of Keregar, their horns are smaller and their ashen skin was getting more colorful. They are slightly more Geminite than their elder brothers. The last two especially have quite a bit of Geminite influence, as they even have an imbalance in elemental magic. One element within them is much stronger than the other. While he does not hate his youngest five children, Keregar looks at his first two with pure pride.

Today, Keregar supports his king and crown prince. He has not been blind during his visits to the Geminite Court. Defiance is growing, this he knows. He believes that an even greater demand of women will put them back in line. If not, the blood spilled will.

Other:
Keregar has 5 Ash Wolves that form his pack. As well as an Anivia hunting bird.

Adult Content Preference:
I'm down for anything over PM.

[darkwolf687]

Zakroti Unalim

One could not find a less impressive looking Drakken if they were given a lifetime to search. Easily a foot shorter than most Drakken with short, stubby horns which he commonly covers with a hood or helmet, apparently out of shame. At a glance one could be forgiven for not realising he was one of the Drakken at all and perhaps merely an extremely muscular if unusual looking Gem. However, those reptillian eyes hide a burning lust for power, supported by an expertise in military strategy and a sound grasp of how to weave his elemental powers into combat. However, this one at least we can reason with, and we should not underestimate him. - Description of Zakroti Unalim as given by a Gem Representative

Zakroti Unalim "The Usurper"

Race:
Drakken
Age:
132
Element(s):
Fire, Earth
Height:
5'11

Bio:
Zakroti was easily identifiable as a runt upon his birth and had he been born in the East (or had the wishes of his father, Orstaki Unalim, been followed) would have likely been left out to die in the elements. But he was born in the West, where the culture is different and the traditions are extremely alien - and yet to the contrary, based off the extremely similar values. Killing one's child or father is, in the west, one of the worst offences one can commit against Gods and Drakken. And so his father was forced to keep the child, naming him "Zakroti": ball [and] chains.

Growing up, Zakroti's was routinely looked down upon by his taller siblings. Outside of his immediate family, his other relations did not care much for him; he was simply another nephew or grandson with little chance of inheriting his father's title. Were it not for his remarkably small stature making him something of a curiosity, he doubted any would even remember his name.

On his 50th Birthday Zakroti led a small force of thirty Drakken warriors across the mountain border into Northern Pratia, a foreign land. Having sent ahead spies to open the gates to a town, the thirty drakken warriors were able to enter it under cover of darkness and sack the town, returning with nearly one hundred and fifty slaves and saddlebags full of gold and jewels. The fledgling lord sent them off to his father as a gift, and gave his ageing mother some of the finest jewelry he and his men had plundered. Grudgingly, his father acknowledged the achievement and granted the boy the holding of Mu'Fanla, a small fortress situated in the otherwise barren mountains to the south of his families holdings. Although this was somewhat impressive for a first military achievement, given that few expected to see him in any form of leadership role at any point in his life time and certainly not so young, he first rose to true prominence during a conflict in the western lands with the Ptaz, the Frost Giants of the North. It was here that he saved the life of a prominent noble and was gifted the holding of Mu'Kasi, a large fortress situate overlooking the pass out of Drakka and into the neighbouring territory of Pratia. Zakroti exacted a toll on armies passing through and raised considerable funds from this, which drew the ire of several nobles.

Mu'Kasi was eventually levelled after the toll fees offended a particularly ill tempered noble, Nevun Davak. Zakroti launched a retaliatory campaign that culminated with him laying siege to Davak's Castle.
After six months, Davak agreed to negotiate a surrender. The terms spared the life of Davak and his sons but would have him pay for the reconstruction of Mu'Kasi. More importantly, it would see his daughter Elium Davak married to Qeynate, one of the few siblings Zakroti liked. Zakroti has been careful to ensure that Mu'Kasi has a considerable garrison ever since.

By this point, a number of Drakken nobles and even a handful of members within his family had begun to see Zakroti's potential as an ally rather than another foe to be dealt with. His brothers loyalty bought with his latest gift, they began to plot to advance their own interests in the region...

At age 76 an opportunity presented its self that Zakroti could not ignore; His father had fallen out of favour with the family and the king and, as such, Zakroti seized the chance and met in secret with a number of family members and Drakken nobles to hatch an insidious plot. Long had his father earned the disdain of his vassals and few objected to the idea of a regime change, especially once Zakroti put forward his terms and agreed to reduce taxes severely from the excessive rates his father had set.

With all the pieces on the board set, Zakroti demanded that his father reduce the taxes. His father refused and consequently, Zakroti's and his coconspirators rose their flags in rebellion. Zakroti led a force of Drakken and mercenaries to sack his fathers estate in a hard fought battle. The young lord had his father thrown into an oubliette where he is rumoured to remain to this very day.

Zakroti claimed dominion over his fathers lands and vassals and alleged that, as his father had been a tyrant, rebellion by the local Lords was just according to land. This was upheld by the family court which ruled in favour of Zakroti, though not out of any love for the young lord himself; His father had already fallen out of favour already. Further, two key family members with positions in court had been amongst those who conspired with Zakroti to bring about his fathers downfall, and sought to strengthen the position of their new found ally.

A number his siblings refused to accept the leadership of their runt brother and openly rebelled against him. Even with the nominal support of his grandfather and the de facto support of key political allies, the balance of power was constantly shifting. This power struggle resulted in several wars, drawn out by repeated outside interference as many Drakken nobles joined the war on various sides simply for the joy of fighting or in order to further their own ambitions. The struggle ended with the Sack of his brother Lalika's estate, crushing the final credible threat to his rule.

Zakroti executing these rebellious brothers. Lalika himself was sewn into a bag along alongside various venomous serpents and diseased animals before being tossed into the river; His body was later found washed up on northern shores, shrivelled up like a prune.

Zakroti had planned to attainder the nobles who had supported his brothers cause, however the Grand Duke objected and put a stop to it. Thus, he passed down an edit which officially declared Zakroti to be the rightful successor of his father by right of conflict and both sides reluctantly backed down, neither willing to incur the ire of the Grand Duke. His Grandfather, however, did not address the issue of whether the young boy would assume his father's seat on the council, and as such hiw enemies blocked it with archaic rules stated it must de jure belonged to his living father.

Regardless, resistance had been crushed and many had been sent to meet Krenta during those dark days. Any siblings that still harboured misgivings about his position wisely fell silent after this. With his position finally secured, Zakroti spent his 91st birthday plotting out reconstruction efforts and rebuilding his power base. He improved the defences of the newly named Mu'Jupostat and expanded the infrastructure and economic potential of his Duchy. Now surrounded by blackclad bodyguards where ever he went, the young Lord was constantly vigilant - paranoid, even- for assassins and plots.

Towards the end of his 131st year, Zakroti pledged his armies to his families cause to quell an invasion from the Giants of the North. Assigned directly to serve his grandfather, his performance was exceptional and his grandfather saw fit to elevate him at last, finally being allowed to claim his fathers seat on the family council. With his new station came the privilege (and indeed, the obligation) of taking a bride or several. Zakroti was ordered to take at least one Gem Bride from the next group of selectees, a decision the lord reluctantly obeyed and found Miry...

Other:

[Zahrale]

Warlord Vonnath Mors

Note: His horns start near the corners of his hairline, and curl up, then back down around the ears, following straightforward from the jawline similar to a Dragon's horns.

Vonnath Mors

Race: Drakken

Age: 173

Element: Fire (With permission he only has one, due to other traits)

Height: 6'11 (Big fella)

Bio:

A relatively young warlord, born and trained in the capital. He earned his rank and title from his family, and through consistent success and impressive feats.His talents reside in training others and fighting with a singular sword. In his early years, he was quick to make connections with other warlords and strong warriors and made a name for himself by impressing them when fighting alongside them. Later on, he made a name for being able to train virtually anyone, by adopting a new mindset over what could become a warrior- under the thought not everyone can fight the same way and still be just as good as someone else that way.

In an attempt to punish his arrogance, and rid himself of a nuisance, a fellow warrior and family friend sent to Vonnath his youngest son. This son was an unusual man, being more gem than Drakkan. Small, feeble, and not as strong it was surely an oddity born and no easy challenge. Vonnath found himself thinking; “If I were smaller, how would I have to fight to be as good a fighter as a Drakkan?”. It was a curious note, and even a touch revolting, however, it led him to an even more curious discovery. Smaller races can be just as vicious as a Drakkan if given the time and training.

At the end of his training this young man he set out on a test, which came crashing down around him in disaster. His men slaughtered, himself gravely wounded, and his charge both outnumbered and in danger, he lost himself in Rage. In his rage he tore apart the ambush they fell prey to, and left as he and death on his way in a fury unknown and distrusted to Drakken kind. So fierce and untamed was his wrath that most would consider Vonnath a Danger, rather than an asset or leader.

Other notes:
Vonnath is a Berserker, and as such only has a singular element that is not well controlled outside of his beastly rage, in which case the control of his element is only slightly better- if not less predictable- then a normal Drakkan

Important side note

This character's backstory is a collab with BlackPanther, and more information can be given if required. This was done so that GM's didn't have to read through 10 - 13 paragraphs of fluff when only 3-4 is needed.

[Ellion]

Bree

The Shadow Queen

Aubree Lamay

More Bree

Race:
Gem
Age:
19
Element(s):
Fire
Height:
5’9”

Bio:
It had never been a question on if Aubree was selected, only a matter of when. From the time she was old enough to know that she was pretty, Aubree knew that her fate and future lay not in her homeland, but that of their neighbors and overlords, the drakken.

It was a common thing that occurred for female members of the Lamay family, which had only survived though the male line. It was a sick joke that the Lamay's mothered half the Drakkan alive today. Since the history of the deal, none had ever bore a Gem. An oddity that was occasionally poked at by well meaning friends, but the fathers and brothers of Lamay would promptly shut the conversation down. Who were they to speak about a family as wealthy as the Lamays?

If she had ever been sad about it though, it passed the day she met Allie. The shy girl who blushed something fierce when Bree told her she was pretty. But it was the truth, from the first time Bree saw her, she knew Allie to be the most beautiful girl in Bree’s entire world. Together, they convinced themselves that the selection was not something to fear, but rather, the start of their true lives. Free from the scorn that their love would bring in their homeland.

Much of Bree's childhood was filled with all the learnings of the drakken that were available to the Gems. She was well versed in the history, lore, religion and most of the prominent culture traits. Taught to her to make the transition as smooth as possible. All of this information she shared openly and freely with Allie. As soon as they were old enough, the two girls took their studies even further. Researching how things such as how brides were selected and basic psychology of the Drakken race. After all, if they were going to be selected together, they would have to be prepared.

They planned for every thing that would occur after they were selected to be brides. The best course of action to ensure they were selected by the same drakken husband. They choreographed exactly how the first night would play out, creating a system to ensure they would always have enough time for each other at the end of the day. They studied different plants that could be turned into balms that would keep tried husbands sleeping while the mice played. Beyond even that, they discussed at length the various methods they could be used in training a Drakken without him noticing, often using angry bulls as testers for their techniques.

As the year passed, and their time drew nearer, their plans became more vivid, discussing at length all the things they would do to each other, beyond kissing. Having planned to save each other for their first night of sisterwives. Whatever had to happen with their husband was always thought of as a price to pay for being able to love each other fully, each and everyday.

When the day came though…all their plans fell apart.

They didn’t choose Allie. They didn’t even look twice at her. They just took Bree and left.

It took the whole journey for Bree to figure out what her next step was: She was going to spin a tale of the most beautiful girl in the world. One her husband couldn't live without. It might take a year, maybe two, but she would have her love again.

Adult preference: I usually won’t. But if I am really feeling the moment I am all for it

Rya Mire

The Widow

Rya Mire

Race:
Gem
Age:
20
Element(s):
Earth
Height:
5’6”

Bio:

Within Gemenia, there are small pockets of Gem's who have rejected the view of their kin. Living life their own way, in accordance with their own histories, laws and religious practices Or rather la k of them Depending on who you asked, the people from Rya’s village believed that the Goddess Vivari had turned her back on the Gem's because of how they sacrificed their daughters for protection —abandoning them they way parents abandon their daughters. There were others that argue Vivari had never existed at all. Regardless, the belief is the same. There are no gods. Not any more anyway.

Which lead to the belief that life was placed in the hands of those who lived it. It was extended to the belief that is was the Gems' responsibility to understand the world and, eventually, build it into a vision of their own creation. But first they had to understand it. They believed that knowing how everything connected would reveal the map of life and give its seekers understanding of everything.

Or at least, that is what they tell people. In reality, it was more of a lot of chasing animals through swamps and poking flowers with sticks. And of course, writing their findings down. Most Gems are unaware of this subset of the abandon gods, as they were so few in number that the few who knew of them believed them to simply be that 'odd family' over there.

That didn't exclude them from paying the toll to the Drakken.
Their small community was often overlooked, even by people in their own society. But every once and a while, they were called to pay their dues. Every time a daughter was taken, they would call it the disappearance and try to forget. The girl was never mentioned again and she was erased. Most weren’t even allowed to mourn. It was considered the ‘kinder’ way-to forget and accept things that cannot be changed and spend time focusing on things that can.

The reaping itself was something that was only mentioned to the girls. And only by their mothers. And only on their fifteenth birthday. A secret left to fester for a decade, after that point the daughter would be free. Keeping the secrets for her own daughters’ fifteenth birthday. They were told a beautiful story of silent sacrifice. How their hurt would help keep the vision alive. A whispered opportunity to map the unknown area of the world.

Rya wasn't the first in living memory to disappear. Eight years earlier, an unknown pretty cousin simply wasn't around one morning. She was never brought up in conversation and all prying questions from curious children were hushed away. She was forgotten. All that Rya could recall, was the feeling that her cousins absence brought.

A vague sadness.
And a sense of relief.

Relief brought forth because,while there was no exact science to how brides where selected, it was simply unlikely that a family and community as small as theirs would lose another daughter for many years to come.

So, life went on. Rya and her brother and sister grew up, learning to live from the swamp near their house. Learning to hide in its depths when the Reapers drew near. Rya learned to garden with her mother, working to domesticate the wild swamp plants for medicinal and recreational usages, like her family had been doing for many years. She also spent much time in the depths of the swamp. Rya’s father seemed convinced that, somewhere in their swamps murky depths, among the caiman, bugs and trees, there was the secret to all their problems.

Plants that could stop a womb from quickening and plants that would cause visions to appear for hours at a time. Plants for healing and hurting and something in between. Like her mother and father, she thought she’d have the rest of her life to explore its wonders.

But sometimes children have to find out that parents can be wrong. That they can lie. That Rya and her sister Ayr were not guaranteed the right to grow old in their swamp just because their cousin had been lost. That telling children to hide wasn’t just a fun game or a way to stay out from underfoot. Especially when the Reapers seemed to know what they were looking for.

Rya’s own exit was slightly more dramatic than her cousins. The Reapers appeared, like monsters from a nightmare. Monsters who, with a point of their finger pulled her from the swamp, still covered in slime. Monsters who allowed her to return home to pack a trunk. She didn’t take much, just clothing, her journal of discoveries, stuff to remind her of home. And a small bag of seeds. To “Take a piece of home to wherever that may be”. Rya can’t remember what she had said, but what ever it was, it was the wrong thing to say. Probably “I love you” or “It’ll be okay” But once the shock was over and the anger set it, she knew what it should have been.

What it should have been was
“Don’t let me disappear”

That was last year.

She could have never foreseen the events that unfolded.

She was more or less resigned to her fate by the time the choosing ceremony had ended. She went with her husband back to his keep. Kept sweet and docile and wasn’t nearly as unhappy as she thought she’d be.

She was her husband's first wife. He wasn’t anyone of importance. The facts that he got a wife at all was some what remarkable. His property was small, little more than a hovel really. Far away from most other forms of civilization. He wasn’t a hermit, per say, but he liked his space. Living with her had been as much of an adjustment for him as for her.

Was she happy? No, but she had created a life for herself. Her husband and her had come to an arrangement. There was no love between them, but they made it work. She was allowed to wander the forests and the terrain. Make her notes. Spend her days as she pleased. So long as she always came running when he called.

It was lonely. While Rya didn’t know a huge number of people back home, she was always with someone. Usually her brother and sometimes her sister.

Her husband was content to go on extended hunting missions with his ‘friends’. A lot of them choosing to remember what life was like before the Gems by purposely chucking themselves in front of every dangerous creature they could. And she would be left by herself. Initially tied up for days at a time, but he eventually found it easier to trust that she wouldn’t run. And if she did, she wouldn’t get very far.

Once a week they would dine together on a meal made by Rya’s hands. Most other nights, they were content to keep to themselves. It was one such night that she discovered that her understanding of Gem flora wouldn’t always be helpful in this harsh and cold lands.

It was a stupid mushroom. One that she had used in a thousand different dishes back home. But the dark lands here had twisted it and made it lethal.

Her husband died, choked on his own blood. She nearly did. Why she stayed alive and he didn’t, she will never know.

She hadn’t planned to get freedom this way, or at all. The idea overwhelmed her. A different Gem might have used this opportunity to run. But Rya knew the dangers that lurked in the forests. She knew that venturing too far from the hovel would be a death sentence for herself.

So she simply stayed put. Perhaps the Drakken would be understanding if she explained herself.. It was clearly an accident and not some act of rebellion. But no one ever came. No one even noticed.

Rya had spent weeks practicing her begging for forgiveness speech. Jumping at every sound thinking it was the Drakkan coming to kill her for insighting a rebellion. But nobody came. It fact, her husband had been dead for six months before she saw another person, Drakkan or Gem.

His name was Az.

A Drakkan unlike any she’d ever met before. Or perhaps it was only because she was half mad by the time she met him. Possibly both.

The first time she saw him, she assumed he wasn’t real. For she had been alone for for long that it was easy for her to forget that other people existed in the world. A part of her wanted to hide, to stay away from this creature. But another part of her, the part feeding the madness, refused to be alone any longer.

Az wasn’t exactly accepting of the crazy Gem. He didn’t need a bride and he wasn’t about to be stuck with one. But no matter how hard he tried to push her away, the stupid girl kept coming back. Eventually pity took over and he agreed to at least drag her back to civilization. Back to the gathering.

Other
The effect of the poisoning has left Rya with a vague tremble that will become apparent when she gets tired.

Xaelia

Xaelia Talamor

Race:
Gem
Age:
20
Element(s):
Water
Height:
5’6”

Bio:
The Spine is a hostile environment where even the Drakken are reluctant to to linger. There are rumors of animals far more terrifying than any found in either land. Large cats with rows of teeth designed to tear and rip. Birds that seems closer to lizards than anything else in this great and beautiful world. The tiny animals survive there because their ferocity out matches that of the larger creatures. Bees the size of your finger, whose stings make our bees' worst feel like a lover's nip in comparison. Worst still are the beautiful animals of the Spine. The ones that draw you close. The ones with the bites that cripple with unstoppable pain until death is the only choice left. The rodents who blind with the musk they use to attract all the unwary. And the spiders...

The great mother created these monsters to guard the Spine, in hopes it would deter her children from crossing and destroying each other themselves. But since when do children ever listen to their mother?

Tucked along the foot hills of the Spine is a clan of entertainers. Storytellers, musicians, composers. While they travel much throughout the year, visiting as passing entertainment in small villages and as honored entertainment in the capital. Yet, despite all their fame and ability to live anywhere they choose, they always returned to the base of the Spine

Once, long before any of us were alive, our people lived here. Not because we wanted to, but because we were placed here by the gods themselves. Our ancestors looked to the Gods. Asking why, when the country had so many beautiful places, would we have been placed with danger to our backs. Why be placed in the Great Shadow where crops are stunted and the winters harsh? Why give us a large lake to depend on in the summer, then freeze it solid during the winter? Every day the Gems asked and every day no answer came.

Then one day, in the middle of winter, a mother sat in the snow, crying as she held her child. An animal from the Spine had wander from its high home and had bitten the boy. Only the freezing temperature of the snow seemed to sooth the fever that raged through the child's small body. The mother sang, both to comfort the child and to use the song to once again question the gods.

It was Naia who answered, for the women's song had reached her. "You do not have to stay," She told the woman. "But we wish you would. One day, your songs will offer comfort to those who need it most. Just as you comfort your child. This land we have given you will never give an easy life. But you will live. It will never bring you comfort, but you can provide the comfort it lacks. We placed you here for a purpose and we wish you would stay."

The words confused more than they comforted, but the appearance of the goddess cemented our people to this land. While we will venture from our home often, we would alway return to it.

Then the war with the Anathos happened. And what followed. The only passible pass across the Spine was just above our town. It connected to a path that our herbalist would use occasionally when certain illnesses struct and the need for the certain plants would far out weigh the danger that the collectors would be in by daring to set foot on the Spine. A road was built, called 'The Gate'.

All other trials our ancestors faced paled in comparison to the one the Drakken brought. Every Gem who was taken would pass through this town. The last hope. The cries of the Gems would keep the villagers awake and leave them hopeless. Years pass by with the reaping coming and going.

Our village was often looked over by the Drakken, surprisingly enough. Either because when coming through they wanted to see if there were better finds deeper in or because they had filled their quota upon return. But every once in a while, a daughter would be taken.

It was one such occasion when a daughter was taken while a father was out that the tradition started. The carriage had already started the climb up the mountain by the time the father returned. Destroyed at never having the chance to say good-bye, he did the only thing he could.

He sang. Louder and louder. Letting his daughter know she was loved. She was missed and she would never be forgotten. More and more voices joined until it was said that the song reached Vivari herself.

So that is why we stay here. So that every year, during the reaping, we can bring some comfort to those we have sacrificed. So that our songs will be a final memory of the country that loves them. Of the home they once had. A warmth to carry them into the Spine itself.

Xaelia grew up seeing Drakken. Seeing and experiencing the reaping from as far back as she can recall. Because of their close proximity to the Spine, her people are somewhat familiar with the plants and animals of Drakken, as the Spine is the blending point of the two areas and occasionally there is some spill over on either side.

She has also experienced much of Gemmenia through her travels. It was well known that Xaelia tended to linger in the places that were both warm, sunny and had a seaside.

For herself, Xaelia never took to singing, instead, she started her training to be one of the villages Storytellers. Had she not been reaped, she would have been made a Master Storyteller by the summer and would have started traveling the country as more than an assistant.

But it wasn't meant to be. She was actually selected on the Drakken's way in and the village leader, knowing full well that the village had never given their fair share of Gems, could do little. She wasn't made to leave right away, instead, she was left with a Drakkan guard that prevented her from leaving the village, but other wise left her alone until the other Gem's started coming in. She was the first Gem to leave this year and trigger the parting song.

Although she knew it was impossible, a part of her swears she heard it until the gates slammed shut at Castle Shadow Worth.

Other:
Xaelia has memorized thousand of stories. They range from tales of the Gem's Gods to short stories she created herself.
While she typically has the usual features of a water gem. Her wisdom is usually wasted in her stories and not always put into practice. She would often do things 'because it'll make a better story'.

Adult Content Preference: Usually fade to back, but also down for what ever.

[ClocktowerEchos]

Spooky Spookmaster Spookums

Heccarim
_{the Grave Warden}

^{Drakken | 232 Yrs Old | Water and Fire | 6' 10"}

---

---

"Cling clang, go the chains, Someone's out to find you, Cling clang, oh the chains, The warden's right behind you.

Quick now, his seeking chains, Approach with their shrill scrape, Don't stop, flee the chains, Your last chance to escape!

Drag the chains, drag the chains, With all the strength you may! Drag the chains, drag the chains, 'Ere they drag you away!

Cling clang, go the chains! There's no more time for fear! Cling clang, no the chains! The last sound that you'll hear!"

---

---

Biography:

Deep beneath the catacombs of Harand Kor lays the endless tunnels of prison cells and vaults where the only light is that from the accursed guards of the prison. A former mining town, the deep tunnels and endless passages carved from stone on the back of slaves made an excellent prison for the King's enemies when the minerals dried up. With every lash and every brand, the prisoners are tormented as their wills sap away. With every pained scream and desperate plead, the cries of the damned echo throughout the valley with infamy and horror. And at the very top of this pyramid of torture and cruelty is the Grave Warden.

For generations, Heccarim's family has served as the overseer of Harand Kor and the King's Jailer. When criminals and traitors run, they away not from the enforcers of the law, but from the possibility of ending up in the catacomb prisons where even the most defiant of Drakken warlords have had their will shattered and minds broken, turned into pathetic, jibbering, tortured creatures.

Wearing the Mask of the Warden, Heccarim's reputation has been built up by his forefathers and their forefathers as the very sight of it strikes terror and fear into most Drakken. Mothers often tell their children to behave less the Warden drags them away in chains. Travelers warn each other not to travel alone on old, abandoned paths less they are the next victim of the Warden. Many dozens of stories circulate about the legend of the Warden, some of them are even true. But for Heccarim, they are just another tool in his arsenal of terror. Its not far fetched to say that the position of Grave Warden of Harand Kor has become its own entitiy, detached from the role of prison keeper; the fact he is rarely seen only adding to his grim mystic.

Heccarim himself only chuckles to the myths and legends of how the Warden takes delight in agony and suffering, how its actually a sadistic ghost whose only goal is to torment people to madness and suicide so it can claim their souls or how it can steal your life force through its chain, using it as fuel for its lantern censer. The Drakken himself possesses a dark humor but little in the way of true cruelty, only a cruel apathy to those beneath him and those he oversees. To him, its his life's duty to be the Grave Warden as was his forefathers'. Like the rest of his bloodline, he has served the king most faithfully, dragging more than one uppity Drakken with ambitions beyond their post into the shadowy grave cells of Harand Kor. Now, he seeks a Gem bride to ensure that the prison will always have a warden and the king; a jailer.

Other:

A constant fog surrounds Heccarim, mostly around his feet. This smokey fog comes from his censer-lantern that he has learned how to light with his chain hook in a most menacing swing and is based on his own magical abilities. Like his predecessors, he has never taken off his mask and his lantern has never gone unlit.
Adult Content Preference: Sure

Quotes:

"I love it when they run. They think they can escape me."
"Its only fair they get a head start; they won't have a head left once I catch them."
"My lantern is the light at the end of the tunnel."
"Your blades can only cut flesh, but my fear can shatter minds."
"I have open cells and fresh graves; which one would you like to fill?"
"Soldiers say the battlefield is hell. Clearly they haven't been to Harand Kor."

[SilverPaw]

OOC: Finally moving the CS over after making some minor edits.

Ineraz Evrenarth

Ineraz Evrenarth

"The Beastmaster"

Tall and slender like his father, with the light grey skin tone of his grand-grandfather, Ineraz strikes an imposing figure, menacing despite being wiry rather than bulky.

Race:
Drakkan

Age:
164

Elements:
Air and water

Height:
7'4 (223,5 meters)

Bio

Ineraz is one of the younger sons of an influential War lord who is still in his prime at 403 years – the head of Evrenarth family, a male by the name of Na'ir. With several siblings close his age and several much older, the rivalry in the family was harsh; nothing unusual for a Drakkan family. Na’ir however had perhaps a peculiar way of rearing his offspring; not only did he let them compete freely among themselves when it was beneficial (there were plenty of times he expressly forbad it), Na’ir culled and cultivated them through various training missions, trials and challenges. His father’s intelligence was always obvious to Ineraz, for Na’ir never kept more children than he had use of and at least some amount of control over. His sons all respect him and his leadership either genuinely or out of necessity.

And while Ineraz certainly admires his father’s abilities, if not his capricious character, his one true fond memory of Na’ir must be his storytelling. The one time that all his sons could be counted on not to start any infighting was whenever Na’ir regaled them with stories of their grandfather and grand-grandfather and their (prominent) role in the war against the Anathos and in its aftermath. Those were the stories that motivated all of the children to train with even more vigour, to learn even the lessons that they would rather skip out on and to seek ever greater challenges. Those were the stories that began Ineraz’s interest in history and might have turned him into a scholar if he had been born as part of another race. While his father encouraged anything that could one day be an advantage, he generally prevented his sons from becoming obsessed (but Na’ir had no qualms against using such desires, especially if they were for bloodlust, for his own gain).

Na’ir brought out the potential as a warrior Ineraz showed even as a youngling, and polished his rough talent until Ineraz befit the role as one of the many heirs of Evrenarth. The question of who will eventually inherit is prominent for all the heirs, but unless they all unite against their father – a very unlikely feat and a tad more dishonourable than any of them would prefer – such a question is likely to remain irrelevant for the next century or two. Combat was not the only thing Na’ir’s sons were drilled in: they were educated in history, geography, algebra, leadership, political intrigue, the ruling family, the contemporary War lords and the like. Na’ir adhered to his belief that any skill, any information, any ability and any character could be turned into an advantage. Ineraz enjoyed combat as much as the next Drakkan, was intrigued by some of the history, hated politics, struggled with tactics and had no particular care for the rest. The practical missions of raids, battles, duels, ambushes and warfare were a definite favourite.

Ineraz loved the trials and challenges, he really did, but there was something so absolutely galling at having to do it at his father’s orders! If only Na’ir had been consisted, Ineraz might not have rebelled. But his father was so incomprehensibly whimsical, Ineraz couldn’t help getting severely frustrated and exasperated one time, and in his brashness of youth, insulted his father in a fit of temper. After whipping him harshly, Na’ir calmly told him that since Ineraz was so ungrateful even after being recognized as one of the proper Evrenarth’s heirs at his 100th birthday, he would be sent to an isolated outpost where he should stay until he proved he had learned patience and self-restraint. And so Ineraz was sent to a remote location with the scant few Drakken who either wanted to curry the favour of Na’ir or were seeking a different sort of challenge – all of whom were to be under Ineraz’s command.

And so Ineraz landed at a small fort – named Terva – near a forest full of vicious beasts and otherwise surrounded by rocky terrain, with a desert some ways away. Terva had been built just south of the uppermost north-western river of Drakka when there had existed an intent to populate the nearby region some more, but had since then been mostly forgotten.
Having spent at Terva the past four decades has certainly helped Ineraz’s growth. He is still an efficient killer, only moderately cruel, a fierce fighter, prideful, with a bit of interest for history remaining. He is now also a survivalist, more pragmatic and determined. His most improved traits are patience, alertness, responsibility and a measure of self-restraint, his temper more tamed. He has greatly come to appreciate information, and he realizes he is likely quite out of touch with the recent tidings, despite the occasional visitors or a rare letter from his father.

Even though he has been living some distance from most populous locations, Ineraz has managed to do a few remarkable things in his “exile,” one of them being using the nearby beasts to his advantage – he led a few of them to an enemy location where they wreaked havoc as they pleased. Recognizing their usefulness, Ineraz began to trade captured (some tamed, some not) beasts to any interested Drakkan. Some of the creatures, Ineraz kept for himself, also offering a few to the Drakken under his command. Eventually, Ineraz became known as “The Beastmaster” to any who bought his animals, heard about him or saw him with one of his own beastly companions. After learning of his new “title” his father met with him and recognizing Inaraz’s progress, Na’ir offered he would petition for him to get a bride in the next choosing. Ineraz knew this to be either a plot or a whim, but staying his tongue (he had learned that much), he accepted with a cold smile. Although Ineraz has decided to live in Terva for a while yet, the party before the choosing will be his "official" re-entry into the world of politics...

Other:
Proficient with a sword, bow and crossbow. Besides being a warrior, he considers himself a hunter.

Adult Content Preference: PM or fade-to-black, either way’s fine.

[Aura]

Agni

Agnimitra (Agni) D'lvia

Race:
Gemminite

Age: 21

Element:
Fire

Height:
5'11"

Bio:
Agnimitra was raised by her father along with two older brothers. Her mother died while she was just a small child and is unable to remember her.
For as long as she remembers, she knew about the reaping and knew what could easily befall her. This led Agni to do all she could to strengthen herself. She hunted with her brothers in the forests and practiced her fire magic where possible. She was strong and proud, raised more like another boy then a girl. The only work she did that could be considered ladylike would be taking care of her two brothers by helping her father with the cooking, cleaning and mending clothes. She would be more often be seen running wild in the forest or skinning a fresh boar though.
She became a leader in the small village that they lived in. Not an elder but one that people her age seemed to naturally rally behind her mountable fire and strength. Her two brothers were proud and tended to let their little sister get away with anything and followed her happily.
When a Reaper saw her and deemed her beautiful enough for a bride, she was sad but she was not surprised. She stoically said goodbye to her family and followed the Drakken calmly. She was determined not to be another Gem to die young at the hands of the Drakken.

Other:
She tries to be strong and independent but at the end of the day she is still young and inexperienced.

Adult Content Preference: Fade to black

[Belle]

Amalia

Amalia Solair

Gem

18

Earth

5'6

Daughter of the Earth and the Sky, Amalia's mother was an Earth elemental and her father an Air elemental. Amalia is a bit of a wonder among her kind, for to look at her you would think she was an Air elemental. While she got her father's looks, she recieved her mother's element.
Amalia has been raised to embody the qualities of Vivari, the Great Mother. She tries to be kind and strong and brave and nurturing, just as the Goddess and the Earth itself. She is very caring and gentle. When she was reaped more then a few cried for the gentle young soul that would be so tarnished by the cruel disgusting Drakken. Amalia fears for herself, but also for any children she may bear, should she survive long enough to bear any at all. The thought of leaving her parent's beautiful garden home and going to the dark realm of the Drakken fills her with dread and heartache. She is conflicted within, having been raised to care for all creatures and yet being filled with hatred for the Drakken for soon destroying her life. Amalia is the embodiment of quiet resolve. She is terrified, but behind that terror lies a solid strength that will be hard to break.

Adult Content Preference : Good for whatever

[Saltwater Thief]

Wilhelm

visual for his horns

Wilhelm the Black Blade

Race: Drakken
Age: 249
Element(s): Air, Earth
Height: 6’7”

Bio: Long ago, there lived a great Drakken warrior famed for his skill, cunning, and cruelty, even by the standards of his race. His birth name has been lost to annals of time; he is simply known as “The First Black Blade.” His was a legacy to rival Drakken royalty, and for his long service to the crown he was granted lands to call his own. In time his descendants would inherit his land, his infamy, and his title, each of his heirs being trained in his ways and training their own heir in return. Today, the lands of Castle Nachtstone belong to Wilhelm.

A Drakken every bit worthy of his ancestor, Wilhelm is a lethal swordsman and a devilish man, both in battle and out of it. He is a cruel, vindictive man, but as all of his line before him he follows a strict code of morality that he refers to as “the Old Ways.” These ways may seem no different from any other Drakken ethics to an outsider, but to Wilhelm the difference is as night and day. He looks with disdain on what he perceives as senseless antics of those more youthful than he, and while they in turn may think him behind the times or foolish, few dare say such to his face; aside from his vindictiveness, Wilhelm is a feared combatant and his dueling record speaks for itself.

However, he pays them little mind. Some Drakken, particularly those of greater years, have earned his respect by word or by sword, but most others he barely acknowledges. The change for his people that brews in the winds are of far greater concern, and Wilhelm must ensure that he is prepared to face it.

Despite his intimidating pedigree, little is known of Wilhelm's household. Only his servants and brides are permitted entry to the castle proper, and each of the former seems unable to speak save for a few specific words. Some speculate that there is some grand secret he hides within its walls; Wilhelm rebukes such supposings as drivel, and while some have either been brave or foolish enough to try to sneak in, none of them have ever emerged again from Nachtstone's walls...

“You draw your breath against me freely, yet will not draw your weapon in kind? Pathetic. Before you speak ill of me, look upon yourself and question just when it will be that all you have ever been is forgotten.”

Zeldria

Zeldria Miphras

Race: Gem
Age: 19
Element(s): Fire
Height: 5'11"

Bio: Not every Gem lives in a major town or city. For some of them, a more rural lifestyle is what calls to them. Such Gems, on occasion, find themselves coming together to form a small settlement where they coexist and work to help one another. In the plains of northeast Gemmenia, one such settlement formed nestled amid the hills. They never decided on a name; theirs was but a small cluster of a few homes, ranches, and farms, almost too small to be marked on a map. And, for a while, it seemed their size was small enough that the Reaping was largely kept away from them. They still had to pay their dues, as it were, but their small size and relative insignificance meant it was many years at a time between visits.

Zeldria was born into such a life. Growing up in such a setting was far from glamorous, often involving hard work, but like all the girls of the settlement she grew into it. People often remarked that she was one of the best they had, both because of her looks and her mind. She was sharp, learned fast, adapted quickly, and was taught from her first walking days to be kind and compassionate towards others. Her parents always taught her that if there was something she could do to spare someone else trouble, she should do it without hesitation; a lesson she took to heart.

One day she was forced to prove she’d learned that lesson in the most terrible way imaginable. Drakken reapers came to the settlement, unscheduled and all but unannounced. The leaders of the small community reacted immediately and defensively; they knew for certain that they were not scheduled for a Reaping, and they demanded to know why the Drakken were there. To hear them tell it, the town that had been scheduled for a reaping to the north had somehow given them almost no brides at all. That would not please their masters, they said, so they had stopped at the settlement to fill their cart more. When the community leaders understandably protested, the Drakken moved toward violence. Conjuring fire from his hand, one of them moved to set the entire settlement alight. “You’re just a small outpost that doesn’t even show up on every map, do you really think the Council will contest us over you?!” they yelled. Before anybody could consider calling their bluff, Zeldria stepped forward and volunteered to go with them. She fully knew the risks, or so she thought, but if she didn’t the settlement might be destroyed and all their lives ruined; as the only girl of age there, this was something she could do to spare all of them trouble, and so she did it.

She only hopes she made the right decision and that things turn out well enough.

"This is naught compared to what it averts. I do not flinch before the lightning flash; I will not flinch here."

Adult Content Preference: Fades to black, neither comfortable nor confident writing them out.

[Amethyst]

Scyrven Gunnvaldr

_{A very tall Drakkan woman with a wild air about her, with rusty russet locks falling to her shoulders in disarray and a scowling tan (though somewhat ashen) face, with deep-set amber eyes thickly lined in kohl. Most notable about her appearance is her peculiar doubled ram horns, with one curl on either side extending to the sides of her face, gently sloping down, and the lower curl wrapping around behind her ears and extending past her jawline.}


Race:
Drakkan
Age:
One hundred and eighty-nine
Element(s):
Fire and Air
Height:
Seven feet, four inches

Bio:
The daughter of a proud warlord, and the fourth of seven children, Scyrvensrel Talyrrth grew up entirely in her elder brothers’ shadow. Her father a veteran of the Anathos War, one who held many, many Gemmenite brides for his heroism. Her brothers, most years and years older, were off to wage war in her father’s army for most of her childhood.

At the age of 55, when she was still a child by most regards, she snuck off from her life (which had been mostly learning to manage an estate from her mother, though naturally she was trained into peak physical condition) to join her brothers’ forces. First refused from the fight, then put in as a grunt soldier – after all, her brother claimed, if she was stupid enough to get killed she deserved to die – and eventually working her way to the top and unseating him as captain of their house’s force.

For years she remained in the skirmish in the northern reaches of Drakka, earning notoriety for her ferocity and skill. Her father’s forces as a whole rose to prominence under her guidance. Finally, as she approached her eightieth birthday, she was at last summoned home by her father. Hoping it was some sort of military distinction, laurels for her successes, she was instead afforded what was arguably the worst punishment known to Drakkenkind: a season at the king’s court. A season of being stuffed into silk gowns painfully tight and ill-fit to her frame (her father had sent her measurements specially to a tailor in Gemmenia, but something was seemingly lost in translation, as they did nothing but constrict her broad shoulders and muscled thighs) and courted by “gentlemanly” older males – who thought the best way to prove their worth as a husband was to drag her to their bedchambers. Multiple gowns were torn and “gentlemen” nearly gelded to ensure she maintained her virtue.

After the disastrous season she was eager to don her armor and get back onto the battlefield, but she was scarcely away from home a few seasons before she was called back, this time for an “arranged engagement.” One of her father’s old comrades of the Anathos War had proposed a union of their houses – he had a son only a few seasons younger than Scyrven herself, and proposed that they be wed.

She met young Gwillim Gunnvaldr only shortly before they were to be married. She held utmost respect for his person and his achievements, though little love came between them. As she would later come to reckoning, she much… preferred the female form to the male for pleasure, though of course procreation – as her duty required – called for a mate of the opposite gender.

She shared her husband’s bed, eager to bear fruit for the union (their familial honor was at stake, after all) but struggled for many years to conceive a child. A few times she had dared to hope – only to have those hopes dashed on the rocks after miscarriage. It was with bated breath that she waited, and beyond all odds bore a beautiful daughter Alfhildr twenty-one summers ago.

She had wept, for the expectation was for her to have a son, but nonetheless treasured the rarity that was her daughter and sheltered her so much as the environment of Drakka would allow. After twenty-one summers, their daughter is strong, athletic, and growing so well. It was more than Scyrven dared to hope for.

With this being said, her husband needs a second child, and attempts to conceive since Alfhi’s birth have been fruitless. At last she and her husband come to Shadow Worth together to choose another… brood mother to ensure the longevity of their dynasty.
Other:
Married to @tracyarmav’s Gwillim. They’re taking Brides as a unit, I think.
Her speaking and header color is e3a777.
Adult Content Preference:
Fade to Black please!

Miry Unalim

_{An exceptionally diminutive young woman, standing less than four and a half feet tall. Though altogether rather plain in appearance, she carries herself with composure and dignity, a light of wisdom and confidence sparking in her blue-violet eyes. Her mousey blonde hair is combed into a glossy, smooth sheet, lightly curling down to the base of her shoulder blades. She dresses plainly, though her clothes are of quality.}



Race:
Gemmenite
Age:
Nineteen
Element(s):
Water
Height:
Four feet, five inches

Bio:
Oh, how times have changed. Aymiria Unalim, born Aymiria Cassiell, was once a servant’s daughter, a servant herself – minstrel and eventually handmaiden for the third-in-line princess of a realm.

A year ago today she was taken in a reaping, barely eighteen. Her twin sister, an artist and painter, was too. She watched her sister die. And her sister-bride, all for a man’s greed. Not even the greed of the man who was to be her husband, for some – cruel, horrible plan of crowns and kings and so on and so forth.

Such massive affairs should not have involved her. She wept, even as her future husband tried to comfort her and reassure her it was going to be okay – in a manner most unbecoming of a Drakken, she would realize. He had not forced her into his bed, nor any of the horrible rumors that surrounded the alliance.

But she’d seen her sisters scars, the burn branded deep into her abdomen. She’d gotten lucky, somehow. Most of the other girls would not have.

Living in her husband’s keep, free to pursue whatever she wanted – she was a lady, at least, sort of, and she didn’t have daily chores and errands to run – she educated herself about his people and his languages, and he was nothing but courteous and kind, if distant. His ruling grandfather, though less kind, did nothing to directly harm her. She did ultimately grow to appreciate her place, and to consider the implications of her presence. The grandfather quickly grew irate that she’d not shared her husband’s bed, not presented him an heir.

He never pressured her, but as she grew to spend more time with him – learning the language, for her tongue was clumsy and most unbecoming of a future duchess, learning the literature and history of the fallen empire, all of the intricacies of his people’s culture and religion – at some point during all of that she did fall for him, badly, and of her own volition began to share his bed at night and stay by his side during the day.

This decision was made three moons ago. Now she stays with him always, hoping to someday be properly married to him in his people’s custom, rendering her as his equal and his wife, not his bride (an important distinction.) Recently she’s felt quite… unwell, and is uncertain - both afraid and daring to hope that perhaps her husband’s seed has taken root and she’ll be able to bear him a son, and fearing what may come of it.

Today, they move towards the Drakken capital once more, Zakroti being under orders from his grandfather to choose a second bride. Riding beside him, in the column of black-clad soldiers as she has grown accustomed to, Miry can't shake the crushing feeling that she's been a disappointment. In her heart she knows Zak would never leave her, but she cannot shake the thought that perhaps she'll be left behind for better, more traditionally beautiful brides. Even if she's not, she's convinced she will be relegated once more to the task of servitude, being turned into a handmaiden for her new sister-bride and being expected to kiss all notions of her love goodbye.

A pit of jealousy turns in her stomach. She won't let that happen.

Other:
((take her out of the pairing rotation, as seen above she’s been happily a bride for the last year))
Her color for speaking and headers is c3a5fd.

other ref image

Nenra Corislen

_{A slender young bride with pale olive skin, shoulder-length light brown whisps of hair, and striking gold-green eyes. Her clothes are very simple, clearly crafted by hand, and she carries herself confidently. She has a very serious depth in her face, a vaguely haunted look always in her eyes.}


Race:
Gemmenite
Age:
Eighteen
Element(s):
Earth
Height:
5’5”

Bio:
A quiet, motherly young Gem, Nenra spent her early childhood in part of a large, happy family, working a farm with her eight siblings and few dozen cousins. The town they lived in was mostly comprised of their extended family and two others – trading was a simple affair, the inn was managed by one of the grandmothers, as were the shops, and everyone else stayed in the fields or the farmhouses. Subsistence and self-reliance was the way of life.

That all changed when Nenra was fourteen. One of her younger cousins contracted a mysterious illness – the poor girl’s whole body was covered by a multitude of small white, oozing boils, and she quickly grew weak, feverish and delirious, and expired a mere two weeks later. No one else had seemed to have caught it, and amid the mourning there was a spark of hope that no one else would die.

The day after poor Liilin was buried, four of her other cousins started sprouting boils and coughing. It spread likewise throughout the entire town until all but a handful of the residents were sick. Nenra was diligent about scrubbing herself, washing her hands almost until they bled whenever she had to be around her family, and doing everything in her power to keep the farm running in between taking care of them. One of her younger brothers left the town on the fastest horse to track down an herbalist from a better city – there must have been something to be done.

But there was nothing. When he returned with a doctor, the doctor grimly informed them that it was the weeping pox. Nothing could be done about it except keeping the victims comfortable and well-hydrated – if they were strong, they would survive. If not, they would perish. The doctor left the town, advising they raze it to the ground, for the illness could linger in wood and earth for years after it had faded, waiting to strike again.

By the time the plague left the town, it was absolutely decimated. Her mother and father were dead, many of her aunts and uncles as well. Not an adult in the village had escaped the illness, and those that remained alive were so weakened by it that they were scarcely able to take care of themselves, nevermind the farms and gardens. Of the children and teens, many had perished as well, but those that didn’t soon bounced back to full functionality, if an exceptionally scarred, disfigured functionality.

Word spread along the road that the town was to be avoided like… well, like the plague. Nenra was fine with that. There was a harvest to be brought in – with not a working soul above the age of twenty – and … too many dead to bury. The words the physician had spoken haunted her. “burn this place, or it will be everyone’s grave.”

They couldn’t bury the bodies, so they burned them. The earth elementalists among the group stirred the ash into the earth, tilling the soil and sprouting a forest of massive rosebushes from it. Mother’s roses, as later visitors to the town would identify them as.

Then they went about their lives, as best they could. Nenra and a few of the other girls wound up as caretakers of the orphaned children, and taking care of the elderly. Everyone with Earth magic quickly became adept at control of it – they had to be, with twenty sets of hands doing the work previously done by a hundred. Farms had to be kept, linen spun and woven, cows milked, goats herded. Life continued on.

They all knew of the drakken, of course. One of their cousins had been taken when they were younger, but they’d imagined word had gotten out about the pox and that the village no longer had young, desirable girls. So it was to shock and horror when the Drakken reaping caravan rolled through their village. They took one look around and decided that this was a stop for supplies only, and raided the storehouses and didn’t bother to pay the few shopkeepers for their trouble.

As they were getting ready to leave one of them noticed Nenra. Though she was hardly a specimen of beauty, she was the most beautiful eligible girl in town (by simple virtue of not having the deep pockmarks and raised scarring from the pox) and eventually, after some discussion, ordered to come along.

She would have resisted, but they threatened violence. She took one look at her scared, heartbroken family, set her jaw, and stepped into the carriage. No more lives would be lost on her watch. Even without her to take care of them, the little ones were getting older and were now able to help in the fields and take care of their own mothers and grandmothers. The younger teens had mastered the element enough that they could continue to bring in the harvest, to till the fields and plant them.

They would survive. Sure as the soil beneath her feet and the sun on her shoulders, they would endure. Whether she would or not, she was not so sure.

Other:
N/A

Adult Content Preference:
Fade to black please!
Her speaking and ping color is 77c6ae.

[Melody00]

Kuki Aho

Kuki Aho

Race:
Gem
Age:
18
Element:
Air
Height:
5’6”
Bio:
Kuki grew up in Prìseil Aldentine. She was orphaned three years after her birth and was raised by her uncle. She had an older sister who was of reaping age when her parents were killed. Her parents thought it was a good idea to fight with the Drakkan and try to prevent them from taking their daughter. After her parents died, Kuki went to live with her uncle. The only other option were her grandparents, who live WAAYYY up north (and since three year old Kuki wasn't traveling that far, she stayed with her uncle).
Kuki wasn't a difficult child growing up. She wasn't loud or unruly, she would just space off sometimes and go into her own little world. Kuki was never interested in things that her uncle thought were practical such as learning to cook or clean. She didn't really enjoy going outside either. She would always be reading a book or painting or just looking out the window at nature. This would annoy her uncle and while he never did anything rash, he would always say things like "Why don't you want to walk around town like normal girls?" or "I really wish you would get to know some other gems your age. It would do you good to get outside more often."
Kuki's uncle didn't hate her, but he clearly favored his two sons over her. He wouldn't spend much time with her (which she didn't mind), and whenever he went away for business he would bring back cooler things for his sons than her, if he even did bring her back something. Kuki was always kind and had a positive outlook on life. She always had a smile on her face and everyone that knew her would describe her as a nice, caring girl.
Even though she had watched her sister and several other girls from the town get taken, Kuki never really understood the reaping. Only once she herself was taken did she truly understand it. One day, the town council summoned all the girls in town to the town square. By the time she got there, all the other girls were gathered in a line in front of a pair of Drakkan reapers. Kuki was quickly pushed into line. The reapers took their time to get a look at all the girls. They looked every girl up and down several times, then finally one of them pointed at Kuki and said, "You." He grabbed Kuki and threw her in a cart. She would've fought back if she had understood what was happening and wasn't so surprised.
Other:
Kuki is quiet and doesn’t talk much, but when she does, she isn’t afraid to speak her mind. If she doesn’t like something or feels that something is wrong, she’ll outright say it.
Adult Content Preference:
Fade to black

[WeepingLiberty]

Sweet

(Dragon not included this time xD)

Sorrin Lucielle

Race:
Gemminite
Age:
18
Element(s):
Air
Height:
5'5"

Bio:
Despite her early hardships, Sorrin is an incredibly sweet girl who has been raised by her aunt since she was the age of six. Having lost both her parents in a tragic accident, it was up to her father’s eldest sister, and neighbors of course, to look after the youngling in their absense. While she might not have been the sharpest kid of the group, she was certainly the kindest, not to mention her ability to light up anyone’s face with a smile.

Easily distracted by the world around her, Sorrin had a nasty habit of getting lost, running into things, or even leaving something behind. She never failed to remember the important things about another person, and would do her best to ensure the happiness of those around her… Even if she couldn’t do the same for herself.

Unfortunately, her greatest flaw would undoubtedly be her caring and selfless nature. Incredibly gullible and quick to forgive, it is any wonder how she hasn’t been severely taken advantage of. Hurt an animal or a child, however, and you will meet a much different Sorrin indeed.

While she does her best to keep up a brave face for her loved ones, there are times where her trauma can be seen clearly through the cracks. It had been a particularly rainy season the year it happened, and the ground had grown too soft to support its own weight; so much so that it came rushing down the mountain side with the force of a river freed from its dam. The landslide damaged the house and trapped the family inside for several days until help arrived, though it arrived too late to save the gravely injured couple.

Sorrin did not make it out of the event unscathed, covered in cuts and bruises all over, but for the most part was okay physically. The same could not be said of her mind. Aside from underlying depression, Sorrin is afraid of the dark and is absolutely terrified of small, enclosed spaces. Whenever the nights get too dark for her liking, Sorrin’s only source of comfort is a song that her mother used to sing to her when she awoke from nightmares. And on moonless nights she can be heard humming or even singing it to herself in private, much too timid to ever sing in front of others.

Other:
N/A

Adult Content Preference:
I am smutty and have no boundaries. You may do with her as you please. ;)

Salty

((BTW, wings not included with this model. XD At least not naturally grown.))

Azilon “The Wraith” Dantanath

Race:
Drakken

Age:
150

Element(s):
Water and Air

Height:
6’11”

Bio:
Azilon isn’t what you’d call a typical Drakken warrior. His love for war and battle is present but it is the method of which he chooses to go about it that differs so greatly from the others. It is because of these methods that he earned his title of ‘The Wraith” in one of several battles with a nearby nation, his name infamous among the warriors present at the time. While he has done more than enough to earn a bride in the princes’ eyes, Azilon has yet appear to collect on his prize.

Rumors surrounding the man spoke of a warrior who strayed from the main force to terrorize a smaller village a little out of their ways. When they had finally caught up with him, Azilon stood calmly among numerous bodies belonging to the villagers. Not a single drop of blood marked the Drakkan or his blades, rather it appeared as if the villagers had taken up arms and had attacked one another before killing themselves. Not very much is known about what actually happened and most don’t bother to ask, however, many agree that he is not someone to mess with lightly.

According to outside speculations Azilon’s patron god is Krenta, the Drakkan god of death, though it is unclear if he chooses to honor any of the others. That which is known about the man seems to indicate a complete lack of interest in cashing in on his rewards, caring little for his status and public appearances. He quite clearly displays a strong thirst for blood and love for killing, which is all really people care to know.

While there is plenty of rumor and speculation to go around about the young Drakkan, very little of it references his history. Most assume a strict but fairly common upbringing, others don’t care enough to think about it at all, but the reality of his childhood weaves an intense tale to say the least. Azilon’s disinterest, reluctance even, stems from a childhood spent under the thumb of a ruthless father. The boy was born to a water Gemmenite his father had earned, a survivor of a particularly harsh Reaping. Like most Gems, she had been ripped from her former life only to be thrust into the arms of a man that saw her as not much more than a toy, and took great pleasure in playing with her as such. It was while she was pregnant with Azilon that she attempted to flee but made little progress before she was caught, dragged back to her master to be chained in a dungeon even after Azilon had been born.

Being the son of a ‘traitor bride’, Azilon was regularly beaten to ensure his loyalty to his father. As he grew older, it became quite clear that he had inherited a more Gem-like physique than Drakkan leading his father to lock him away with his mother to avoid bringing shame to his name. Unable to escape the constant shrieking and crying of a woman slowly losing her mind, Azilon’s boredom and natural ferocity eventually got the better of him. In order to pass the time, which was nearly impossible to tell in the constant darkness, the boy resorted to torturing his own mother for entertainment. He eventually killed the woman which earned him a renewed place in his father’s eyes.

Despite this development, as soon as he was able, Azilon struck out to live on his own. He took up residence in one of the few forests Drakka owned, a twisted and hostile place known as Svartálfar Forest. This level of seclusion mixed with his sadistic killing methods added to his air of mystery, further fueling the rumors about him.

For the longest time Azilon had nothing comparable to a bride, having avoided most Reapings and rejecting the few his father did attempt to gift to him. Azilon did however fill his home with plenty of servants, nearly all of which came as a result of war conquests and the occasional Drakkan duel. Much to his disappointment, it seems his days of seclusion and near solitude have come to a close as a new face has wormed its way in. Having stumbled across a Gem whose husband befell a rather… unfortunate end… Azilon now finds himself the charge of a particularly odd girl by the name of Rya, whom he has agreed to her company for the time being.

Other:
Azilon, at present, still has no official wives and no brides as he has not claimed Rya in any fashion. He also requires his household to pray to one or both of two gods: Krenta (god of death) and Norric (bringer of darkness/servant of the gods).

Adult Content Preference:
This guy will deff go to the PMs with willing parties. He bites.

Spicy

Aurora (“Ro”) Liesma

Race:
Gemmenite
Age:
18
Element(s):
Fire
Height:
5'7"

Bio:
Full of life and brimming with energy, Aurora's family was known for their bolder than average personalities and the fire behind their eyes. A lively bunch, she grew up surrounded by love and laughter, a sentiment readily spread to their neighbors and community. For the most part they were able to keep themselves in check, however, the Liesma family could be too bold for their own good and had pulled the eyes of a few Drakken passing through on more than one occasion.

Youngest of the Liesma children, Aurora was a much calmer soul than either of her brothers, and her sister especially. While Kasari would tustle and work alongside the boys, Aurora would cook and clean with her mother. It wasn’t as if she were a timid girl, for she could be just as stubborn and fierce as the rest of them, but she found herself quite content with her chores and busy work. She found them to be calming and at the end of the day, was happy enough to put a smile on her family’s faces.

Known for their performance arts, their town was filled to the brim with dancers and entertainers of all different kinds. Some would travel far from home to show off their skills, even representing their community at events held in the capitol. But once a year, they would all flock home in order to celebrate their elemental god, Pyrus. It was often a grand celebration for them and the town’s best performers were at its head. Among them every year was Aurora’s sister, moving so gracefully, exhibiting such strength… She was everything a daughter of Pyrus should have been, and Aurora couldn’t help but admire her. She couldn’t help but to envy her. Aurora was no slouch herself at their town’s dances, but she never could compare to his sister’s beauty and often wished to herself that she could grow up to be just like her.

It was only a matter of time before their town would be chosen for reaping, and when that day came, so did the Reapers. She watched in horror as her sister was literally dragged away, fighting them the whole way. Their mother was crying, father attempting to console her, but it was her brothers that stood up. It didn’t do much good as they simply knocked the one down, the other quickly putting himself up as a shield before the youngest. Aurora was two years younger than her sister, not yet old enough to be taken but that fact would only save her once.

The following year their town would be chosen again for the Reaping, and Aurora would be among those torn from her family. They hadn’t even finished grieving the loss and death of their previous daughter and here they were being told they had to give up another. Fear and sorrow struck Aurora, rooting her to the spot. She was not quick enough to comply and had to be carried away in her shocked state.

Looking back as she was taken away, the image of her family in tears was the last thing she would ever see of them. Her mother collapsed on the ground, her father embracing her, and one of her brothers struggling to hold back the other from rushing after her. Such a sight broke her heart but she knew that if she were going to survive, she would have to stay strong… She couldn’t be like her sister… Aurora would have to be better.

Other:
Aurora is the younger sister of Kasari, a former (now deceased bride) of Zakroti.

Adult Content Preferences:
Take her to PMs, see what happens.

[ghastlyInc]

Kagan Galegar

Kagan Galegar

Race: Drakken
Age: 145
Element(s): Air and Water
Height: 7’8

Bio:
Kagan was raised in the monastery Krenta’s Crest, deep in the heart of the Salshee salt flat near the center Drakka. A massive structure of hewn stone and sunbleached glass, jutting defiantely through the salt and scrapping the sky high above, it is considered a marvel for Drakken of a religious nature, though few have braved journey for purpose of pilgrimage. No, Krenta’s Crest is where young Drakken boy of brighter minds go to be carved into the noble servants of the death god.

Kagan speaks rarely of the 50 years he spent as a neophyte, in part because it bores him to tears. But on the occasions he does, he opts to be deeply sardonic, indulging in extravagant aesopic tales of torture and theological meditation. Days spent chained to a stone, screaming the writings of Hiolic the sage as the sun burned lay lines of pain across him. In reality, the worst he can remember was being forced to recite scripture while a saw was dragged across his horns should he slow or quote a passage incorrectly, feeling the reverberations deep in the quick of his horn and skull.

While it is an endless joy to horrify young secular Drakken (and Gems of all ages) with horror stories of self-flagellation, Kagan would be the first to admit that his upbringing was almost...painfully tranquil. Neophyte's more likely to self-flagellate for want of something to do beyond learning yet another one of several dozen funerary rites they were expected to know.

At 112 Kagan was deemed theologically competent enough to granted the rank of acolyte and, by extension, the right to leave Krenta's Crest and go wherever he wish in Drakka. After a year of homelessness, he managed to become an apprentice Kinner in the city of Jerun, a small satellite city of the capitol.

When a child of the Drakken is found to be unfit for survival or a Drakken becomes feeble of mind or body due to age or illness, a Kinner may be asked to kill them in ritual combat in exchange in steep tithes to the church. If the target dies at the hands of the Kinner the victim is buried with the full honor as a member of the Drakken, regardless of what sort of shame they brought upon themselves in life. If the target lives, the Kinner is left for the birds to consume, shamed beyond the point of deserving even the most basic funerary rights and the tithe returned.

Of course, with the Drakken being a waring peoples, the position required he learn to fight, at least on the level of most common warriors. Kagan took the training well, the nuances of a blade coming far more naturally to the young man than theology ever had. And, if nothing else, there was an indescribable joy to be found in the eyes of a man or child as they fell into Krenta's embrace.

His apprenticeship came to a sudden end with the arrival of local warlord, Krisov Harin, an elderly Drakken pushing far into his 650th year. The man was a prodigious warrior, having killed Warlord Kalix during the Fourth War of Succession and claiming his position as warlord some 300 years prior. However, shortly after the war, his mind began to slip slowly into dementia, and the once fine example of Drakken kind was little than a quietly ignored (often confused) voice in the court. And while his mind had dulled, the mans fighting edge was a sharp as ever, a considerable pain for his sons who were eagerly awaiting end to claim his estate for themselves. To that end, they promised a tithe of a gem bride in the coming to Kagan and his master, should they succeed in ending Krisov with the dignity they felt he deserved.

Krisov, for his part, ardently objected to the ceremony. Or, at least, thats what Kagan guessed as he watched his master be decapitated with a swiftness that seemed almost unnatural coming from such an elderly source. Kagan almost doubted the state of the mans mind, for he'd never seen a Drakken who commanded death with such fluid ease.

He remembers feeling his knees quiver beneath him, over joyed that (despite the forth coming shame) he would be killed...no. SLUAGHTERED by such a heavenly example of his own kind. He eased forward, blade almost shaking and his mouth twisted into a manic smile before Krisov eased as his mind once again betrayed him, asking the young priest where he was.

Kagan could only feel cheated as he drove the blade into the elders throat, who stood staring with honest confusion as to what was going on while his life dripped slowly onto the floor. They stayed that was for a few moments, Kagan's aborted high evaporating into the aether as Krisov breathed his last. He was tempted to leave the bastard to the birds, the fury of being robbed of such a challenge burning in his chest like nothing before. He swallowed bitterly as the sons of Harin pushed a letter into his hands. The Choosing was in but a few days, and he'd have to be quick if he was to collect his tithe.
Adult content preference: Move to PM.

[shylarah]

Iolanel Efris

more images

ee-OH-lah-nell, or sometimes eye-OH-la-nell EFF-riss
click for pronunciation

Race: Gemmenite
Age: 18 (just barely)
Element: wind
Height: 5'3"

Bio:
Originally from a village among the windy cliffs and terrace farms of northwestern Gemmenia, Iolanel and her family moved farther south following the outbreak of a crop blight that took several very hard years to contain. With two little girls to worry about, the family's priority was on making sure they would grow up healthy and strong. A few other families with young children also relocated, though none to the same place.

Even though Iolanel had to leave all her friends behind, she consoled herself by writing letters and quickly made new friends. Her new home was a larger town, but still close enough to wild areas that she was allowed freedom to wander. In fact, there were fewer large predators to worry about compared to her old home.

Iola was a cheerful child that grew into a bright, smiling young lady. Her closest friend was her cousin Viorel, an earth gem learning animal husbandry with her parents. These two were thick as thieves, and Iola often ended up helping look after various injured animals, including the songbird that would refuse to return to the wild once healed. It was not uncommon to see her with some animal or another, even though she had no earth magic and could only communicate with them as a simple Gem.

The girl had no exceptional skills of her own, not in terms of a specific profession, though she picked up various bits and pieces of knowledge from different people. She often asked questions, but rarely had the dedication to pursue more than a single interesting aspect of a thing at any given time. However, Iola was good at working out disagreements between her friends, and always willing to listen when someone was upset.

Iola was Reaped very shortly after her 18th birthday, and it came as a huge shock. She's terrified and struggling to find something positive to hold onto about the whole mess. Indry she managed to hand off to her cousin. The very last thing she wants is the beloved bird dragged off along with her, or even worse, caught and killed by the Drakken.

Other:
Iolanel has a pet bird, Indira -- or rather, Indry refuses to leave and so has become a de facto pet, even though he's a wild bird.

She has gained skill with both plants and animals, just from exposure via her family. She never saw either as the sort of thing she wanted to do as a job, however.

Violet eyes run in her family. Pryllia and Viorel both have them, and her mother Yandra's are particularly vibrant.

She is, of course, beautiful by Gem standards, but there's indication that she's not properly grown into hers yet.

Family:
Nephanyel Efris is her father, a potter and sculptor.
Yandra, her mother, is an herbalist specializing in ornamental and aromatic plants.
Pryllia is her younger sister, currently sixteen.

Viorel Efris is Iolanel's cousin, an earth gem and the child of two earth gems who work with animals.

Adult Content Preference: I don't mind reading whatever. I have few limits on violence, most of them falling under deliberate torture and extreme sadism; I've a preference for keeping things classy, if that makes sense. I cannot write smut of any kind and I don't care to try, so for any sort of sex I'd prefer to fade to black. Any sort of nonconsensual intimacy short of overtly sexual acts I am willing to try to write, but may struggle, and there's a possibility I'll ask to fade. Did I miss anything?

Other Concerns:
Iolanel will propably do best (and by this I mean struggle/develop most) with someone who is apathetic towards her, rather than actively involved even if with cruelty. Opposition gives her something to work with, and a flow of interaction -- even if an unpleasant one -- to go with or learn to stand against. General unconcern is much more difficult to adapt to, and requires her be the one initiating any sort of progress.

In a similar vein, I lean towards her not having sister brides. They would be a source of comfort in all but a few instances. Those instances are as follows: someone so freaked out that she gets on Iolanel's nerves, or someone independent enough not to need her help in any way but not strong enough to handle supporting a second person in addition to herself. Anything else, Iola either gets to be the strong nurturing one, or has someone to shield her, and I don't really want either one of those things happening. Best case is probably her being a single bride, as that forces her to seek companionship outside of Gems (or at least of Gems outside her family).

I will admit to a personal bias towards a location where there are animals that would be untamable for most gems, forcing her to find some sort of spine somewhere just to have her own companionship, and just because it'd be a huge shock to her, used as she is to working with her cousin's family. Also because the danger to Indry would be fun. Iolanel is generally a go with the flow sort. It'd be fun to see her need to stand up to something.

Also I take it back, I might be able to make Heccarim work but MAN Iola would change in dramatically different ways. And it still might not end well. ...Still probably would not. Not sure how well I'd write it, though.