Trash for the Trash God [Just Breaking BBCode]

[psych0pomp]

ＴＲＡＣＥ ＷＨＩＴＬＯＣＫ
ＴＲＡＣＥ ＷＨＩＴＬＯＣＫ

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

^{_{"Need a hand? Ha. Ha. Fuck you."}}

▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ TRACE MARIE ROSE WHITLOCK _________________________________________________________ APRIL 19TH, 2004 | 19 | WHITE & BRITISH INDIAN _________________________________________________________ SINGLE | ⚧ | BISEXUAL _________________________________________________________ SUTTON LONDON | ENGLAND | UK ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B U I L D || Athletic ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || White ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || White ◼ H E I G H T || 5'5" ◼ W E I G H T || 141 lbs ◼ S K I N T O N E || White - ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M O T I V A T I O N S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ G O A L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ - ▅ N O T E S ▅ N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► - _________________________________________________________

▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ A Brief Timeline of Events ◆ 2004 Trace was born to Thomas Franklin David Whitlock and Pari Anand Whitlock, their 5th child and only daughter. The family existed firmly in the working class. All crammed together in their three-bedroom flat in Sutton. Both parents worked to provide for their children. ◆ 2007 Pari passed away from late stage bone cancer. Their oldest son (Thomas II) had just finished secondary school, and so he took a job to help pay for the apartment. ◆ 2009 Trace started Primary School. The second oldest son, (Timothy) got a job while Thomas II moved out with a girl he met at an Aldi's. ◆ 2015 Trace started Secondary school. Timothy moved out, having been promoted to manager at Eataly Europe. Trace was given a solo room since they were the "only girl." ◆ 2016 Trace ascended to the Queen Bee position of the mean girls clique in secondary school, ousting Charlene Pratts. They also started participating in football. Thomas II and Bridgette had their first child, a boy named Gregory. ◆ 2017 Trace got to attend football camp, fully paid for by the school as it they quickly became the star of their team. Their grades were meh. The third eldest son, Terrence, got into University without much issue. ◆ 2019 Bethany Sevier of the Sutton Lions, an all-female football team, ended in hospital after hotshot first-string kicker, Trace Whitlow transformed into a multi-armed creature and attacked their teammates in fear. Thomas Whitlow I pulled some strings to keep Trace out of criminal custody. Thomas II has a second son, Gordon. The fourth youngest son, Trevor, began to attend trade school. ◆ 2020Trace started work at Eataly Europe. Timothy pulled some strings to get them a job despite being hyper-human. They were an after-hours stocker. Trace came out as non-binary. Thomas II had a third child, Giselle, from someone that was not his wife. ◆ 2020-2022 Trace was a mediocre employee at Eataly. That being said, honing their hyperhuman ability led them to be the fastest stocker in South London. They also started partying, hard. Terrence moved out and Trevor takes the other room. Timothy married a woman from his gym. It was a shotgun wedding. ◆ 2023 Charlene Pratts started a fight with Trace in the middle of Eataly Europe, sending Trace into a pasta display. Onlookers described it as a sauce-coated nightmare of limbs. Charlene ended up in hospital with a broken arm. Her two cronies had a broken foot and broken jaw respectively. ◆ ALMOST THE PRESENT Terrence was jumped at university, Trevor was beaten outside of his apprenticeship, and Thomas II and Timothy were threatened along with their respective families. Trace was bailed out of jail by their dad. They then disappeared from London. ◆ ALMOST ALMOST THE PRESENT Charlene Pratt's car was found fully on fire with C**T sprayed into the concrete next to it. Thomas II divorced his wife and immediately married the mistress. ◆ THE PRESENT Trace starts at PRCU. ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || ARM MANIFESTATION (HECATONCHEIRES) __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || DYNAMIC Trace is capable of spawning limbs out of the center of their back. Currently, they can spawn six in total. They are as long as Trace is and have the same marble hue as their skin. They have the same consistency as dense stones. They hit harder than flesh and bone, and each arm has the strength of a human at peak strength. They can also be combined into each other to make the power and size more exponential. Even going as far as creating one large arm capable of hitting like a truck. They run purely off of instinct, much like one would control their hands to hold something but not each individual finger unless they put that much effort into it. This is something that Trace can do, but not for a long period of time and not for all six. They can be destroyed, and it doesn't harm Trace. Trace's ability might have the potential to grow in the number of arms, the power they contain, or both. L I M I T A T I O N S || FINITE RESOURCE Like most esoteric users, Trace has a limited amount of power that they can pull from. They can only form six arms a day, and once those arms are destroyed they can't respawn them until the next day. They also can't make more than six or change their length/width/power without combining them. Once someone knows the quantity and quality of them, it doesn't change. There are no surprises with the manifestation of their power, just in how they use them. W E A K N E S S E S || FLESHY BITS Despite Trace taking on the same pallor and consistency as their arms, they are not as sturdy as them. If one was to bypass the arms, Trace is just a normal teenager. They can be injured as easily as any other human. More so, there's no way for them to protect against anyone else's abilities. They don't have anything they can easily take care of. Except maybe wanting to carry all the bags in from a grocery trip at once. ________________________________________________________________________________________

▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S}
▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

_{Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?}

"Probably Terrence, my brotha, fuckin' his girlfriend--Tess. Because everyone in my fuckin' life has a 'T' name. I mean we're separated by a wall, but the flats in Sutton aren't known for their soundproofin'. Or any proofin' for that matter. If London had an earthquake, we'd already have our damn graves already dug. Anyway, unlike any otha horny boy, he doesn't wank off silently into a sock. The whole damn flat rattles. And my dad's bedroom is on the other side, and he snores louda than a construction site. So, it's up to me to silence this fuck around." They chuckle and run a hand through their colorless hair.

"I usually run into Trevor on the couch. We usually share an eye roll or two. I then would pound on the door, tellin' them to stop chokin' the cats. Tess usually says something that a dumb c--un--nk would say like: 'You're just jealous.' Yeah, like I would be jealous of some bitch fuckin' my brother. It's not Game of Thrones, here. And if that don't get 'em, I just turn up the thermostat. No one wants a slip 'n slide for a bed." They point at you, gliding the tip of their finger from your toes to the top of your head. "Yeah, you stopped writin' a while back ago. Can't blame you. My storytellin' skills are top-notch." They wink.

_{A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?}

"I give 'em a pound or two." They shrug. Considering how much they've spoken if asked about anything makes this short sentence seem weird to you. So, you inquire further. "Look, when you are lady presentin', and a stranger comes up to you askin' for help you just give 'em what you got and get the fuck out of there. They like to square their shoulders and lift their chins up, tryin' to spook yah into believin' that they will hurt you if you don't help. And if you don't, the nicest thing they'll do will be to call you a cunn-k and spit on you. The worst will be chasin' you down a dark alley and... you know. I like my organs on the inside."

They exhale, their bravado washing back onto their face. A smirk lights their red-painted lips. "That bein' said, and if this off the record, I'd fuck 'em up. I can, now, you know? Predators need an ass beatin' or two. Show 'em what it's like to beggin' for mercy on the ground." They lift up their hands, remember who they're talking to. "But, uh, just give 'em a couple of pounds. Then you don't have to do shit."

_{A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?}

"Look, I've already dug myself a grave here, so why not go out with a bang? I mean... with these answers. With the intrudas, I'd just use that time to hop out the window and have a smoke off campus. It's stressful bein' cramped up with all these..." they flatten their hand and shake it in the air as if they have no polite word for it, "...wankers.

"Would I be caught? Probably. Would I cave durin' interrogation? Maybe. Just matters how they decide to torture me, you know? I can put up with a lot of real shit music. My brothas back home absolutely loved that screamin' shit. That bein' said if they decided to crank up some Taylor Swift I'd be out.

"Don't get me wrong, it isn't because I dislike her music. It's just because they could do betta, you know? Play some out of tune garbage. Play those tones that make you wanna throw up. Don't play sad, rich, white girl music. It just tells me your heart ain't innit. I'll be puttin' us both out of our misery with givin' up the secrets." They shrug. "Which are none, because you wankers tells me nothin'."

C H A R A C T E R S H E E T A D D - O N S:
C H A R A C T E R S H E E T A D D - O N S:

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅

_________________________________________________________

▅ D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E ▅ D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ The Vision Board for their Lewk Trace used to be a light brown-skinned human with black hair, brown eyes, and the ability to blush. When the viriumosis engaged with their hypergenes and triggered their change, they became wildly different. Their skin is marble white with dull pink undertones and blue veins. Their hair is a spider-silk white that has lost any whisper of volume that it might have had before. Their gums and nail beds are a postmortem shade of blue. While their stark pallor, not replicated in nature, would draw attention--it's their eyes that are a beacon of their hyperhuman state. Milky white and perfectly polished like two marbles. They have no vision problems, well except for having to wear shades more often than not. But staring at the sun is bad for you, anyway. Their outfits and makeup only highlight this stark nature. Dark eyeshadow covers their lids while they wear androgynous or femme-leaning clothing in shades of black, gray, dark purple, and more black. While they are stuck in their school uniform most of the time, they try to make sure other aspects of their appearance are their own--without breaking the dress code. They're really tired of getting reprimanded for that. In the day-to-day, their style would be called "preppy goth."

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅

_________________________________________________________

▅ P E R S O N A L I T Y ▅ P E R S O N A L I T Y ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ Trace is like a piece of pumice, that smells slightly of lavender and jasmine, that you run across your skin until it bleeds. They grew up around a rowdy set of boys that were barely fenced in by their father. Not that he couldn't be intimidating and strict when he wanted to be. But Thomas I was just happy to have his children. And, as such, Trace isn't without kindness. They respected the patriarch of their family even if they sometimes give him the teenage glower. Beyond that, Trace is bound to speak their mind. Secrets are not something that they can keep. You'll know what they know when they know. They also hold no punches when it comes to their opinions. That doesn't mean that they don't like you. Hell, they can receive as good as they can give. The only thing that gets their hackles up is classism, bullying, and violence for the sake of violence. It has a time and place. And Trace isn't scared to get violent when the time and place are right.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅

_________________________________________________________

▅ S K I L L S & T A L E N T S ▅ S K I L L S & T A L E N T S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ S K I L L || ATHLETICS Trace was once on a fast track to joining a female footballer team in England. While they may have not gotten into London, one of the other teams would have definitely taken them. Despite that dream being derailed, they've kept up with their athleticism. They're still more than capable of playing the game along with many other physical activities. They may hate any form of gym, but they can do their laps while breaking a minimal sweat. T A L E N T || INTIMIDATION Look, they may stand shorter than average, and the whole pale thing definitely has been mistaken for being like porcelain. But once Trace opens their mouth, starts assessing a person, and then throws hands (literally), they can go from taking up a small part of the room to dominating it. It's definitely a byproduct of growing up with boys, being from the working class, and then being relentlessly persecuted. ________________________________________________________________________________________

▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T}
▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Look, I'm not saying that I have friends in the MI6. But I'm not not saying that." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

WHITLOCK, THOMAS I || FATHER WHITLOCK, THOMAS I || FATHER _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Thomas Whitlock was not born in Sutton London. He actually grew up in Birmingham with rich parents. One might know to look at him that there was something off about the current class he occupied. He served a good portion of his youth and young adulthood in the Royal Marines. He now works as a security contractor for a handful of jobs that are parliament adjacent. He met and fell in love with Pari at a party that one of his coworkers was hosting. It was love at first sight. He gave up all previously assumed notions of his class to love her. He had five children with her and was devastated after she passed. Not that one could tell to look at him. Always stoic. Always telling jokes with the most serious of tones. It's hard to tell. It's no surprise to assume that he definitely pulled strings to get Trace out of legal trouble and then the country. There are rumors that he does work with HELP on occasion.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅

▅ _{R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T}
▅ _{R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

_{☯ NEUTRAL ☯ || ☮ FRIENDS ☮ || ♫ BEST FRIENDS ♫ || § TENSE § || ♥ CRUSH ♥ || ☠ ENEMIES ☠}

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Quote about Relationship." ☯ NEUTRAL ☯ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

S U R N A M E, G I V E N || R E L A T I O N S H I P S U R N A M E, G I V E N || R E L A T I O N S H I P _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅

Ｄ Ａ Ｓ Ｈ Ｃ Ｏ Ｏ Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ
Ｄ Ａ Ｓ Ｈ Ｃ Ｏ Ｏ Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

^{_{"Chi nasce tondo non può morire quadrato. Jokes on them, I'm a triangle."}}

▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ Dash Franklin Cooper _________________________________________________________ October 29th,2003 | 20 | Caucasian 1/2 Italian _________________________________________________________ Single | ♂ | Heterosexual _________________________________________________________ Los Angeles | California | US ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B U I L D || Attractive Fit ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Light Brown ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Gray ◼ H E I G H T || 6'4" ◼ W E I G H T || 194lbs ◼ S K I N T O N E || Tan - ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M O T I V A T I O N S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ What better motivation is there than the one of fame? Don't get it wrong. Coop grew up with money and all the support he could ask for. What he didn't have was the attention. Like short bursts of someone's drug of choice, he'd done drama, he'd tried sports, he attempted to DJ, and got in on the Tik Tok trend of dancing when it was still about dancing. All of those were flashes in a pan--brief like a sunrise. No, he wants something that will stick. He wants adoration. He wants crowds. He wants a brand deal with any clothing company so he can have a shirt that will fit his long torso flatteringly. So what motivates him is to be his best most profitable self. And if some emotional growth happens in there... well bonus points! G O A L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ SEE ABOVE! To be more detailed, he has a several-tiered plan to get his name in lights--no, that's Broadway--on a movie poster, on a brand, on a "Top 10 Richest" list. Yet, no matter how hard Coop hammers at those tiers, they'll always collapse at the sheer existence of his hyper-human powers. His control is--limited--and his powers are--embarrassing. He has to get them under control (read: smothered, really smothered) before he can step forward. So, he's here to join THE HOTNESS or whatever. First, some community service will get him bonus points, and being around others that are doing what he wants to do but better is amazing motivation. - ▅ N O T E S ▅ N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Has ADHD ► Has BDD ► Is allergic to bees - _________________________________________________________

▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ A Brief Script Workup 🇩‌🇦‌🇸‌🇭‌ 🇫‌🇷‌🇦‌🇳‌🇰‌🇱‌🇮‌🇳‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇴‌🇵‌🇪‌🇷‌'🇸‌ 🇱‌🇮‌🇫‌🇪‌ 🇸‌🇹‌🇴‌🇷‌🇾‌: (🇨‌🇴‌🇴‌🇵‌ 🇮‌🇸‌ 🇧‌🇪‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌ 🇵‌🇱‌🇦‌🇾‌🇪‌🇩‌ 🇧‌🇾‌ 🇳‌🇴‌🇦‌🇭‌ 🇨‌🇪‌🇳‌🇹‌🇮‌🇳‌🇪‌🇴‌) Open with a long shot over Los Angeles, the camera zooming in on a house in the hills, nice but not egregiously so. There we follow a young COOP, who is playing in the shallow end of the pool. His mother is laying out on an adirondack chair, a large straw hat covering her eyes. He gets distracted by the arrival of his father through the sliding glass doors. He runs along the side of the pool, slipping on a puddle, and falling into the deep end of the pool. His parents talk for a moment before realizing what has happened. We fade to black. COOP is still coughing up pool water while covered in a towel, but he's recovering. His mother hands him some ice cream and mumbles things in fast-paced Italian. His dad is nowhere to be seen. Cut to him standing in front of his father's locked office door. Years pass. His mother is supporting him, applauding him, taking care of him, and otherwise being the best cheerleader that a young boy could have. There are several shots of his father shutting his door in COOP's face. Really zoom in at each slam--make the audience feel the neglect. His mother tries to bandage the pain the only way she knows how is with smothering and food. Pan over to a rather chubby (read obese, but no one wants to see that on the screen) COOP being teased in class. The laughter mixes in with the slamming of the door, and his mother trying to bandage things further with cooking. The calendar flips by and shows the solid progression of years, and we see that his teenage years are kind to him as he hits a major growth spurt. That's doubled with lots of shots of him running through his upper-class neighborhood, styling his hair to match whatever is popular on Instagram, better clothing choices, and a slowly growing confidence. But there are some worrying cuts to him eyeing his scales and marking progress on a vague, unnamed fitness application. We're going to remove the troubling scenes of him at his psychiatrist's office. No discussion of his body dysmorphia. We may bring up his ADHD for relatable laughs later on in the story. This newfound confidence leads him to take on a plethora of activities. Yet, the one that sticks is drama. We see him move up from background actors, to the top ensemble, and to the lead. And--he's pretty good. We then cut to his mother opening the door to his father's office and discovering him in the midst of some scandalous, though humorous, adultery. There are scenes of them at a couple's counseling, the shots quickly transition to show them wearing different outfits conveying the passage of time. Slowly they start on opposite ends of the couch but slowly come together. The last one is them back in love with a full-on kiss. This transitions to them booking couples vacations, not showing up to COOP's events, and not picking him up after events. More calendar flips, and that escalates to COOP doing more and more for attention. Out of the radical things he tries, he actually starts putting in for liberal arts colleges. The results aren't bad, but he's still in school. He has time. Time that he's alone in the house, acting out for attention. That leads to him in his late teens trying to get a selfie of him against the LA skyline in a risky shot that relies on him leaning off the side of one of the many cliffs. Well, he slips. The height is more or less fatal. But he blacks out in the middle of it. Then wakes up, entirely naked, in quite a crater. He's completely unscathed, and there's a crowd on the cliff above him taking pictures, while a park ranger asks him if he's okay while holding a towel. COOP covers himself--wait for laughs--and the ranger hands him his towel and his phone. The phone has a cracked screen, but the audience can still hear the digitized dings and can read the incoming messages. Someone tagged him in a video, and the comments are not--great. The camera shows COOP's face as it goes from confusion to panic to embarrassment. He throws his phone off the mountain. The park ranger just stares. COOP asks if he could call an Uber. A few cuts to the doctor's office, maybe a few shots of a CT scan, or ultrasound, or something that looks medical and intimidating. You see the doctor shake his head at COOP's parents, who stare at their son in disbelief. Another hard cut back to COOP practically destroying the insides of a fridge, and arguing with his mother--but the audience can't hear the argument. "Hungry Like the Wolf," by Duran Duran plays over it. The audience can gather that COOP is constantly hungry and can't help himself. More intense checking of his weight app as it goes up. But he looks in the mirror, and if anything he only looks thinner and more jacked. Something is definitely wrong here. The entire thing escalates when his father hands him a brochure for a school very far away from LA for his "problem" which leads to another fight. The dad says something along the lines of COOP "weighing too much for the infrastructure of the house to hold him." That panics him. We can just assume he's weird about his weight. Remember we cut the body dysmorphia bit from earlier. Then BOOM, wide shot to the house crumbling around them. The red and white lights of the firetruck paint the family. The father is a little bloody and bruised, the mother is covered in sheetrock dust, and COOP is naked--again--and angrily grabs the pamphlet from his father's hand. Cut to Vancouver, Canada for shooting as it is way cheaper, and the school is set in Canada. COOP steps off the bus, and it rocks as he does. But the kids around him ignore it. He drops his bag on the ground and smiles a little at that fact. He takes a selfie, as his new Instagram journey has started. ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || F A T M A N I P U L A T I O N __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || SOMATIC Coop's fat cells store his HZE, and have an effect on the surrounding cellular structures (read: muscle, bones, organs, and skin). Like most fat cells, when they are activated, they expand. When they're dormant, they become compact. When Coop doesn't activate them, he is a statistically perfect (<2% fat) model. He doesn't need to work out or watch his diet to have the perfect Adonis-like figure. Though he still does the former due to the downsides of his ability, we'll get to that. When they activate, they expand. They also consume any HZE around them to become more powerful. While Coop does have HZE stored within him, he can further expand his powers by absorbing the HZE around him. This may cause a detriment to other hyper-humans that are in the vicinity, but we'll also get that. His power, simply putting it, is invulnerability. Basically, the more fat he has on his body, the more invulnerable he is. It's not hard invulnerability, allowing for compromises when it comes to force, energy, and impact. He can survive terminal falls, bullets deflect off of him, and electricity and fire have no effect on his body. And as a side-effect of his power, he also has strength equal to his mass. Meaning a punch from him could range from breaking bones to crushing a car with ease. The cells are practically powerhouses, which causes the HZE to radiate outwards and affect the rest of his body. This allows for his form to complement the power within him. Meaning he can become taller, his skin more pliable, his muscles capable of supporting his weight, and his organs capable of keeping up with the pressure put upon them. He currently has a variation of his height being 6'4" to 8'4" and his weight being from 190 lbs to a ton. L I M I T A T I O N S || HZE CONSUMPTION Coop's power relies on the use of not only the HZE inside himself but the HZE outside of himself. To keep the power fueled on the inside, he has to have a heavy intake of calories to keep the fat cells happy and viable. If he went without any form of nourishment for a while, his power wouldn't be able to be used at its full capacity if at all. If he's around other hyper-humans he might not have enough to draw into himself to reach the upper limits of his ability. Or he can consume it, leaving others around him without any HZE to manipulate. This makes it hard for him to work in a team setting when his ability is necessary to succeed. W E A K N E S S E S || MOBILITY & OUTFIT MALFUNCTIONS For instance, if Coop uses his ability to its fullest there's a chance that he won't have the musculature to run or even walk. There's also a chance that his surroundings won't allow him any forward progression. Meaning he has to dispel the power to get anywhere fast, and it may be impossible for him to re-engage his power if he doesn't have any reserve HZE. Now, he doesn't have to reach the limit of his ability, and he has more mobility--but he has less power. There's a middle, sweet spot with it, but it's really reliant on practiced control. Which Coop doesn't have at the moment. So, to try to offset this as much as possible, he does work out to give him some residual strength that isn't reliant on the use of HZE. But no normal person can work out as much as it would take to be on an even level with carrying around a ton of weight. It's a wet bandaid on a broken dam. Also, normal clothes can't withstand the use of his power. He's sure that he'll get an outfit to withstand it, but will it be perfectly tailored to him? Probably not. ________________________________________________________________________________________

▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S}
▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

_{Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?}

"I hope it's not my Twitter blowing up. I mean I do hope it is, but there's a difference between it being the attention I want versus what I don't want. People say that there's no such thing as 'bad press,' but they've never been on the bad side of Twitter. They can destroy you with a snap of their finger. That's why all my posts are perfectly curated to not offend anyone. Or at least I try. I am like a cishet almost white guy that lives in the upper class. I'm basically a living, breathing privilege. Which I don't hate, but it's not good when you want to make a point. Which, don't repeat what I said. Like... you never heard this... I don't know the currency exchange for Canada bucks. Is a hundred, good?"

_{A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?}

"Oh I totally help him. I will film myself doing it too. I can see this blowing up on Tiktok. Now that's some good press. Unfortunately, strangers don't approach me that much. I must just ooze that my dad is a lawyer. Bet."

_{A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?}

"Again, I'm going to go throw myself at the problem and film it. Good press, people. You know how people blow up after they help defend against school shootings? Actually. Let's not. That's a shitty comparison. Oh boy. I feel just awful now. I need like some seltzer water with some honeydew in it. That'll make me feel better. And some Cheetos? Maybe some like one of those fried croissant things with the ham in it? Great... now I'm just hungry. Wait... what were we talking about? Oh yeah... I'll go play the hero."

▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T}
▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "I'm tacking on an extra grand for this meeting because your Powerpoint is ugly, and I'm bored." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

COOPER, FRANKLIN II || F A T H E R COOPER, FRANKLIN II || F A T H E R _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ He received his JD at Yale University in CT before moving to LA to start a practice. It was mostly to help film companies research certain laws in hopes of either a) finding loopholes or b) exploiting them for their gain. Of course, Franklin always stated that it helped with the realism that was seen on the screen, and made sure that the various workers within the industry had their rights. Sure, he might have done that... at one point. He recently started dabbling in politics (read: helping politicians with the same thing.) He's emotionally distant, constantly bored, and has a tendency to only give his highest-paying clients attention. Everyone else could more-or-less be talking to a bored cardboard cut-out. ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅

▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Parla bene, ma parla poco. It's an old saying that my mamma would tell me. I ignored it." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

D'AMICO, GIANA || M O T H E R D'AMICO, GIANA || M O T H E R _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A second generation Italian, Giana grew up in upstate New York before leaving to Los Angeles to pursue a career--any career. She just wanted from her smothering family and their antiquated lifestyle. She easily found a job modeling. Yet, unlike a lot of her peers, she was actually able to make a career out of it where she was paid quite well. Though, considering the timeframe, a lot of the more risque photos require you to take your Google off of safe search. She met Franklin at a party, married him, and was quite content to give that life up in hopes of lounging by the pool and looking at the view. Her family never comes to visit.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

[Penny]

But stranger still is Lost Carcosa

[psych0pomp]

---

_______________________________________________ "Our consciousness cannot grasp its own end, despite being fundamentally conscious of death's inevitability. To understand it, is to experience it. And to experience it is to be unable to speak of it." N A M E ⋮ Mortika MORT d'Arce A G E ⋮ 102 R A C E ⋮ Elf C L A S S ⋮ Necromancer A P P E A R A N C E ⋮ Mort appears to be in her mid to late twenties, though the graying of her naturally peach-colored skin may tell a story that she's older than she appears. She stands no taller than a human but is not lithe nor dainty. She has broad shoulders that extend to strong arms, a body that has seen hardships, fingers that were once clawed at the end but have been clipped--yet they still retain that feline grace, and the legs of an acrobat. It's evident that she's had to pull herself out of situations through the will of her body alone. Her hair is the color of a tidewater pool and just as glimmering. Though it may have lost its luster beneath the mines. Her irises are the hue of milky tea, not blending in with the bright sclera but counter to it. Her long ears are elven in nature and were once stamped with gold. Her nose is aquiline but reflects well on her sculpted face. A septum piercing at the end drips into her bow-shaped lips. Sharpened teeth are on the other end, cosmetic but still capable of doing damage if she bit into you. She walks with the confidence of a cat and the curiosity of a bear. There's no subtlety to her movements. They demand attention and get it. P H I L O S O P H Y ⋮ 1The ambiguous nature of the body may be formulated in a number of binary oppositions. The body is both the Same and the Other; both a subject and an object of practices and knowledge; it is both a tool and a raw material to be worked upon. The body appears to oscillate between presence and absence, most paradoxically in intense feelings — feelings as sensations and feelings as emotions. The body seems to be simultaneously the subject of highly articulated utterance and yet at perpetual risk of disappearing from our awareness.

P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y Mort doesn't speak unless she is spoken to. Yet, she may take any passing comment as a formal address. She has a curt, sharp way of talking that doesn't do well to enamor her to anyone. She's quick to insult, and even quicker to laugh in most macabre situations. There's always something unsettling in the way that she acts. Yet, don't take that odd nature to be bravado. She's aware of lines, and she draws them in the still sands of her mind. She's gotten by in her life by pretending to follow the moral compass that everyone holds aloft as being even brighter than the sun. Only in the dredges of civility will she let loose the thoughts that bubble in her brain. She also has a tendency to talk to someone named Bertrand. It's hard to tell if he's a ghost, a figment of her imagination, or a tactic to unsettle those around her. She's creepy--yes--but you have to ask yourself how much of that is an act to be left alone. Also also really likes to rattle off about philosophy. B A C K S T O R Y B A C K S T O R Y Mort couldn't begin to tell you how other elves act. What their lands are like. What beliefs that her people subscribe to. What she knows is that she grew up in the cult of Messengers of the Black Sign. Born on a fortuitous day amidst a wellspring of a blight. Neither of her parents were elven, and as such, were not her blood and flesh. Yet, she did not belabor that fact. They cared for her and loved her like any would their child. She was held up as royalty within the small cult that had settled in the swamp town of Torniko. Torniko had sunk ten times over, and each time the cult had rebuilt the town on the wreckage of it. It was the Message's Will. It wanted them to be here. So, underneath it were catacombs that housed not only its previous denizens but its culture and knowledge as well. A wealth of information that Mort endured the perilous adventure to drink up in her youth. What did the Messengers of the Black Sign believe in? Well, they believed in the nature of the body, and the sheer confoundingness of its binary nature 1. The Black Sign was a map on how to form a bridge between the Same and the Other and create a being that is aware of both its body and its spirit at the same time. And what they discovered was the only way to achieve that, to achieve enlightenment, was to supplant the soul back into its body after it had departed. Like being born anew in the flesh that is familiar. The spirit has already perceived what it can without the body. So reunited with the body, it could perceive multitudes. That's how Mort came to know necromancy. And it's fair to say her entire ideology and the town's worship of such a belief was quite the black mark upon them. They were attacked in the middle of the night, the village burned as its denizens slept. Mort had been away in the catacombs, looking for an old manuscript she'd seen in her youth. When she emerged from the depths to all the death and carnage, something in her snapped. So, she summoned up her abilities and awoke the now-dead cultists to fight on her behalf. As revenge? Maybe. One couldn't say she was powerful, more than she had the numbers to create a distraction and flee the ruins of Torniko. Rumors would say that she killed them all and danced on their bones. The reality was that a few were scratched and scraped, but the only ones left dead were the villagers. So, Mort ran, and ran, and ran, and found companionship in new faces that she met. Slowly, she started to build back up the cult, becoming its matron--its princess. They hadn't done anything wrong, but probably holding service in the catacombs, speaking of raising corpses, and "fixing" the duality of their nature by dying didn't sit well with people. So, of course, she'd be caught, shackled, and thrown into the mines. Who was she hurting? No one, she thought. But some higher power probably took offense. They always did. So, here she was sent to rot. Ten years grinding away at gold, and quite content to defame it with her fingers. A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S NECROMANCY: The only magic that Mort can tap into. While the goal of the cult was to create lich-like creatures out of its members, she really can only bring up mindless denizens to do her will. The fresher the corpse, the harder it is to control. Animals are easy, and her preferred method if they are around for her to use. She can also sense the life force around her, allowing her to see enemies before they see her. Unless they have ways of masking it. SPEAK WITH THE DEAD: Part of her necromancy, Mort has the ability to speak with the spirits that are sans their bodies. She can't converse with ones that have moved on, ones that don't wish to speak to her, or those that she doesn't share a language with. While she can passively see ghosts that wish to be seen, it takes quite a bit of effort to actually speak with the ones that she's not established a previous report with. And even then, some spirits can hide from her, and make it so that she's not aware of their presence. ANATOMY & PHYSIOLOGY: It's not a medical version of this, per say, but it is knowledge of the body and how it functions. She could probably diagnose a broken bone, and tell you how to put it back into place. But she isn't going to tell you how to fight infection, staunch the bleeding, or deal with the pain. ARCANE KNOWLEDGE: Mort read a lot, and a lot of that reading was about magic. Again, she can't perform anything beyond her necromancy, but that doesn't mean she can't read magical symbols or mystical languages.

Stian Jørgensen

S T I A N
S T I A N

_______________________________________________ "It's not cowardice to run and see tomorrow. It's cowardice to give up all the days, weeks, and years that would have been ahead of you." N A M E ⋮ Stian Jørgensen A G E ⋮ 16 | 3 May 830 G E N D E R ⋮ Male S E X U A L I T Y ⋮ E T H N I C I T Y ⋮ Scandinavian H E I G H T ⋮ 6'1" B R A N C H ⋮ 112th Trainee Corps A F F I L I A T I O N S / R E L A T I O N S H I P S ⋮

A P P E A R A N C E A P P E A R A N C E It's fair to say that Stian is built like a brick shithouse. While there aren't many tell-tell signs that he'll get any taller, the musculature on him will probably get more sturdy. He's like a pillar made of flesh and bones, meant to prop up something far grander, but it would tumble without his help. He has dusty blond hair that is kept short on the sides, but unkempt on the top. His eyes are gray, not like a storm, but like a dull fog that has never seen the sun long enough to dissipate it. His skin is tanned and burned in some places, but not as much as one would think for someone that spent most of their time outside. Most notable is the scar on his chin, which looks less like it was from an accident and more like someone put a hot iron on him. He rubs it when he's lost in thought. Stian looks perpetually bored. He also chews on toothpicks incessantly. In his off hours, he's dressed in clothes that would best fit a stablehand. Rough-hewn button-up blouses that fight against the square of his shoulder and lead into loose trousers cuffed by worn, but sturdy, black boots. This is complemented by leather straps that are made to both keep his pants securely fastened to his waist and hold a few tools. He usually has a pair of worn gloves in his back pocket. When given a uniform to wear, he'll not add any personal accouterments. He's fine with keeping it as uninteresting as possible. P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y Stian is boring, uninteresting, laughably bland, and above all, he reflects that back at everyone else. There's nothing spectacular about the way he acts or reacts. The only thing that he shows the slightest bit of interest in is food, but then again the past year has been rough. So, the normality of food and a roof over one's head can bring delight to any stale pool. The only time he shows an abundance of personality is when he says things under his breath. Whether they be humorous, crass, snide, or kind in nature is a roll of the dice, but he doesn't make his opinion loudly known. A person would assume he was asleep if it wasn't for the fact that he was upright, with eyes open and blinking. And even then... you have to wonder. He's not too different a beast when he is working. Except he becomes even quieter but this is more from concentration than having nothing to say. He's not quick to anger. Nor is he quick to give up. Instead, he'll try and try again until his muscles are too sore to continue. Much like a horse, he can be run to death if spurned on. Also like a horse, he enjoys apples. B I O G R A P H Y B I O G R A P H Y Stian grew up in the small town of Görlitz within Wall Maria. There his family raised livestock, mostly cows and some sheep, along with chickens. They also bred horses for the army as a way to earn some extra money. It became a fixture of Lars' pastime, as he was obsessed with breeding diagrams and other academia. It was fair to say that Lars was like a square peg in the round hole of this household. He was always buried in a book between working, much to his husband's chagrin. Aksel was a lot more straightforward and did the heavy lifting around the farm. He also broke the horses, Lars having been kicked once and that being the end of that. Despite Stian's disposition, he's intelligent enough to know that he's not the biological son of his two fathers. Though, loose lips have taught him that he might have been Aksel's son or maybe Aksel's sister's son. That didn't stop Stian from viewing Aksel and Lars as his parents, though. They'd spend days working, nights having dinner, chatting over clean-up, and Aksel would take the children to stargaze while Lars read behind closed doors. It was during one of those stargazing sessions that Aksel explained how to navigate by them. When pressed about how he knew that by Anneli, he said it was from another life. She then asked if she could touch the stars. Stian laughed. He did that a lot then. Aksel said, "if you can find the tallest tree. You can." So, Anneli made it her mission to locate said tree and to bring a star down to show them. When she got a little older, she didn't back down from that stance. She changed her reason, though. She just wanted to see the world beyond the walls. Stian had to admit, that was a nice idea. So, he made an agreement with her that when they were older, they'd take a trip within the Wall Maria to find the largest tree. To see what the world outside the walls looked like. Stian had a feeling that they would never find one, but it made Anneli happy. Lars traveled to Shiganshina District occasionally to sell livestock, eggs, hide, and various other supplies. He'd also visit his family there. The past few years he'd taken Anneli, as she was very curious about what life was like outside of the small farm life they had. Stian was more than happy to stay back and help his other dad with the horses. Stian had gotten one of the younger mares to listen to him and was able to get her to tolerate him on her back. He was doing a bit of training with her when the sound of an explosion caught him off guard. The mare bucked and sent Stian into the ground. He twisted his ankle trying to land and not be caught underhoof. Aksel found him and tended to it the best he could. This was more Lars' forte. Sometime later, one of the townspeople came to Aksel and told him what happened, encouraging him to flee with them. In a panic, Aksel grabbed the best horse in their stable along with two others and saddled them up. He was not going to flee to Wall Rose, though. Instead, he had gotten ready to head to Shiganshina District. He hoisted Stian on another horse and fastened a couple of saddlebags to the side. Aksel told him to head to Wall Rose because, with his twisted ankle, he'd only be a hindrance in the rescue mission. He also gave him the name and address of a stablemaster Aksel knew well and sold horses to, and that they would rendezvous there. "Be brave, Son," he said as he swatted Stian's horse and rode off in the opposite direction. A year later, Stian's injury was healed. He worked for the stablemaster, handling the harder jobs and sleeping in the loft above the hay. It dripped on him during rain, freckled him with sunlight during the summer, and allowed for the most chill of breezes to invade his bones during the winter. The saddlebags held the basics of survival along with a few things that were personal. He'd eaten the rations in the days after the catastrophic event, gone through the clothes he had taken with him, mended the ones that had gotten holes in them, and sold off the horse to not be entirely destitute. He'd read a few books that were in there. They were beyond him as all of them were Lars'. Stian did appreciate reading all his notes in the margins, though. There was a folded, accordion-style oval picture frame with portraits of all four of them within it. Yet, there was one thing amongst it all that made no sense to Stian. It was a patch. It took him a while to find out what it was. He hadn't grown up in the city and barely seen any of the military forces. They were a nebulous force only spoken about briefly from his parents before they'd move on to other things. And the ones that he had seen had roses on their patches. This one was different. After some probing, he discovered it was a patch of the Survey Corps. On the back, in old ink, was written one word: coward. That being the only thread to his family he had left, he decided to join the Trainee Corps. It was better than waiting on a family that would never come. T H E M E T H E M E a Youtube Playlist with Vibes

Ambrose Hightower II

🇳​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇲​​​​​🇪​​​​​

Ambrose Hightower II

🇦​​​​​🇬​​​​​🇪​​​​​

18

🇬​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇷​​​​​|🇸​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇽​​​​​|🇮​​​​​🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇾

​​​Cis-Male

🇵​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇱​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇾​​​​​ 🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇵​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​

Ambrose has two brain cells firing to the best of their ability and still managing to get in each other's way before sputtering out in ineptitude. There's never been a reason for him to show advanced aptitude in intellectual subjects, and as such he's gone out of his way to avoid them. Feeling dumb is never fun for anyone, and Ambrose doesn't care for it. Yet what he lacks in hard intelligence he more than makes up for in emotional intelligence. This would seem contradictory for a child of his privilege, but his family also has the money to afford therapists. It's an odd two-sided coin that was mutilated in one of those penny-press machines.

He doesn't have a temper, is fairly upbeat, and is keen on making people laugh before making people sad. He's more than happy to help but lacks the cognitive reasoning to realize that money and/or physicality don't solve everything in the world. Though he has enough self-awareness to know that the former is a privilege. He's a little vain and prone to dressing well—overdressed if you ask anyone but him—no matter the situation. And honestly, he's like any other teenager trapped in a small town in the middle of nowhere, sex is on his mind. To say he was a fuck boy would... honestly be right. But he's a polite fuck boy and understands boundaries and the word "no."

Ambrose is as complicated as a magic eye puzzle. From the outset there seems to be a lot going on there, but once you twist your vision the right way all you can see are two happy dolphins.

🇵​​​​​🇭​​​​​🇾​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇱​​​​​ 🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇵​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​

Standing at 6'3" with the musculature of a self-proclaimed Adonis, Ambrose cuts an intimidating figure. It was as if his genetics were so ashamed of the failure in his intelligence that they shoved everything they could into his appearance. His skin is pale but healthy, with a smattering of freckles along his nose, tops of his shoulders, forearms, and other areas that are visible in various states of undress. He has flat brown hair that he's lightened significantly to compliment his complexion. It's not a bottle-dye job and honestly would look very natural if his eyebrows matched the rest of it. The only thing that isn't ripped from a magazine and slapped onto the boy is his sectoral heterochromia. Both eyes are brown, but one has wedges of blue that makes his gaze seem like it's straying or not focusing in as he'd like. Or mayhap that's the excuse he wants to use to stare at other things.

He's always dressed well. Even when it is supposed to be a relaxed and comfortable fit, one can still feel the sophistication ooze off of it. Ambrose carries himself as if no worry on the planet could touch him. Confidence is in his every movement and swagger. Yet, there's also a near-adolescent giddiness to the things the does as well. Sometimes his words slip a little, the accent hard to place, and one can tell that maybe he had a speech impediment when he was younger that slips in on occasion.

🇧​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇰​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇾​​​​​

The Hightowers are as bougie and well-connected as one could imagine. Yet, they're not one of the founding families. Instead, they're new money that moved in within the last fifteen years. One might ask why a family such as theirs would come to New Hope, with its trite amount of people. The truth is Ambrose Hightower Senior just thought it was scenic enough to warrant the move while remote enough that his wife wouldn't have any more extramarital dalliances. It's fair to say that Ambrose Senior is never in New Hope. He's gone for months at a time, leaving his son and wife to fend for themselves in a town that seems to be mired in tradition. No amount of money can prove that they are also important enough to be on the city council, planning board, or the like. The Hightowers came in, renovated one of the older and historic homes, and laid claim to their small part of the town without much else to show for it. Ambrose Senior decided that since they weren't going to show him any favors, he'd not show them any either. He didn't bring any business with him, just his family and their obnoxious clout.

In any other social situation, Ambrose would probably have the upper hand. Here in New Hope, he barely has a foothold. So, he's tried his hardest to prove that he's more than capable of being King Bee in any social circle—which is ironic considering that isn't a title in nature. Despite not having much in the way of parental guidance, his father was constantly away, and his mother, Maryanne Hightower-Smitte, was enthralled by prescription medications. So, Ambrose II is what most people see of the family, and he tries his best to make it seem like everything is excellent. His backstory isn't filled with a lot of conflicts. He's had it rather easy.

Ambrose has low academic scores, and high athletic ones, and is a member of the Student Council Board. Enough of an achiever without being an overachiever.

🇳​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇧​​​​​🇱​​​​​🇪​​​​​ 🇨​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​(🇸​​​​​)

• Maryanne Hightower-Smiite: Yes, Ambrose's mother, but the only thing they seem to share is their last name. They seem to miss each other emotionally like two ships on a sea. Yet, that doesn't mean she doesn't rope her son into various functions she hosts. She's a big-city socialite in a small town. So, she tries to hold galas, parties, and fundraisers in hopes of drumming up some clout. So far, it's just seemed to annoy the locals more than anything.

🇨​​​​​🇭​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇷​​​​​ 🇵​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇲​​​​​🇵​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇸​​​​​

You're in class and the Fire Alarm goes off. Everyone begins to panic.

"The school is so small, we'd probably smell the smoke before the alarm goes off. Oh... that's not the kind of answer you want? Um. I'd stand up, because I'm taller than most people, and find the quickest exit. Most people listen to me, so I'd navigate them toward it. You know, simple stuff."

You've made plans to go to the festival and are running late but may make it in time to see the fireworks with your friends. On your way, you see a stranger with a flat tire on the side of the road.

"The question is here, do I have cell service? Does Triple-A come out here this far? I don't know how to change a tire, but I'm sure I can google it or something. Oh? This is a question about priorities. Sure I'd help the person out. It's not like my friends won't see me later at a house party or something. I mean... a normal... adult-supervised party."

You fall asleep in class and begin to dream; you're atop a ruined tower and a massive dragon circles overhead. You reach for...

"Like... uh... World of Warcraft... or Dungeons and Dragons... or something? I'm guessing I can't use a gun. Oh! Can I jump on it? I've always wanted to fly."

The world is so boring; you wish you had a superpower. What do you wish for?

"Boring? Well, with that attitude it won't be fun! Sorry. Again, not the question. I don't know... is being a werewolf a superpower? I always thought they sounded fun."

You are suddenly reminded that tomorrow is the Midterm Exam.

"Fuck. You know what. I think someone said that putting 'C' down as every answer will net you a 80ish percent score. That sounds right..."

[Penny]

The King In Yellow infiltrates your mind even when you don't realize it!

[psych0pomp]

Sterling CS

ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖

Stijn "Sterling" VanCise

𝔸𝕘𝕖

101

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣

Male

𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕤

Witch

𝕄𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔 𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤

𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓰𝔂 - Back in the old country, they didn't call it such a delicate name. It was called "flesh stitching." And despite its name, that was exactly what it was. More precisely, Sterling has the ability to perform surgery with his bare hands. He mostly uses it to heal the wounded, graft flesh, or tend to organs, but it can be used as a weapon as well. Unfortunately, he has to be able to use his hands—his fingers more accurately—to wield the ability. Meaning that if someone has decided to come after Sterling, they've decided to come after his hands.
𝓐𝓵𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓶𝔂 - A more common art of magic, he was taught from a young age what herbs to mix with what to get what one wanted. Not interested in transmuting iron to gold, he uses it more to help facilitate his other healing abilities. Something to numb the pain, something to bring back appetite, something to stop the infection, and sometimes more cosmetic ones for the rough state that his chirurgy leaves the skin.
𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓬𝔂 - Sterling uses the cards that once belonged to his mother, an old Polish tarot deck. He's not good at divining any fate other than misfortune—which has been unfortunately useful in his life.

ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪

The bags under his eyes aren't there just for decor, they're where he carries his sour mood. Sardonic and indifferent are the two words that could easily describe him. He's quick to dismiss and scoff at things that aren't any of his concern. When asked for his advice—why would do that, honestly—he'll spit the most obvious thing from his lips. It doesn't matter if it's insulting. It's the truth, laced with all the vinegar of borscht and just as pretty, too. It's not as if Sterling is beyond compassion, it's just piled underneath flake layers of dried molten that used to pour from a wellspring of his warmth. Now he only gives it to those that he views as worthy of his compassion. And "worthy" is an odd way to put it. It isn't quantitated based on personal wealth, status, or otherwise. There's a different equation there. One that many people have tried to figure out, only to be let down.

𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

He used to be a very attractive man. Sun-kissed blond hair, pale green eyes, and a svelte form that could have been on the front page of any magazine. But his power had its price, and that coupled with the stress of keeping himself financially afloat has taken its toll.

Standing at 6'3", Sterling can fill the place of your door in the frame. If his skin has seen a lick of sun, you wouldn't be able to tell. Distilled green irises are vibrant against his almost gray sclera—a haunting change from its once leafy green set against a pale cloud. An aquiline nose slopes into full lips. He has a crooked smile but it hides a straight row of white teeth. His blond hair is a messy pile on top of his head. It's odd because he takes the time to get it shortened on the sides and layered on the top. Then he does nothing with it. He wears thick tortoiseshell glasses, though it's hard to say why as his sight doesn't seem bad—and if it was, he's since corrected it. Maybe it's to bring a pop of color to his haunting eyes. A strong chin, once seemingly carved from marble, is soft around the edges.

That leads down to broad shoulders, muscular arms covered in arcane tattoos, and down to large hands with agile digits. He's barrel-chested, and a threat to all his button-up shirts, with a gut where his once Adonis-like abs were adorned. He has long legs usually clad in some form of dress pants. Never assume you'll see him in jeans or—heaven forbid—shorts. He's always dressed like he's going to a funeral or the world's most macabre date. Sterling slouches more than he should, having grown accustomed to ramming his head into every cabinet door. He's unassuming until you get a closer look and see that he's a piece of art barely held together with a heaping of plaster and paint.

ℍ𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

The son of a Polish witch and a Dutch gambler—not his true profession, but it's the one that had the most impact on Sterling's life. He spent most of his formative years in Poland, not able to travel to the Netherlands for some reason his father never fully explained. His mother was the matriarch of the house and everything within it was to her liking. She wasn't a cruel woman, but she didn't have any maternal instincts. Sterling may have taken to vodka at too young an age. What the young boy did remember was that his mother would sit him in front of a piano, with a needle and thread, or with bread dough. He'd have to practice small, minute movements for hours on end. Sometimes she'd disappear when someone would enter their home—passing the dried herbs that hung like chandeliers from the ceiling. Screaming would commence, but the person would leave thanking his mother for the torture that they endured. He didn't understand it until he was older. This was a good pain. And that his life would be filled with the bad kind.

They had to move to the US suddenly and without being able to take much beyond a few of his mother's books and his father's watches. Suddenly, Sterling had to acclimate to a new culture and language. He was also to keep quiet on the legality of them being there. His mother was devastated at the loss of occult knowledge and artifacts from their quick escape. It was something that she never forgave Sterling's father for, and no sooner had they arrived than they relocated—just him and his mother this time. She soon went about teaching him the ways of the "flesh stitchers." That along with the potion magic that she always seemed to be brewing. Her kitchen was a test of whether or not one could tell the difference between a pig-blood potion and a beet stew. Sterling was wrong more than he was right.

Though he was able to receive a proper education, anything higher than public schooling couldn't be achieved by legal status. Around that time WWII had started. They had been lucky to get out of Poland on a lark, instead of being dragged into the theater of war. Unfortunately, during that time he lost many friends and a few that he'd classify as more than that, but not in a public setting. Him and his mother's little kitchen clinic drummed a lot of business up around that time. That was until his mom contracted tuberculosis and passed. Without legality on their side, and his mother having paid cash for everything, Sterling couldn't keep their house. He instead headed out, having to move in with his father at that time.

The city was not quite what he expected it to be. His father was mostly absentee but had a cash flow that was scary in its amount and irregularity. So, Sterling used it to take a break from the macabre of his family's witchy practices. A few years later the war ended, and the soldiers came home. Around that time, Sterling's father failed to come home himself. A few more nights passed before his door was beaten down by a local gang that his father owed a lot of money to. They were lenient on Sterling—as in they didn't kill him outright—and put him to work as gopher. During one fateful night and one bad gig gone wrong, Sterling saved a very rich man's daughter that they'd been extorting money from by using his magic. Of course, Sterling just made it look like he was quick with the first aid, but the daughter knew better. Realizing Sterling's "medical" aptitude would be useful, the criminal organization put him to use as their own personal pysician, and realizing she owed him his life, Hester Montgomery made it a point to schedule him into hers regularly. That, of course, turned into a whirlwind romance.

The fine minutae of that time would be lost to faulty memories and too much alcohol. But there came a time when Sterling had worked off his father's debt and thought about proposing to Hester. Of course, like any good Romeo and Juliet love story, it had to end in tragedy. Fortunately, it was not the bloody kind. Instead, she became engaged to the eldest son of an equally wealthy family and Sterling never saw her again. Not knowing what to do, he did what he knew best—he became a back alley doctor. There he was found out by the Rosenthal Coven and joined them with the understanding that his business was to use subterfuge to keep the witch hunters at bay.

Years would pass, Sterling would age—but not really. He'd use his mastery of his own power to retain some form of youth. He'd have a few more dalliances, but them along with his life experiences would begin to dwindle. That would be until he learned about one Valentine Montgomery-Hunter, the grandchild of his and Hester's secret love. Val had suddenly exhibited something close to magic, and she'd been given an address from her late great-grandmother's belongings. As if things couldn't be worse, he now had a teenager living with him.

𝕃𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓷
𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟(𝕤):

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

^{𝕋𝕒𝕘(𝕤):N/A}

CS

NAME | Fygawren "Fyg" Aescau
AGE | 31
GENDER | Female
FACTION/ALLEGIANCE | No one. Possibly TBD.
APPEARANCE |
Fyg stands a little under six-feet but hunches underneath her worn but well-hewn red cloak. She lets her long silvery locks hang down away from the hood as to give the appearance of a crone. Usually, only her tanned chin and full, but chapped, lips are showing. She leans heavily on a sturdy and gnarled staff with a thick amber-hued crystal embedded into the top of it. It has no luster when the sun hits it. Instead, it's heavy and provides quite the knock if swung at someone. People seem to leave her alone. Especially if she is coupled with a handful of homemade poultices and the unfortunate flock of birds that enjoy using her shoulders and staff as a perch. It'd help if she wouldn't feed them every chance she got.

When Fyg isn't trying to act with discretion, she abandons the shroud of the cloak to show her full form. Her silver hair is tied behind her in a long braid and wreathed with pretty, but terribly intrusive, flowers. Her skin is a deep tan, and her one visible eye is the same color as the crystal on her staff. The other is hidden behind an eyepatch. Of course, when the sun hits it just right it becomes evident that it's see-through. Her armor is a dusty, reinforced leather that she takes care of. Around her waist is an assortment of colorful clothes and scarves that are haphazardly woven together in some semblance of a belt. Her pants are a thick canvas with high leather boots that match her asymmetrical gloves adorning her arms. Yet, they cannot hide defined musculature from years of harsh living.

RELIC DESCRIPTION | THE IRIS / Elemental - Plant 🌿

APPEARANCE The Iris is not only named as it allows one to harness the power of vegetation, but it is also ocular in shape and size. It has flowers and leaves embossed on its white surface. It's meant to be worn much as it appears.
ABILITIES

• Plant Growth - Capable of causing rapid production of plants from seeds, ground, or inert vegetative material (i.e. her wooden staff.) The size and type of plant depends on how much power she expends. Fyg is quite fond of vines and nicely calls them 'her little helpers.'
• Restoration - Fyg can rejuvenate or revive a dead plant. She can even go as far as to remove pestilence and plague. That being said, she couldn't cure an entire field, but she could do enough for someone to survive off of.
• Speak with Plants - It works just as it sounds. Of course, the information exchanged is incredibly elementary, but it's good enough to not get lost in the woods.

FLAWS |

• Flighty
• Fickle
• Unkempt
• Incessant Talker
• Blunt & Crass
• Untrusting
• Argumentative
• Headstrong

SKILLS|

• HEDGE ALCHEMY While nothing that could rival a well-tended lab, Fyg concocts her own poultices and elixirs. They're mostly for tending to wounds and ailments, but she knows a few that could wreak havoc on one's body. She's also aware of certain volatile mixtures.
• MERCANTILE One might argue that talking circles around someone and goading them into lowering the price or changing the exchange rate might not be the most important skill. Still, it's kept Fyg alive.
• APPRAISAL A bit of spit and a good shine, and Fyg can give a decent prediction about varied and numerous valuables. If she tells you it's worth nothing, be skeptical.
• ACROBATICS To traverse the ruins of the Great Plains, one needs to be fleet of foot and agile of fingers. Fyg is quite nimble and graceful when she needs to be.
• CARTOGRAPHY & MINOR STAR READING This is the only skill that Fyg cultivated out of a curiosity instead of a necessity. She loves making maps and star charts. They may not be entirely accurate, but they're better than a blank sheet of parchment and your head in the sand.
• FIGHTING DIRTY Sure, she can summon plants to her side, but a show of magic is not always needed or warranted. Fyg knows her way around taking out opponents without too many moves wasted. Does she feel good about it afterward? Sure. Why wouldn't she?
• BOTANY She can summon and speak with plants. This skill comes with the territory.

BIOGRAPHY |
Fyg grew up in the Great Plains underneath an old stone structure of hands, their moss-covered digits reaching towards the skies. Her mother, a strange woman by the name of Bautild, always told her that it was a monument to the old, believed to be false, god Kheris. The older woman would then spit the seeds of her fruit to the ground and wipe her lips before laughing. “Leave the men to their gods, and let them eat each other from the starvation of that divine grace.”

The young girl was a spry thing of curiosity and tangled silver hair. She’d climb ruins, run across the plains, and “tame” any animal she came across. Her mother taught her the ways of her people, how to survive and thrive in an environment filled to the brim with consequences. While the two lived alone, traveling caravans would stop by often to trade goods. Fyg would hear stories of the world. She’d hear about the dwarves of the mountains, the great Etrid, the destroyed throne of Kheris, the deep woods of the druids and long-forgotten elves, and the haunted ruins that dotted the plains. Having received a map from one of the merchants, she marked all these fantastical spots for further exploration. Her mother watched her and said nothing, except for when Fyg became curious about the forests. Bautild would always shush her with stories of relics and formulas for various “potions” that she crafted.

Fyg was a teenager when she came across a settlement south of one of her favorite ruins by the Hands of Kheris. There she became fast, if not chatty, friends with several of the villagers and entreated them to the secrets that her mother shared. When she returned home, the pitch of night clawing at the sky, Bautild chastised her with vitriol that had never graced her voice before. She grabbed Fyg’s chin and held it tight as her golden eyes pressed into her daughter’s. She begged the girl to never return to the village and never speak of their life again. Fyg nodded, eyes filled with tears. She’d never seen her mother so scared before.

Unfortunately, it only took that fateful day to incite flames upon their quaint home. It came, months later, in the form of figures bearing torches. Fyg didn’t remember much of that night, sleep and terror taking an equal part of her memory. What she did remember was her mother’s hands feverishly shaking her awake and telling her to grab what she could. Then there was their hurried sprint across the plains. Fyg turned back once to see her mother face the figures in the darkness. She could have sworn that light both otherworldly and natural poured from Bautild. The shadows called her a “wytch” and Fyg her “wytch spawn.”

They took shelter in some labyrinthine ruins far from where Fyg grew up. In the hazy light of the morning, Bautild kissed her daughter’s forehead before wrapping her in her old red cloak. That would be the last time Fyg would see her. The bleary image of her silhouette against the horizon before nothing. Fyg would spend the rest of the week numbly wandering the ruins around her, doing the bare minimum to take care of herself. One day, an old stone pathway gave way and sent her plummeting into the depths below. The incline was too steep and slick for her to climb back up, and so she had to traverse the ruin's innards to find her way out.

Of course, there wouldn't be a story if she didn't find something down there. After some time, there was a light at the end of a long stone tunnel. She found herself in an ancient arboretum. In the middle was a massive tree that poked out above the ceiling and into the sky above. That was her way out. Unfortunately, the branches were too high for her to reach. In her desperation, she caught sight of something that didn't belong. A skeleton jutted out from the trunk of the tree itself. It was only visible from the waist up, and its boney arm was outstretched and held aloft by vines. In its hand was a gorgeous wooden staff, seeming to sprout from the tree itself. Yet, what caught Fyg's attention was a glowing object in the skeleton's eye socket.

Assured that she had no other choice, she grabbed it. It was warm in her hand, and the grass underfoot awoke and sprouted anew. Yet, nothing else happened. Fyg stared between the skeleton, the tree, the staff, and her escape. She could die down here, or she could... one has to remember that she was a teenager in the middle of the Great Plains just having lost her mother to the faceless hunters in the night. Reason wasn't her bedfellow as she did what she had to to survive.

That day changed Fyg. She transitioned from a wide-eyed youth interested in what the world had to offer into a wry adult that wanted to take those offerings from the world. This was set in motion by a traveling grifter by the name of Fergus Nort who thought her powers and skills were useful. She made a living off brewing the alchemical elixirs and poultices that her mother showed her as a child, looting ruins she came across, selling coordinates of said looted ruins (omitting that she had removed the valuables,) and selling said valuables to the highest bidder. It helped her carve out a living amidst the transient turmoil of the Great Plains. Fyg was referred to by the loving moniker "Grass Wytch," which she denied vehemently while secretly reveling in such a title.

Time passed as it was wont to do, if anyone knew how to make it stop Fyg would be interested in having a word. After a while, shady business tactics became notoriety and said notoriety became problematic. Fyg decided to let her hustle across the Great Plains air out and head South. Of course, this wasn't entirely by coincidence. During the years that followed Bautild leaving, she'd learned of the ones responsible for her mother's disappearance all those years ago. The Third Moon had made an enemy, even if they didn't know or care.

Upon hearing of the Inquisitor's abdication of the throne to the prince, soon to become King, Fyg needed to see the entire thing for herself. A part of her wanted revenge. Another part wondered if her mother would be there. And the last part of her, the strongest instinct she possessed, wanted to make some more coin from the fools of Etrid.

PERSONALITY/MOTIVATION | Fyg is an odd duck. Which is ironic, because sometimes ducks find her interesting. It may be her proclivity to create fruit and seed-bearing plants and feed fowl, bird, rodent, or otherwise from the bounty. She's quite close to being known as a "pigeon wytch." Yet, it's those actions that offer true insight into herself as a person.

She isn't cruel or corrupt, but her nature is much like running your hands harshly over bark. It may be uncomfortable and a little painful, but it doesn't provide any lasting damage and may take care of a forgotten itch. Fyg is slow to make friends but quick to make associates and "meat shields." A fast talker and even quicker with her hands, she can weave a ring of words around anyone with the competency of a scholar. Are those words born from eloquence and sensible sentence structure? Maybe one shouldn't listen too closely.

Fyg is slow to anger, hard to trick, and very hard to love. It might have to do with her fondness for the dirtiness of nature, proclivity to have heated discussions with trees, and tendency to be a roost for an exceptional amount of city birds.

RELATIONS |

• BAUTILD AESCAU Mother Despite their separation at Fyg's formative years, she still holds her mother in the highest esteem. She has no idea where to look for her, and fears that finding her would only provide problems for Bautild. Still, they did not part on harsh terms.
• FERGUS NORT Partner in "Crime" Someone had to teach Fyg to be a shady grifter. Yet, little did Fergus know that Fyg would become even shadier than himself. While they are friends, there's a bit of a rivalry there.
• ORDER OF THE THIRD MOON Religious Organization Can suck an anatomical part that she doesn't seem to own, but it's honestly anyone's guess on whether she's bluffing or not.
• PIOTR Her Animal Familiar? A fat, gray dove with a black beak and even blacker eyes. He finds himself a traveling companion of Fyg. He's quite judgemental of her decisions, or at least that's the entitlement Fyg imposes onto him.

SECRETS |
Bautild has kept many things from her, and she in turn has kept many things from Piotr.

| 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : Place - Greytry - Etrid | 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 : None | 𝑝𝑖𝑜𝑡𝑟'𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑑 : Hungry |

"Fyg Dialogue."
"Bautild Dialogue."

| 𝑡𝑎𝑔(𝑠) : N/A |

Gui

𝔑𝔞𝔪𝔢

Guifort ^gee-fauht "Gui" ^gee d'Strohm ^deh-strom

𝔄𝔤𝔢

Thirty-Two

𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯

Male

ℜ𝔞𝔠𝔢

Breton & Orsimer

𝔄𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

One would see the hat first. A worn, black leather thing with a wide brim, neat buckle, and a flouncy feather sewn in with new thread—almost as if it couldn’t stand the weather. Below that was Guifort, a man of average height with broad shoulders and a build that told of both days of toil and days of respite. His coarse muscles bunched over thick arms and across a barrel chest, which lead down to a soft paunch of a middle. To put in polite company, “he was a solid measure of a man,” and in impolite company, “I’d hate to try to drag his unconscious arse to bed.”

His skin was a dusky moss color with a penchant for peachy hues over his aquiline nose and pointed ears. He had full lips and a lazy smile that only widened so far, fast to show the top row of teeth but slow to reveal the bottom. Though one might see them when he laughed too loud—filling the room with a deep baritone. To put it simply, the Breton had diminutive tusks that sometimes muffled his diction. Sturdy cheekbones and jaw fought away the softness that he had collected, belying his physique as being strong instead of comfortable.

He wore the robes of Arkay, a dull orange and yellow tunic that peaked out underneath a peculiar set of armor. It was made of leather with strips of steel sewn over the more fragile parts of him. Loose canvas pants were easy to make out underneath the long tunic and scrunched at the knees due to heavy leather boots with pieces of steel covering ankles and toe. He wore gloves in a matching style to the boots, but his index and middle fingers were cut out of both hands. The tips of his fingers were rough pads, but he had well-manicured and cleaned nails. Over his shoulders draped leather satchels that rain beaded off of in storms. They held his collection of tomes and scrolls, nonmagical and filled with maps, religious texts, and his journals. Another looser bag was filled with an assortment of herbs and weeds all wrapped in cheesecloth with twine bundling them. His crossbow was strung over his shoulder, and a dagger was tucked into his belt. Draping on those shoulders was an oversized coath with fur around the collar that he sometimes rested his chin against in thought. His most prized possession, though, was the gleaming amulet of Arkay around his neck that rested atop his armor and caught the light whenever it could.

When Guifort would remove the hat that he was so fondly proud of, it revealed short-cropped auburn hair that had a slight wave to it. It was cut in a romantic fashion, whether this was by design or purely accidental was hard to tell. He had expressive brows that led to inquisitive eyes with harsh yellow irises from the Orsimer blood that pumped in his Breton veins. While his sclerae were pale, there was occasional darkness to them when he angered—though that was so infrequent one might not think it possible.

Guifort’s nature was always welcoming, arms out and head thrown back. His stance was wide, easy to take down if one had the training to sweep his leg and the strength to budge him.

𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

What does faith unwavering and personified look like? Probably something akin to Guifort, but maybe with less of an interest in the bottom of a wine bottle. A spirit that couldn’t be dampened, Guifort exudes an affable nature even when the sky has darkened, and hail peppers one’s shoulders. So, one might find it strange he’s taken to a macabre duty such as funerary rites with the ease of a boatswain picking up an oar. It’s because death doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it does others. The words of Arkay have taught him that souls are eternal. Once they leave this place they enter the dreamsleeve, where they’re reset, cleaned, and returned. The person that you say goodbye to today will be someone new in the future. They’ll build relationships that were akin to your own, but in a new place with new people. Guifort doesn’t think what he does is macabre, he thinks it’s a solemn celebration held by words and hearts.

That may sound like nothing more than wishful thinking and bloated ideals, and Guifort is well aware of it. He’s not so caught up in the theology of the world to forget how harsh it is. He’s seen the manipulative, the greedy, and the mad, and he’s learned how to temper his words to leave such situations with his person fully intact. The teachings of Arkay aren’t as sweet as others. While a priest of death, he doesn’t coax anyone into it, but neither does he lure them away from it. He’s not self-sacrificing. If an errant crossbow bolt finds a way into one of his compatriot’s hearts, he doesn’t wish it was him. He bids them farewell and hopes to return the favor to their assailant—not wanting to die himself. If it happens, it truly happens, but he isn’t going to jump into the lava just because it’s cold outside.

One might ask if there’s even a fragment of Guifort beyond his theology, but lo and behold there’s an entire person. He’s the sort to be charitable to a fault, talkative to a point, and fond of espousing his opinions about most things. Yet, he’ll listen and respond with the eagerness of a new student. One might be a little off-put to see him writing down people’s stories in one of his journals, but he assures them that he changes the name—unless they don’t wish the name changed. He’ll then treat them to a bottle of wine and whatever vittles he can muster with the paltry sum he keeps on his person. Not the sort to labor a story out of someone and not return it with his own. Oh, and he does love to weave a tale. An unfortunate consequence of traveling with a narcissistic bard for as long as he did.

Guifort forms relationships quickly and deep, enjoying being swept up in their current of adventures and travels. He rarely does the sweeping himself, an unfortunate bystander to some of the larger events in his life. Honestly, if he was to find a flaw in his person it would be his tendency for inaction. Guifort always arrives after the deeds have been done and without a way to reverse them. It’s not bravery he lacks, but it’s the locomotion to put aside all words and wishes and just act. Guifort would rather talk himself out of a situation than anything else, even if he was asking a rolling boulder to stand down. It’s through either the will of Arkay or sheer luck that he stands before you in this day.

And mayhap, that’s why he wishes to have joined Isobel’s rebellion. Sure, the lives lost are needless and many, and he can help. Yet, it takes action to fight oppression, and Guifort is tired of being dragged along adventures not of his own making. Maybe, just maybe, this will lead him into his own story.

ℌ𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶

An Entirely Factual History According to Guifort

"I was born on a dark and stormy night in the country of High Rock, or at least that's what I'd like to tell you. In truth, I was born on a balmy evening when the wind from the Iliac Bay was stifled halfway up the shoreline like an out of breath noble. According to my savior, Father Peryval d’Strohm, I was found in a shallow grave in a cemetery outside his temple, the Temple of Arkay. He had been awoken not by the mewling of a babe, but by a shriek of what assuredly were the products of necromancy. Armed with nothing more than his wits, prayers, and a dulled shovel—the Father had fully intended to slay the beast. To slay me, honestly. Instead, he used the blunt edge of the shovel to scrape away the light powdering of dirt that had been choking me. Hence, the shriek, or at least I like to justify the noise by saying that. Anyway, he told me that the soil had been excavated by fingers and nails in what could only be described as a frenzy. I had been left for dead, and the Father saved me. Or to put it in his eloquent words: 'It will be a long night, because the God Arkay has gifted me a damn bastard.”

Our story begins on the 19th of Morning Star 3E414 in a small town in the region of Stormhaven. The next morning, Father Peryval tried to find the parents of the babe to no avail, which only confirmed his suspicion of the bastard nature of the young Guifort. He considered depositing him at the temple of Dibella. They were surely more apt than himself to take care of a child. Yet, he shuddered at the thought of innocence growing up in such a place. All of Arkay's statues kept his breasts covered. Every evening Father Peryval would tell the child that would be his last night there. The nights ticked to days, and those ticked to weeks and then months. In that time, he found a wet nurse to tend to the things he couldn't provide, and he started bringing the babe with him to pray to Arkay. He stated, quite frankly, it was because the child would wail otherwise. Yet, maybe he found the way that Guifort pawed at the talisman around his neck delightful. Not that he would tell anyone.

As Guifort grew up, he grew odd. There were certain aspects about the young man that confirmed Father Peryval's thoughts. The point of his ears was something that the Bretons did display, but the faint green hue of his skin along with the blunt nature of what should have been angular features told a far different story. This was furthered by the way Guifort's bottom row of teeth grew in. This led the boy to barely smile with anything more than his lips. Yet, if that bothered anyone, they didn't say anything. Guifort was constantly helping throughout town. He had a lot of energy to expend, and there were so few things within the temple for him to busy himself with. So, he moved sacks of flour, pulled carts, thatched barrels, and even buried stones when the ground became too muddy for the horses to move through. The townsfolk were delighted and thought he was a cute boy no matter how awkward he looked or acted. They’ve said something about “it takes a village…” Every night, he returned back to the temple where he'd tell Father Peryval about his day. The Father would always correct Guifort when the young boy tried to call him "father" in a paternal sense. "Uppercase 'F,' not lowercase." Then he'd finish the evening by telling Guifort to bathe, tend to his prayers, and that this would be the last night in the temple.

And maybe Guifort would have followed that advice, leaving the temple for a normal life in the country with some young man or maiden, but there came a fateful autumn evening where things changed. You see, Guifort befriended a three-legged cat in town that he immediately called Mister Catterly. He’d rescued the beast from the river, half-drowned and mewling its head off. At first, it was a fight of claws and yowling—from both parties. Then it turned into a game of wits where Guifort would be slow to say that the cat won most of them. But one night, almost as if by a whim, Mister Catterly followed Guifort into his bed and slept next to him. They were everywhere together, and the cat more than proved his worth as an excellent mouser. So, people were glad to have them both in their house even if Guifort had a tendency to not know what to do with the dead rodents when presented with them. A lot of mouse corpses were found in bushes years later. Unfortunately, it was fair to say that Tamriel was not the sort of place a child and their pet grow old together. One of them usually had to say goodbye. Guifort found Mister Catterly tangled in wire with his throat slit right outside the temple. It was obviously a cruel prank performed by the other children. Mister Catterly had held on until the young boy clutched him closer, and then his final breath escaped his feline chest. Guifort couldn't feel anger for the loss of life. The only thing that clouded his thoughts was his sadness. He'd seen death through the temple, but he'd never felt the ramifications of it. The body of Mister Catterly, slowly losing warmth and fluidity in his muscles, was just a thing now. No more consequential than a stone. Yet, only an hour before had been so much more. That was gone now, and yet Guifort's tears remained. Father Peryval located him as the sun had started to set, and together they buried Mister Catterly in the cemetery that Guifort had been found in all those years before.

Father Peryval placed his hand gently on Guifort's head and smiled. "Do not mourn that he died. Be happy that he has completed the circle of his life, and has returned to the dreamsleeve. Because that is Arkay's will." The Father paused at the young boy's confusion and continued on. "There are multitudes of souls in existence, Gui, but there's only so much room for them here. So, we're allowed to come and experience life in its wholeness, and then we return back to allow another soul to experience life—wiped clean and started anew. So, Mister Catterly had that honor, and he's passed on to allow another cat to take his place. And so, the cycle continues."
"You think cats go to the dreamsleeve?" Guifort asked, his mind a series of jumbled questions that only cared about a destination.
"I don't truly know. Where do the Khajit go after they pass? Surely, it can’t be any different." Father Peryval, even though he had years of dealing with death, wanted to move beyond it at that moment.
Guifort laughed despite himself, his emotions more tired than his body had ever been. "That's racist, Father. You should love all things and not judge."
"And where did you learn that? All that mischief about love? Don't tell me you've been visiting the Temple of Dibella, again."
Guifort shrugged through red eyes, cracked lips, and a meek smile.
"And I highly doubt it was for the lessons. You just wanted to take a glance at her exposed bosom? I know you, Gui. And for that, you'll be staring at Arkay's fully clothed one and going over your prayers all tomorrow." And without realizing it, Father Peryval said tomorrow without inferring that Guifort would be gone in the morning. So, the boy stayed. If Arkay instilled so much in the cantankerous nature of Father Peryval, he had much to teach Guifort.

At the end of the third era, the Oblivion Crisis did little to the immediate landscape of Guifort's life. Yet, it would have low, rumbling repercussions like thunder over peaks of mountains. Dark magicks and daedra were on the breath of everyone but only spoken about in dark corners of inns and alleys. That being said, Father Peryval went about the studious task of fortifying the temple. It wasn't much, but he flexed the long-unused muscles of magick to protect the small-town folk. He knew that the daedra were not the undead, but Arkay's purview only fell to the abominations that ignored the cycle of life and death. He figured it would ease the concern of the town, and that ease would keep them from banging on his doors. Guifort studied raptly and took notes—he was always writing much to Father Peryval’s chagrin. He'd been in the shadow of the Father when the older man had created concoctions, both for health and protection against diseases. He'd also studied vigorously in the school of restoration, the gift of magicka in his veins like the many Bretons before him. Guifort, much to Father Peryval's ire, was become quite the skillful successor.

And then came the day that the young Guifort would have never foreseen but had prepared for. While some were happy to sequester themselves away, there were others that took these unnatural happenings as a call to adventure. One such Breton Expedition found its way into the small town. They paused by the Temple of Arkay, hoping that they'd find resources for their quest.

Yarvis Belancourt was the leader of this expedition, a man with a stout mustache and a stouter charisma. He had once been a bard whose career on the road had led him to many secrets and many more septims. It was fair to say, he wished to exploit those secrets. He and Father Peryval immediately butt heads, which enamored Guifort to the bard. What had begun as nothing more than a bargain for goods and services became a way for the young man to leave the nestled fold of the town. The expedition was to head into Skyrim, and if their map was correct, well into the territory of Nordic Ruins. While a follower of Stendarr would have been the more logical choice for this journey, there was nary a temple around that could spare one so few years after the Crisis—if they had one at all. A disciple of Arkay had to do. Father Peryval stated that Guifort should accompany Yarvis and his men. That there weren’t enough people in their small town to warrant two priests of Arkay.

"You said every evening that it was my last night. I suppose tonight is my last night," Guifort said to Father Peryval, who had grown more diminutive through the flow of time. Yet, his spirit had not even sputtered once.
Father Peryval scoffed. "And good riddance to you, boy. You have left my coffers dwindling for too long." And that was that.
While Father Peryval didn't say anything with words, Guifort awoke the next morning to a tailored set of robes, an old potion whose contents seemed to sparkle in the light, a few rations, and an old dagger with the goddess Dibella roughly hewn into the wooden hilt. There was a handwritten note next to it, "I suppose you have questions. Well, you'll need to live to ask them." He wrote back that he would, and that’d he see the Father in the seasons to come. But, that would be the last thing Guifort ever received from Father Peryval.

The trip was arduous, and despite the pleasant nature of Yarvis Belancourt he didn't go easy on his men. This was especially true for Guifort. He'd grown up in the temple and had a sinewy physique attached to long limbs and smothered by his robes. He wasn't made for travel. That didn't mean he couldn't learn. Days were spent forging ahead, and nights they'd all gather around the fire and chat. The wine partook, stories were told, and laughter was to be had. At least, while they were still in the temperate climate of High Rock. Guifort learned more of the world in those few weeks than he had in his years previously. The nature of men not bound a divine duty was... interesting. He had been slow to take the wine skin, initially, but after a fortnight he was just in the cups as they. Guifort lazily recorded the stories that were told, adding markings in places where the presenter meandered a bit from the point. The one person he'd never had to do that with was Yarvis. The man was a masterful orator and had a flair for the dramatic. He'd fashioned himself as a bard of sorts. One with wealth to fund this trip and clout to make it all about himself.

Once they reached Skyrim, though, the evening’s festivities died down. During that time, Guifort used the knowledge of craftsmanship from the town to help keep things in order. He dug carts out of slushy potholes, carried packs that were twice his size, and foraged for what little he could. It wasn't for rations, but instead to create various incenses to keep the more curious wildlife away. Guifort started to fill his robes out, looking more the part of an adventurer. He'd actually taken to packing them away and wearing traveling clothes. The only thing to denote his priest hood was the talisman around his neck.

Yarvis's ruins were further away than the map had denoted. The old bard had to make the trip stretch, and by doing so had earned the ire of a few of his men. Some went without rations, some without water, and all without drink. Days turned long and conversation became short. Guifort was aware of this shift, and he tried to confer with Yarvis on more than one occasion. The man waved the young priest away, stating that he knew the natures of men better than he. When they did reach the ruins proper, half of the company was nearly in tatters. What once had been quite the stable expedition had crumbled to fine snow all around them. They decided to traverse the ruins in the morning, to have better light. Guifort was asked to stay behind despite the fact that the reasons for him being there were his healing prowess and power over the undead—the latter only in practice, though. So, Guifort waited with the horses and supplies. And waited. And waited... until a few days had passed and there'd been no sign of Yarvis or his men.

Anxiety bubbled in his stomach like a twisted knot. But he knew that he had to find out what happened to Yarvis and his crew. Securing the horses the best he could, he grabbed the dagger that Father Peryval had given him and donned his Robes of Arkay. The ruins were mostly uncovered, skeletal fingers of a time far past scraped at the gray sky above. What little flora thrived here at the base of the mountains made the path difficult to traverse, and Guifort had to pause many times to cut himself out of a tangle of root. He didn't have to travel far to start seeing the bodies. Cold, unmoving, and with eyes that found solace in the sky before death. Guifort paused over each of them, as was his duty as a priest of Arkay. Yet, he couldn't perform full funeral rites as he had to find Yarvis, or at least someone that had the map out of this place.

Maybe you know how this story ends, or maybe you don't. In the land of Tamriel, it's hard to fathom the price of lives and their impact on the world at large. What you need to know is that Guifort's retelling of it is never the same. What he will say, in a voice quiet and low, is that the undead do not bleed.

Guifort found Yarvis, beset on by skeletons with a nasty cut on his brow and his long sword wavering. Alongside him were a good handful of his men is various stages of exhaustion. They had barricaded themselves in a hallway, and by the looks of it had been exiting the ruins at the time. One of the skeletons turned to Guifort, the rotted visage of its face boring into the young priest's eyes. He took a step back, the heel of his boot catching on rubble and sending him to the ground. He held out the symbol of Arkay and pulled the magicka from deep within his veins. In his other hand, he gripped the dagger, his fingers having slipped over the blade and his blood dripping onto the ground. The pain mixed with the fear and his heart stuttered in his chest. It was only a moment, but warmth filled what had felt like icy veins. Power comforting, yet foreign, ripped through him and out poured the light of Arkay. The skeleton froze, momentarily, before taking a step back and then another and another. Guifort stood, brandishing the talisman in one hand and extending it like a shield. The skeletons let him pass. Yarvis and his crew didn't speak a word of thanks as they fled the corridor, keeping pace with Guifort the best they could as they exited those ruins.

Once they were far from danger and back with their horses and carts, Yarvis laughed, his breath showing up against the coldness of the Skyrim sky. He pulled away a rotting canvas to an old Nord artifact made from a substance that Guifort had never seen before and would never see again. The young priest tried to tend to Yarvis's wounds, only for him to swat him away stating "the blood's not mine, priest."

The night after what happened, Guifort found himself wandering away from camp intent on prayer. He bandaged his hand while speaking to Arkay, asking the god to make sense of what had happened. He asked if this journey was cursed, or if he was cursed for taking it. There was silence, but it wasn't the bad sort of silence. It was the sort that led him to think and reaffirm. Guifort hadn't been strong enough to destroy those abominations, but he had been strong enough to repel them. They were unnatural, bucking against Akray’s wishes of death and life renewed. And in his time of need, he’d used his divine gifts to repel them. Sure, he’d healed some wounds before, but never had he truly felt a divine presence. That was all the validation he needed at that moment, and maybe it was enough for his sore bones.

The profit from the expedition was quite a bit, and the dividends had heavily increased after the death of half the crew—as did the rations. Yarvis had a buyer in Solitude that he didn't say much about stating that "the way things were after the Crisis, we'd do well not speak of such clandestine meetings." And, "they didn't travel this far from Cyrodiil for us to start asking why." Guifort knew that was Yarvis's way of telling him to shut up and enjoy the money. And he did. He purchased a rather nice hat with an elegant buckle and an odd feather, along with new robes and other items. After all that, Guifort assumed they were to part ways, septims in hand. Yet, Yarvis was slow to want to return to High Rock while his men swiftly wanted away from the madman that had led them there. Guifort was somewhere in the middle. His soul ached from the death he'd seen, but he'd also never felt so close to Arkay before. So, he conceded to travel with Yarvis... if only for a little while more.

A little while more turned into years.

"This part might be a bit boring, but there are some things I learned from it. For one, Yarvis Belancourt was not even this man's real name. He'd won it in a game of cards years before. He was an astute liar and frightfully loud conman. He was always finding 'adventures' and 'long lost ruins.' If you asked me now, a devout priest of Arkay, how I could have stayed with him for that long. I'd tell you it was because Yarvis had a personality that was addicting like wine... or skooma. Not that I've had the latter, but I've heard stories. I hadn't forgotten about that night in the ruins, but at that time I was slow to believe Yarvis had done anything beyond what had come naturally—survival. Once he started teaching me his tricks of the trade, though... I learned. I learned that he'd only gotten as far as he had by stepping on the heads of others, and unfortunately, my head was next."

Despite Yarvis's travels to wherever he deemed interesting, whether it be across the length of Skyrim or small dips into Cyrodiil, Guifort still tended to his duty as a priest of Arkay. He'd perform funeral rites for towns that didn't have their own priest. He'd tend to small undead nuisances for a small fee, despite Yarvis's opinion otherwise. He’d make sure that their traveling routes crossed temples of the Divines and Arkay—a pilgrimage of sorts. More importantly, he turned into quite the orator. They'd find themselves in inns or taverns (Guifort avoiding the brothels that Yarvis liked to dip into), and he'd tell the tales of the various things they'd seen. But more interestingly, he would discuss the stories of peoples’ lives. He'd heard quite a few in his time, tending to the funerary rites of many. There was so much wisdom people had accumulated over the years, and he'd written it all down. Yarvis would always ask him if he was writing a book. Guifort laughed "there are far more interesting books in Tamriel than mine." Which was true, but there were far more boring stories as well.

Guifort had traveled to be closer to Arkay, but a stormy evening right inside the border of Cyrodiil, he never felt further from him. It hadn’t been just Guifort and Yarvis. Guifort was always a slow-speaking accomplice to the louder and more verbose Yarvis, but just that... an accomplice. There were others in Yarvis's troupe, and they had a tendency to cycle through as easily as chattel with the exception of a Nord man by the name of Engrad. He'd around hung for a few missions and taken to the work of excavation and battle with the glee of a chopped log.

The rain pelted down, and Guifort had taken to the woods by the road to relieve himself. He grumbled about needing a better hat for weather like this. A flash of lighting, and a roll of thunder later, he had finished his business. He returned back to the road to find Yarvis dead, and his men gone. It had only been an instant. Blood mixed with rain and mud. Yarvis's cold eyes stared up at the stormy sky, not surprised but not welcoming either. It reminded Guifort of all those years before. The men at the ruins had the same look.

Yarvis's septims were gone, papers, and other things of value. All that was left were his clothes, an old crossbow that he had a rather salacious scene emblazoned on, maps, and the marked coin that he always used to win bets. Guifort pocketed the maps, crossbow, and the coin, and buried Yarvis in the deepest grave he could create in the deluge of rain and without the proper tools to do so. "I don't even know your real name to give you a proper send off. But Yarvis, whoever you may truly be, be well. May Arkay guide you. More so, may whatever soul that replaces you be as interesting if not more so than yourself. Though, I do ask it be far more moral and with a less fluid sense of right and wrong." Guifort chuckled at his words but only for a moment. It was hard to see his tears in all that rain.

He decided that was the end of his journey. It was time to head back to High Rock and it was time to take over Father Peryval's place as leader of the Temple of Arkay, in a town he could barely remember the name to. Yet, not long after he left Yarvis's makeshift grave did he come across Engrad and the others from the group. A crumpled paper in his hand and anger in his eyes, he cornered Guifort. "I have reason to believe that that fool Belancourt lied about your participation in the massacre at the Yseal Ruins. I have reason to believe that your hands did not dirty with blood. But I also know that it did not deter you from cavorting with a murderer and liar, priest. You can't tell me you're so naïve as to not have known. Hm?" He pointed at Guifort in the storm, his accusation punctuated by crisp lightning. "I should kill you. But, I'll spare you. Your god knows what you did. And if he still accepts you, then who am I to spit at his feet? But you are no longer welcome in Skyrim." He glared. "And you may think yourself clever, how could Engrad and his men patrol the country? Just know, priest, I have eyes in the ground and in the sky. If you step foot in my country again, you will die.” And that was that.

"I figure that Engrad had someone he'd known or loved on that first expedition. I figure that the members of Yarvis's troupe that lived had told the story. I figure that Yarvis had penned a letter or two blaming the entire thing on me. And either he'd forgotten to destroy them as we traveled together or he'd fully intended to blame me for the entire thing. What I did know, was that there was no direct route back to High Rock without traveling through Skyrim. And I didn't have the septims for a boat. So, I suppose Cyrodiil was my home now. I've had two father figures in my life. Both of them from opposite spectrums of the world, and both left with me weapons with lascivious imagery on them. How terribly lucky can one man be?"

So, Guifort found himself in Cyrodiil. With barely a septim to his name, he began his "pilgrimage" yet again. Things were direr here, the state of the country worse off for the events that had happened many years prior. So, it was of no surprise that his services as a priest of Arkay were welcome. Either by performing rites, healing, or tending to manageable abominations did he carve out a living for himself. No longer did he see the sights of ruins, dungeons, or the dark dens of interesting cities. Those went with Yarvis. But he did see a lot more of the temples of Arkay. It was almost as if someone had splashed cold water on his face to awaken him from years of the same drunken stupor. Though, ironically, he found himself more in the throes of a drink than before. This time, though, it was through chatter and camaraderie. He'd written more stories down in his books, he'd learn new things, and he'd see more sights. There was a culmination of a life he had in-between Father Peryval and Yarvis Belancourt. As much as Guifort hated to admit, he rather liked it. And that comfort showed itself on his form as he went from a sturdy adventurer to a well seeded one. But Guifort's story was far from over.

"With a renewed purpose, but a dark realization that home was to always be very far away from me, I tried to carve one out here. The sad thing was when I had come to an ultimatum, I'd come to it in Skingrad."

He'd been set upon by the Count's men for helping some poor townsfolk that found themselves restrained in stocks. A woman's wrist had been so bruised that the whelps were enormous, and she was losing circulation. He had realized she'd lose her hand if nothing was done, and then her life following it. The moment that the magicka of Arkay flowed through him, and into the wounds on woman's wrists, did he see stars in a bleary, black haze. Over him was a town guard, the butt having connected with Guifort’s head.
"Don't think because you're a priest, that we're goin' to give you a pass. Now shoo." There was a smugness to the guard’s tone that acted as if he was doing Guifort a favor.
Guifort shook his head. "Let me tend to this woman's wounds. It’s obvious her punishment isn’t death, but she’ll be dead soon if nothing is done.”
The guard laughed. "I don care, she broke the law. So, she's here. And ain't you a priest a death or sometin'? Let her just die."
"It doesn't work that way. If it did, the world would have eaten itself up from lack of giving a shit. Now move I'm tending to this woman. By Arkay's divine will, if you try to stop me..." Honestly, Guifort had hoped that had been enough. But another crack to the head proved otherwise.

When Guifort awoke, he did so in the stocks. The woman he'd tried to save laid limp in her restraints face red hot from fever. He had to do something—anything. This wasn't about to be the ruins again, he wasn’t about to let the time for action pass him by again. Guifort couldn't quite fight his way out of this situation, at least not in conventional ways. So, he began to speak.

"I'd tell you the whole speech, but honestly I was a bit out of it from the knock to the head and the fever that was setting in from dehydration. It was momentous, though. It sent the crowd into action. Or at least, I thought it had at the time. In truth, it had been a planned attack by Isobel and her troops."

When the dust had settled, he'd been free. The members of the rebellion had moved as quickly away as they had arrived—guerrilla tactics and all that. Guifort said what little he could muster over the dead. It was a day where the streets were painted with blood. Blood that didn't seem to end no matter where he went to. The funerary rites began to blur together. The dreamsleeve was getting its fill of souls, and a deficit was felt in Guifort's heart. He considered finding a temple and settling, hiding his face from the goings-on. But he remembered the rebels and their call to arms. He'd read about their growing movement in the Black Courier. The aimless wandering he'd called a "purpose" for so many years had to stop. He may not have been able to lead troops, but he could heal, and more so—he could provide comfort and knowledge. The circle of life needed not turn so much. So, he sought Isobel out. A priest of Arkay with an affable nature and a penchant for stories and wine could be of use. People tend to speak a little looser around those that promise redemption for secrets.

𝔄𝔱𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔰

Major - Luck

"Some say I've gotten away with all I have in life through luck, alone. I'm more apt to believe it's the divine will of Arkay. Though, sometimes I wonder if he's fond of me 'divinely' winning drinking contests."

Minor - Personality

"One can't speak the words of their god without knowing how to speak. It also helps that I know how to relate to all manner of people. Sometimes only the noble and proud think their words matter."

𝔖𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰

Expert -

• Restoration: The power to heal the living and ward away the undead, this is Guifort's calling. He learned them from a young age in the Temple of Arkay, and he still uses them to this day. Doesn't help that they're also his bread and butter.

Adept -

• Speechcraft: While no poet, elocutionist, or statesman, he knows his way around the language in a way to come off as a comfort and an authority of his vocation. This gift isn't used for ruthless command or persuasion. It's just a warm blanket on a cold night.
• Alchemy:Probably one of Father Peryval's largest contributions to his small town was his knowledge of alchemy and potions. Guifort is far from a master and only had the time to learn healing, curing, and fortifying potions... and one poison. After Mister Catterly's death, Father Peryval had to take care of the mice somehow.
• Mysticism: The art of Soul Gems is one that Guifort considers blasphemous on all accounts. Yet the arts of mysticism fall in line with those of tending to the undead. The ability to absorb maladies and detect the living and undead is a helpful tool, and something that he built up when traveling.

Apprentice -

• Archery: While not the most talented, Guifort can use a crossbow with some efficacy. Don't ask him to shoot an apple off of someone's head, but he can hit some part of a creature with it. Just, don't ask what part.
• Medium Armor: To no one's surprise, Guifort isn't the quickest. He isn't one to parry or dodge, and might even ask you what "parry" means. So, he has to have protection somewhere. Heavy enough to keep the slip of the blade from killing him, but light enough that he doesn't die of exhaustion--he's quite fond of the happy medium.
• Security: One doesn't travel with an infamous bard without picking up a few tricks. While Guifort is far from performing burglary, those sticky locks can be dealt with.

𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰

• Circle of Protection (Restoration) Expert
• Repel Undead (Restoration) Expert
• Grand Healing (Restoration) Expert
• Heal Other (Restoration) Adept
• Cure Disease (Restoration) Adept
• Greater Ward (Restoration) Adept
• Sunfire (Restoration) Apprentice
• Greater Life Detection (Mysticism) Adept
• Greater Dispel Other (Mysticism) Adept
• Psychic Motion (Mysticism) Adept

𝔈𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔭𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱

• A Heavy Crossbow once owned by Yarvis Belancourt, and now named Mister Catterly by Guifort.
• Leather Armor Fortified by Steel is a polite way of saying that it was either an experiment by an armorer or an abomination that Guifort specifically asked for.
• Steel Knife that once belonged to Father Peryval with a rather interesting etching of Dibella on the hilt.
• Lockpicks of Various Metals that were once Yarvis's as well, but he gifted them to Guifort finding it amusing that the priest wished to trespass.
• Mortar and Pestal said to be of Imperial make that he got from a "fair" trade with a Khajit. They were not. Still works the same, though.
• An Assortment of Dried Herbs and Minerals to be able to create potions. Of course, they were taken from the side of the road. He didn't loot a noble woman's garden at all.
• Amulet of Arkay would be the first and only piece of equipment that Guifort thinks he might need. It's golden with a shining red stone in the middle.

𝔅𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰

• Robes of Arkay
• Fur-Topped Long Coat
• The Breton Hat of "Renown"
• Maps of Various Locations Throughout Skyrim, High Rock, and Cyrodiil. The distances may be off, and the landmarks may be false. Some of them seemed sullied by wine and others by jam.
• Religious Texts of Arkay
• Leatherbound Journals of his "Stories"
• A Marked Coin that is weighted to always land right-side-up
• Rations and Bedroll
• Incense

𝔅𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔖𝔦𝔤𝔫

Ritual

𝔐𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔢𝔬𝔲𝔰

Guifort is skilled at a number of menial tasks, but the one he takes the most delight in is sewing. He enjoys stitching up the errant tear or lost button. He sometimes hums when doing so.

[psych0pomp]

words words words "Dialogue."

^{𝙏𝘼𝙂(𝙎) tag
𝙇𝙊𝘾𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 tag}

Sawyer CS

❝ 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂! ❞

^{NAME: Sohsa'no'wyaer "Sawyer" Halycon-Sub-Prime, 24th in line for High Emperor
AGE: 34
GENDER: Mono-Gendered (looks like a human male) (they/him)
SPECIES: Arkopolis}

❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄? ❞

<sup>"I'm sorry, did I not give you my business card? Have you not seen my billboards? I get it, you come from one of those backwater planets. Well, let me just introduce myself, I'm Sawyer the Space Lawyer. The only legal representation you need in the galaxy. No. Seriously. Don't get anyone else."

For an Arkopolis, Sawyer rarely wears their mask. They are a species of fully clothed aliens, from the top of their shiny masks to the bottom of their intricately booted feet. It is to help distinguish what caste they belong to. Castes are decided first upon birth and then secondly by one's ability to be charismatic. The game of social parlay is quite deadly for an Arkopolis, hence the masks. They hide their features and even alter their inflection if they can get away with it. Ambassadors, traders, weapon brokers, space bards, and so on--if it involves the gift of gab then they have the market cornered. They are ruled by a High Emperor, which Sawyer is 25th in line for. Well, 24th, as someone down in the line died from a nasty case of being poisoned by a political rival.

In social situations, Sawyer does wear a mask. Black with a fluorescent purple light that bisects the middle of it. On the top are two holes that their deep purple horns push out of, curling forward like a ram but straightening out at the metal-capped tips. Without the mask they have purple skin, an almost atrocious amount of golden jewelry, short but perfectly coiffed dark purple hair, pointed ears, and the aforementioned horns--they were not decorative. They also have liquid gold eyes and a fanged smile that would make a vampire blush. Beyond that, they stay almost decently clothed, preferring golds and fabrics that are the same hue as their homeworld. Another notable feature is the massive segmented tail that juts out of their lower back. It's as long as they are and possibly more in the way if that was possible.

They speak with their whole body, hands, feet, and tail included. As someone in the law profession, they never back down from giving their full opinion about something. If they pass on answering, you don't want to know what they were going to say. They also believe everyone is lying and is on the hunt for the truth at every given turn. Their voice is deep, smooth, and rings in dual tones.</sup>

❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴? ❞

<sup>"Why did you hand me a gun? I'm more likely to shoot you and then myself with it than anything else. My weapon is my vast and startling intellect, coupled with my roguish handsome looks, and honeyed words. What? Fine, I can use magic. Just take your damn gun back."

First and foremost, Sawyer is a lawyer. Their extensive knowledge of the different laws in the galaxy and how to get by them in an entirely legal way is their bread and butter. They make sure that anything that might be pressed against the Guernica doesn't stick. Late docking fees? Poor signage and lack of a concrete due date in the contract. It contradicts itself numerous times over. Illegal drunken brawl? Actually, in the Trsuskgarian tradition, it's considered a cultural grievance not to. Oh, there were no Trsuskgarian's around? Well, my defendant practices their culture. Are you saying the Free Colony of Santivarius isn't actually free and limits individual expression? My defendant killed that man? Well. "Man" is a weird word for a robot. Do robots have a living and dead state? Or is it a variation of the flux of power that's streamed into them? It looks like my defendant just performed a hard restart on the robotic fellow and there are no laws against that.

They're fabulous at getting themselves and others out of sticky situations. It also doesn't hurt that they have diplomatic immunity for being in the top 1% of Arkopolis's that are in line for the throne. Just 24 more to go!

Sawyer's aura abilities are sonic-based. They can alter their voice, creating a more soothing or anxiety-inducing pitch. More taxing, they can make someone nauseous or lose their balance by messing with vibrations in the air through sound outside one's hearing range. They can also inflict damage with a sonic scream that acts like a blunt shockwave, which is incapable of killing but definitely can clear a room. Unfortunately, they can only do this once before they completely lose their voice. And once they've lost their voice, they cannot use their aura until they get it back. Also, it makes them a piss poor lawyer.</sup>

❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙼? ❞

<sup>"I am unflappable and untouchable. There's nothing in this galaxy that can twist my hide. Well... except... I mean it has to do with the Imperials. It's nothing big though. I wouldn't worry your tiny little brain about it. Awe. Look at that brain. So itty-bitty."

Sawyer pissed off a good handful of Imperial lawmakers to the point that if they try to attend court within Imperial space, they would be fined and held in contempt. They'd still be allowed to represent their client, as long as they knew if they didn't get a favorable verdict, they'd be joining them. It had started with Sawyer winning a fairly decisive trade case involving the containment and shuttling of aura. Things then got worse when they fought a copyright lawsuit that was won sheerly through the Imperial's sluggish bureaucracy. Then there was the time that they got a young Imperial woman a "not guilty" verdict for several murders. It then turned out that she was a serial killer, but she hadn't committed all the ones they had tried her for... just most of them. Honestly, that was not one of Sawyer's finest moments.

Yet, the biggest one had to be when they kept the Vangarian Empire from settling a small mining colony that had been mostly abandoned except for one old Formokian that had gotten stuck in a rockslide but was still very alive--being mostly rock himself. Sawyer's defense said that since the old man wasn't technically a "squatter" since he couldn't technically "squat," he did fall under the "Rights to Land Act." It was created hundreds of years ago for the Vangarian Empire to exploit itself. Throw a "research base" on a possibly inhabitable planet, stay there for a year, and bang the planet was yours.

Apparently, that mining colony would have been a massive resource grab for the Empire. Without it, a massive project (Sawyer didn't know what) was stunted until the Vangarians could find another source of materials. Hence the hate... so it's a mutually beneficial relationship for Sawyer to stay on the Guernica. That way, they can't be subpoenaed if they are never in one place.</sup>

❝ 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚆. ❞

<sup>"Someone is always stepping on my tail, eating my snacks, messing with my work, or petting my cat. How dare they. Bartholomew Von Toe'Beans is my cat. Only I get to pet his entirely metal carapace."

Sawyer thinks they're all idiots, and they're blessing them with their presence. That doesn't mean that they don't interact with the rest of the crew, quite the opposite actually. They're in everyone else's business except their own. The thrill of listening to their unnecessarily dramatic lives is absolutely intoxicating. It's like slipping on your favorite slippers and grabbing a warm mug of tea/wine/spacer fuel. They've made a few friends in their years aboard the ship, having taken up residence on it when they offered the captain a handful of cash to get them off an Imperial planet. And... they never left.</sup>

Maki CS

173cm | 62kg | Seventeen | Third Year | Female

ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ

They say that fortune favors the bold, but when does that boldness get to be too much? Maki couldn't tell you. A vivacious person, she's quick to state her opinion and show her combative nature. If someone steps up to Maki, she returns the favor. Quick to curse words and burning insults, one would assume those were her only personality traits. She gets what she wants. Unfortunately, she may have burned some bridges via emotional Molotov Cocktails to do so. Arrogance would be a strong word for her attitude, but it wouldn't be entirely wrong. While there's not a sense of entitlement, there are definitely rungs of importance that Maki has constructed, and she puts herself on top. It's born from her independence and a wild streak. Maki likes to think of herself as an unflappable and untameable beast. Yet, that isn't the only thing that Maki is capable of. She's smart. She's intuitive. And she can sigh deeply, ruffling her bangs, and help when people really need help. Maki's not heartless. She just gives her heart sparingly.

ＡＲＣＡＮＡ

The Tower

ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡ

Ammut

ＳＫＩＬＬＳ

► Cleave [Physical - Light Damage]
► Rebellion [Support - Increases One Ally's/Caster's Critical Rate for a Brief Time]
► Counter [Passive - Low Chance of Reflecting Enemy's Attacks]

ＴＲＡＮＳＦＯＲＭＡＴＩＯＮ

A black headpiece adorns her forehead and has reptilian fang-like protrusions that lay over her brows. Her black hair hangs, bound in golden circlets for a make-shift ponytail. From there, her torso is covered in segmented golden armor with gaps that reveal black fabric underneath. Over that is a green and black biker jacket with "Man Eater" embroidered in gold. Her legs are covered in what look to be black torn jeans leading to knee-high gold plated boots with quite a heel.

ＷＥＡＰＯＮ

A weighted chain with flecks of gold coming off of it

ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ

Maki never fell from grace, because she never had an altruistic pedestal to stand on in the beginning. Despite gossip painting her as a bad seed, she didn't have a shitty childhood. The Ito family managed to do well for themselves. Her father was a salesman, her mother a nurse, and her two older brothers were accomplished athletes. Despite her having a strong family unit she wanted so hard to stand out. Her brothers had gotten into their schools of choice with such high academics and athletics it painted them shining stars. Maki didn't want to occupy that same star-scape. Maki wanted something greater—something a little more her speed—so she ended up crossing a line. But let's back up a little bit...

As a young child, she showed a talent for art that while not prodigal, was notable. This talent cultivated more and more, and as such became more and more interesting. She started to hear that "she was following in the footsteps of her brothers," and that she was a "cookie-cutter good daughter." Maki had stood at the fringe of social acceptance before she heel-turned and shot a milquetoast life the bird.

She fell into an interesting group of peers at school. They were vagrants, at best. Prone to fist-fights, smoking, breaking and entering, and vandalism. It was this last part that caught Maki's eye. The girl moved from oil paints to spray paints. Within a few months, she'd made a name for herself as quite the alley art savant. There she met and fell deeply in love with Nakamura Toyoshiro. Honestly, love was probably too strong a word. Yet, Maki never half-assed anything. This was why she bought into this lifestyle and clique with such fervor that it got her a reputation at school. No one wanted to mess with her due to her rough nature and the rough nature of her friends. They did a good job keeping it out of sight and mind of authority figures—until, well, they didn't. A squabble with a popular girl left Maki in a meeting with her teacher and parents... and said popular girl with quite the black eye. It was around then that her parents watched her with more and more scrutiny. Their curiosity wasn't sated until one fateful night when Maki was caught.

What had she been doing? Well, that would be a tight-lipped secret kept by the Ito family. Yet, that wouldn't stop the rumor mill. The most common one would be about her and her boyfriend's promiscuous behavior. Another one detailed a nasty fight that left someone in the hospital. Yet another would state that Maki and her boyfriend burned a building down. And those were the serious ones. They only got more outlandish and cartoonish as time went on

Immediately, Maki was branded as a delinquent but not in an exciting way. A public spectacle was made of her to deter other kids from "following her path into anarchy." It didn't make her cooler. It alienated her from everyone and everything she loved from the embarrassment that now hung over her. She went from being an almost modern-day sukeban with an artistic streak to a friendless freak. In hopes of getting their daughter back on track, the Ito's had her take up a part-time job once she got back from spending the break with an aunt in the countryside.

As the new school year began, Maki still maintained her shitty job and her equally shitty reputation. Though sometimes, in quiet rebellion, she'd carve lewd sentences onto the bottom of any bench she could find. It was the small things. And she needed the small things, as those that she'd bullied in the past had turned the tables right back on her.

ＭＩＳＣ

► Despite her ousting in her social group, Maki is still a talented artist. She hasn't actually produced anything since her medium of walls and spray paints were taken from her.
► She is always wearing headphones. People assume it's some sort of emo-metal. Maybe it is. Maybe it's also pop music.
► Doesn't know what Nakamura Toyoshiro is up to. She hasn't seen him since she got in trouble. Though, Maki has noted that he's said nothing to stop the rumor mill.
► Maki's arch-enemy may or may not be the cat that runs the street by where she works.

| 𝖣𝖠𝖳𝖤 : 9 APRIL 2018 | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : FAMILY ► ALONE | 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : HOME ► HINOTORI HIGH |

“Maki Dialogue.”
“Reo Dialogue.”
“Yuuto Dialogue.”
“NPC Dialogue.”

| 𝖳𝖠𝖦(𝖲) : N/A |

| 𝖣𝖠𝖳𝖤 : 11 APRIL 2018 | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : COUNCIL MEMBERS & THE HAWKGUYS | 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : HINOTORI HIGH |

“Maki Dialogue.”

| 𝖳𝖠𝖦(𝖲) : N/A |

[psych0pomp]

DA RP

The First Era, The Divine Age, started and ended with the Second Blight. An entire generation of people lived and died through it, not knowing what life without darkspawn was like. It had started in the Anderfels and spread across Thedas like fire. It ended in the year of 1:95 at Starkhaven as a mostly human force led by the Grey Wardens struck the final blow.

Divine Hortrensia I named the Second Era the Glory Age, predicting a grand rebirth of the world after the devastation of the Blight. Yet, the rebirth of Thedas would be the upheaval of the social and political norms and a life of hardships more dramatic than the Blight. In the years to come, Orlais and the Dales would come to war. Divine Renata I called for a Holy War, leading to the Exalted March of the Dales. Orlais claimed the land, and the elvish people either escaped to alienages or took to nomadic traditions. In Ferelden, Teryrn Caedmon declared himself king which incited a civil war. At his death, fighting for power over the region began. This period in Ferelden would be called the War of Crowns. Further North, Starkhaven's King Fyruss would try to take over all of the Free Marches under the Tevinter banner.

This was called the Time of Rebuilding, but it was hard to say would what was truly being forged in the ashes left by the darkspawn.

This all happened within the forty years after the end of the Second Blight. There were now inhabitants of Thedas growing into adulthood without the fear or knowledge of the Blight. Yet, that didn't stop the Grey Wardens from remaining vigilant. Old God Zazikel wouldn't be the last Archdemon, and they were sure of it. Still a branch of the Chantry, they were given stipends and notoriety in most towns. They'd not fallen out of favor, yet. So, they took to Thedas to deal with roving bands of darkspawn along with other moral adversaries the Chantry might have. They became hunters of the wicked and the profane.

Our story begins in 2:35, a newly formed squadron of Grey Wardens are sent from the Fortress Weisshaupt to deal with what is believed to be a new emergence of the Blight. There's a town in the Free Marches that went silent seemingly overnight. Those that investigated have not returned. No one dares to get close for fear that they'll be next. But those that remember the Second Blight and the darkspawn, swear they can hear them on the other side of the town's border. Your group has been tasked with eradicating this threat and saving anyone that might be alive within the confines of the town. You've been gifted a templar from the Starkhaven Circle to help. Yet, all the strange and scary aside, the land is in the midst of political upheaval. There may be enemies in more forms than just those of darkspawn.

Are you ready to embark upon a tale where our lovely protagonists' lives and stories are lost to time? Where their blood is spilled only for their name to be removed from the Warden logs? Where their death will be a convenience to the powers that be? If so, let us begin.

A Color Coded Map | Ethno-Linguistic Map

The Current State of the Countries of Thedas

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐒

A Kingdom in Northwestern Thedas

After the First Blight, Tevinter held on to the Anderfels for about 200 years, but abandoned it in an effort to protect central Tevinter when the Second Blight began in 1:5 Divine. The Anderfels was nearly destroyed by the Blight, but saved by Emperor Kordillus Drakon, starting with the lifting of the siege of Weisshaupt in 1:33 Divine. After that, they joined the Orlesian Empire as well as converted to the Chantry. But after the death of Drakon, his successor Kordillus II could not hold the empire together and the Anderfels broke free again in 1:65 Divine.

Is currently a free country, but in severe disrepair from the damage of the Second Blight. It is slowly rebuilding. While mostly home to humans, there is a small qunari settlement in the Northern part of the country that has thrived for the past 100 years. It is home to the massive Grey Warden Fortress Weisshaupt.

𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀

A Kingdom in Eastern Thedas

Starting in 1:45 Divine, the Chantry spread east into Antiva, and the teachings of Andraste gained favor among the citizens, eventually becoming the main religion in Antiva. Antiva usually remained neutral in the conflicts of its neighbors, though it did ally with some city-states of the Free Marches from 2:15 Glory through the current year to stop the territorial advances of King Fyruss of Starkhaven. In 2:33 Glory, Antivan cities united under a common banner to better defend themselves.

The Principality of Antiva, or simply Antiva, is a plutocratic nation in northeastern Thedas. Although it possesses few resources of its own, Antiva's location makes it a center for trade in the north. Antiva's wine trade, buoyed by its fruitful vineyards and an aggressive approach to trading practices with other nations, is one of the country's main resources, allowing for a relatively prosperous life for its citizens. Its capital is Antiva City, which lies in the middle of its coastline and is one of the wealthiest in Thedas.

𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇

An Island Stronghold East of the Free Marches

During the Divine and Glory Ages, the island remained unoccupied and the emptiness coupled with the debris from shipwrecks that littered the coast bred in the Free Marches the belief that the island was haunted or cursed, and contributed to the failure of any Marcher state to claim a lasting foothold on the land.

𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍

A Kingdom in Southeastern Thedas

When the Alamarri peoples first split from Neromenians, they migrated southeast and crossed the Frostback Mountains in -2415 Ancient. There, they found a new homeland that would eventually become "Ferelden", which means "fertile valley" in the Alamarri tongue. However, the fertile valley did not become a sovereign nation for almost 3000 years. This period of time is littered with numerous wars the Alamarri tribes waged, both with foreign powers such as the Tevinter Imperium and Orlais, as well as their fellow tribes. During that time the Alamarri developed their own political system which remains largely intact to this day. With time, powerful nobles would turn their land into bannorns, then arlings, and finally teyrnirs. The nobles continued the Alamarri tradition of infighting and continued to fight with each other over petty and personal matters in order to gain more power. That was until the Alamarri warrior Hafter united the tribes in Ferelden against the darkspawn during the Second Blight in 1:40 Divine. Ten years later he defeated combined Chasind and Avvar forces to hold the Ferelden Valley and was named the valley's first Teryn. Move to the current day when Hafter's grandson Teyrn Caedmon declared himself king, and a civil war broke out. He was then killed in 2:18 Glory at the Battle of Valmorn Hills. The fight for power over the region has begun. This period is now known as the War of Crowns.

Ferelden is best known for the likely birthplace of Andraste and home to the communities of the dwarves of Orzammar and the Dalish Elves in the Brecilian Frest. Life and politics in Ferelden have been historically turbulent, defined by ages of tribal rule and invasions of foreign armies. In Ferelden strength and courage are set above heritage and wealth. Any Fereldan man or woman worth their salt can make something of themselves. Nobles are respected, even revered, but to the common person, they are not untouchable. Respect must be earned, and nowhere in the world is there a people as ready to demand their due as in Ferelden. Outside Ferelden, they are known as "dog lords." The importance of dogs in Fereldan cultures traces its roots to werewolves; mythical wolf-men who factor heavily into Ferelden lore. Many nobles believe their ancestry ties back to them.

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒

A Confederation of City-States in Eastern Thedas

In 1:95 Divine, the last battle of the Second Blight was fought at Starkhaven with a human army led by the Wardens. Both sides suffered heavy losses, but Zazikel was finally slain by the Grey Warden Corin. In 2:15 Glory, King Fyruss of Starkhaven attempted to unite the Free Marches under his banner and build his own empire with Tevinter's support.

The Free Marches encompass a group of city-states situated in eastern Thedas. The three real cities with any semblance of power in the Marches are Kirkwall, Starkhaven and Tantervale, each led by a titled official with the special right to name their city's Champion. The "Marchers" are independent-minded descendants of tough barbarians. They only recently managed to free themselves from Tevinter's grip after the First Blight when a slave rebellion rose up and reclaimed the city that would be known as Kirkwall. Their cities have formed a loose confederation that rarely unites on any matter. In the event of aggression from larger neighbors, however, the Marchers can assemble a joint military front that even the greatest powers cannot dismiss

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒

Mountains Separating Ferelden from Orlais and Home to the Avaar

This mountain range forms Ferelden's natural western border with Orlais. Gherlen's Pass leading to Orlais is the only Frostback passage safe for year-round travel. The mountains are considered highly inhospitable, and yet they house the native Avvar tribes, and, beneath the northern foothills, most of the continent's dwarves. The entrance to the dwarven city of Orzammar lies in Gherlen's Pass, with its permanent shanty-town filled with traders and petitioners, making it of strategic importance.

𝐊𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐒

A Forest in Southern Ferelden and Home to the Chasind

The Korcari Wilds is a cold southern expanse of forest and swamp, the extent of which is not truly known. Most northerners believe little of what the Chasind have to say. But the Chasind Wilders speak of a wasteland of snow and ice further to the south, filled only with desolate tundra and nomadic barbarians. South of the Wilds itself lies the mysterious region known as the Sunless Lands.

𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀

A Kingdom in Central Thedas

By the Glory Age, rule of the Nevarran city-state had changed hands several times. Ineffectual leadership and infighting resulted in a poor populace lagging far behind other Free Marcher city-states. Ionas, the last ruler before the First Pentaghast Dynasty, ruled Nevarra for several decades and was in failing health. Many Nevarrans, including some of Ionas's closest advisers, felt that Nevarra could not survive on its own. Rumors swirled that some of these advisers had brokered deals with either Orlais or Stakhaven and would be rewarded if the cession of Nevarra's lands occurred. This never came to pass as Casper Pentaghast plotted to depose Ionas before he ran Nevarra into the ground or delivered it to its enemies. Pentaghast seized the Nevarran throne, and under his leadership, the city-state's fortunes turned around.

Unlike most other Andrastians, Nevarrans do not burn their dead but instead carefully preserve the bodies and seal them in elaborate tombs. Each crypt is as unique as the family buried there. They believe that when a dead soul crosses the Fade it displaces a Fade spirit. In order to provide safe hosts for such spirits, they mummify their corpses and place them in elaborate crypts in the Grand Necropolis. This task is entrusted to a secretive order of mages known as Mortalitasi. Its gray-robed members enjoy wealth and political power as they often serve as advisers to Nevarran nobility, including the kings. Dragon hunting has only just begun in the country of Nevarra, and as such there are still plenty of them around.

𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐒

An Empire in Southwestern Thedas

In 2:5 Glory, the border skirmishes between the Dales and Orlais increased in number. In 2:9 Glory the elves attacked the Orlesian town of Red Crossing and quickly took it over. Orlais declared war, but the elves quickly managed to capture Montsimmard and besieged Val Royeaux. At this point, Divine Renata I called for an Exalted March against the attacking elves. Although the elves eventually sacked Val Royeaux and pushed well into human lands, Halamshiral was conquered and the elves were completely crushed by 2:20 Glory. The Dales were annexed to become part of the Orlesian Empire and alienages were created for the elven population who submitted. By decree of Divine Renata I, any Chantry art in Orlais depicting elves were destroyed save a single mural of Shartan (with his ears cropped.)

The Orlesian Empire, or simply Orlais, is currently the largest and the most powerful nation in Thedas. It was founded by Kordillus Drakon I and its capital, Val Royeaux, serves as the Chantry's seat of power and home of the Divine. Orlais is ruled by an Emperor or Empress. Orlais has a large noble class famed for its excess, and in particular, the fashionable use of cosmetics and elaborate masks. Their clothing too tends to be complicated and colorful. Orlais is also home to spectacular architecture. The Grand Cathedral, as well as the University of Orlais, both in Val Royeaux, are noteworthy for their grandiose style and construction. The Cathedral, originally a fortress, was converted to a place of worship with ample gold and stained glass.

𝐎𝐑𝐙𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑

An Underground City Located Beneath the Frostback Mountains

Following the outbreak of the First Blight, the dwarven empire was crumbling. Paragon Aeducan assumed the leadership of Orzammar and managed to push back the darkspawn. Despite his victory, it was not enough and after the end of the First Blight the darkspawn kept pushing; by -15 Ancient (1180 TE), the kingdom of Orzammar was assumed to be the last one still standing. Since then, the kingdom was in a steady decline by losing most of its outlying thaigs.

Orzammar is a great thaig and the only known remaining dwarven kingdoms in Thedas. An underground metropolis, the thaig is located deep beneath the Frostback Mountains and was once the capital of the dwarven empire. According to legend, the thaig's name derives from one of the seven brothers who founded the dwarven empire and his descendants formed the Mining caste. There they stay true to the old ways through Paragons and the Shaperate. They stick to their rigid caste system even if it seems antiquated in the current time.

𝐏𝐀𝐑 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍

An Island in Northeastern Thedas Loosely Controlled by Tevinter

Some scholars believe that the first humans in Thedas came from the rainforests of Par Vollen many thousands of years ago, migrating south from the archipelago. The pyramids they built still stand to this day and are regarded by travelers to the region as true wonders.

𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐍

A Kingdom in Northeastern Thedas

-203 Ancient (992 TE) the Rivaini participated in the Battle of the Silent Plains in the southern reaches of Tevinter. Their leader Dumat was brutally stabbed and the darkspawn forces were routed. -120 to -53 Ancient (1075–1142 TE) the Rivaini rebel in an attempt to split off from the Tevinter Imperium. They were supported by the eastern cities in the Free Marches. Tevinter launched campaigns to stop the rebellion. After several losses that culminated in the disastrous Battle of Temerin in -53 Ancient (1142 TE), the Imperium finally abandoned the east. In -44 Ancient (1151 TE) the Kingdom of Rivain was founded.

The Rivaini have skin tones ranging from dark tan to ebony. Social standing in Rivain is often marked by tattoos and body piercings. The more elaborate one's decorations, the higher one's rank. This is often accompanied by extravagant jewelry. The Rivaini, though possessing a currency-based economy as other nations do, place no real value on the accumulation of individual wealth and instead promote the idea of community welfare. As such, communities work together to support each other, sending supplies to other communities when needed. Though a Circle existed in Dairsmuid, it was merely a means to appease the Chantry. The mages of the Circle were allowed to see their families and the women were specifically trained to be seers, a position in Rivaini society that is revered as a matter of tradition. These local hedge witches converse with spirits and even allow themselves to be possessed for the benefit of their villages. The Rivaini are traditionally a matriarchal people and many believe that women are best suited to ruling. Most Rivaini communities are governed by elder women, the most senior of these women being the above-mentioned seers.

𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍

An Island in Northern Thedas Controlled by Tevinter

Seheron, the largest island in Thedas, is a humid jungle nation in the Boeric Ocean, directly north of the Tevinter Imperium. The largest city is also called Seheron. It has been in the possession of the Tevinter Imperium from its earliest days, and its architecture reflects the long occupation of the Imperium.

𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌

A Country in Northern Thedas

The Tevinter Kingdom was ruled by a dynasty of kings. The first Circles of Magi formed in Tevinter cities as closed societies of mages, presumably to train and study their talents. The Tevene Circles established a council of their most talented mages, known as the Court of Magisters, which convened in Minrathous and decided the mandate of magic in the kingdom. In the current years, it abandoned Anderfels during the Second Blight. They lost Rivain, the Free Marches, Ferelden, and have only submitted to the Chantry out of a show to keep peace with Orlais. Currently, they have thrown their lot in with the King of Starkhaven to begin reclaiming their lost lands.

The Tevinter Imperium is the oldest extant human nation in Thedas and is ruled by a powerful magocracy. The leaders of the Imperium are called magisters, and are led by the Imperial Archon. In ancient times, the Imperium's power was unrivaled and its borders stretched across nearly the entire continent. In modern times, while Tevinter is a shadow of its former self in both size and power, it is still relatively powerful, and a major nation of Thedas. Tevinter society is notoriously decadent yet also takes great pride in its history and achievements. The Imperium treasures their past and preserves it, as indicated that everything they've built has been carefully preserved and renovated. Ambition and magical ability are the hallmarks of its ruling elite, the magisters. Tevinter society is highly stratified, with citizens classified into one of three levels depending on their ancestry and magical ability, the soporati, the laetans, and the altus. Slavery is also born into the backbone of their society despite being outlawed throughout most of Thedas.

^{DISCLAIMER: Most of this text was taken from either the Dragon Age wiki or "The World of Thedas: Volume I" in an attempt to paraphrase what state the world is in now. Timelines may have been moved up or down to help the narrative flow of the game, but everything is factual to the world and belongs to the creators.}

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Warriors, Rogues, and Mages}
Humans are the most powerful and common of all races in Thedas. But wasn't always this way. While human history has a tendency to ignore or outright refute this, scholars believe there was a time when there wasn't a single human anywhere on the continent. While humans are the dominant race in Thedas, they are also the most fractured. The race's tribal roots led to the evolution of distinct groups with their own languages, customs, and beliefs. These distinctions have been at the heart of numerous conflicts between human nations and religious movements. Scholars wrestle to explain humanity's ability to maintain power over most of Thedas, given the infighting.

Human Origins

• 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 - Anderfels is a nation of survivors. One must be tough to see their adult years there. They are constantly beset upon by darkspawn and most of their land is blighted and useless. People say that one goes to the Anderfels to die. A surprising number of Anders choose to remain in this harsh environment.
  +1 Constitution & Pick One Focus: Constution (Stamina) OR Strength (Climbing)
• 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍 - It is said that Antivans are good at everything but chivlarous fighting. In fact, they excel at dirty fighting and Antiva is home to the most notorious goild of assassins, thieves, and spices in Thedas. They are valued for their skill, discretion, and professionalism.
  +1 Communication & Pick One Focus: Communication (Bargaining) OR Cunning (Navigation)
• 𝐀𝐕𝐕𝐀𝐑 - They are a rugged and massive human people who make their home in the Frostback Mountains. The Avvar are too independent, too proud, and too stubborn to pay homage to any king. Most people in Ferelden consider them uncivilized barbarians, while the Avvar think their old foes weak and corrupt.
  +1 Strength & Pick One Focus: Communication (Animal Handling) OR Strength (Climbing)
• 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 - Chasind are a barbarian folk that live in the south of Ferelden in the Korcari Wilds. There are many superstitions regarding them. They live in houses built on stilts and do some trading with Fereldens living in the South.
  +1 Dexterity & Pick One Focus: Dexterity (Stealth) OR Strength (Climbing)
• 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 - The country is a wide and barbarous nation, populated by fiercely proud folk who've only just begun to "civilize" within the last few centuries. The Fereldans are a martial people who value loyalty and honor far more than mere material goods.
  𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐍 - +1 Dexterity & Pick One Focus: Dexterity (Crafting) OR Cunning (Religious Lore)
  𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 - +1 Constitution & Pick One Focus: Constitution (Stamina) OR Willpower (Courage)
  𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄 - +1 Strength & Pick One Focus: Cunning (Military Lore) OR Strength (Intimidation)
• 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 - The Marchers are a dynamic people. They are great traders but also fierce defenders of their home cities. Some practice their martial skills to compete in the Grand Tourney, a traveling tournament and fair that moves from city to city.
  +1 Cunning & Pick One Focus: Cunning (Evaluation) OR Communication (Bargaining)
• 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍 - They are proud of their heroic tradition and this is celebrated with statuary throughout their country. The romance of such deeds exerts a strong pull on the young and many seek their own adventures throughout Thedas. They hope they too will be celebrated in song and statue in their homeland.
  +1 Willpower & Pick One Focus: Strength (Might) OR Willpower (Courage)
• 𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀𝐍 - Orlais is the most powerful and cultured nation in Thedas. Most of the population consists of serfs with little to no social mobility. There are Nobles that are engaged in the Grand Game--a never-ending battle for power, prestige, and status. The Students of the University of Val Royeaux that are taught both the magical and secular. And those that have failed at all three, that have been exiled.
  𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑 - +1 Dexterity & Pick One Focus: Dexterity (Brawling) OR Willpower (Faith)
  𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐋𝐄 - +1 Communication & Pick One Focus: Communication (Persuasion) OR Cunning (Cultural Lore)
  𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄 - +1 Communication & Pick One Focus: Communication (Etiquette) OR Strength (Intimidation)
  𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 - +1 Cunning & Pick One Focus: Communication (Persuasion) OR Cunning (Research)
• 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈 - Rivain is the main venture of trade. But where there is shipping there is smuggling and piracy, and sometimes the line between merchant and smuggler is blurry. They are used to being the underdogs but have a spirit no force in Thedas has been able to crush.
  +1 Communication & Pick One Focus: Communication (Seduction) OR Dexterity (Acrobatics)
• 𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 - The Tevinter Imperium is one of the few places in Thedas where mages are not under the thumb of the Chantry. Mages form the majority of the ruling class but are diffused everywhere within society. The Atlus are the ruling mage class. The Laetan are mages that do not belong to the ruling class but are still considered higher than the non-magical. The Soporati are the magicless commoners who still don't have it bad as the Orlesians as Tevinter still employs slaves.
  𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐔𝐒 - +1 Magic & Pick One Focus: Communication (Leadership) OR Cunning (Arcane Lore)
  𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐍 - +1 Cunning & Pick One Focus: Communication (Deception) OR Cunning (Arcane Lore)
  𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈 - +1 Strength & Pick One Focus: Constitution (Stamina) OR Strength (Brawling)

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Warriors, Rogues, and Mages}
The elves are a common race in Thedas, distinguished physically by their large eyes, willowy frames, and pointy ears. Their long history is colored by ages of human oppression, and so are a mere shadow of their ancestors. The proper name for elves is elvhen, meaning "the people." It is said that they were once immortal beings who lived by their own rules and beliefs. When the humans arrived, they lost their immortality and so they blamed humans for their "quickening." After the fall of their kingdom, and then their subsequent relocation and exile from the Dales, they have split apart. Some became wanderers known as the Dalish while other elves have bitterly resigned to their fate living among humankind in alienages.

Elf Origins

• 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 - The so-called "city elves" live as second-class citizens, mostly working as servants and laborers. They live in segregated sections of cities and towns known as alienages. Bitter and downtrodden, many city elves turn to crime. These rogues only reinforce the prejudice most humans have towards city elves.
  +1 Dexterity & Pick One Focus: Dexterity (Stealth) OR Perception (Seeing)
• 𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 - The remaining leadership of the Dales would not bend a knee to the humans. They chose a life of exile, becoming the Dalish elves. They are descended from some of the oldest elven families and have retained a strong sense of duty to their people. They have taken it upon themselves to preserve elven culture and lore. So when the day comes that the elves once again have a homeland, they can teach the ancient ways to their city elf brethren. Until that time the Dalish elves wander in ornately carved wagons called aravel. They also have tattoos on their face called vallaslin or "blood writing" to illustrate their commitment to the old ways in a permanent fashion.
  +1 Willpoiwer & Pick One Focus: Dexterity (Bows) OR Willpower (Courage)

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Warriors and Rogues}
The dwarves are a race of stocky, robust builders who live in underground communities called thaigs. Their once strong numbers have been diminished by ages of war with the darkspawn. Most thaigs are now empty, and the vast network of tunnels known as the Deep Roads that connected the thaigs are mostly sealed and overrun with the darkspawn, even in the absence of a Blight. The dwarves now primarily inhabit Orzammar while others live in exile on the surface. Living underground, the dwarves have superior vision in the dark. The caves they live in are laced with lyrium which has given them a natural immunity to magic. On the downside, they are also not able to wield it. Surface dwarves lose this immunity the longer they are away from the lyrium but are still unable to perform magic. Within Orzammar, they live in a rigid caste system where the casteless are marked with facial tattoos. Surface dwarves, fortunately, are able to live their life as they please.

Dwarf Origins

• 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 - The castless are known as dusters, after their neighborhood--Dust Town--in Orzammar. These dwarves lost their caste or are descended from those that did. They receive no protection under the law, and they are forbidden from doing any job controlled by a caste. Practically speaking, this means almost no legal work is open to them. So, many work for the Carta, a powerful organized crime syndicate that controls a virtual shadow economy. Dusters are the most likely to leave Orzammar. They have little to lose by going to the surface world since they are already casteless.
  +1 Dexterity & Pick One Focus: Communication (Deception) OR Dexterity (Legerdemain)
• 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇-𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 - The top of the dwarven society are the noble houses, whose feuds and fights go back many generations. The rest of the High-Borns belong to the Warrior Caste, Smith Caste, and the Artisan Caste. The Warrior Caste is the most prestigious caste as they fight the never-ending war against the darkspawn in the Deep Roads, as well as providing rank-and-file soldiers for the noble houses. The Smith Caste is the next most important - how would the warriors fight without arms and armor? Finally, there is the Artisan Caste. They, too, are highly esteemed in dwarf society, for they are the builders and makers that make Orzammar hum.
  +1 Strength & Pick One Focus: Dexterity (Crafting) OR Strength (Intimidation) OR Strength (Smithing)
• 𝐋𝐎𝐖-𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 - The dwarves of the Miner, Merchant, and Servant Castes do the hard work, day after day, that keeps Orzammar functioning. The Miner Caste is the most prestigious of these three, particularly those that deal with lyrium. The Merchant Caste is the next most important, as they bring money into the city and arrange trade deals. The Servant Caste is the lowest, though even they rank above surface dwarves and dusters. Out of these, the Merchant Caste is the only one allowed to head to the surface without having their caste status revoked as trade deals with humans and surface dwarves are well looked upon.
  +1 Communication & Pick One Focus: Communication (Persuasion) OR Constitution (Stamina)
• 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 - They are largely merchants and middlemen, trading goods and raw materials to humans elves. They play a vital role in dwarven society, but curiously other dwarves look down on them. Dwarf adventurers and wanderers also belong to this caste. It is ironic that the most famous dwarf adventurers in human lands have little standing and no prestige in their homelands.
  +1 Constitution & Pick One Focus: Communication (Bargaining) OR Constitution (Stamina)

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Warriors and Rogues}
A race relatively new to Thedas that most people call Qunari. This race is large and powerful, and they tower over humans by a foot or more on average. Most have horns growing from their heads. However, the label "Qunari" refers to a follower of the religious text known as the Qun, regardless of his or her race--hence the capitalization of the name in many writings. The horned race's ancient name is "kossith." This term is not widely used or even widely known outside scholarly circles.

Qunari Origin

• 𝐓𝐀𝐋-𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐇 - These are members that were once of the Qunari society and have rebelled against traditions of the Qun. They are known as vashoth, or "grey ones," and they must leave Qunari lands before they are detected or face reeducation or punishment. Such exiles are not considered part of the Qunari society anymore. In the spirit of defiance, they call themselves Tal-Vashoth, or "true grey ones." They live in the Anderfels and get by as they can. Many work as mercenaries, while others become raiders, pirates, smugglers, or even slavers.
  +1 Strength & Pick One Focus: Constitution (Stamina) OR Strength (Intimidation)

^{GM NOTE: I am aware that the Qunari were not around in the Glory Age and would only come into prominence during the Storm Age. That being said, this is a fun and fundamental race, and I don't want anyone barred from playing it. So, I will curb the lore in a serious way to say that there is a small Tal-Vashoth colony in Northern Anderfels having escaped from Qundalon. They don't know much or anything about the Qun and do not follow the religion. That way we can have our horned cake and eat it too.}

^{DISCLAIMER: Most of this text was taken from either the "Dragon Age: Roleplaying Game Core Rulebook" or "The World of Thedas: Volume I" in an attempt to paraphrase the variety of the peoples that live in Thedas. Everything is factual to the world and belongs to the creators.}

^{𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - Constitution, Dexterity, & Strength
𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - Communication, Cunning, Magic, Perception, & Willpower}
Warriors permeate the world, but they aren't all the same. They can be ex-soldiers, caravan guards, mercenaries, members of the militia, or former blacksmiths turned adventurers. They can fight for honor, revenge, justice, money, or a better tomorrow. Some have received formal training and others fight by instinct, but all can handle themselves in a fight. They're always in the thick of combat, and it is often up to them to engage the hardest-hitting enemies so the other members of their group can focus on their own abilities. They are nigh undefeatable by those without any combat training.

Specializations

• 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 - Warriors that first arose in the Warrior Caste of dwarves, but have since spread out. They tap into an inner bloodlust that can only be satiated by defeating their enemy, possibly their friends, or through their own death.
• 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍 - They do not just fight; they are a palpable presence on the battlefield. Comrades in arms look to them for strength and courage in the chaos of battle. They command with ease and have been known to become legendary through their bravery.
• 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑 - They are the elite knights of the Orlesian Empire. They are a powerful force, both militarily and socially. They are used to getting their way in Orlais, but can press their importance in other countries even if they're greeted frostily. Though none would deny that they are powerful warriors and unrivaled on horseback.
• 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 - These warriors are trained to consider not just their position on the battlefield but that of their allies. They can assess who needs protection and when, and their timely intervention often prevents situations from going out of control. They're the immovable force to the pressure of oncoming forces. They make excellent bodyguards and are often employed as such.
• 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑 (Qunari Only) - They have learned to channel blood magic internally, making them terrifying and deadly warriors. The dragon blood in the Qunari allows them to tap into this naturally. The nature of the Reavers means that no heroic individuals seek to join their ranks, but desperate times can push someone to take up the role.
• 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐑 - These warriors are the militant arm of the Chantry. Their primary function is to watch over the Circle of Magi and hunt down apostates and maleficarum. They are given small amounts of lyrium to awaken and maintain their special powers.

^{𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - Communication, Dexterity, & Perception
𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - Constitution, Cunning, Magic, Strength, & Willpower}
Rogues can be a thief, a scoundrel, a conman, a scout, an expert, or a spy. They have to get by on their quickness and cleverness. Whether engaging in witty repartee or slipping a dagger between an enemy's ribs, a rogue must be artful to win the day. They are the eyes and ears of the group. They are excellent at both and close and ranged combat, and can backstab friend or foe with ease. They're not as hardy as their warrior contemporaries, but they make up for it by being fast and deadly.

Specializations

• 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍 - Masters of the art of death, they train to kill using weapons, poisons, and their wits. The most famous of these are the Antivan Crows. There are always those willing to kill for money, so assassins can be found all over Thedas.
• 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐃 - They may seem like simple minstrels and troubadours, but they are so much more. They can act as spies, saboteurs, and sometimes killers. Worldly people of all nations look twice at the traveling minstrels.
• 𝐃𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - They rule the streets and alleys of cities like Denerim and Val Royeaux. In such conditions, the quick blades and wits of duelists count for more than raw strength. The classic duelist fights with rapier and either a main gauche or spiker buckler in their off-hand, though some pride themselves on more unusual combinations.
• 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐓 (Dwarves Only) - Members of the Legion of the Dead that is famed for their courage, and none more so than the Legionnaire Scout. They learn to suffer incredible hardship without the slightest complaint and hone their resolve into an armor that can protect them from pain, despair, and strife.
• 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐍 They are crack shots that can take down enemies at a distance. They can be a Dalish archer, a Fereldan scout, a Chasind raider, or an Antivan street tough. While marksmen can handle any ranged weapon, each has a favorite type and often a signature example that they have customized to their liking.
• 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 - They are skilled scouts who can use their knowledge of nature for their own benefit. They can lure animals, sometimes of frightening size, to fight for them. If the animals die in battle, that is not the rangers' concern as long as they fulfill their role in the fight. The Dalish call them cruel, but they call it practical.
• 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 - These are your typical rogues that are masters of stealth. They excel in the arts of concealment and deception like no others. They can hide nearly anywhere and almost seem to be able to bend the darkness around them. They can fool opponents into attacking empty air while they position themselves for a lethal attack.

^{𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - Cunning, Magic, & Willpower
𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - Communication, Constitution, Dexterity, Perception, & Strength}
Mages have been gifted (or cursed, depending on your point of view) with the ability to absorb mana, the life force of living beings, and use it to cast magical spells. This sets them apart from normal people. In some times and places, mages have been honored for their power and wisdom. In others they have been feared and hunted, especially once the dangers of demonic possession were understood. They commonly are from the Circle of Magi, sometimes are renegade apostates, or from a culture that reveres them. They are capable of amazing feats but must be wary of demonic attacks when using powerful magic. The very gift that allows mages to use magic at all makes them vulnerable to possession.

Specializations

• 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄 - These mages love magic's raw power. They prefer to pummel their foes with barely restrained magical energy. Their telekinetic spells are potent and can toss enemies around like ragdolls while they remain unmovable on the battlefield.
• 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 - A select few mages who can use melee attacks by summoning a sword from thin air, which is also capable of deflecting projectiles. Other powers that put these mages a cut above the rest are the abilities to debilitate opponents, strengthen and lengthen the duration of the party's barriers, and help warriors on the front line.
• 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 - These mages specialize in binding spirits drawn to the dead and dying and using them to increase their magic powers. They can cause crippling fear in opponents, summon spirits to fight for them, and can even control their enemies' spirits to fight for them.
• 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 - Only a few mages practice this art of magic. None are known to become massive creatures of legend. More typically they can transform themselves into creatures like wolves, bears, and even giant spiders.
• 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑 - these are rare mages who learn to communicate and summon benevolent spirits from the Fade. There is danger in this path, as there always is when the Fade is involved. However, when the summoning is successful, a spirit healer is capable of healing feats beyond the bounds of normal magic.
• 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄 (Blocked Unless Happens in IC) - Since the Grey Wardens are still a branch of the Chantry, this magic would not be allowed in their ranks.

Optional Mage Origin

If your character is a Mage, you can choose one of these two origins if you wish, but it isn't required:

𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 - During the Second Blight the mages proved their worth and help[ed save humanity. This allowed them to gain a measure of autonomy, and thus was born the first Circle of Magi. While there are still Chantry templars stationed in every Circle tower, it is the mages who police those with magical powers. Circle mages find humans and elves with magical talent and bring them to their towers for training and supervision, and to teach them to defend themselves against demonic possession.
+1 Magic & Pick One Focus: Cunning (Arcane Lore) OR Cunning (Historical Lore)
• 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 - While the law treats all apostates the same way, the category is a broad one. Some are self-taught mages who discovered how to use magic by trial and error. Some come from magical traditions that pre-date the formation of the Circle of Magie, like hedge mages and Avvar shamans. Others are rebels, opposed to the Circle of Magi, the Chantry, or both.
  +1 Magic & Keep the Forcus of your Race Origin

^{DISCLAIMER: Most of this text was taken from the "Dragon Age: Roleplaying Game Core Rulebook" book and not from the actual games. Sorry if you're missing a beloved Specialization, some of them didn't make sense for the timeframe or the style of RP.}

Focuses

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Animal Handling: Interacting with and caring for animals.
• Bargaining: Negotiating with others and making deals.
• Deception: Lying to and tricking those less mentally adept than you.
• Disguise: Making yourself look like someone else, or a different class of person.
• Etiquette: Knowing the social niceties of various cultures.
• Gambling: Playing games of chance and profiting from them.
• Investigation: Interviewing people for information and finding and deciphering clues.
• Leadership: Guiding, directing, and inspiring others.
• Performance: Entertaining an audience with an artistic talent.
• Persuasion: Convincing others to agree with you.
• Seduction: Making winning moves in the game of love.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Drinking: Consuming large quantities of alcohol and avoiding the aftereffects.
• Rowing: Propelling a vessel with oars.
• Running: Moving quickly in both short sprints and long-distance hauls.
• Stamina: Enduring fatigue, disease, and privation.
• Swimming: Moving through the water and staying afloat.

𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Arcane Lore: Knowing about magic, its traditions, and the Fade.
• Brewing: Making ales, wines, and other concoctions.
• Cartography: Making and reading maps.
• Cryptography: Creating and deciphering codes and ciphers.
• Cultural Lore: Knowing the traditions and beliefs of various cultures.
• Enchantment: Understanding the art and craft of enchanting magic items. Note to actually Enchant items one must be either a dwarf or one of the Tranquil.
• Engineering: Knowing the practicalities of construction, building, and invention.
• Evaluation: Determining the value of goods and objets d’art.
• Healing: Aiding the wounded and sick.
• Heraldry: Knowing coats of arms and royal families.
• Historical Lore: Knowing important events and personalities from the past.
• Military Lore: Knowing strategy, tactics, and famous applications thereof.
• Musical Lore: Knowing musical traditions and songs.
• Natural Lore: Knowing the flora and fauna of Thedas.
• Navigation: Planning and following a route from one place to another.
• Poison Lore: Knowing about poisons, their uses, and their preparation.
• Research: Making a systematic investigation, usually using records, archives, and books.
• Religious Lore: Knowing religious traditions and practices, particularly those of the Chantry.
• Writing: Expressing yourself with the written word.

𝐃𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Acrobatics: Executing gymnastic, balancing, and tumbling maneuvers.
• Bows: Fighting with weapons from the Bows Group.
  - Crossbow, Long Bow, and Short Bow
• Brawling: Fighting with weapons from the Brawling Group.
  - First, Gauntlet, and Improvised Weapon
• Calligraphy: Writing with artful penmanship.
• Crafting: Making items with manual skills like woodworking, sculpting, glassblowing, etc.
• Dueling: Fighting with weapons from the Dueling Group.
  - Main Gauche, Rapier, and Spiked Buckler
• Grenades: Making ranged attacks with grenades.
• Initiative: Acting quickly in tense situations.
• Legerdemain: Using sleight of hand to trick others, hide things, and pickpockets.
• Light Blades: Fighting with weapons from the Light Blades.
  - Dagger, Shortsword, and Throwing Knife
• Lock Picking: Opening locks without using keys.
• Riding: Directing a mount such as a horse or pony.
• Staves: Fighting with weapons from the Staves Group.
  - Club, Morningstar, and Quarterstaff
• Stealth: Sneaking about quietly and out of sight.
• Traps: Detecting and disarming traps and other mechanical devices.

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Arcane: Understanding the secrets of the Arcane school of magic.
• Arcane Lance: Using the mage’s class power of the same name.
• Creation: Understanding the secrets of the Creation school of magic.
• Elemental: Understanding the secrets of the Elemental school of magic.
• Entropy: Understanding the secrets of the Entropy school of magic.
• Primal: Understanding the secrets of the Primal school of magic.
• Spirit: Understanding the secrets of the Spirit school of magic.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Empathy: Discerning the feelings and emotions of others.
• Detect Darkspawn: A Grey Warden’s ability to sense nearby darkspawn. Only Grey Wardens can take this focus.
• Hearing: Using your auditory sense.
• Searching: Finding things that are hidden or obscured.
• Seeing: Using your visual sense.
• Smelling: Using your olfactory sense.
• Tracking: Following tracks and other signs of passage.

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Axes: Fighting with weapons from the Axes Group.
  - Battle Axe, Throwing Axe, and Two-Handed Axe
• Bludgeons: Fighting with weapons from the Bludgeons Group.
  - Mace, Maul and Two-Handed Maul
• Climbing: Scaling walls and other vertical obstacles.
• Driving: Directing and guiding carts, carriages, and other wheeled vehicles.
• Heavy Blades: Fighting with weapons from the Heavy Blades Group.
  - Bastard Sword, Longsword, and Two-Handed Sword
• Intimidation: Overawing with physical presence and threats.
• Jumping: Springing and leaping.
• Lances: Fighting with weapons of the Lances Group.
  - Heavy Lance, Jousting Lance, and Light Lance
• Might: Performing feats of raw power, such as lifting or holding up heavy objects.
• Polearms: Fighting with weapons of the Polearms Group.
  - Glaive, Halberd, and Military Fork
• Smithing: Forging metal items, from weapons to jewelry.
• Spears: Fighting with weapons from the Spear Group.
  - Short Spear, Throwing Spear, and Two-Handed Spear

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

List

• Courage: Overcoming fear in the face of adversity.
• Faith: Deriving inner strength through spiritual or moral\belief.
• Morale: Maintaining good spirits and confidence in yourself or your group.
• Self-Discipline: Focusing your mental energy or controlling your impulses and emotions.

Talents

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Warriors, Rogues, & Mages}
You know how to train animals. Fereldans commonly train dogs, while Avvar prefer falcons and other birds of prey.
Novice: You know the basics of dealing with animals. With a week of training, you can teach an animal to follow a simple one-word command like “heel,” “follow,” or “attack.” You can teach a single animal a number of commands equal to your Communication.
Journeyman: You can train animals to follow more complex commands, like “guard this place” or “return to me when strangers approach.” Teaching a complex command takes two weeks of training and the total number of commands a single animal can learn is equal to your Communication +2.
Master: Your training can turn animals into prime examples of their kind. With a month of training, you can communicate almost seemingly with your companion.

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Warriors}
You have learned to fight while wearing armor.
Novice: You can wear leather and mail armor without suffering a penalty.
Journeyman: You can wear plate armor without suffering a penalty.
Master: You can get the most out of your armor. You can use it to protect yourself from penetrating magical damage.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Warrior, and Rogue
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - Communication and Constitution 1 or higher}
You take your fun seriously.
Novice: You can drink other people under the table.
Journeyman: The tavern is your second home. Choose one of the following Communication focuses: Gambling or Seduction. If you fail using either of these methods, people find you interesting enough to give you another chance.
Master: When you’re having a good time, (you think) you’re invincible! You can fight without fatigue or feeling pain. It'll hurt later.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐘

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Warrior, and Rogue
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You need the Cunning (Healing) focus}
You can treat wounds and illnesses.
Novice: You have trained in the art of chirurgy and your aid is swift and sure.
Journeyman: You have the hands of a healer. You can provide life-saving healing at the moment.
Master: Your healing ability is legendary. Most ailments and diseases are within your scope of handling as long as you have the correct materials.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You need Communication 2 or higher}
You are a natural leader.
Novice: Your presence inspires your allies through battle cry, flag raising, or declaring a charge.
Journeyman: Your allies follow your lead. Not only are your allies are inspired, but those around you are also as well.
Master: When you stand firm, your allies stand with you. Your enemies begin to lose their morale and start to flee the battlefield.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have Communication 1 or higher}
You know people, sometimes in the unlikeliest places.
Novice: You can attempt to make a contact out of a NPC. The more distant the NPC’s homeland or social class from yours, the harder it is. A contact will be friendly to you, but won’t go out of the way to help you without additional motivation. You can’t make a contact out of a NPC who already dislikes you or is an enemy.
Journeyman: Once you’ve established a contact, you can try to get a favor with them. How hard it is based on the nature of the favor and whether it puts the contact in any danger.
Master: You can turn an acquaintance into an ally with a show of loyalty. If you do a significant favor for a contact, they will treat you as a friend when you ask them for favors. They will go out of their way to help you and will be willing to put themselves in danger for you.

𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have the Dexterity (Riding) focus}
You are a skilled rider and can handle horses and other beasts of burden with ease.
Novice: You can jump into the saddle quickly. Mounting a steed requires no effort.
Journeyman: You can ride like the wind. You’re faster than everyone else on horseback.
Master: You were born in the saddle. While riding, you practically have a second set of armor on and are more dextrous than you would be on foot.

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - Communication 2 or higher}
You are a master of secrets.
Novice: You know how to play the Game. Choose one of the following Communication focuses: Etiquette, Deception, or Seduction.
Journeyman: You always gain more information than you give out. You’re talented at performative espionage and gossip.
Master: You know how to end a conversation. In addition, you have the opportunity to change this immediately into a surprise attack that bolsters your allies.

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have Cunning 1 or better}
You can learn new languages easily. Some of the listed languages are spoken in lands far from Ferelden and are not commonly heard there. When you learn a new language, you
learn to both speak and read it, with two exceptions. Ancient Tevene is rarely, if ever, spoken outside Tevinter. Elven is only spoken because the Keepers keep it alive.
Novice: You learn an additional language from the following list: Ancient Tevene, Ander, Antivan, Arcanum, Dwarven, Elven, Orlesian, Qunlat, Rivaini, Trade Tongue.
Journeyman: You learn an additional language from the previous list. You can also imitate a specific dialect.
Master: You learn two more languages from the previous list. You can also pick any one language you know and speak it like a native—that is, without an accent.

𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have Cunning 2 or better}
You have an inquisitive mind and absorb facts easily.
Novice: You have studied hard. Pick a Cunning focus with Lore in the name.
Journeyman: You are an accomplished researcher. Take the focus Cunning (Research) if you don’t have it or another focus with Lore in the name.
Master: While your knowledge is vast, you have two areas of particular specialization. Pick any two of your lore focuses. These you are an unequivocal scholar on. Put a (*) next to them.

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have the Communication (Performance) focus or the Cunning (Musical Lore) focus}
You have a natural talent for music.
Novice: You know how to play an instrument, sing, and write and read music.
Journeyman: Your musical journey continues as you learn to play more instruments. You know how to play a total number of instruments equal to your Communication.
Master: You are a true virtuoso. You can play all the instruments common to Thedas. If you come across a more exotic instrument, you can learn to play it with a few weeks of practice.

𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - Perception 3 or higher}
You have an eye for detail.
Novice: You notice things others do not. Choose one of the following Perception focuses: Empathy or Seeing.
Journeyman: Analysis of your observation often leads to insight. You can read people.
Master: Nothing escapes your scrutiny. You can not only read people, but also the surroundings. You can’t be surprised.

𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - Communication (Persuasion) focus}
You are a skilled public speaker who can sway others with your words.
Novice: You know how to work a crowd. In a public setting, you can find your voice amongst the people. They won’t fall in line with you, but they’ll listen.
Journeyman: Your words are like magic. You can successfully rope in a few followers to whatever cause you wish.
Master: You can agitate a crowd. If you are successful, you rouse them to immediate action. You can’t necessarily control what they do, though you can try with Communication (Leadership,) but they take your words to heart and act on them.

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍-𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - The Cunning (Poison Lore) focus}
You’ve managed to survive the dangerous training required to make and use poisons and other useful but dangerous compounds.
Novice: You know how to prepare poisons, and how to use them without danger to yourself. Choose two Novice poisons (Crow Poison, Deathroot Extract, Hale's Dust, and Spider Venom) you know how to make from memory. You can brew other Novice poisons as you find and learn their recipes.
Journeyman: You have learned how to prepare more effective—and more dangerous—poisons. You have also learned how to make grenades. Choose one Journeyman poison (Adder's Kiss, Concentrated Crow's Poison, Concentrated Spider Venom, Fleshrot, and Magebane) or one grenade you know how to make from memory. You can brew other Journeyman poisons, and make other grenades, as you find and learn their recipes.
Master: You have learned how to prepare the deadliest poisons known in Thedas. Choose one Master poison (Concentrated Magebane, Marrow Lock, Quiet Death, and Wyvern Venom) you know how to make from memory. You can brew other Master poisons as you find and learn their recipes.

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐒

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have Dexterity 2 or higher}
You react to threats speedily and instinctually.
Novice: You can prepare yourself for action in an instant. You can ready your weapon/magic without anyone noticing.
Journeyman: You can flip yourself up or drop down with lightning speed. If you’re knocked down, you can get up quickly.
Master: It is hard to get the drop on you. If someone tries to surprise you, you can act first.

𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage (Tranquil only), Rogue and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - Dwarf or Tranquil, Cunning 3 or higher and the Cunning (Enchantment) focus}
You are a trained enchanter, able to inscribe runes onto armor and weapons.

Rune List

ARMOR:
- Rune of Defense
- Rune of Fortune
- Rune of Protection
- Rune of Valiance
- Rune of Warding
WEAPON:
- Rune of Cold Iron
- Rune of Devastation
- Rune of Elements
- Rune of Paralyzation
- Rune of Silverite
- Rune of Slowness
- Rune of Striking

Novice: You can inscribe a Novice rune onto a suit of armor or a weapon. A Novice rune takes 2 hours to inscribe.
Journeyman: You can inscribe a Journeyman rune onto a suit of armor or a weapon. A Journeyman rune takes 3 hours to inscribe.
Master: You can inscribe a Master rune onto a suit of armor or a weapon. A Master rune takes 4 hours to inscribe.

𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Rogue
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have Dexterity 2 or higher}
You are skilled at the art of reconnaissance.
Novice: You can use the lay of the land to your advantage. Take Dexterity (Stealth) as a focus.
Journeyman: You know how to get the drop on your enemies. Take Perception (Tracking) as a focus.
Master: You are a skilled observer.Take Perception (Seeing) as a focus.

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Warriors}
You;ve been trained to fight with a single-handed melee weapon and shield
Novice: You can wield shields of Small and Medium Size.
Journeyman: You can wield shields of the Large Size
Master: If you so wish, you can wield a two-handed large weapon in one and a shield in the other.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Rogue
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have Dexterity 3 or higher}
What’s yours is yours and what’s theirs is yours too.
Novice: You don’t let locks stand in your way. Take the Dexterity (Lockpicking) focus.
Journeyman: You are familiar with many types of traps. If you miss detecting them, you have a split second to react to fallout before you’re hit with it.
Master: You know how to find what’s hidden. Take the Perception (Searching) test if you don’t have it, and if you miss what you were looking for--you can search again without penalty.

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏-𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

Information

^{𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 - Mage, Rogue, and Warrior
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - You must have the Dexterity (Crafting) focus}
You’ve learned how to design and build devices to harm and ensnare your enemies.
Novice: You know how to set and disarm simple traps. Take the Dexterity (Traps) focus.
Journeyman: You know how to set and disarm more dangerous traps.
Master: You know how to set and disarm fiendish and lethal traps.

During the Glory Age, the Grey Wardens were not much diminished. Their fall would happen during the Fourth Blight. While the Grey Wardens were still an arm of the Chantry, they refused to participate in the Exalted March against the Dales. Instead, they tended to the Blighted Lands of Anderfels, and the errant darkspawn and other abominations across Thedas.

The fortress of Weisshaupt that was built onto the edge of the jagged butte called Broken Tooth still stands strong and houses a couple of hundred Grey Wardens. The First Warden was the brother-in-arms to Corin of Tevinter, the Grey Warden that slew the Archdemon. A Tevinter Soporati himself, Anodatus Kriehl, is quite skilled at handling the political machinations that require the Wardens to stay current and funded. Under him is the High Constable, Iriah Whyhollow, a Dalish Ranger and friend of the griffons. There's also the Chamberlain of the Grey, an ex-Shaper of Orzammar Higgha Helsheld. And while there are a handful of Warden Commanders, the one overseeing our Wardens is a Free Marcher and Tourney winner, Soren Granheimen.

You're either a Warden yourself, this having been between your first to third mission. Or you're a Warden Recruit, not having taken part in the Joining as of yet, but still either a volunteer or conscripted. One amongst you is a Senior Warden, that has been tasked to lead without much knowledge about it. The odd thing about these orders you have received is that you've been pulled apart from your usual traveling companions. Recruits are no longer with their Senior Wardens, and Acolytes are no longer being watched over by the templar volunteers. Instead, you've been thrown in with a hodgepodge of other Wardens on this journey, and a templar from the Starkhaven Chantry you've never met.

You've been traveling together for a week or so now when you come across the Free Marches town of Saltgraves. A small farming town in the Northern Reaches close to the Tevinter border. There are a few smoldering campfires outside the parameter of the town, but the gray overhang of trees and the dismal weather hide any living presence. You swear, the true Wardens among you, you sense the presence of darkspawn. But you feel as if something else dwells here as well.

The Character Sheet listed below is fairly self-explanatory minus the section about your character's class and abilities. Here I'll write out what to do in the sections, but feel free to ask me any questions you have.

Instructions

• Replace any "color=white" with the color that applies to your character.
• Also fix the ["hr"] codes.
• Upon choosing your class. Keep the box that applies and delete the other one. This is for your ease, and to be able to quickly glance at them.
  PRIMARY ABILITY:☒
  SECONDARY ABILITY: ☐
• STAT ABILITIES: Assign one of these numbers to each of your ability scores: -2 ,-1, 0, +1, +2, +3
  - Communication: covers your character's social skills, personal interactions, and ability to deal with others.
  - Constitution: is your character's fortitude and resistance to harm.
  - Cunning: is a measure of your character's intelligence, knowledge, and education.
  - Dexterity: encompasses agility, hand-eye coordination, and quickness.
  - Magic: determines your character's innate arcane power.
  - Perception: covers all the senses and the ability to interpret sensory data.
  - Strength: is your character's physical prowess.
  - Willpower: encompasses mental toughness.
• Choose your Origin and add the ability score of +1 to what you've already assigned. And then give yourself one of the focuses.
• Choose three focuses from your Primary Abilities.
• Choose three focuses from your Secondary Abilities.
• You have three talent points to use. You can use them to purchase a talent at Novice Level or to bump a talent up a level. You also get to choose one talent based on your class for free:
  - Warrior: Armor Training, Shield Training, or Command.
  - Rogue: Contacts, Scouting, or Thievery.
  - Mage: Chirurgy, Linguistics, or Lore.
• If you're a mage choose two schools to have studied in, and then choose six spells between the two to have. (Arcane Lance is a freebie.)
  - Arcane, Creation, Elemental, Entropy, Primal, and Spirit.
• For your specialization spell, choose one that makes sense for your specialization. Like Spirit Blade for Knight Enchanter, or Spider Form for Shapeshifter. I'm giving you a bit of leeway here since warriors and rogues have full reign of their abilities.
• If you're not a mage, just delete the spell area.
• Your starting equipment is as follows:
  - Everyone: Backpack, Traveling Clothes, and a Waterskin. This also includes story items, clothes, etc. If you have the Horsemanship Talent, give yourself a simple riding horse.
  - Warrior: Hard Leather Armor (or if you took the Armor Training Talent, what armor the talent level says you have proficiency in) & Three Weapons of your Choosing & a Shield if you have the Shield Training
  - Rogue: Leather Armor & Two Weapons of your Choosing & One Bow or Crossbow
  - Mage: One Weapon & a Staff
• Leave the relationships empty for now. You'll fill them in after being accepted.
• You may notice a lack of backstory on the character sheet. Well, after you finish the CS and post it in the OOC for review, send me your character's backstory and goal in a PM listed with your character's name.

Character Sheet

| 𝐆 𝐑 𝐄 𝐘 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐍 𝐀 𝐑 𝐂 𝐇 𝐈 𝐕 𝐄 |

---

"Insert Character Quote Here."

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐌 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 |

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 |
Make sure it matches your race/origin.
𝐀𝐆𝐄 |
18+
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 |
As it says, and include pronouns.
𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 |
Easy enough.
𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍 |
Choose one from the list, but feel free to get more detailed if you wish.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 |
Grey Warden (Acolyte for Mages) or Warden Recruit. I'll accept one Senior Warden as the group's leader.
𝐇𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄 |
The color code you're using in this sheet.

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐀 𝐏 𝐏 𝐄 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐍 𝐂 𝐄 |

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 & 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 |
As it says. Because asking for someone's weight is rude.
𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐄𝐘𝐄 & 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 |
Just a brief run down.
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 |
A place to put down scars, tattoos, and the lot. You can also include horn shape and ornaments if you're a Qunari. Vallaslin if you're Dalish. Casteless markings if you're dwarven. Etc.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐓 |
What do your character's clothes look like? I'm not mandating that they all be in matching Warden uniforms, but your character can wear one. As long as they have the symbol on them, somewhere. Incorporate your armor and weapons into this. You can use pictures but mostly use your words.
𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐒 |
If someone approached your character, what would they notice about their stance? Attitude? And the like? You can tell a lot about a character just by the way they hold themselves.

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 𝐖 𝐎 𝐑 𝐊 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 |

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 |
What drives your character? What leads them to fulfill their duties as a Grey Warden? Altruistic? Self-serving? Self-Sacrificing? Suicidal? Atonement? Etc. Why is your character here, and why will they continue to be here?
𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 |

• Consider these your positive traits.

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 |

• Consider these your negative traits.

𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 |

• At least one. Everyone has a "sweet tooth" so to say.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 |
I'm not going to tell you what this means. Everyone's answer will be different. What is your character's lasting and final thing that is true to themselves? This is their line.

---

| 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐑 𝐈 𝐎 𝐑 - 𝐑 𝐎 𝐆 𝐔 𝐄 - 𝐌 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 |

☐☒ 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕮𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕯𝖊𝖝𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖞 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 | #
List Focuses Here

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 |
Name it Here

Here tell me how your character has earned this specialization and use it in and out of battle.

𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 |
Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 |

• Arcane Lance: A bolt of arcane energy flung from your hands or staff. All mages have this ability.

Name of School

• Spell Name
• Spell Name
• Spell Name

Name of School

• Spell Name
• Spell Name
• Spell Name

Name of Specialization

• Spell Name

---

| 𝐄 𝐐 𝐔 𝐈 𝐏 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓 & 𝐁 𝐄 𝐋 𝐎 𝐍 𝐆 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 |

𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 |

• List Weapons, Armor, and Other that your character has at the ready.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 |

• List Weapons, Armor, and Other that your character can use, but isn't at the ready.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊 |

• Just a list of items your character would carry, these don't count against what you would have to think about hoisting around. They just tell us more about your character.

---

| 𝐑 𝐄 𝐋 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 𝐒 𝐇 𝐈 𝐏 𝐒 |

CHARACTER NAME[color=their color]| [/color]
Your character's opinion. Copy & Paste as many times as needed.

---

CS Code

[center][h1][color=white] | [/color][color=gray]𝐆 𝐑 𝐄 𝐘 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐍 𝐀 𝐑 𝐂 𝐇 𝐈 𝐕 𝐄[/color][color=white] | [/color][/h1][hr ][sup][sub][h3][i]"Insert Character Quote Here."[/i][/h3][/sub][/sup][/center]
[center][img]Character Image[/img][/center]
[hr ][sup][sub][h2]| [color=white]𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐌 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍[/color] |[/h2][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent]𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]Make sure it matches your race/origin.[/color]
𝐀𝐆𝐄 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]18+[/color]
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]As it says, and include pronouns.[/color]
𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]Easy enough.[/color]
𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]Choose one from the list, but feel free to get more detailed if you wish.[/color]
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]Grey Warden (Acolyte for Mages) or Warden Recruit. I'll accept one Senior Warden as the group's leader.[/color]
𝐇𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]The color code you're using in this sheet.[/color][/indent][/indent][hr ][sup][sub][h2]| [color=white]𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐀 𝐏 𝐏 𝐄 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐍 𝐂 𝐄[/color] |[/h2][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent]𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 & 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]As it says. Because asking for someone's weight is rude.[/color]
𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐄𝐘𝐄 & 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]Just a brief run down.[/color]
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]A place to put down scars, tattoos, and the lot. You can also include horn shape and ornaments if you're a Qunari. Vallaslin if you're Dalish. Casteless markings if you're dwarven. Etc.[/color]
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐓 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]What do your character's clothes look like? I'm not mandating that they all be in matching Warden uniforms, but your character can wear one. As long as they have the symbol on them, somewhere. Incorporate your armor and weapons into this. You can use pictures but mostly use your words.[/color]
𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]If someone approached your character, what would they notice about their stance? Attitude? And the like? You can tell a lot about a character just by the way they hold themselves.[/color][/indent][/indent][hr ][sup][sub][h2]| [color=white]𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 𝐖 𝐎 𝐑 𝐊 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒[/color] |[/h2][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent]𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]What drives your character? What leads them to fulfill their duties as a Grey Warden? Altruistic? Self-serving? Self-Sacrificing? Suicidal? Atonement? Etc. Why is your character here, and why will they continue to be here?[/color]
𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray][list][*]Consider these your positive traits. [*] [*] [/list][/color]𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray][list][*]Consider these your negative traits. [*] [*] [/list][/color]𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray][list][*]At least one. Everyone has a "sweet tooth" so to say.[/list][/color]𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray]I'm not going to tell you what this means. Everyone's answer will be different. What is your character's lasting and final thing that is true to themselves? This is their line.[/color][/indent][/indent][hr ][sup][sub][h2]| [color=white]𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐑 𝐈 𝐎 𝐑 - 𝐑 𝐎 𝐆 𝐔 𝐄 - 𝐌 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 (Just Leave your Character Class)[/color] |[/h2][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent]☐☒ 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]
☐☒ 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]
☐☒ 𝕮𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]
☐☒ 𝕯𝖊𝖝𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖞 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]
☐☒ 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]
☐☒ 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]
☐☒ 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]
☐☒ 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 [color=white]| [/color][color=gray][b]#[/b]
[i]List Focuses Here[/i][/color]

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=white][b]Name it Here[/b][/color]
[color=gray][indent]Here tell me how your character has earned this specialization and use it in and out of battle.[/indent][/color]
𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=white][b]Name of Talent[/b][/color]
[color=gray][indent]Novice [color=white]►[/color] Journeyman [color=white]►[/color] Master
[hider=Description]Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."[/hider][/indent][/color][color=white][b]Name of Talent[/b][/color]
[color=gray][indent]Novice [color=white]►[/color] Journeyman [color=white]►[/color] Master
[hider=Description]Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."[/hider][/indent][/color][color=white][b]Name of Talent[/b][/color]
[color=gray][indent]Novice [color=white]►[/color] Journeyman [color=white]►[/color] Master
[hider=Description]Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."[/hider][/indent][/color][color=white][b]Name of Talent[/b][/color]
[color=gray][indent]Novice [color=white]►[/color] Journeyman [color=white]►[/color] Master
[hider=Description]Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."[/hider][/indent][/color]
𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray][list][*][u][b]Arcane Lance[/b][/u]: A bolt of arcane energy flung from your hands or staff. All mages have this ability.[/list][/color][color=white][b]Name of School[/b][/color]
[color=gray][list][*]Spell Name[*]Spell Name[*]Spell Name[/list][/color][color=white][b]Name of School[/b][/color]
[color=gray][list][*]Spell Name[*]Spell Name[*]Spell Name[/list][/color][color=white][b]Name of Specialization[/b][/color]
[color=gray][list][*]Spell Name[/list][/color]
[/indent][/indent][hr ][sup][sub][h2]| [color=white]𝐄 𝐐 𝐔 𝐈 𝐏 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓 & 𝐁 𝐄 𝐋 𝐎 𝐍 𝐆 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒[/color] |[/h2][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent]𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray][list][*]List Weapons, Armor, and Other that your character has at the ready.[/list][/color]𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray][list][*]List Weapons, Armor, and Other that your character can use, but isn't at the ready.[/list][/color]𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊 [color=white]| [/color]
[color=gray][list][*]Just a list of items your character would carry, these don't count against what you would have to think about hoisting around. They just tell us more about your character.[/list][/color][/indent][/indent][hr ][sup][sub][h2]| [color=white]𝐑 𝐄 𝐋 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 𝐒 𝐇 𝐈 𝐏 𝐒[/color] |[/h2][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent][b]CHARACTER NAME[/b][color=their color]| [/color]
[color=gray]Your character's opinion. Copy & Paste as many times as needed.[/color]
[/indent][/indent][hr ]

[psych0pomp]

CS Sheet

| 𝐆 𝐑 𝐄 𝐘 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐍 𝐀 𝐑 𝐂 𝐇 𝐈 𝐕 𝐄 |

---

"Insert Character Quote Here."

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐌 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 |

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 |
Make sure it matches your race/origin.
𝐀𝐆𝐄 |
18+
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 |
As it says, and include pronouns.
𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 |
Easy enough.
𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍 |
Choose one from the list, but feel free to get more detailed if you wish.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 |
Grey Warden (Acolyte for Mages) or Warden Recruit. I'll accept one Senior Warden as the group's leader.
𝐇𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄 |
The color code you're using in this sheet.

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐀 𝐏 𝐏 𝐄 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐍 𝐂 𝐄 |

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 & 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 |
As it says. Because asking for someone's weight is rude.
𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐄𝐘𝐄 & 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 |
Just a brief run down.
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 |
A place to put down scars, tattoos, and the lot. You can also include horn shape and ornaments if you're a Qunari. Vallaslin if you're Dalish. Casteless markings if you're dwarven. Etc.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐓 |
What do your character's clothes look like? I'm not mandating that they all be in matching Warden uniforms, but your character can wear one. As long as they have the symbol on them, somewhere. Incorporate your armor and weapons into this. You can use pictures but mostly use your words.
𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐒 |
If someone approached your character, what would they notice about their stance? Attitude? And the like? You can tell a lot about a character just by the way they hold themselves.

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 𝐖 𝐎 𝐑 𝐊 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 |

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 |
What drives your character? What leads them to fulfill their duties as a Grey Warden? Altruistic? Self-serving? Self-Sacrificing? Suicidal? Atonement? Etc. Why is your character here, and why will they continue to be here?
𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 |

• Consider these your positive traits.

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 |

• Consider these your negative traits.

𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 |

• At least one. Everyone has a "sweet tooth" so to say.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 |
I'm not going to tell you what this means. Everyone's answer will be different. What is your character's lasting and final thing that is true to themselves? This is their line.

---

| 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐑 𝐈 𝐎 𝐑 - 𝐑 𝐎 𝐆 𝐔 𝐄 - 𝐌 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 (Just Leave your Character Class) |

☐☒ 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕮𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕯𝖊𝖝𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖞 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍 | #
List Focuses Here
☐☒ 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 | #
List Focuses Here

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 |
Name it Here

Here tell me how your character has earned this specialization and use it in and out of battle.

𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 |
Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

Name of Talent

Novice ► Journeyman ► Master

Description

Copy and Paste from the subtopic "Talents."

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 |

• Arcane Lance: A bolt of arcane energy flung from your hands or staff. All mages have this ability.

Name of School

• Spell Name
• Spell Name
• Spell Name

Name of School

• Spell Name
• Spell Name
• Spell Name

Name of Specialization

• Spell Name

---

| 𝐄 𝐐 𝐔 𝐈 𝐏 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓 & 𝐁 𝐄 𝐋 𝐎 𝐍 𝐆 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 |

𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 |

• List Weapons, Armor, and Other that your character has at the ready.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 |

• List Weapons, Armor, and Other that your character can use, but isn't at the ready.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊 |

• Just a list of items your character would carry, these don't count against what you would have to think about hoisting around. They just tell us more about your character.

---

| 𝐑 𝐄 𝐋 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 𝐒 𝐇 𝐈 𝐏 𝐒 |

CHARACTER NAME[color=their color]| [/color]
Your character's opinion. Copy & Paste as many times as needed.

---

Mal CS

| 𝐆 𝐑 𝐄 𝐘 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐍 𝐀 𝐑 𝐂 𝐇 𝐈 𝐕 𝐄 |

---

"If maleficarums warrant hunting down, then the players of The Game warrant burning at stakes."

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐌 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 |

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 |
Maliphant "Mal" DeGardet
𝐀𝐆𝐄 |
28
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 |
Male (he/him)
𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 |
Human
𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍 |
Orlesian Exile
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 |
- -
𝐇𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄 |
#caaf82

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐀 𝐏 𝐏 𝐄 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐍 𝐂 𝐄 |

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 & 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 |
6'0" with Bulky Musculature
𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐄𝐘𝐄 & 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 |
A Fair Skintone with Natural Blond Hair that's Somewhat Coifed and Gray Eyes
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 |
He has a mutilating burn scar over his left cheekbone that has seared off half his ear. There are also thin scars over his right eyebrow and the bridge of his nose.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐓 |
Mal is adorned in heavy mail with the bright red scapular of the Templars that drapes to his knees. On his shoulders are bulky pauldrons that lead to thick "sleeves" of armored plates. It ends at his bare fingers, nails well taken care of but blood underneath the edges. Around his waist is a thick belt that has a few, empty stretched-out loops that lead to ones that are filled with bright blue lyrium potions. Also on his hip is a large, rain-proof satchel that seems to be stuffed to the brim with vellums, scrolls, and a tome. Around his legs are thick, laced leather pants that trail into calf-high boots with metal toes that have seen better days. On his back is a shortsword, and on his hip across from the satchel containing his paperwork, is a hefty mace. He also a quiver stuffed with red-feathered arrows and a bow strung over his shoulder. Despite the high collar of his undershirt, one can still make out the curvature of a necklace that he wears underneath his armor. On top of his head is an Orlesian hat made from thick leather with a wide brim and an old red feather pinned to it.
𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐒 |
Mal isn't the sort to be guarded, his armor does that well enough. He usually has his hands on his hips or is thumbing through his notes--possibly penning more. If someone wishes to engage him in conversation, he'd be more than glad to. His smile is welcoming, but it's also very Orlesian. There's a way he tilts his chin up to look down at you that tells you the conversation is for his importance and not your own. Beyond that, he's quick to place a hand on his mace and pick at the leather straps in anticipation.

---

| 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 𝐖 𝐎 𝐑 𝐊 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 |

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 |
To talk to Mal, one would assume that his reasoning for being here would solely be duty. Yet, an Orlesian templar from a Free Marches Chantry might raise a few brows. Unlike the rest of his Circle-
Bound brethren, there's something a bit different about the way that Mal takes to his templar nature.
𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 |

• Personable- No one will accuse the templar of being off-putting at first glance.
• Goal-Oriented- Good luck getting Mal away from tending to his duties and assignment.
• Faithful- Nothing will sway him from the Chantry or his commitment to the Templars.

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 |

• Haughty- Years in the Orlesian Court will do that to someone.
• Self-Aggrandizing- If you want someone that will tell their story with bravado and poignancy, it's him. He'll even do an amazing job of downplaying anyone else's accomplishments.
• Without Remorse- Maleficarum, or not, if someone is practicing magic outside the reach of the Chantry, it's Mal's duty to bring them in. No sob story will deter him. More determinantal being that he's fine doing this to allies as well.

𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 |

• Gossip
• Cigars
• Ego

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 |
Mal would never fail at his duties and lead others into unnecessary harm. It wouldn't look good for his reputation. It's hard to say if what he does is altruistic or ignoble of others' struggles, but he will never stand by and let blood magic wreak havoc.

---

| 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐑 𝐈 𝐎 𝐑 |

☐ 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | +4
Persuasion & Etiquette & Deception
☒ 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 0
-
☐ 𝕮𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 | -1
-
☒ 𝕯𝖊𝖝𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖞 | +2
Dueling & Short Blades
☐ 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 | 0
Blood Magic
☐ 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 0
Tracking
☒ 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍 | +1
Intimidation
☐ 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 | -2
-

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 |
Templar

Mal does not use his abilities to tend to demons, but instead to hunt down those that use the art of blood magic to commit heinous rituals. He's spent some time learning of them, reading about apostates and hedge mages that have used this dark art in the past. His lyrium-fueled abilities are about nullifying magic and not letting magic affect him. This doesn't mean he's an impenetrable shield because his powers only extend as long as the lyrium dosage. But in that short time, one has to face him on the physical battlefield.

𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 |
Armor Training

Novice

Description

Novice: You can wear heavy leather and mail armor without suffering a penalty.

Intrigue

Novice ► Journeyman

Description

Novice: You know how to play the Game. Chose the following Communication focus: Deception.
Journeyman: You always gain more information than you give out. You’re talented at performative espionage and gossip.

Oratory

Novice

Description

Novice: You know how to work a crowd. In a public setting, you can find your voice amongst the people. They won’t fall in line with you, but they’ll listen.

---

| 𝐄 𝐐 𝐔 𝐈 𝐏 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓 & 𝐁 𝐄 𝐋 𝐎 𝐍 𝐆 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 |

𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 |

• Heavy Mail
• Mace
• Shortsword
• Lyrium Potions

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 |

• Bow & Arrows

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊 |

• Backpack, Orelsian Clothes, Rations, & Waterskin
• Vellums & Scrolls & Tomes Regarding Magic and Apostates
• Ink Pot & Well
• Candles & Flint
• Compass & Map
• Cigars
• Mysterious Jewelry
• A Strange Black Candle
• Paperwork from the Circle of Starkhaven

---

| 𝐑 𝐄 𝐋 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 𝐒 𝐇 𝐈 𝐏 𝐒 |

CHARACTER NAME |
Your character's opinion. Copy & Paste as many times as needed.

---

[psych0pomp]

GL

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

G R E E N L A N T E R N

---

^{_{H A N A H A Z Z A R D ♦ F E M A L E ♦ 1 8 ♦ H U B C I T Y}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"Are you done talking? Because in my head I've already punched you three times. Four, now."}

Say hello to Hana Hazzard, a child that suffered from not only a lack of parental supervision but also had Hub City to call her backyard. A city where you should be worried about being eaten by the sharks of corruption, and depending on the day, literal sharks. She was the only daughter and youngest child in the slew of boys with similar names and similar shit-eating grins. So, it was fair to say that her life was a series of dares that always escalated into a game of "chicken." Hana had it ingrained into her very soul to never back down. This would follow her well into her early teens and her rise into adulthood. But maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves. You may ask yourself how does one such as Hana end up a hero? End up a Green Lantern, for that matter? You might assume that the Guardians of the Universe pissed in some all-powerful cosmic entity's cereal, but that wasn't the case. Or maybe they did, but that's their own business.

Hana grew up barely above the poverty line, but her family was never without they just didn't have excess. This meant her childhood was spent rifling through the local junkyard with her brothers to find things that their father could use in his garage. It'd also lead to a lot of daring adventures across piles of junk, dangerous slopes of refuse, and so much tetanus. She attended public school and learned the hard way that her trajectory was never upward bound. Her grades barely surfed above passing, and she didn't have the money or the time to join any sports. Outside of class, she'd pick fights with upperclassmen when they talked shit about her wardrobe being a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs from her brothers. While many didn't think her terrifying, they'd learn quickly that Hana never stayed down. She'd curse at them with her sub-par insults but punch them with above-par fists. Her parents tried—they really did. They couldn't help it that the economic handholds in this city were as slippery as an oiled tarp. This would lead to disciplinary action, which would in turn, lead to her being forced into a school function of some sort. The one that cost the least was theater. In a little under a year, Hana was the lead in their very pathetic rendition of CATS. But she loved it.

Now there was an outlet for Hana's passion and attitude. She had quite the voice and a look that would easily slide her into any punk rock garage band. She formed a group with a few of her classmates called Shiva's Four-Armed Shredders. While she never wrote a single lyric, she belted out the songs of oppression and rage with the best of them. Unfortunately, this promising blip in her life would only be that... a blip.

On the eve of her high school graduation, Hana turned eighteen, which meant it was time to be reckless. A tongue and nose piercing later, she and the band had found a comfy half-disposed-of car in her childhood junkyard. They'd pilfered some malt liquor from a corner store and were getting drunk. Hub City, unfortunately, decided to rear its ugly head that night. They had accidentally ended right in the middle of an intergalactic weapons deal. The shitstorm started with an explosion that sent Hana careening down a pile of junk and landing squarely on her back—her vision going white before swimming. The screams came next. Adrenaline forced Hana up despite her head injury, but she didn't run for her life. She ran right into danger. She had nothing to fear. She'd fought her brothers. She'd fought kids older than her. She'd lived on the streets of Hub City all her life. If she was going to die, this would be a cool fucking way to go. The teenager barely saw the alien she plowed into as it loomed over her bassist. All she knew was that she connected, they went tumbling, and were a tangle of arms and fists. She barely remembered yelling "RUN!", but apparently she did because her friends scattered. That led to a stand-off with aliens who were prepared to crush her under their thumb while she gave them the bird. Unfortunately for the aliens, one of their "illegal weapons" happened to be a restrained power ring that didn't stay restrained long in Hana's presence. I would go on, but you know how this story goes... kid gets powers, kid tries to kick ass, kid gets nose broken a few times, and then kid needs help—a lot of help. It shouldn't have been a surprise that a senior Sector 2814 Lantern was there to intervene. They were space cops, after all.

After Hana's scrape with the aliens and earning a power ring, she contributed to the Corps for maybe a weekend. Who would have thought that a scrappy punk rocker would hate a rigid system based on procedural space hierarchy? Everyone? Everyone. She decided to go rogue, tired of the continued attempts to place training wheels (metaphorical or manifested) on her. But she learned quickly, very quickly, she couldn't take on the many villains Earth shat out like the aftermath of taco night by herself. This was doubly compounded by the lingering head injury breaking her focus. So, she decided to join the Renegades. They could always use a Green Lantern, and she could always use an excuse not to return to the Corps.

A B I L I T I E S:

---

^{"I'm only fifty-seven percent sure you're breaking some Space Law. But you're one-hundred percent pissing me off."}

ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ʟᴀɴᴛᴇʀɴ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ʀɪɴɢ

Energy Projection: Probably Hana's go-to move, as it's simply a blast of energy from her ring. It's based on her force of will, and as such is intense but unfocused. It is far from deadly, obviously, but it can knock her opponent (and anyone else caught in it) on their ass.
Force Field: "Unstoppable force meet immovable object," is more or less the motto for this application of her ring. It is capable of creating a damage blocking, environment controlled, and life support enabled shield around her. Hana's need for self-preservation kicks this on when she's faced with something that can't be taken down with punching alone. Which, let's be honest, are most things.
Flight: She can fly, in space or otherwise. It's as simple as that, and she abuses it any time she gets a chance too. Why walk on the cold floor in winter when you can hover?
Energy Constructs: Here's where it's obvious Hana needs more time in the Corps. The ring can create weapons and other handy objects for a Lantern to use, right? Well, she's never been one to think concisely on the fly. Projectile? She tries to manifest a gun, but always remembers how intimidating it was to watch Mister Peterson, the neighborhood homeless man, drunkenly fling an alley cat. Next thing she knows, she's wielding a green, life-like cat that she can only hurl. Weapon? She visualizes a chainsaw, but what springs to mind right after is how nice it is to hold a microphone pole. At least it's somewhat useful. Armor? Brick Stevenson, her ex-boyfriend, wouldn't go anywhere near her in that taffeta nightmare of a prom dress. And so on...

ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs

Athletic & Acrobatic: Hana spent most of her childhood in a junkyard digging through piles of garbage to locate things of worth. She has scratches and scars to show off that part of her life along with the muscle tone and hand-eye coordination to match.
Scrappy: I'm not going to say that Hana is the best in a fight, but she can hold her own. This is mostly achieved through dirty tricks like throwing sand or punching someone in the crotch. Years of quarreling with her brothers has made her adept at head butting and right hooks.
Vocalist: Hana can sing, and she can sing quite well. Does it matter in a fight? Not really. Unless her opponent is a fan of punk-rock or show-tunes.

ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇssᴇs

Lack of Training: Hana's time under the guiding wing of the Corps was short, and it shows. She's not able to wield her ring with the efficacy of other Lanterns. She's trying, but her bull-headedness keeps her from accepting help.
Too Much Bravado: Yes, her willpower and fearlessness may come in handy as a Green Lantern, but it also means that she doesn't know how to back down. She'll fight until it's stupid to continue. She'll rush into a situation that needs more assessment. And she'll snap back when she's told to do something that she doesn't want to do. Hana's a firecracker in the worst way.
Inefficient Battery Life: While this definitely falls under the first point, it's a bitch to deal with. Hana's reason she fails to charge the battery on her ring as often is a mystery. It can take her out of a fight with a snap of a finger.
Hello Concussion, My Old...: That head injury she sustained on that fateful night was never looked after. And as such, she can lose focus easily to the detriment of her teammates. It may manifest simply as losing connection to her ring. It may also manifest in creating constructs that bear no correlation to the situation at hand. Her most go-to one is the spokesperson for men's deodorant smiling and holding a duck in only a bath towel. Yes, both of them are in a bath towel.
Normal Girl: Strip her of her ring, and she'll try her best. But she has no powers outside of it.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

^{"How many liters of blood is too many liters to vomit up? Asking for a friend."}

Personally, I love the Green Lantern mythos and when it focuses on characters that aren't the perfect hero. Every hero has flaws, but I enjoy the ones that aren't a paradigm while fundamentally worthy of their abilities. That's what Hana is for me. By the "rules as written," she qualifies as a Green Lantern, but she's such a far cry from what it means to be in the Corps. This is the sort of arc that I imagine would be interesting to create. One where she has to be broken down to be built up into something suitable for her power and station. Hana's personal goals are far more simplistic. She basically wants to prove that she's worthy of the ring without anyone's help. She wants to rise above her previous, real shitty, station and be the beacon she never had in life. Basically, she's here to pull herself up by her own green bootstraps and make a career out of this.

Hana is definitely a bruiser that lacks the useful utility-based nature of the Lanterns. This is something both the character and I want to develop, the ability to be more diverse in situations. For now, though, she's a "punch now and ask questions never" kind of girl.

Oh, and to definitely bump her scores up on the ACTs. They're bad. Real bad.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

^{"Of course this is a real Green Lantern Ring. Wait. Do you know something I don't know?"}

Hana Hazzard stands at 5'2" bearing the musculature of someone you shouldn't fuck with. She's a mean green bean. Her nose, tongue, and ears are pierced, and her hair is usually a flavor-of-the-week color. There's a nasty scar across her eyebrow and into her hairline from her head injury. How does Hana pick clothes to wear? She performs the sniff check. Usually, she's in a tank-top, ripped jeans, boots, and a variation of whatever jewelry and makeup she felt like wearing. Anyone with any sort of aesthetic nature should run from her... far away.

Hana's only gear is her power ring. That being said, her suit bucks the usual trend without going too far out of the way. For one, she's manifested a jacket over the suit. It breaks up the glare-inducing snug nature of the outfit. There's also a lot more white and black to the usual pattern. Most notably her mask is entirely white and covers most of her face.

Does Hana know anyone of importance in the superhero world? She definitely knows the Lantern of Sector 2814 that saved her and tried to train her. I leave this up to the GM to decide who exactly she'd have interacted with as I don't want to buck against any previously established lore. I'll edit this when/if things are finalized.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S:

---

^{"There's only hot people on this list. And by that, I mean everyone. We're all hot in our own way."}

Short summary of your character's thoughts, feelings, and regards for the rest of the cast. Optional and can be added whenever.

”What’s up, nerds?” Hana Dialogue

Sloane McCabe - Red Ranger

_{Sloane McCabe / N/A / 21 / Red Dino Ranger / DC143C / Renan Corbani}

A P P E A R A N C E

Where to even begin on this Adonis of a man? Kidding. While there's some truth in the gloating, Sloane's attractiveness is far overstated and overrated. Yet, you wouldn't be able to tell from the way he presents himself. Standing a little under six-foot, he isn't abundantly tall, but he does make sure to straighten his spine and pull his shoulders back. His physique is that of someone in sports. What sport, specifically? Well. Vague athleticism has gotten him this far, and it can only propel him forward. Sloane has blond hair. Not from the bottle he assures you, standing next to his family of natural brunettes. He has gray eyes because he can't be entirely perfect, a square jaw, and brows that are always asking "wait, did I miss something?"

Despite all this pomp regarding his appearance, there's something resolutely saccharine about the man. He doesn't have a tendency to be standoffish, but oddly enough he's fine with pulling everyone in—and yes, it probably is for a selfie. Prone to smiling wide, laughing hard, and probably shooting one-too-many finger guns, Sloane appears a welcoming person. There only seems to be one chink in his Prince Charming facade, and that's a literal chink. There's an odd hitch to Sloane's step that throws him off from time to time. He says nothing about it. The picture he paints has to be perfect, but not for himself—for everyone else.

S T Y L E

The man was born with a silver spoon in his mouth—nay a golden one—so should anyone be surprised his wardrobe reflects that? Sharp cut, sharp-dressed, and smelling like a million bucks,—jury's out if he rolled in it Scrooge style or not—there's not anything about Sloane that could be classed as "lazy," "tacky," or maybe even "comfortable." Prone to floral prints, light colors, and interesting accessories, he looks ready to hop aboard a yacht, play cricket, or pose listlessly for a fashion magazine. The only things that seem to be constant in his dress are his ear piercings and a ring on his right thumb that he twirls when he thinks. Beyond that, no one has managed to ever catch him in shorts. Not that he doesn't make up for it with a wide variety of colors and prints.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

• SILVER TONGUED - Sloane tries to be likable, even if there are so many factors working against him in that theater. It doesn't help that he knows how to talk his way up, down, and around situations. And despite the almost political nature of this talent, it doesn't seem preprogrammed into him like a robot made of false promises. There's something magnetizing in the way that Sloane can make someone feel important and wanted. Much like a single ray of sunshine. It won't be there forever, but it sure is nice when it comes by.
• SELF-ABSORBED - If Sloane was a sponge, the Atlantic Ocean would fail to exist. Definitely a product of his upbringing, he's never known what it's felt like to not have eyes on him. He loves it. He adores it. He gets jealous if a shadow interrupts his perfect lighting. This is not to say that he can't see the world beyond his own reflection, but more so that he's staring at a mirror framed in his own expectations. And those expectations may include other people—hell, they usually do—bt Sloane won't forget Sloane.
• GOAL ORIENTED - One might start to describe him as a team player before remembering the above personality trait. What one could say is that he always wants to get the job done with the optimal results. Sloane will press pause on the "me, me, me" if a little "we, we, we" can garner him a solution to a problem. Surprisingly, he can be pragmatic and a bit of a strategist when he puts his mind to it. After that, it's back to the vapidness of his existence. But that spark does burn sometimes.

F A C T S

• What does everyone know about Sloane McCabe besides his family name? Well, the fact that he used to be captain of the Angel Grove baseball team and an Allstar Batter that was destined for greatness. Not only does he have one of the highest batting averages in the region, but he's also known for leading his team to an unprecedented and unchallenged victory in their circuit. There are a lot of trophies, murals, and medals in the glass cases lining the halls of Angel Grove Highschool. There are rumors abound as to why Sloane never pursued his scholarship to Vanderbilt and a possible baseball career after that. To ask him, he just says he got tired of the sport.
• The McCabe's have a weird past with GENESIS. Ten years ago, it was released that the wealthy family had been one of the financial backers in the project that led to... well... the war. The patriarch of the McCabe family, Julius Isaacs, denied that he knew the goings-on of GENESIS, and the following investigations backed that claim. While the family took a bit of a hit, they were able to build back good PR from donations, community give-back, charitable gatherings, and a lot of smiling and waving. People haven't forgotten, though—especially people Sloane's age.
• Sloane currently attends Angel Grove University with all the posh and panache of someone that should be attending Yale. He didn't need his parents' status to get in, not that it proves much considering he barely stays above passing. He's joined a frat since then, attended numerous parties, hosted several social media events, headed a few car washes, and even meets at a bimonthly DnD group where he plays Augdarsh the Half-Orc Barbarian. Sloane has quite the social life even if he's slow to call any of those people his friends.

R A N G E R

Why is Sloane a good fit with the Rangers? How on the world's spinning surface could Sloane even be a good fit? Oddly enough, it has more to do with what Sloane doesn't have rather than what he does. He lacks the ability to see failure as an option. The man has only ever failed once in his life, and it sits on his shoulders with the weight and magnitude of a tombstone. Sloane will see anything and everything through. He says he doesn't have anything to prove, but maybe there's something in the back of his mind that wants to atone for that he's not vocal about. And maybe he wants to reclaim his glory days and being a ranger seems to be the best way to do so. He'll make sure that they don't fail, or so help him.

| 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : ANGEL GROVE COMMUNITY CENTER | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : VALLORY & ROSS | 𝖬𝖴𝖲𝖨𝖢 : FANCY |

"Sloane Dialogue."
"NPC Dialogue."

| 𝖳𝖠𝖦(𝖲) : INSERT |

CS

[ 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙸𝙻𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁 ]

𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖮𝖭𝖠𝖫 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖲

𝙰𝙶𝙴 & 𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 34, August 2252
𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 Feminine
𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙴𝚂 Human
𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 Gun for Hire

𝖯𝖲𝖸𝖢𝖧𝖮𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖨𝖢𝖠𝖫 𝖧𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖸

𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 & 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺 Lacquer coats her tongue like an old game table in New Vegas. The lights shine off it just right, but it wasn't its original sheen. Jack likes it that way. The more people watching the spinning top of the roulette counter, the less they can see that they're getting swindled. The thrill of holding a win over her adversaries is what Jack lives for. A lucrative tryst with a few more bottlecaps in her pocket and a new hat. A wager set on a bottle of moonshine and a shooting contest where she forgets to shut just one eye as she blasts an old Nuka Cola bottle off someone's head. Lifting some old tech under the prospect that she's from the Brotherhood is a little close to home, her original one, but she knows all the jargon to make it work. Jack doesn't want to get by in the world with hard work. She wants to gamble and lie her way up. It's more interesting that way.

Maybe there's a flicker of altruism there, though. While she's slow to trust, if someone has paid her to care--she'll care. She can lie her way in and out of trouble, dragging her compatriots with her. But when it's time to put someone's hide on the line, she offers her's knowing she can get out. She's as slippery as a radroach. And even deeper, past all the lies and the sleight of hand, is someone that'll not care what your outside looks like. Jack's more interested in the intentions in your heart.
𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈

Hider

Ever heard of the town of New Boone? No. Well, there's a reason for that. Jacelyn Mercy was born there under a different name entirely. Like every other kid in the wastes of the Mojave, she had to learn to be quick and cunning not to get gobbled up by the nearest sentient whatever. The town was established by an old prewar structure that managed to have some technology within it. None of it was worth anything or functional. The town wished to keep their findings a secret, and it would have probably stayed that way had it not been for various travelers. Yet, before that time came, Jack had the rare honor to play with whatever she found. Her thirst for knowledge was incapable of being parched. So, when the Brotherhood showed up, as they do, to relieve the idiots of their fool's gold, Jack wanted to go with the technology. As it stood, building a fledgling settlement around defunct machinery wasn't very lucrative. Her parents were more than happy to give her up. So, began her time as an initiate in the Brotherhood.

You don't want to know much of the next part. It's what you could imagine from a child being raised in a pseudo-religious-militant organization that would make out with their power armor if it didn't look so strange. Yet, despite Jack's begging to have joined the BoS, she began to resent that decision. She found that her interest in technology was more the interest in deciphering puzzles and "winning" the contest of who could explain what the hell the prewar contraptions did the fastest. She only ascended the ranks because she hated doing the grunt work and listening to the jeering that came with being low on the totem pole. She became a scribe of the Order of the Sword, interested in guns and why they shot (also why so many paladins practically married their armor.) It was during that time that she met a knight, Isiah Hillside. He'd grown up within the BoS, and he found Jack's stories about everything else and her rebuffing of the constant stick-up-the-ass demeanor to be hilarious. He even found her having to constantly mop the floors of the labs for disciplinary reasons humorous. Of course, he went out of his way to maybe tip a few liquids onto the floor. This was how their flirting went. To an outside observer, it seemed that Jack was going to knife him in his sleep.

They married in their early twenties. It was probably too young, but their thoughts ran the course of "how long are we going to live, seriously?" But again, you're not here to learn how much they actually loved each other. More so, listing out every mission that they went on would be redundant. Instead, let's skip to the inciting incident. In the year 2276, when Jack was 24, the NCR dealt a crippling blow to the BoS. Yet, that wasn't what would change Jack's course of life as much as what happened when their brothers were decimated. They had been sent to root out a small supermutant band that had been moving closer and closer to their base. It was a small contingent, and Jack went along to test a new modification to their laser guns. If it failed, she needed to be there to remedy the fact quick enough. Unfortunately, their intel was bad, and the band of supermutants was far larger than expected. The paladins went down, followed by the knights, and Jack only survived because Isiah drew their attention away from her hiding spot. When the commotion died down and the biting tang of blood was all that Jack could taste, she dragged herself out. She walked among the bodies, not wanting to really look them in the face. Inevitably, she steeled her nerves enough to start collecting dog tags and what valuable technology she could. What she noticed quickly, was that Isiah wasn't among the dead. She found where he'd been disarmed and armored and dragged away.

Jack followed the tracks the best she could, but it became apparent that she'd never catch up in enough time to find him alive or human. So, she headed back to the Brotherhood of Steel base. Remember what I said about the destruction? Assured that it had been decimated by the NCR, Jack found herself without cause or home. In one last attempt for normalcy, she headed back to New Boone. Well, I already telegraphed the sad ending to that. Jack was entirely alone. At that time, she was not called Jacelyn Mercy, but at that moment in the middle of the abandoned town--she became her.

More time passed, as it likes to do, and Jack found herself moving through the Mojave Wastes like a tumbleweed. There was no love for the Brotherhood, especially as she became more and more acquainted with the NCR. So, she had to rely on her knowledge, charisma, and fighting skills to get by. Jack's survival instinct served her well. She was able to work herself in and out of low society, and her teachings and manners allowed her to find purchase in high society. In the town of New Vegas she was looked at as the "Woman from the Wastes with Wit and Weapons." It was comfortable living. Yet, the feel of comfort itched something awful. She'd do jobs for whoever paid her. They all had varying levels of stakes and danger, but it was the only way to stay alive and entertained. It was easy to make her way around with what was afforded to her in New Vegas. She'd take care of the dirty deeds without nary a valiant hiccup in her way. She'd tried to play by the rules, and she'd been left with nothing.

Yet, as the years passed, maybe her consciousness started to weigh on her. Most of her dreams were nightmares. That battle ringing in her ears. The screaming. The dying. The last look at Isiah's face before nothing. Yet, her mind wouldn't leave the nagging fear alone. He'd always pop back up in her dreams, but his face was imposed with that of a supermutants'. Jack didn't know how, but she was sure he was still out there. Not that she could do much about it. But she didn't have to stay here.

So, Jack took what bottlecaps she could and left in the middle of the night. She needed to get out of there. Jack made some enemies with her flight, so letting her trail cool a while could help. And what better way to do that than to head to Oregan with a doctor that wants to track down one woman in all of the wasteland? A woman that was immune to radiation. Jack would have laughed, but her dreams enjoyed playing again and again her mind. So, she figured they needed someone that could get in and out of places without the need to turn everything into a lukewarm steak. That was her specialty, being cunning, charismatic, and caustic.

𝙵𝙻𝙰𝚆𝚂

• Booze & Cigars
• She Likes them Tall, Strong, & Dumb
• Pathological Liar
• Sticky Fingers
• Is Not Built for Feats of Physicality

𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿𝚂 & 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝚄𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

• Brotherhood of Steel: She is technically still a scribe, though currently marked as MIA. Her relationship with them is good, occasionally using private channels to check-in, but she won't flip on a dime for them.
• NCR: If she could spit into the mouth of a governmental organization, she would. While she has much disdain for them, it's not like she's planning for an all-out war. Jack is smart enough to know that she'd die.
• New Vegas: Decent relationship with the city, and she has a name there. Of course, she may have dirtied it a bit with her latest antics. But they love her, right?
• James & Virginia REDACTED: Jack's birth parents. With the dissolution of New Boone, she doesn't know if they're alive or dead. She had a rather fraught relationship while they were together, but they were family.
• Ben REDACTED: Jack's baby brother that had been born shortly before she left. Honestly, she couldn't tell you anything about him. Other than the fact that he's blood... and... was born a boy?
• Isiah Hillside [DECEASED OR WORSE]: A paladin in the Brotherhood of Steel and Jack's husband. Might still be out there...

𝙾𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙼 TBD

𝖲𝖪𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖲 & 𝖤𝖰𝖴𝖨𝖯𝖬𝖤𝖭𝖳

𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚂

• Small Guns & Energy Guns: She has the knowledge of how to use them and maintain them. She isn't a crack shot, but she's not bad either.
• Speech: Jack knows her way around a word two. She'll work them just as well as a ghoul stripper works a pole.
• Bartering: A mixture from her days within the Brotherhood and New Vegas. She knows the real worth of something and can talk someone up or down. Now, she can't sell piss as Nukacola, but she'll damn well try.
• Gambling Sleight of Hand: That makes it sound important, right? Being deft with one's fingers and not having a crippling debt addiction.
• Lockpicking: She can't flavor this one any better, but give her some bobby pins and a minute... and she's in. The food lockers at the Brotherhood's base didn't break into themselves.
• Repair: Only on weapons and other offensive technology that the Brotherhood of Steel would use.

𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙽𝚂

• Primary AEP7 Laser Pistol
• Secondary Modified 10mm Pistol (Reinforced with better mechanical parts, grip, and a fun little charm she found in a prewar gas station)
• Melee Switchblade

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙾𝚁 & 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂

• Modified Male Gambler's Outfit: Has a dyed leather chest piece to keep from immediately dying, and stylish bracers on both arms.
• Gambler's Hat: Fancy and only good keeping the sun out of one's eyes.

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂

• a Set of Caravan Cards that are entirely legal
• Bobbypins
• Three Cigars in a Steel Cigarcase
• a Metal Flask of Whiskey
• Brotherhood of Steel Dogtags (x2)
• a Wedding Ring
• Handful of Caps

𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙰 She wears her wedding ring looped around the same chain that has her dog tags. They're all tucked under her clothes. She's never without them.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝓪 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓛𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓱
𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙾𝙽, 𝙸-𝟻, 𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚁
𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙴 𝟷𝟼𝚃𝙷 𝟸𝟸𝟾𝟺
𝙷𝙰𝙻𝙵-𝙰𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙿; 𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻-𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

"Words. Words. Words" Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

[psych0pomp]

The year is 26XX, and the world is a new and different beast. Buildings rise from the earth, seemingly infinite towers that breach the sky above. The moon has a ring of debris formed of the destroyed ships from the Palindrome Exodus, and they flicker like technicolor stars in the night sky. Cities no longer exist on the ground below, but instead on massive infrastructures hovering above the blue waves of Earth. They span miles upon miles. Yet, you would think that would have deterred humanity. It did not.

Neuryke City is where our story begins. It is no different from any other city on the Mega Corpo-Platforms that rise from the deep, deep ocean of Earth. Hovercrafts, HOV-C’s as they are called, fly between and through buildings—taking to the air with the ease of swans. Holographic billboards form the skyline, promising a better and shinier life with their experiences or products. People cover their bodies in chrome and cybernetics, trying to keep up with the latest trends and functionality. Work is not easy, and living is not cheap. But those that manage to climb the towers are rewarded with a life of excess that they could never imagine. They may owe their thanks to the Sisyphean Network, an underground group of hackers, fixers, mercs, and riggers who have come as indispensable as the platform that keeps the city afloat. You live amongst all of this, surviving the best you can. But what little normalcy you’ve carved out for yourself is about to be ruined.

Within the bowels of Neuryke City is a plague that has been linked to Pre-Exodus Tech. According to the media, it travels through Intrawire—the global network in which all things are connected—and uploads into people’s ports whenever they dock, connect, or plugin. Even the strongest anti-viral software and firewalls can’t stop it. It’s called Red Plague as the first symptom are tears of blood. Those affected are deemed corrupted, and according to the media take to feasting on their fellow humans, mostly through exsanguination but there has been some cannibalization. Their cybernetics become organic and start to grow, and their internal processors form new programs beyond anything humanly capable. Yet, not everyone survives the corruption. Those that don’t are called husks, moving by the volition of their cybernetics alone and ripping out those from any organic life they can find. They become mindless shells of their former selves that just wish to feed and accumulate mass. Fortunately, only 1% of Neuryke City’s population has found to be affected, and according to the media it has been contained.

There has been talk, though. Within the depths of the Intrawire rumors are bubbling to the surface that the corrupted that haven’t been caught by Neurkye Templars—the NCPD’s elite Red Plague Task Force—have started to congregate. Digging even deeper into those rumors, you might find something even more disturbing. That the corrupt are not only coming together, but they already have a centuries-old government existing within the towers of Neuryke City. That they no longer classify themselves as human. No, these corrupted call themselves by many names, but the one that has stuck the longest is vampire].

This is where your story begins. You awaken one evening to your cybernetics glitching out and blood pouring from your eyes. Your HUD flickers and you’re greeted with a new message:

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum."

[psych0pomp]

CS

---

---

---

---

| NAME |

Rebecca 'Bex' Minogue

| AGE |

17

| MENTOR |

Blue Devil

| APPEARANCE |

While Bex thinks she is gorgeous, she doesn't dress in the most feminine manner. It would be a cold day in Hell [Ha-ha] before one would see her in a dress. Most commonly, she's in some form of sportswear, because she never slacks in her day-to-day jock-tasticness. When she dresses in everyday clothing, it's shorts, pants, or heaven forbid—slacks. That along with a stylish but comfortable top and utilitarian jewelry is her style. Bex remarks that one always has to be prepared to run. Then again, a track star would say that. Her long blonde hair is definitely from the bottle, as her darker brows easily give that away. Still, it doesn't stop her from meticulously tending to it so her roots never show. While she wears it up while working out, it's down any other time. Her makeup is always on point, and her nails are always fierce and bright in color.

Despite being half-Korean, Bex is on the tall side for a woman at 5'9". Her frame isn't petite with broad shoulders, strong hips, and a sharp musculature. Not to say that she doesn't have curves, they're just not the thing that defines her. Her eyes are blue, her nose is pronounced... especially considering the way she likes to look down it. Despite her human form remaining entirely that, one might remark that behind her plump cherry lips, her teeth are a little sharp.

Bex doesn't have a costume, because she transforms into the titular She Devil. Though she dons a fireproof red halter, black pants, and toe-less shoes to remain decent. In her demon form, she stands at 9 feet tall, with bright red skin, and horns pushing from her forehead. Her blonde hair stays the same, resting either down her back or pulled into a bun. Her eyes are entirely black and her teeth are akin to those of a shark. She has a long red tail that is prehensile in nature. Her arms are longer than what humans would consider proportional and end in sharp black claws.

| BIO |

The daughter of an Australian movie star and a Korean model, seems like something one would be only in a 98 cent romance paperback. Unfortunately, it was Bex's lineage. She didn't spend much time in Australia before moving to the US, the family following her father's career. She grew up with all the expectations one can imagine that sort of upbringing would lump onto a girl. It wasn't an unhappy childhood, but it was a busy one. Her face was always hinted at in the tabloids taking pictures of the adoring famous couple. There were many a rumor started about Bex's existence, but the only one that held water was her push to enter the Olympics. Of course, if that sounds this seems like less of a reality and more of a dream... please wait. It only gets worse from here.

In Bex's early teenage years, her parents divorced. Her mother stayed in Gateway City, while her father seemed to disappear. Bex would see him on occasion in movies, but his popularity took a dive when he divorced his surprisingly more famous wife. Her childhood home became emptier and emptier as the years passed, and Bex humored herself with her extracurriculars. It was no surprise that she was popular. She enjoyed being the Queen of the school. No cheerleader, she didn't have to wave pom-poms to be in the spotlight. A track star and wrestling champion, she was both heavily lauded and formidable at the same time. Bex found that she actually had more clout now that her father had frolicked off.

About three years ago, her mother had to return to South Korea due to some very vague family emergency. Bex tried to pry, but she was shut down at every turn. Her mother promised that it wouldn't take too long, and she'd return. Of course, she didn't. A few months later, Bex received communications that she was to move in with her father—the famous disappearing man. Unfortunately, he lived in Hub City.

Written as one of the most dismal cities and more corrupted than Gotham, Hub City was not the place that Bex needed to vault her sports career forward. Her father lived in a rundown condo working on a drama series where he had to provide his own stunts. He'd come home bruised and broken, get drunk, pass out on the couch, and wake up the next day to do it all over again. After six months, Bex was through with this life. She hightailed it out of there, assured that she could hitchhike her way back to Gateway City.

Was it the sixth or seventh bus stop when she ran out of money? She couldn't tell you. What she could tell you, was that she'd fallen asleep on a bench in the bus station and awoken in the middle of the woods tied to a tree. There were torches, there was chanting, and the heavy smell of cheap beer was in the air. In the midst of some sort of demonic ritual, Bex decided to show her captors that they'd picked up the wrong girl. Chaos ensued and ritual actually worked. Whether it would have had before Bex started punching and the chanting became more frantic, was unknown. All Bex remembered was seeing a horrid beast of red and fire before passing out. When she awoke again, she found herself alone in the woods. No blood. No dead bodies. Just a spray-painted demonic circle and tossed aside tiki torches. She did find a few wallets and took some cash from them. Some money for her... troubles? She couldn't remember.

Bex managed to get back to Gateway City before the repercussions of that night caught up with her. Someone bumped into her, knocking her over on the sidewalk. She stood, immediately, and started cursing the man. Little did she know, he had friends. They only got one punch in when fire erupted all around them and Bex transformed into the tall, powerful demon. Surprised and scared, Bex ended up setting numerous buildings on fire and totaling a few buses and cars before she was taken down by Wonder Woman.

After she calmed, she was able to explain her situation to the Amazonian Princess. There didn't seem to be an immediate fix to Bex's situation. Instead, for now, she'd have to learn to live with it. Unfortunately, there weren't that many demons that the Justice League could call on to take care of Bex. So, she was shunted off to a lower-tier Leaguer, Blue Devil. Weirdly enough, his past Hollywood career gave him ties to Bex's own father. Little did Bex realize, she'd gone full circle with some demonic flavor thrown in.

Unfortunately, it meant an end to her sports career. Something that Bex has not taken well.

| ABILITIES & SKILLS & EQUIPMENT |

Hellfire - Bex has the power to summon fire and control it. Considering where it originates from, it doesn't behave entirely normal fire. It's able to affect other magical and occult beings like some ghosts or supernatural. In contrast, it doesn't linger if Bex can't focus on it. If she decides to use her flames, she had to concentrate solely on them.
Fireproof - What kind of demon would she be if she was able to light herself on fire?
Demon Strength - It's like normal superstrength except that it's fueled by emotions. Meaning the more that Bex feels, the stronger that she can become. If she starts to get her bell rung or her emotions are dampened, it starts to scale down immensely. There's no known limit to her powers, but one has to wonder what she has to feel to cross it.
Enhanced Durability - Bex can take a beating and keep on ticking. Whether it be physical, elemental, or other—her skin can stand up to quite a lot. She's not invulnerable, but someone is going to have to bring the firepower.
Demonic Physiology - 9 feet tall, bearing horns, a tail, and claws that are like butcher knives, her body only resembles that of a human in frame. It offers her protection in Hell, not that she can classify anything on Earth as such. Even if she wants to label the breakfast line at Starbucks as such.
Physical Prowess -Bex is a track and wrestling star. She has the physicality and the knowledge on how to use it. Even though most of her power relies on her demonic attributes, she isn't entirely defined by them. Ever seen a demon parkour across the skyline? It's interesting.

| LIMITATIONS & WEAKNESSES |

Theology - As weird as it sounds, people that are of faith and believe that demons are evil can use their religious symbols keep Bex at bay. It's hard to explain, but those that believe that their cross will protect them from Bex... will be protected. "Live, Laugh, Love" signs just repulse her in a different way.
Involuntary Transformation - Bex can't just will herself to change into her demonic form. She has to be hurt or feel an intense emotion (whether it be anger, sadness, or the like.) This also works in reverse. If someone is able to calm her down, she comes out of her demonic state.
The Bigger They Are... - Standing at 9ft with thick musculature and bright red skin, Bex isn't getting around tight spaces unless she decides to bulldoze through a wall or six. Then whatever stealth approach the team had would be ruined.
Temper Temper - If she taps too heavily into her emotions, she may lose control and focus. Her object of attention attack turns into everything and anything. She also begins to lose her human-like features.
Bee with an Itch - Bex is not a nice person, and she doesn't think that she has to be. She's not pleasant to be around, and her attitude is salt in the wounds and vinegar to the ears. She'll try her best to be a team player because her time in sports have taught her that, but don't expect to "yes sir" or "yes ma'am" you.
Lack of Knowledge - Unlike the myriad of other demons and reborn demons on the Earth, Bex has no idea where her power comes from. She doesn't know if she owes someone a favor. If she's tied to a demon. Or if one is residing inside her. She's assured when whatever it comes a calling, she'll be in trouble.

| NOTES |

- Theme Song
- Her Mother: Ha-eun Surname Maiden: Ahn Ex: Minogue
- Her Father: Jack Minogue
- Has placed regionaly in track & statewide in wrestling
- Despite her famous upbringing, no one really recognizes her outside her Instagram
- Posts all non-super things to Instagram all the time
- She speaks Korean so-so, and uses it to curse at people under her breath

---

---

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

"Words."Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

^{MENTION(S) | NONE}

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

"Words."Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

^{MENTION(S) | NONE}

[psych0pomp]

CS

AGENT DOSSIER

Name: Marlowe "Lowe" Cross
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Height: 5'8"
Entity: Normal

Nature of Expression: N/A

Containment: N/A

Risks: N/A

Test Scores:
Strength: 7/10
Intelligence: 4/10
Psychology: 8/10

Remarkable Skills: Marlowe Cross's abilities are reflective of her time within the FBI. That being said, her high marks fall into the categories of physical aptitude and mental compartmentalization. She can handle herself in a fight and is a skilled martial combatant that only becomes deadlier when given an instrument. She seems to favor knives and blunt objects--yes... blunt objects. She also has had adequate training in firearms and can be considered a decent marksman with a love for high-caliber weaponry. Beyond that, she shows apt mental fortitude. While she won't be drawing up plans for a highly complicated battle strategy or leading a team to victory, she will be getting the job done no matter the obstacle. On a note unrelated to her training, oddly enough, she is quite the autophile and an experienced driver to boot.

Personality: After reviewing her videos and conducting several interviews, I believe it was Agent Richards who described Marlowe Cross perfectly. "She's like talking to a wall. No matter what you say, her expression won't change. If you require an answer from her, she'll echo your question back at you. She does what she was built to do, stand there firmly and unmoving. And she doesn't give a shit who you are. She'll only flinch when you swing a sledgehammer at her." That being said, she's not insubordinate, but her personality is grating at best. Marlowe wants to shoot first and ask questions later. Honestly, she's fine without the questions. She's relentless, stubborn, and has a tendency to prioritize getting things done.

Social Liabilities:
██████ █████, Father: ██, █████
Henrietta Cross-Stanton, Mother: 52, Alive
Charles Stanton, Step-Father: 58, Alive
Annabelle Stanton, Half-Sister: 24, Alive
Remy Stanton, Half-Brother: 23, Alive
Fredrick Stanton, Half-Brother: 21, Alive (Currently Incarcerated)
Winifred "Whimsy" Parker, Ex-Fiancee: 26, Alive
Victor Davis, Ex-Fiancee: 30, ███

Service Record: Why were you considered for the Bureau? How has your performance been since joining? Also, if there are any note-worthy events in your life before the Bureau please also describe them in here. Any deep connections with other people? A summary of where you were before the Bureau took interest can also be important.

CS

FULL NAME

Valka Nikolaev

AGE

Twenty-Eight

ID NUMBER

FY-0697-VN

NATIONALITY

Russia

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

APPEARANCE

The basic overall appearance of your character, including, but not limited to, hair, eye, and skin colour, height, weight, tattoos, scars or any other unusual physical feature. Every subject in Facility B wears either a set of grey trousers and shirt (males) or a long, one-piece dress similar to a hospital gown (female). The only difference between these clothing is in square patch on the chest, the colour matching the individual’s security ranking. Transgendered individuals are permitted to wear the clothing of the gender they identify with.

BACKGROUND

A short, 1-3 paragraph extract of your character’s life up to and including them becoming subjects in Facility B. Doesn’t need to be huge.A short, 1-3 paragraph extract of your character’s life up to and including them becoming subjects in Facility B. Doesn’t need to be huge.

POWERS

This should be the meat of the character sheet. What exactly makes your character an anomalous individual? Characters should have no more than two powers and their requisite secondary powers, and there must be a relation between them (I.E, no telepathy and then laser eyes, they don’t go together.) Run powers past me first, as I will need to make sure everything’s kosher.

PRIVLEGES

Those who behave in Facility B earn improved privileges, enabling further good behaviour from them and encouraging it in others. A basic Facility B room contains a bed and (depending on security rating) a camera. Common privileges include desks, dressers, cupboards, books, writing implements, snacks such as coffee and cigarettes (although not alcohol.) Essentially, to what extent the staff view you as a cooperative individual, and gives us a little insight into your character’s personality, intentionally left off of this sheet.

RESEARCHER NOTES

Anomalous individuals are often shuffled between different researchers who handle their cases. Since information can be occasionally lost in this shuffle, researchers might amend notes, warning or informing future researchers on the individual.

Sloane

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞

Sloane Southsühn

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 & 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬​​​​​

Technically Genderless but Masculine Presenting; (he/him/his)

𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐞/𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬​​​​​

Judeo-Christian Archangel

𝐀𝐠𝐞

Mentally Since the Dawn of Time; Physically Early Thirties

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞​​​​​

What does one visualize an angel looking like? In truth, if one studied any holy texts they'd note the form would be akin to something Clive Barker would make while on peyote and lost in an bird exhibit. So, what does their mortal husk look like? Probably something more like Michelangelo would produce on a good, non-petty day.

Sloane has all the makings of a gorgeous angelic figure, but with one resounding flaw. Tall, though probably not the tallest in the room, broad-shouldered, and with a bone structure that would make the aforementioned Clive Barker Michaelangelo cry. He has blond hair, short on the sides and longer on top with a slight curl to it. His brows are not like other natural blonds, non-existent and spooky in darkness. Instead, they are a darker shade and expressive. His eyes are downturned and a pale shade of hazel with flecks of blue in them. He has strong cheekbones and an even stronger jaw. The only part of his face that might be offputting to modern beauty standards would be his gold-rimmed, round spectacles set atop a Greek nose. Another deterring factor of what would be a rather picturesque Adonis is the fact that Sloane has been around for twenty or fifty or so years, and has not really known how to cope. His mechanism, at first, was his compulsive need to organize. But once things were organized, it was hard to re-organize them infinitely. And he did try. So, he turned to food. That was a hole that could be filled again and again. He's quite overweight, though he dresses in a way to appear slimmer. Still, it doesn't stop the round curves of his form and a noticeable belly that he attempts to girdle with a waistcoat. Notably pearshaped, his face remains equally as striking as his weight is a balance between broad shoulders and a long gait. And one might simply recommend a diet, but Sloane sees nothing wrong, or at least he finds nothing wrong with his habit. Mortals have far more destructive behaviors. And, he's quite fond of donuts.

His clothes are all tailored and bespoke. The colors follow the trends of the seasons as he's fashionable. Sloane adores three-piece suits, ties, and well-polished buckles and shoes. On his days off, he'll wear something only a smidgen less formal. Good luck ever seeing the angel in shorts, no matter the weather. He always smells of warm fires on a new winter morning with a dash of birch for lightness.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

The first thing to know about Sloane, and probably the most noticeable is that he doesn't lie. It's hard to tell if that's an angelic trait or a concept that he can't quite fathom and so can't enact. But he does have a tendency to not wax poetic, or wax at all. Everything from his lips is as blunt and square as a brick. He doesn't really care if it hurts your feelings, because quite frankly he thinks lies are childish padding that displays mortal's fallibility. And, of course, he's an instrument of God. He can't be prone to mistakes.

Except that he is. Trapped in a human husk has made him prone to the same machinations as any other mortal around him. In truth, he does try to hold himself to a higher standard. But the years on Earth have caused his gears to slip more and more. His angelic properties come to light in the form of his meticulous nature. His desk is absolutely organized, his sticky notes color-coded, and his office plants sufficiently watered and groomed. More so, he seems to be the most willing to fence phone calls and tend to secretarial duties with ease. Though, if you ask him to fetch you a coffee, you're getting a black liquid with congealed grounds in the bottom where he has coffee the color of a lightly toasted marshmallow. He enjoys work, but he doesn't live to serve. Well, he did, but he's currently on hiatus from that facet of his life.

And here we breach into Sloane's imperfections. He thinks he's right. He knows he's right. All the years of mortals blundering and butchering the simplest of things have just shown him that they're incapable of learning from their mistakes. That has led to him having a sense of pride that is both grating and self-aggrandizing. He gives in to his notions and compulsions because they must be right. Right? He'll take the last muffin from the break area because quite frankly mortals are neglectful and prone to wastefulness... even though he's already had two, and half the office hasn't had any. It's that justification he gives himself which leads him into compulsive and sometimes foolhardy decisions.

Sloane will get the job done with great speed and efficiency and will assume no one else could do what he could.

𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬, & 𝐀𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬​​​​​

In Heaven or the various Otherworlds of differing religions, Sloane is quite powerful. On Earth, he's not so much. As regent of the sun, he does contain the ability to bend light to his will. Only if it is made naturally, though. He can't just cause light to appear. He isn't a paltry magician. It's white-hot and filled with sanctified energy. Basically, it's a night light constructed of holy water. He uses it to mostly form weapons and takes to wielding long stave-like ones--grumbling if anyone asks him to make a sword. He seems to have a fond dislike for his sibling, Michael. He can also use the ability to refract and reflect the light in a way that can make him invisible (to sight) or blind his target. Don't ask him to make a rainbow, though.

His angelic powers also allow him to see the lingering dead and speak with them. He can't help them cross over--anymore. But he can converse with them and point them in the direction they need to go to receive such relief. He's basically a glorified DMV employee for Heaven.

Sloane can also fly. He reminds people that the depictions of angels, humanoid figures with wings, aren't really how they look. So, when he sprouts wings and darts about, it's because mortals can comprehend that. They couldn't comprehend his true form, a mass of wings and eyes that would make even Lovecraft blush.

His mortal body can also be destroyed without it destroying him. He just shifts back to Heaven, regroups his power, and then creates another mortal husk for himself. His spirit can be stopped from regenerating, but one needs to know quite horrific and unnatural arts. Sloane has admitted to the fact that angels have been caught and snuffed out. He hasn't ever been caught, though. And it's apparent he doesn't even allow much damage to happen to his mortal husk considering the wear he's put on it.

All that said, if you want something that Sloane does wield like a sword look no further than his prowess with Excel. That angel can build tables, create graphs, assign budgets, and present and PowerPoint with all the numbers and talking points that you could ever imagine. If the angel could become an accountant without years of study and experience, he would.

In Sloane's off hours, he enjoys cooking--more prone to baking than anything else. He'll drive the next city over to participate in chili cook-offs and pie baking contests. He also owns a plethora of cats as he fosters them in hopes of relieving the local shelter of its overcrowding. Not that you would be able to tell considering he never has a single strand of fur on him. But he seems to relate to the cats, they're just as fat and self-absorbed as he is.

As much as Skiball is concerned. He just states that it's a game for hacks and mortals. Of course, that's right before he decides he'll play. Maybe he'll win this time around. He never does.

𝐘𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

“… so, I went on hiatus.” Sloane said into the phone’s receiver, fingers twirling his pen slowly. There was a beat when the person on the other side of the line didn’t respond. “Fine, I was asked to go on hiatus. But honestly, Gregory you have to look at the numbers. The socio-political climate of Earth was… well is… revving up for another massive influx. It’s hard to say if we have the infrastructure for such numbers.”

Another pause came across the end of the line. Gregory, the man who had called him, seemed flustered. “I don’t even remember the question I asked you or the answer.”

“Right.” Sloan leaned back, setting the pen down. It was an inch from this blue pen, which in turn was an inch from his red pen, which was an inch from his tablet pen. They were all about half-a-foot South from his bonsai plant. He eyed it. One of the branches was uneven. Where were his scissors?

“Sir?” Another pause. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, right.” Sloane focused back on the phone. “You don’t wish for me to get into the conversation of my old boss’s son. That is a can of worms I do not wish to open. This brings me to my next questions. Where did that saying arise from?”

“You know what, Management doesn’t allow us to hang up, but I’m hanging up. Have a nice day Mister Soth-sun.”

“It’s South-sewn.” But those words were greeted with a solitary beep beep beep, letting Sloane know that he had truly been hung up on. He placed the starch white phone back on the receiver. “There’s an umlaut over the u.”

Sloane counted down the drawers to his third one and pulled it out. In it were the instruments to attend to the assortment of objects on his desk. He grabbed the pruning scissors and slowly closed the drawer. The counterweights grabbed it and pulled it into the housing. There wasn’t much difference between it and the rest of the other carbon copy desks around, except that Sloane’s was sparkling clean and perfectly manicured. He’d even added the counterweights after work one day, because the sound of them slamming was an ear sore.

He lined up his scissors to take care of the errant branch on the tree when a nasty “whump” of paperwork landed on his desk. Sloane snipped too soon and barely missed snipping off the entire branch. That didn’t stop him from narrowing his eyes at the interruption.

The shadow that had so unkindly caused an earthquake on his desk was one Turver. Maybe. Whatever his name was; it was dumb. Sloane glanced up at the other gentleman.

“Wow, you were on the phone for a while, Sloane.” He waggled his brows. “Was it a hot girl? Er, boy? Er, sentient, non-gendered blob? You know, I can’t tell what you like.”

“I like manners for one, Turver. It was a telemarketer asking me if I was happy with my life insurance.” Sloane lined up his scissors for another attempted snip at his tree. Turver huffed.

“It’s Trevor, and I’m assuming you told them all about Heaven’s infrastructure, and how you got into an argument with God about it.”

Sloane ignored the correction. “We didn’t get into an argument. It was a disagreement. A polite disagreement between a higher power that controls life as we know it, and me—the one person in that stinking place that can count higher than fifty-two.”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but why fifty-two?”

He lowered his scissors. “Right. You mortals count on your fingers, and there are ten of them if you don’t decide to involve your bottom fingers.”

“Toes, but sure.”

“So, we have fifty-two.”

“Fingers?”

“No, wings. Keep up, Turver.” Sloane laughed; it was an antiseptic sort of thing that cleaned the air of any merriment. “Fingers…”

“Oh my Go—osh. I owe Joanne five bucks. I cannot do this.” He patted the stack of files. “I was told you were more than happy to digitize these. So, digitize away. I’m going to try to remember which bathroom I hid the Fireball in.”

Sloane lined his scissors back up with the bonsai. “Thank you, Turver, for the enlightening conversation.” He paused. “That was sarcasm. How did I do?”

There was silence as Trevor walked away, making sure to hip check Sloane’s desk. It caused his elbow to swing inward, leading to him snipping way too much from his bonsai tree. The angel just stared. He slowly lowered the scissors, crossing his hands over them. A few deep breaths were taken before he stood. He rounded the side of the desk and grabbed his garbage can. Setting it underneath the edge of the desk where the bonsai tree was, he pushed the now-and-forever ruined shrubbery into it. It landed in the can with a deep ‘thud.’

Sloane took a deep breath before sitting the garbage can back to its place and returning to his seat. As he was tucking away his scissors, the beams of light seemed to intensify from their source until they pierced through the plastic can and ignited the bonsai within. A small, holy fire roiled upwards, producing quite a bit of smoke.

And that’s how Sloane Southsühn ended up overseeing the Fire Safety courses.

Bastia

𝔑𝔞𝔪𝔢

Bastia the Terror - Bastia Aescau

𝔄𝔤𝔢

101 - 28

𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯

Female

𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔄𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

A long, thin dragon with teal scales accompanied with black barbs and blood red highlights. There are hammerhead-like horns that jut out perpendicular from its head, shadowing its blood-red eyes and black teeth. Its wings expand out like a bat's with red spines at the ends for spearing and grappling. There are only two legs on the body that are raptor-like in build. Those fierce talons are rarely seen except when latching onto prey and dragging them to rend their flesh from bone. A long tail, adorned with black spines, spills from its body, coiling and bobbing like an interested cat. Bastia moves fast and without remorse, taking to shadows and ruins with the expertise of any other cloaked hunter.

ℌ𝔲𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔄𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

Bastia is not a dainty veneer of a human woman. She's cut like broken glass, twisting edges that may bring blood if not held correctly. Black, short hair wreaths around her pale, gray-tinged skin. Her face is marred with slivers of red scars and illuminated by porcelain blue eyes. Her lips are full and crooked, but her teeth are straight and white. Her aquiline nose juts out with a smattering of freckles over the bridge. Her body is wreathed in viperous muscles, prominent and not pretty. Her nails are bloody around the edges, and her palms are constantly wrapped in bandages. She clads herself in gothic armor with a seductive cut to allow what feminity she posses to pour out in the way of an ample bosom and strong hips. She wears a sword on one hip, a chain whip on the other, and has a blade tucked into her gauntlet.

𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔗𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰

Sardonic and crass define the words that pour from Bastia's lips. Her voice may be a creamy velvet, but its contents are that of the darkest vitriol. She chews and spits out those that she views as weaker than herself. Yet, her pride isn't all-consuming. She'll let anyone prove their worth. Just don't expect her to play fair. Bastia will win no matter the cost, and take her pound of flesh with glee. She's loyal to her friends, however few and far between they are and enjoys keeping those bridges unlit. Quick to drink and laugh, but not in a manner that would be viewed as warm. She's a cold, dark breeze with wit and off-putting charm for days.

𝔐𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠 & 𝔄𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝓗𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓰𝔂 - blood magic - Bastia has the ability to control her own blood. She can empower it to allow her to move faster and be stronger. When it is exposed to air, she has basic psychometric control over it. It can become as sharp as a blade or as bludgeoning as a mace. She can also infect someone else with her own blood if she's able to get into their veins. There she can sap their strength to embolden her own, otherwise, she relies on her own stamina to power herself. So, it's not infinitesimal. She can also sense where her blood is, meaning she can tag someone with it and follow them. In human form, this power is reduced due to her smaller size and lack of as much vitae as she has in her draconic form.
𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓫𝓪𝓽 - guerrilla tactics - In her dragon form, Bastia is a twisty beast that uses her sinewy musculature and sleek body to slide in and out of crevices. She waits and baits her prey forward before attacking. While she wouldn't last long in a pure aerial fight, if she is allowed buildings, cliffs, or other varied terrains--she could become quite a formidable foe. As a human, she is a talented blade user, moving swiftly and sharply towards her foes. She uses her unassuming form to land deadly blows as quickly as she can.

ℌ𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶

Many a mother would whisper tales of the "blood dragons" to their children as they crawled into their bed. They'd encourage them to stay under the sheets all night so they wouldn't be prey to these beasts of dark scales and blood-red eyes. It was an amusing tale and one that was rooted--however flimsily--in truth. "Blood dragons" were the urban cousins of their nature-dwelling brethren. They lived in small nests underneath a bustling city, taking human form almost always to tend to their business. Why be vulnerable out in the wilderness when you could rule the cities of man without their knowledge?

Bastia grew up in the divided Empire of Huldern, using its unrest and dwindling power to hide easily. It was easy to steal away into human dwellings with the promises of cheap labor and a sturdy backbone. At a young age, Bastia took to pocketing whatever went unattended. She refused to live in the squalor of her brethren. Restlessly taking to the streets in glamour during the day and hunting in scales at night. She wasn't content to be akin to a violent alley cat. Unfortunately, that led to her separation from her familial brood at a young age due to a political upheaval that she didn't have the years to understand. She was thrown into the world without much understanding of what it meant to be a dragon. All she knew was how to be a survivor.

The Empire of Huldern didn't make it hard for her to find work. She knew the basics. For a while, she lurked into stables and under the counters of inn kitchens. Bastia refused to shift her form for fear that she'd be found out. Instead, many a year went by without her dropping her glamor. It was in those years that she made sure to constantly move around so no one noticed how slowly she aged. When she got to a point that no one viewed her as a child, she found her calling.

It'd been an accident. Bastia had ducked into an alley to make it to her destination quicker. It was then that a man clubbed her from behind. Everything faded for a moment but came back sharply as blood pooled from her head and raced down her face. Without much control, the droplets became as sharp as knives and she shot them towards the man. One of the droplets managed to get him in the eye. He screamed out in pain, holding it. About that time, the guard came across them. Bastia felt the world close in around her. She knew that she was in trouble. Except... that she wasn't... they actually paid her (well, what was left from their share.) Apparently, the man was a known criminal and had a nice bounty on his head. She then realized she could get money by subduing humans.

As the Empire was in perpetual change, Bastia was able to make a living off this trade. Criminals were numerous when there wasn't a foundation for them to stand on. And Bastia was able to keep moving enough to never rouse suspicion. Though, a tale of her started to be known. How she'd hunt her prey like a fox tracked a wounded rabbit. Though she stayed mostly in human form, she occasionally took to her dragon one to make sure that she never became useless in her natural body.

Bastia had never known many other dragons, but those that she had come across had not taken well to her demeanor. She didn't care, though, her pockets were filled with wealth and she was filled with the thrill of the hunt.

[psych0pomp]

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ► ＢＡＳＩＣＳ ► ＢＡＳＩＣＳ	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ► ＳＴＡＴＳ ► ＳＴＡＴＳ

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝘾𝙆𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙏𝙔𝙋𝙀 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 𝘼𝙂𝙀 𝘽𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙃𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	Name Nickname Archetype Background Age Day.Month. Year Age-2075 Gender & Pronouns xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	𝘽𝙊𝘿𝙔 𝙄𝙉𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙁 𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙃 𝘾𝙊𝙊𝙇 𝙇𝙐𝘾𝙆 𝙃𝙐𝙈 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	Body # Int # Ref # Tech # Cool # Luck # Hum # xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
► ＳＵＭＭＡＲＹ ◄

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
...𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶...

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝙋𝙐𝘽𝙇𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝙋𝙐𝘽𝙇𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 ► 2-5 Sentences Tops. You'll have a chance to get more nitty gritty later. 𝙈𝙊𝙏𝙄𝙑𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 ► One or Two Words 𝙂𝙊𝘼𝙇𝙎 ► 1-3, keep it brief 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙔 ► A couple of words to a sentence at most 𝙁𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙉𝘿(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙀𝙉𝙀𝙈𝙔(𝙄𝙀𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙎 ► Chump Change

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙊𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙄𝙉 ► American, Black American, European, South Asian, East Asian, African, Etc. 𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 ► in cm 𝙒𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 ► in kg 𝙃𝘼𝙄𝙍 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙍 ► Hair Color 𝙀𝙔𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙍 ► Eye Color 𝙇𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙐𝘼𝙂𝙀𝙎 ► Everyone knows Street Slang, what else do you know? 𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀 ► How do you dress? A couple of words only 𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎 ► What is your trademark? 𝙂𝙀𝘼𝙍 ► ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description 𝙒𝙀𝘼𝙋𝙊𝙉(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
► ＣＹＢＥＲＷＡＲＥ ◄

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
...𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶...

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 𝙎𝙇𝙊𝙏𝙎 ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ x x x 𝘾𝙔𝘽𝙀𝙍𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙀	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x ▘ 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿 -- ▘ 𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏 -- ▘ 𝘼𝙍𝙈 (𝙇𝙀𝙁𝙏) -- ▘ 𝘼𝙍𝙈 (𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏) -- ▘ 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆 -- ▘ 𝙇𝙀𝙂 (𝙇𝙀𝙁𝙏) -- ▘ 𝙇𝙀𝙂 (𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏) -- ▘ 𝙈𝙄𝙎𝘾 -- ▘ 𝙑𝘼𝙉𝙄𝙏𝙔 --

CHARACTER NAME

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ► ＢＡＳＩＣＳ ► ＢＡＳＩＣＳ	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ► ＳＴＡＴＳ ► ＳＴＡＴＳ

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝘾𝙆𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙏𝙔𝙋𝙀 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 𝘼𝙂𝙀 𝘽𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙃𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	Name Nickname Archetype Background Age Birthday Gender xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	𝘽𝙊𝘿𝙔 𝙄𝙉𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙁 𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙃 𝘾𝙊𝙊𝙇 𝙇𝙐𝘾𝙆 𝙃𝙐𝙈 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	# # # # # # # xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
► ＳＵＭＭＡＲＹ ◄

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
...𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶...

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝙋𝙐𝘽𝙇𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝙋𝙐𝘽𝙇𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 ► Words 𝙈𝙊𝙏𝙄𝙑𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 ► Words 𝙂𝙊𝘼𝙇𝙎 ► Words 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙔 ► Words 𝙁𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙉𝘿(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙀𝙉𝙀𝙈𝙔(𝙄𝙀𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙎 ► Chump Change	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙊𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙄𝙉 ► Words 𝙇𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙐𝘼𝙂𝙀𝙎 ► Words 𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀 ► Words 𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎 ► Words 𝙂𝙀𝘼𝙍 ► ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description 𝙒𝙀𝘼𝙋𝙊𝙉(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
► ＣＹＢＥＲＷＡＲＥ ◄

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
...𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶...

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 𝙎𝙇𝙊𝙏𝙎 ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ x x x 𝘾𝙔𝘽𝙀𝙍𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙀	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x ▘ 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿 -- ▘ 𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏 -- ▘ 𝘼𝙍𝙈 (𝙇𝙀𝙁𝙏) -- ▘ 𝘼𝙍𝙈 (𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏) -- ▘ 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆 -- ▘ 𝙇𝙀𝙂 (𝙇𝙀𝙁𝙏) -- ▘ 𝙇𝙀𝙂 (𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏) -- ▘ 𝙈𝙄𝙎𝘾 -- ▘ 𝙑𝘼𝙉𝙄𝙏𝙔 --

CHARACTER NAME

CS

CHARACTER NAME

CS

CHARACTER NAME

CS

CHARACTER NAME

CS

CHARACTER NAME

CS

CHARACTER NAME

CS

CHARACTER NAME

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ► ＢＡＳＩＣＳ ► ＢＡＳＩＣＳ	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ► ＳＴＡＴＳ ► ＳＴＡＴＳ

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝘾𝙆𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙏𝙔𝙋𝙀 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 𝘼𝙂𝙀 𝘽𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙃𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	Name Nickname Archetype Background Age Birthday Gender xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	𝘽𝙊𝘿𝙔 𝙄𝙉𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙁 𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙃 𝘾𝙊𝙊𝙇 𝙇𝙐𝘾𝙆 𝙃𝙐𝙈 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	# # # # # # # xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
► ＳＵＭＭＡＲＹ ◄

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
...𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶...

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝙋𝙐𝘽𝙇𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝙋𝙐𝘽𝙇𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 ► Words 𝙈𝙊𝙏𝙄𝙑𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 ► Words 𝙂𝙊𝘼𝙇𝙎 ► Words 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙔 ► Words 𝙁𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙉𝘿(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙀𝙉𝙀𝙈𝙔(𝙄𝙀𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description 𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙎 ► Chump Change	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙊𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙄𝙉 ► Words 𝙇𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙐𝘼𝙂𝙀𝙎 ► Words 𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀 ► Words 𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎 ► Words 𝙂𝙀𝘼𝙍 ► ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description 𝙒𝙀𝘼𝙋𝙊𝙉(𝙎) ► ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description ▘ NAME: Description

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
► ＣＹＢＥＲＷＡＲＥ ◄

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
...𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶...

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 𝙎𝙇𝙊𝙏𝙎 ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ x x x 𝘾𝙔𝘽𝙀𝙍𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙀	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x ▘ 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿 -- ▘ 𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏 -- ▘ 𝘼𝙍𝙈 (𝙇𝙀𝙁𝙏) -- ▘ 𝘼𝙍𝙈 (𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏) -- ▘ 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆 -- ▘ 𝙇𝙀𝙂 (𝙇𝙀𝙁𝙏) -- ▘ 𝙇𝙀𝙂 (𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏) -- ▘ 𝙈𝙄𝙎𝘾 -- ▘ 𝙑𝘼𝙉𝙄𝙏𝙔 --

[psych0pomp]

Two years ago, eight people went missing in the small North Dakotan town of Caulder's Hollow. The incident rocked the nation as they'd somehow disappeared at the same time from entirely different locations. There was nothing in their backgrounds that tied them together. They were a mixture of Caulder Hollow natives, tourists, and passers-by. Yet, when the clock struck 11:43 PM, they were gone. The forestry agency searched the surrounding wilderness. The authorities turned the town upside down. There were alerts sent to the Canadian border, and federal agents did statewide sweeps. Yet, the eight were never found. The news died down eventually, and the town went back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be considering it lured tourists from all over trying to discover what happened to the missing eight of Caulder's Hollow.

Our story isn't about them, or at least at this moment it isn't. They are players in this grand game, but they're the obstacles, not the entrants. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Tonight, in the early spring of April, Caulder's Hollow was about to receive some very surprising news. Mara Swain, a recent high school graduate and one of the missing eight, was found on the banks of the Pembina River outside the Evershine Outpost. She'd been discovered by a couple of students from Hightower High. She was unconscious at the time, but she was alive. To hear the teens tell the story, the door to the Evershine Outpost was bright purple only for a moment as Mara Swain tumbled out. In a flash of light, the door returned to normal, and Mara was there. One might assume they were drinking, but the next bit of their story couldn't have been falsified. Mara was dressed in clothing that didn't resemble anything on Earth, and it was made of a material that seemed to be both liquid and solid at the same time. On her hip was a globe made of transparent plastic that held a small, clockwork creature. On her back, sprouting from her flesh like veins of gold and crystal, were huge angelic-like wings. In one hand was a dagger, seemingly to be made out of the same material as her clothing. Blood coated the tip of the blade. Mara's forearm was bleeding from what looked to be a self-imposed wound. When later cleaned by the paramedics, they noticed it glowed, luminescent in the light of the ambulance. More so, it said something...

News broke of Mara's return like a thunderclap across the valley. It'd only been an hour, but the world was already watching. Maybe with her return, the other seven would also come back? That'd be quite some hopeful thinking, considering the exact opposite happened that evening.

At 11:43 PM, you feel this gnawing sensation in the pit of your stomach. You might question where it came from, but you know what you have to do. You have to find the nearest door and walk through it. Stumbling through whatever obstacles that come between you and it, the pain subsides when you grab the knob and turn. The world disorients for a second. Your awareness feels like it's on the inside of your body. Your innards exposed to air so cold it burns like the sun. A prickling sensation passes over your extremities and into the core of your body. Unsure if your heart is on the inside or out, you feel it skip a beat. And then another. Was it slowing down?

Next thing you know everything snaps back into reality. Your skin feels on its skeleton where it should be. Yet, the odd tingling sensation won't leave you. You look around to find that the landscape around you is far from Caulder's Hollow. The sky above is a deep black and purple, eight moons hanging in the air. The ground underneath your feet is compacted earth, but there are slivers of glowing areas akin to metallic veins. You turn around to see that the door you passed through is fading away. You can't get your fingers around the knob before it dissipates entirely. You become aware of a large corrugated metal sign you hadn't seen before. A buzzing fluorescent bulb points towards what's written on it.

The First Set if the Missing Eight

Farrah St. Pierre, a native of Caulder's Hollow, was living in New York City and attending the New York School of Art for photography. On that fateful night, she was visiting her grandmother to go through old family photos for a school project. Marnie Westover was the daughter of Paul and Cynthia Westover, the town's mayor and husband. In the beginning, we believed this might have been politically motivated, but it came to light that Cynthia Westover had zero enemies. Marnie on the other hand... She was staying at a friend's when she disappeared. Peter H. Vaughn was a history teacher for grades eleven through twelve. He wasn't a native of Caulder's Hollow, but he spent most of his early life in California. There were a few cannabis-related charges on his police record. No one knows where he was the night he disappeared. Apollo Young was probably the oddest victim in this case. He was just traveling through Caulder's Hollow on his trip to Canada to meet his girlfriend's family. He was staying at the CH Motel one night and one night only. Unfortunately, that was the night he disappeared. It's believed he was in his motel room, 143, when he disappeared.

The Second Set of the Missing Eight

Mara Swaim was a Caulder's Hollow native whose family owned and ran one of the four farms in town and the only ranch. She recently graduated from Hightower High and was working on her family's farm. She'd been watching a movie with family when they said she walked through the front door and disappeared. Seong Do-yun was from Seattle, Washing and visiting his family after his aunt's passing. A university graduate, he had an architectural degree and was working for Hobbs and Bricks Design Firm. His family said that he went to the bathroom earlier that evening during a panic attack and never returned. Seong Ha-eun was a native of Caulder's Hollow who had moved back after the death of her mother. She was willed her mother's restaurant. As the cousin of Do-yun, she'd planned to join him in Seattle to help promote her culinary career. She worked late at the restaurant doing inventory when one of the other employees said she walked through the front door and never returned. Asten Hightower was a Caulder's Hollow native and the proud son of the Hightowers, the founding family of the town. He'd gotten a full scholarship to Ohio State, where it was assured he'd be scouted professionally. There was nothing else special Asten beyond a locked disciplinary notice from Hightower High.

Larger Version

Caulder's Hollowp was founded in 1843 by Hiram Hightower, and is the third oldest town in North Dakota. In the beginning, it was just a trading post, Evershine Outpost, that grew as commerce from the both settlers traveling through and the bustling fur industry. The name of the town is a mystery. Many people believe it's because of the perfect "hollowed out" area that the town calls home, along with the name of Hiram's first son, Caulder Hightower. Now its biggest income is from agriculture endeavors, the mercantile industry, and tourism. It's a quaint town surrounded by gorgeous trees, elevated terrain, the Pembina River, and a wind that people swear they can hear music on.

Local Landmarks

^{_{CH MOTEL}}

Information

Despite the shortness of its name, the CH Motel is a quaint place run by one Patty Henderson. It offers discounts to tourists along with a breakfast that is the furthest thing from continental. People swear that its' the best they've ever slept.

^{_{CHURCH OF GOD}}

Information

A massive stone church of the Penecostal faith. It holds weekly services, helps in the community, and has many outreach programs. Its led by Minister Randall Porter.

^{_{CITY SQUARE}}

Information

The heart of the town, the City Square has the courthouse, several county offices, the sherrif's department, and a few restaurants and floral shops. Mayor Cynthia Westover works here along with Sheriff Balestraad.

^{_{EVERSHINE OUTPOST}}

Information

A historical landmark, and the first building in Caulder's Hollow, Evershine Outpost has been restored to resemble its former glory. It's a quaint building made of sturdy, wooden architecture that has survived the years. It's South of the Pembina River and over a small wooden bridge from Caulder's Hollow proper. It's rumored to have gotten its name from a secret moonshine business that traded out of it in the early hours of the morning.

^{_{FARMS, LOCAL}}

Information

Hodgson, McCabe, Pinter, and Swaim, are all family-owned and operated farms in the area. They produce a bulk of the income for Caulder's Hollow. The Swaim family also runs a ranch out of their land, as well. They rent out their horses for a few tourist trails.

^{_{FIRST METHODIST CHURCH}}

Information

On the other side of the Church of God is the Methodist Church. Their wildly different ideologies have led to a bit of a friendly rivalry between them both. They have a kinder view of the LGBTQIA population than the Church of God. They also have a program to help the homeless and those in need of counseling. They're led by Reverent Marisha Hoakes.

^{_{FORESTRY STATION}}

Information

Run by Keith Fredrickson, the Forestry Station is mainly to help and promote the forests of North Dakota. Their services can also stretch out to helping with search efforts, hiking trails, and local horticulture classes.

^{_{HIGHTOWER LODGE}}

Information

The second oldest building in Caulder's Hollow, the Hightower Lodge is both a historical landmark and an upscale restaurant. It's a large, wooden building against the Northern Forest that has nothing but stained glass panes on the second floor. The Elks meet there monthly to discuss their business. It's odd, but the Hightowers don't frequent the Lodge... at all.

^{_{HIGHTOWER SCHOOL DISTRICT}}

Information

The largest set of buildings in Caulder's Hollow, it's the entirety of the education system for the town. Running from Pre-K to 12, everyone who's been born and raised in Caulder's Hollow has attended its halls. It's home to the CH Cougars, an AA football team that has won its handful of state championships. It is middling in testing, though. The Principal is Ursula Stratham.

^{_{MARKETPLACE, THE CENTRAL}}

Information

A cluster of buildings that contain Caulder Hollow's industrial complexes. It's the main shipping district for the produce and grain that the local farms make. That, along with a small batch brewing company, a stationary manufacturer, and a few different clothing producers, keep this small town afloat.

^{_{PEMBINA MUNICIPAL HOSPITAL}}

Information

The only medical facility for miles, it has many different departments and services to offer those of Caulder's Hollow and beyond. That being said, it's not licensed for trauma and severe cases have to be air-lifted elsewhere. If you were born in Caulder's Hollow, you were born here. If you die in Caulder's Hollow, there's a large chance you will die here.

^{_{RED RACER GAS STATION}}

Information

The only commercial gas station in Caulder's Hollow, and probably the only business you'll visit if you pass through. It has a selection of fried goodness, shades, Evershine Memorial Hats, and a rosy-cheeked cashier named Daisy Sumter.

^{_{RICK'S PLACE}}

Information

You need anything for your outdoor hobbies? There's a 40% chance that Rick's Place will have it. More geared around fishing, the place also has hiking and camping gear. It's run by Rick Timball III, and there's about a 40% chance you'll understand him.

^{_{SHADOWGLADE POND & UTILITY PLANT}}

Information

Probably not the prettiest area in Caulder's Hollow, it's quite the spot during the hot days of summer for the residents. It's surprisingly clear and volunteers from the Church of God keep it quite clean... not for the lack of trying by the younger population of Caulder's Hollow. It ranks high along with the Outpost as places to "park."

^_GUIDELINES

• This RP is High Casual, meaning I don't require a million words, but the words that you give me should be readable and add something to the scene.
• Posting pace is once a week. If we get going and the pace is faster than that I'll be so happy, that's totally fine. I'm more okay with characters having back and forths than I am with collabs. Let me know if you're unable to post. I'll send out reminders before I put the next GM post into motion.
• I expect politeness from everyone involved in the OOC. (I don't mind cattiness in the IC as it doesn't derail the scene.) If you have any problems, let me know.
• Fill out the Character Sheet below. (The parentheses should give you an idea as to where to write.) I know it looks like a lot, but the majority of it's a one to two-word response. I just wanted to spice things up. Quick Note: Remove the space between the https:// and i.imgur to make the pictures work. The coding language wouldn't let me do it any other way. It'll also tell me you read this.
• After you're done, PM me with the link to your CS and three rumors about your character. Two are false, and one is real.
• I'm accepting 4-8 players, but more or less depending on the quality and quantity of the sheets. I'm just giving myself a reasonable limit.
• If you have any questions, please ask!
• Discord Link: N/A

Character Sheet

FILLED OUT BY THIRD PARTIES

FULL NAME

(Name Here)

AGE/DOB

(18+; The Current Year is 2021)

GENDER

(Gender and Pronouns Here)

ETHNICITY

(Ethnicity)

HEIGHT/WEIGHT

(Use the Imperial System, b/c this is Murica)

HAIR COLOR/EYE COLOR

(Recognizable, not their natural)

SCARS/MARK/TATTOOS

(None is acceptable)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

CURRENT OCCUPATION

(What do they do? Unemployed if they are just that.)

CURRENT RESIDENCE ADDRESS (CITY/STATE/ZIP CODE)

(Feel free to make up street name and number)

BUSINESS ADDRESS (CITY/STATE/ZIP CODE)

(Like above; if they're unemployed enter N/A)

PHONE NUMBER

(Something VERY made up, let's use the 555)

STATE OF DRIVER'S LICENSE

(As it says)

E-MAIL ADDRESS

([e-mail] to avoid possible addresses)

PROBATION/PAROLE/SOCIAL WORKER NAME AND NUMBER

(Fake Number, again; N/A if it doesn't exist)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

CLOTHING

(Just describe your character's style)

JEWELRY

(Same as above)

SOCIAL NETWORKING SITES

(You can just list them out but if you want to, but you can also extrapolate on that as well.)

ANY PHYSICAL/MENTAL/MEDICAL CONDITIONS

(Use this as a catch all for anything that your character might suffer from. I'm being purposely vague, and you can be too.)

LAST KNOWN LOCATION

(Where was the last place a person laid eyes on you. It doesn't have to be where you disappeared, just where you were seen.)

POSSIBLE DESTINATION

(Where do people think you were headed to?)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

KNOWN ACQUAINTANCES

(Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)
(Relationship to Your Character)
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

(Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)
(Relationship to Your Character)
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

(Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)
(Relationship to Your Character)
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

RELATIONSHIP TO PREVIOUS MISSING EIGHT

(Write who of the missing 8 your character had a relationship with, and then tell me about that relationship. It can be anything from co-worker to friend to family. All you need to know is written in the blurb above. We'll build on this once the characters are finalized and accepted.)

THE DOOR

(It's known from witnesses that the door that the characters walk through changes from the door it actually is. This door is different for everyone and says something about them on a personal level. You can be as straightforward or as cryptic as you want to be with this.)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

STATEMENTS

(Name)
(Occupation/Position/Etc.)
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

(Name)
(Occupation/Position/Etc.)
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

(Name)
(Occupation/Position/Etc.)
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

ATTACHMENTS

(Want to add extra pictures of your character? Want to attach things instead of describing them? Write above [SEE ATTACHMENT #] and then post it down here. Use the code below and copy and paste as many times as needed or write "N/A" for none.)
ATTACHMENT # [url=img url][x][/url]

CS Code

[center][img]https:// i.imgur.com/IVUWwfX.png[/img][/center]

[center][img]CHARACTER PICTURE HERE/DELETE IF NONE[/img][/center]

[hider=FILLED OUT BY THIRD PARTIES][quote]
[u][sup][sub][h3]FULL NAME[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Name Here)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]AGE/DOB[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](18+; The Current Year is 2021)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]GENDER[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Gender and Pronouns Here)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]ETHNICITY[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Ethnicity)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]HEIGHT/WEIGHT[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Use the Imperial System, b/c this is Murica)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]HAIR COLOR/EYE COLOR[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Recognizable, not their natural)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]SCARS/MARK/TATTOOS[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](None is acceptable)[/indent][/indent][/quote]

[center][b]- --[/b] [i]LINE BREAK[/i] [b]-- -[/b][/center]

[quote]
[u][sup][sub][h3]CURRENT OCCUPATION[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](What do they do? Unemployed if they are just that.)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]CURRENT RESIDENCE ADDRESS (CITY/STATE/ZIP CODE)[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Feel free to make up street name and number)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]BUSINESS ADDRESS (CITY/STATE/ZIP CODE)[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Like above; if they're unemployed enter N/A)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]PHONE NUMBER[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Something VERY made up, let's use the 555)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]STATE OF DRIVER'S LICENSE[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](As it says)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]E-MAIL ADDRESS[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent]([e-mail] to avoid possible addresses)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]PROBATION/PAROLE/SOCIAL WORKER NAME AND NUMBER[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Fake Number, again; N/A if it doesn't exist)[/indent][/indent][/quote]

[center][b]- --[/b] [i]LINE BREAK[/i] [b]-- -[/b][/center]

[quote]
[u][sup][sub][h3]CLOTHING[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Just describe your character's style)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]JEWELRY[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Same as above)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]SOCIAL NETWORKING SITES[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](You can just list them out but if you want to, but you can also extrapolate on that as well.)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]ANY PHYSICAL/MENTAL/MEDICAL CONDITIONS[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Use this as a catch all for anything that your character might suffer from. I'm being purposely vague, and you can be too.)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]LAST KNOWN LOCATION[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Where was the last place a person laid eyes on you. It doesn't have to be where you disappeared, just where you were seen.)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]POSSIBLE DESTINATION[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Where do people think you were headed to?)[/indent][/indent][/quote]

[center][b]- --[/b] [i]LINE BREAK[/i] [b]-- -[/b][/center]

[quote]
[u][sup][sub][h3]KNOWN ACQUAINTANCES[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent]
[b](Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)[/b]
[I](Relationship to Your Character)[/i]
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

[b](Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)[/b]
[I](Relationship to Your Character)[/i]
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

[b](Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)[/b]
[I](Relationship to Your Character)[/i]
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)[/indent][/indent][/quote]

[center][b]- --[/b] [i]LINE BREAK[/i] [b]-- -[/b][/center]
[img]https:// i.imgur.com/9eIBWKb.png[/img]
[quote]
[u][sup][sub][h3]RELATIONSHIP TO PREVIOUS MISSING EIGHT[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](Write who of the missing 8 your character had a relationship with, and then tell me about that relationship. It can be anything from co-worker to friend to family. All you need to know is written in the blurb above. We'll build on this once the characters are finalized and accepted.)[/indent][/indent]
[u][sup][sub][h3]THE DOOR[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent](It's known from witnesses that the door that the characters walk through changes from the door it actually is. This door is different for everyone and says something about them on a personal level. You can be as straightforward or as cryptic as you want to be with this.)[/indent][/indent][/quote]

[center][b]- --[/b] [i]LINE BREAK[/i] [b]-- -[/b][/center]

[quote]
[u][sup][sub][h3]STATEMENTS[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent]
[b](Name)[/b]
[I](Occupation/Position/Etc.)[/i]
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

[b](Name)[/b]
[I](Occupation/Position/Etc.)[/i]
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

[b](Name)[/b]
[I](Occupation/Position/Etc.)[/i]
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)[/indent][/indent][/quote]

[center][b]- --[/b] [i]LINE BREAK[/i] [b]-- -[/b][/center]

[quote]
[u][sup][sub][h3]ATTACHMENTS[/h3][/sub][/sup][/u][indent][indent] (Want to add extra pictures of your character? Want to attach things instead of describing them? Write above [SEE ATTACHMENT #] and then post it down here. Use the code below and copy and paste as many times as needed or write "N/A" for none.)
[b]ATTACHMENT #[/b] [url=img url][x][/url]
[/indent][/indent][/quote][/hider][center][img]https:// i.imgur.com/4KYy7TR.png[/img][/center]

^{_{THE STAT SHEET}}

I can feel you asking me now. Why are there two sheets? The idea is that after you fill out the character sheet, you don't have to go in and edit it. It's a monument to your character at the start of the game. The one below, on the other hand, will be routinely updated as we go along. It also takes up less space and is easily editable. I figured the police wouldn't ask what do you think your stats are.

• 𝔹𝕆𝔻𝕐: As it sounds. Your character's physicality. Their strength and constitution.
• 𝕊ℙ𝔼𝔼𝔻: Not only how fast they are, but how dextrous they are.
• 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝔻: Intelligence, cunning, and problem-solving skills fall into this.
• ℂ𝕆𝕆𝕃: Your charisma and the ability to act under pressure.
• 𝕎𝕀𝕃𝕃: Your willpower and ability to resist temptations.

• ◼◻◻◻◻◻ : Untrained
• ◼◼◻◻◻◻ : Below Average
• ◼◼◼◻◻◻ : Average
• ◼◼◼◼◻◻ : Above Average
• ◼◼◼◼◼◻ : Highly Trained
• ◼◼◼◼◼◼ : Inhuman

Everyone starts with ◼◼◼◻◻◻. You then edit them based on your three starting traits. These are your character's skills, knowledge, or prowess. Each of these traits will add one point ◼ to a stat but reduce a point ◻ from another. If you would like, on one trait you can add two points ◼◼, but subtract two ◻◻ from another. No stat should go below one or be at a six.

Example:

RESEARCHER:

[+1 MIND; -1 COOL] Character Name spent a lot of time studying to finish their doctorate and became quite skilled at finding what they wanted where they wanted. Unfortunately, that also made them have a tendency to talk a lot about it.

As much are artefacts go, leave them empty for now. In the inventory, put whatever your character would have on their person whenever they passed through the door. You don't have to be hyper-specific, just anything that can be used as tools or objects of survival. Copy and paste the list code however many times you'd like.

Stat Sheet

◈ 𝔹𝕆𝔻𝕐 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕊ℙ𝔼𝔼𝔻 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝔻 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ ℂ𝕆𝕆𝕃 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕎𝕀𝕃𝕃 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈

TRAITS & ARTEFACTS

◈ ◈ ◈

NAME OF TRAIT:

[+1 STAT ; -1 STAT] Brief Description

NAME OF TRAIT:

[+1 STAT ; -1 STAT] Brief Description

NAME OF TRAIT:

[+1 STAT ; -1 STAT] Brief Description

◈ ◈ ◈

EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT

Brief Description

EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT

Brief Description

EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT

Brief Description

◈ ◈ ◈

INVENTORY

• Name: Brief Description
• Name: Brief Description
• Name: Brief Description

Stat Sheet Code

[center][img]https:// i.imgur.com/brGK0YO.png[/img]
◈ 𝔹𝕆𝔻𝕐 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕊ℙ𝔼𝔼𝔻 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝔻 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ ℂ𝕆𝕆𝕃 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕎𝕀𝕃𝕃 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈[/center][hider=TRAITS & ARTEFACTS][center]◈ ◈ ◈[/center]
[quote][sup][sub][h3][u]NAME OF TRAIT:[/u][/h3][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent] [i][+1 STAT ; -1 STAT][/i] Brief Description [/indent][/indent]
[sup][sub][h3][u]NAME OF TRAIT:[/u][/h3][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent] [i][+1 STAT ; -1 STAT][/i] Brief Description [/indent][/indent]
[sup][sub][h3][u]NAME OF TRAIT:[/u][/h3][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent] [i][+1 STAT ; -1 STAT][/i] Brief Description [/indent][/indent][/quote]
[center]◈ ◈ ◈[/center]
[quote][sup][sub][h3][u]EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT[/u][/h3][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent][i]Brief Description[/i][/indent][/indent]
[sup][sub][h3][u]EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT[/u][/h3][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent][i]Brief Description[/i][/indent][/indent]
[sup][sub][h3][u]EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT[/u][/h3][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent][i]Brief Description[/i][/indent][/indent][/quote]
[center]◈ ◈ ◈[/center]
[quote][sup][sub][h3][u]INVENTORY[/u][/h3][/sub][/sup]
[indent][indent][list][*][b]Name:[/b] Brief Description [*][b]Name:[/b] Brief Description [*][b]Name:[/b] Brief Description[/list][/indent][/indent][/quote][/hider][center][img]https:// i.imgur.com/MiCh1dt.png[/img][/center]

[psych0pomp]

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum."

Farrah St. Pierre

Marnie Westover

Peter K. Vaughn

Apollo Young

? ? ? ?

Seong Do-Yun

Seong Ha-Eun

Asten Hightower

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum."

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum."

[psych0pomp]

FILLED OUT BY THIRD PARTIES

FULL NAME

(Name Here)

AGE/DOB

(18+; The Current Year is 2021)

GENDER

(Gender and Pronouns Here)

ETHNICITY

(Ethnicity)

HEIGHT/WEIGHT

(Use the Imperial System, b/c this is Murica)

HAIR COLOR/EYE COLOR

(Recognizable, not their natural)

SCARS/MARK/TATTOOS

(None is acceptable)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

CURRENT OCCUPATION

(What do they do? Unemployed if they are just that.)

CURRENT RESIDENCE ADDRESS (CITY/STATE/ZIP CODE)

(Feel free to make up street name and number)

BUSINESS ADDRESS (CITY/STATE/ZIP CODE)

(Like above; if they're unemployed enter N/A)

PHONE NUMBER

(Something VERY made up, let's use the 555)

STATE OF DRIVER'S LICENSE

(As it says)

E-MAIL ADDRESS

([e-mail] to avoid possible addresses)

PROBATION/PAROLE/SOCIAL WORKER NAME AND NUMBER

(Fake Number, again; N/A if it doesn't exist)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

CLOTHING

(Just describe your character's style)

JEWELRY

(Same as above)

SOCIAL NETWORKING SITES

(You can just list them out but if you want to, but you can also extrapolate on that as well.)

ANY PHYSICAL/MENTAL/MEDICAL CONDITIONS

(Use this as a catch all for anything that your character might suffer from. I'm being purposely vague, and you can be too.)

LAST KNOWN LOCATION

(Where was the last place a person laid eyes on you. It doesn't have to be where you disappeared, just where you were seen.)

POSSIBLE DESTINATION

(Where do people think you were headed to?)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

KNOWN ACQUAINTANCES

(Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)
(Relationship to Your Character)
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

(Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)
(Relationship to Your Character)
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

(Friend/Family/Co-workers/Etc.)
(Relationship to Your Character)
(Brief Description of their Relationship. Replicate or Delete this as needed.)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

RELATIONSHIP TO PREVIOUS MISSING EIGHT

(Write who of the missing 8 your character had a relationship with, and then tell me about that relationship. It can be anything from co-worker to friend to family. All you need to know is written in the blurb above. We'll build on this once the characters are finalized and accepted.)

THE DOOR

(It's known from witnesses that the door that the characters walk through changes from the door it actually is. This door is different for everyone and says something about them on a personal level. You can be as straightforward or as cryptic as you want to be with this.)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

STATEMENTS

(Name)
(Occupation/Position/Etc.)
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

(Name)
(Occupation/Position/Etc.)
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

(Name)
(Occupation/Position/Etc.)
(Here you can give 2-3 statements from people that knew your character. They can know them well. They can know them poorly. It could be good. It could be bad. This is someone's opinion of your character. This is a bit of your personality and biography section combined. 2 are required, but you can give me 3. Delete the extra one if not needed.)

- -- LINE BREAK -- -

ATTACHMENTS

(Want to add extra pictures of your character? Want to attach things instead of describing them? Write above [SEE ATTACHMENT #] and then post it down here. Use the code below and copy and paste as many times as needed or write "N/A" for none.)
ATTACHMENT # [url=img url][x][/url]

◈ 𝔹𝕆𝔻𝕐 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕊ℙ𝔼𝔼𝔻 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝔻 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ ℂ𝕆𝕆𝕃 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈ 𝕎𝕀𝕃𝕃 ◼◼◼◻◻◻ ◈

Traits & Artefacts

◈ ◈ ◈

NAME OF TRAIT:

[+1 STAT ; -1 STAT] Brief Description

NAME OF TRAIT:

[+1 STAT ; -1 STAT] Brief Description

NAME OF TRAIT:

[+1 STAT ; -1 STAT] Brief Description

◈ ◈ ◈

EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT

Brief Description

EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT

Brief Description

EMPTY ARTEFACT SLOT

Brief Description

◈ ◈ ◈

INVENTORY

• Name: Brief Description
• Name: Brief Description
• Name: Brief Description

[psych0pomp]

CHAD

❝ 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂! ❞

^{NAME: Cerebrally enHanced Artillery Droid
AGE: 82
GENDER: "Do not project the idea of gender on me. I am smooth down there. I am smooth everyone."
SPECIES: PKD-5
PKD-5: || Peace Keeping Droid - from Basilica 5 || Robots created for the war that outlived their creators. They formed a pacifist utopia on their home planet Basillica-5 in the Outworlds. Still built with military protocols, they rebuked them for a life of harmony and prosperity. Basillica-5 was destroyed in one day, and no one knows by whom or by what. The only surviving members of this robotic race were off-planet at the time. There's only a small handful of them left.}

❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄? ❞

<sup>PKD-5s come in all shapes and sizes, as a war is not won by manufacturing the same metal carapace again and again. Of course, near the end, they were a bit uniform. Yet, as the population rebuilt itself, they brought out and recast all the moulds. CHAD comes from one of the heavy-artillery moulds that had been repurposed into fruit pickers in the gardens due to their long, reinforced arms. He stands at about 8ft tall with the gun green metal and orange highlights. His arms extend past his knees and end in human-style hands that are perfect for holding and hoisting guns picking apples.

He's riddled in bullet holes and painted in various callsigns of different mercenary groups and one mining colony. He walks with a bit of a hunch to try not to be too easy to pick out in a crowd. His headpiece is smooth with a grill over where the "nose and mouth" would be. Sometimes he has a cigarette stuffed into one of those vents. Considering he can go into areas without atmosphere, it's fair to say he doesn't need to breathe so the cigarette smoke is useless. Maybe it's an oral fixation for a robotic creature with no mouth.

He wears a massive leather "how do you say," fanny pack around his waist that is filled to the brim with bullets and other munitions to use in a fight. There are grenades strapped on his legs, a flechette-filled shotgun on his side, and a large handgun with a nasty kickback for anything that wasn't a robot. It's holstered in one of the gaps on his chassis. CHAD also has buttons attached to whatever cloth straps he has on his body. Some of them are for casinos, some for radio stations, some for musical artists, and a couple for his favorite TV shows. He is a massive "Kiri Kari Amigari" fan. This is a stark contrast to his monotone and deadpan voice that ekes out of his voice tube for the benefit of the flesh tubes that need words.</sup>

❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴? ❞

<sup>CHAD doesn't have a lick of magic in him. Basillica-5 didn't have access to the magic space dust called Aura, or if it did--it was long since gone. That being said, CHAD could plug a different color light into his chassis if someone really wanted to see something "different." Yet, what he lacks in all of that metaphysical hocus pocus he more than makes up for in firepower.

After he left Basillica-5, the life as an apple picker not really settling with him, he hopped around taking jobs here and there. Without a penny to his name, he ended up at a place called "Old Rusty's" run by a robot with an entirely different origin than himself. When CHAD asked about work, Rusty pointed to the wall of wanted posters. "I know your type, though," Rusty said to CHAD, his cleaning macro repeating and again on the glass in his hand, "you're all pacifists." CHAD gave out a flat, monotone laugh that was wildly creepy to anyone that cared about inflection. He was ready to shake the dust off, so to speak, his old offensive programs.

At first, he was a little rusty, but quick enough his synapses kicked in and he deleted dead code from his systems. He would be what someone with a more military mindset would call a "Heavy." Prone to using large guns with poor aim and severe kickback, but with the ability to turn flesh tubes into a fine mist--he earned a nickname of being called the Chatty Blender bounty hunter. He couldn't tell you where the "chatty" part came from, but he could tell you all about his favorite television show.

He became fairly skilled at smoking out his prey and hunting them down. While he's not capable of subterfuge, usually enough fire caused enough smoke to get the rabbit out of the hole--or to fully catch the rabbit on fire. CHAD doesn't have a gentle touch, but he has an effective one.</sup>

❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙼? ❞

^WORDS

❝ 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚆. ❞

^fasdfsdf

Long Story Long

On the planet Basillica-5, a civil war raged on for so long that they didn't understand any other concept. They lived for war. They died in the war. Repeat ad nauseum for thousands of years. So, as their species began to sputter out, they made mechanical beings to continue their war. It might be ironic to learn that the machines continued fighting even after their creators died. Yet, one day the production lines slowed down, and the parts were worn down from years of use without being replaced or repaired. The robots did only know war. Soon, there was no more war to be had, a side had won. Who they were or why they had decided to fight all those years ago was lost on the remaining robots. Unsure what to do, they turned on each other until there was one left. That one wandered Basillica-5 for what felt like eons, alone, finding nothing to fight. And in that loneliness began to venture beyond its programming until it became more than its programming--it became sentient. So, it returned to the decimated cities and the burnt-down factories. It started to rebuild, in hopes of rebuilding its kin. To start over. To understand life without war.

It was a slow process, but the robots didn't need sleep, food, water, or protection from the elements. They were resilient. Slowly, Basillica-5 became a functioning planet again and was able to rise up to join the others among the civilizations in the stars. The planet was a wasteland, dead after the rain of fire, acid, and carnage. Their city sat above those bleached seas of sand, like silvery mushrooms whose caps were glass allowing the sun into them. These buildings dotted the entirety of the planet, and within them were entire cities, entire farming towns, entire industrial parks, etc. They had an abundance of sky trolleys that darted between them. From the space above, the colony looked like a webbed hive. Almost terrifying at first glance. Yet, the closer one got the more one realized what a utopia this was. A place filled to the brim with pacifist robots that wished to contribute to the society in the sky.

Shakespeare would have found it quite tragic, or ironic, or comedic, that Basillica-5 would end up as nothing but a crescent-shaped hull of a world wallowing in its own debris. No one knows what happened. One day the planet was a bustling hive of commerce and comradery, and then the next it was gone. The only surviving robots were the ones that had been off-world at the time, and not one of them received any information as to what happened. So, realizing the name Basillicans no longer held any weight, because there was no planet to be tied to--they instead called themselves the Peace Keeping Droids, or PK-D for short. They sought to keep with their pacifist ways. Well... most of them did, anyway.

Migi

𝔑𝔞𝔪𝔢

Migi Blackbarrow

ℜ𝔞𝔠𝔢 | 𝔄𝔤𝔢 | 𝔖𝔢𝔵

Burrowfolk | Thirty-One | Female

𝔄𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

Migi is the height of a barstool, but with an attitude that'd make anyone think twice before mistaking her as such. Her hair is a tallow-hued mop on her head with large chunks obscuring her tawny brown eyes. Her brows are always some variation of perturbed, whether it be with the person at hand or the situation she can't get out of. Nasty scars, like the scratches from a wolf, rake over her face. Her lips might be full, but they're never inviting. Instead, she stands with her hip cocked, and her hand placed on it like it was a weapon she could draw from her arsenal. While diminutive in height, she's not in frame. The large, somewhat ill-fitting armor, belies a meek form instead of the strong one she possesses.

Her stance is pure confidence with a touch of bitterness for flavor. Migi enjoys wielding smaller mannish weapons, finding that the intricate ones made for her folk are too meek for her calling. Half of Migi's height is sheer bravado.

𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

One might be surprised about how loud Migi is considering her height. Her lungs must be triple her size. Not one to parse opinions and find the most suitable, she's insulted many and made a few enemies. But she's fond of drinking them under the table--the drop being further for herself than for them. Boisterous, proud, sarcastic, and (self-described as) the wittiest person you'd known, Migi is unforgettable--but maybe for the wrong reasons. A nod and a wink accompany euphemisms to parts and acts that would usually go unnamed.

She's your best friend in stormy weather and a stormy friend in calm weather. Migi can't live without a fight to be had, even if she makes it herself. Prone to chaos, she'd make even The Banished Queen blush (again, her words.)

There's some of that good-natured Burrowfolk in her, though. If having to pick between a hearty meal and a grand adventure, she'd be fine with skipping the adventure for food. You can find danger around every corner--a full stomach is harder to come by.

𝔅𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡

Profession - Privateer
Class - Rogue - Swashbuckler
Heritage - Carpenter's Seventh Child

ℌ𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶

Long Story Long

The start of our tale is one of darkness, cruelty, struggles of power that are unimaginable, more darkness, maybe a stormy night, blood-covered blades, and other things of the tragic narrative type. Or at least, this is how Migi might say the whole affair began. Instead, the beginning of her story is very boring, but no one is born into infamy. They have to earn it.

The seventh child, and only daughter, of Dougal and Tig Barrow from Pumpkinhollow isn't a formidable lineage. Dougal and Tig were a husband and wife duo that took to carpentry as easy as a goose takes to shanking a person with their bill. They were aggressive, followed their dreams, and no one could talk them down--or talk over them for that matter. The Barrow family all helped the business, having different aspects that they tended to. Migi was always in charge of unloading the supplies from the world outside Pumpkinhollow. They traded with the other folk very rarely, but the Burrowfolk haven couldn't provide everything however self-sufficient they were.

One day, Migi was handed an old, worn book that spoke of the Adventures in the North. She gobbled it up almost immediately. There were heroics, dashing sword fights, handsome lords, and daring ladies. She wanted so bad to be a part of the world and not at all stuck in Pumpkinhollow with the annoyance of family around. So, with a plan that she thought was both smart and brave, Migi packed her things and hid in one of the mannish carts leaving Pumpkinhollow. Her adventure was about to begin.

Unfortunately, barely a day into her grand story... things went bad. Migi didn't have a single royal to her name. Thinking she might be able to work the kitchens, much like the stories in her book, she was turned away at every turn. "How will you even reach the sink?" they spat at her. This larger world wasn't some sort of mystical place where she'd have fine adventures, but instead quicksand that threatened to swallow her whole. It wasn't until a man by the name of Robin Sanguierre met her.

It'd been her third night in the alley outside a tavern that tended to throw out its scraps. It was a hard-fought battle for them, but Migi used her size and her invisibility in her favor. The latter was what Robin saw and coveted. He brought an offer forward to the young Migi. All she had to do was rob a small merchant vessel that was docked in the dead of night and return with a wax seal. He said it was once his family's, but his father's drunken gambling debts had led it to fall into the hands of people quite unsavory. He had the coin to buy it back, but the merchants didn't wish to sell it to him. Robin told her that if she did this, he'd pay her--handsomely. More so, she could stay at his estate. Migi was elated, this was the chance she'd been waiting for.

He gave her the precise location and directions to where the seal would be, along with a small sword and a file to get the chest open. It was supposed to be easy. And maybe it would have been, but while Migi was attempting to wrench the lid on the chest open the sword fell out of her beltloop and clattered to the ground. A guard heard and rounded the corner. She'd gotten the chest popped, and she quickly turned invisible to rifle through it. Finding the seal, she pocketed it before trying to make her escape. Unfortunately, she tripped on a buckled board and clattered to the ground--her invisibility wearing off. The guard saw her and grabbed his weapon. Migi can't really tell you what happened next. What she can say was that she grabbed her sword from the ground and thrust it up trying to protect herself. The soft drip of warm blood echoed through the room before she opened her eyes to see the guard clutching his gut. Migi fled.

She returned to Robin with the seal, her hands shaking. He comforted her, telling her that she'd done a good job and that he'd honor his deal. Maybe you thought that Robin was in his entirety a liar, and you wouldn't be completely wrong. But he did have the means to pay Migi, and he did have an estate for her to live in... along with other "talented tradesmen." Robin, in truth, was actually Robin the Black, a pirate who had gotten wealthy off of stolen riches, forged titles, and coins in the right pockets.

In the time that followed, Migi Barrow would become Migi Blackbarrow a privateer for the dreaded Robin the Black. She was trained in combat, sabotage, and above all--thievery. What once was a wide-eyed girl that was delighted by the large world and terrified of any harm she might cause, turned into something unrecognizable. This wasn't a phenomenon that happened overnight. It was a slow escalation. Her fingers already felt sticky with blood despite her skin being pristine and unblemished. She tried to get away from that life, but the world outside had nothing to offer her. The thought of returning to Pumpkinhollow passed her mind, but she had not the coin to get back. Moreso, she didn't know how to proceed once she arrived. How could she work herself back into her family's good graces? It was easier to stay under the wing of Robin the Black than face the consequences of her actions. There weren't any slaps to the hand for the jobs she did for the ex-pirate. So, Migi worked up the ladder of the privateers in Robin's stead. She led her band of "talented tradesmen" out on the open water to rob merchant ships, cargo ships, and occasionally even a passenger ship or two. While she and her troupe never sought to outright kill anyone, they did give them an ultimatum--either jump into the lifeboats, off the side, or be burned alive when they set the boats ablaze. And anyone that might find it humorous to laugh at her size, or the whimsical look of her face, got a sword slapped across their cheek. Migi did not play nice.

And maybe she would have continued with this life, had it not been for the fateful night that she learned what Robin had been using the seal for.

It had been an accident. Migi had found herself rifling through the drawers in his office one evening, waiting for him to return. It was there that she saw a block of golden wax and the seal inside a velvet-lined box. She'd never gotten a good look at it that fateful night, and so she decided to take a peak this evening. It was a sword with a rose imbued into the metal. Migi had seen this symbol before, she swore. There was a strong instinct in the pit of her stomach to take the wax seal, and she did. Later that evening, while wandering through the Rooks, houses in the dock district, did she see the symbol. Recently, the port town had gotten a new judge that had taken to clearing out the "riff-raff." Robin had been warring against him in the shadows, as the judge removed people from the ancient property. So, imagine her surprise when she saw a sheet of paper nailed into a door demanding the eviction of the tenants or their execution with a glob of golden wax imprinted with a sword and rose on the bottom of it. The door was ajar, and Migi saw the blood coming from underneath the crack. She realized exactly what Robin had been doing, and the seal was a kiss of death. So, Migi fled.

Unfortunately, Robin's eyes and ears were everywhere. She'd escaped further North than she ever had been, but she still awoke the next morning to the sword at her neck and a very large warrant for her capture.

ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔈𝔵𝔦𝔩𝔢

Robbery, Arson, Destruction to Personal Property, Destruction to Business Property, Assault, Probable Murder, Public Intoxication, and Three Separate Accounts of Indecent Exposure. Seperately the offenses may not have seemed dire, but stacked together they were easily a death sentence. Yet, maybe it was the cut of her jib that led her captors to not kill her. Or at least that's what Migi tells herself. Truth is, she's probably kept alive as a link to her former patron.

𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Migi is already so far from home, she couldn't even imagine trying to head back now. The only way for her to keep her head above water is to stay busy. She managed to make it out with a very important wax seal seal, and she can only imagine that her former patron will try to hunt her as a matter of pride. So, it's easy to be a tree in the forest as she figures out what to do. The money doesn't hurt, either.

𝔄𝔱𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔰

You've 9 to choose from. Once you do, put them in the correct area.
Combat

• Dual Wielding

Intelligence

• Engineering

Charisma

Health

• Fortitude
• Hearing

Faculties

• Intuition
• Perception

Agility

• Stealth
• Lockpick
• Swimming

Mysticism [0/1]

𝔈𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔭𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱

𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔶

• Royals (Gold) - 0
• Lordlings (Silver) - 0
• Commons (Copper) - 0

𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔰

Northern

𝔉𝔞𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔩 𝔖𝔨𝔶𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯

This is where you put your initial thoughts of each character, and you edit these as their opinions change. This also includes the Merc NPC.

𝔈𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔙𝔬𝔫 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫

This is where you put your initial thoughts of each character, and you edit these as their opinions change. This also includes the Merc NPC.

ℜ𝔢𝔶𝔳𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫 ℑ𝔰𝔪𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔞 𝔙𝔞𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔯

This is where you put your initial thoughts of each character, and you edit these as their opinions change. This also includes the Merc NPC.

𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔞𝔫

This is where you put your initial thoughts of each character, and you edit these as their opinions change. This also includes the Merc NPC.

[psych0pomp]

ZEUS || GOD OF SKY & THUNDER

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
ℤ𝔼𝕌𝕊

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙏𝙔 & 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉𝘼

Berthil Espegren | #573136

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗗 𝗜 𝗩 𝗜 𝗡 𝗘 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗗 𝗜 𝗩 𝗜 𝗡 𝗘	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗠 𝗢 𝗥 𝗧 𝗔 𝗟 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗠 𝗢 𝗥 𝗧 𝗔 𝗟

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

𝗘𝗣𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗧 x x x 𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗢𝗡 𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗣𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗦 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	King of Gods, God of Sky & Thunder, God of Hospitality, Champion Chooser, Ruler of Olympus, Fuck Boy Greek Sky, Thunder, Lightning, Weather, Justice, People 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 // Patron of xenia and guests, & avenger of wrongs done to strangers. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗗 𝗔𝗚𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗢𝗖𝗖𝗨𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	Aldrich "Rich" Schaeffer 52 He/Him/His Pansexual xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐊𝐘 & 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝙈𝙔𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙔 & 𝘽𝙄𝙊𝙂𝙍𝘼𝙋𝙃𝙔

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬 𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬 Rich Schaeffer leans back, looking at the sky outside. Clouds bubble at the horizon and lightning flits and dances like two manic lovers. He turns his attention back to you, bringing a glass to his lips with a pale, amber liquor in it. His pale blue eyes narrow underneath dark, blond brows. "Have you ever heard of the King of the Gods, Zeus?" He doesn't allow you enough time to answer. "Lighting, thunder, and all that." He laughs. "But the story is a bit deeper... "Son of Cronus and Rhea, fated to be devoured like his siblings—as we all are, in the shadows of our patriarchs. Yet, Rhea was tired of watching her children be consumed in a fury of jealousy and fear. You see, Cronus had learned that his son would be the end of him. It makes you wonder, though. Are we a product of fate pre-destined or one we craft for ourselves? Had Cronus not sought to eat his children, would they not have sought retribution? But I'm getting ahead of myself. "Rhea swapped Zeus out with a rock. Must have been a well-chiseled one for a damn titan to confuse his own son with a stone." Rich laughs, taking another sip. The storm grows closer. "But I digress... Zeus was raised by nymphs under Rhea's protection. Maybe, that had to do with his proclivities. Anyway, when he came of age, he tricked his father into drinking poisoned wine to disgorge his brothers. Which made Zeus now the eldest of his siblings. I don't make the rules, that's just how things worked. Together, with the help of the Cyclopes, they were able to overthrow their father and the other titans. And so, Zeus and his two brothers came into power. "They drew lots. Zeus got the sky. Poseidon the sea. And Hades the Underworld. But if you ask me, one knew that they looked good in that just wet look, and the other had a nose that needed the shadows to tone it down." Thunder rumbles in the distance, playing with his laugh. "Zeus married Hera, his seventh wife technically, and from there rule over Olympus began. But, as you can imagine—all that time spent in hiding, fearing for his life, and then leading his brothers to freedom didn't allow for Zeus to see the world. So, much against his wife's wishes, he did." Rich finishes his drink and flags down the waiter with a bright smile on his perfect teeth. They share a curt nod before he continues. "Then without these dalliances you wouldn't have such wonderful stories about Hercules, Perseus, and the lot... "I'm not excusing his actions, but sometimes in the hopes of getting out from under the shadow of our father, we make ourselves outrageous promises to make every day liveable. But there were consequences..." The waiter brings the drink to the table and looks up. The storm is basically upon you, and yet the rain has yet to begin. "Hera did manage to enact her revenge for all his philandering. Tied him up in a rope with a hundred knots. But as you can imagine, he had loyalty both familial and transactional. Calling upon old friends, he was able to get free, and he set about punishing his wife and those that she consorted with to get revenge. No one on Olympus tried that shit again. "That is far from the end of Zeus's tale, but to get any more particular... you'd be here all night. And I lost the thread of why I started that conversation to begin with. Oh right..." Rich took a long drought and leaned in. "Much like Zeus, I have carved my empire against the nature of my birth, taken care of those that have tried to stop me, and helped any that asked. Yet... unlike Zeus, no one holds me accountable for my fidelity..." The rain begins about the time his fingers find your hand.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬 Gone... gone... gone... was the war between the gods. The doomsday that descended upon them with the roar of a dragon had petered out with a whimper. Zeus had only ever known how to defeat his enemies and overcome his powers with cunning and war. Now he was set upon by an entirely different hurdle to vault over. No need for thunderbolts, not that he could conjure the storms to his hands anymore, it was easier to subjugate with knowledge and understanding than power. They stood amidst a battle that was not there's, with weapons they did not hold. So, Zeus would use his words. He was farm from a trickster god, but he had been known for his mercurial nature. Zeus went forward with what he did best, he gathered his family and made plans. Of course, much like on Olympus, not all were happy to listen to him. So, they ventured off to their own horizons. He spent the two years in Italy consuming whatever he could in terms of knowledge. Old habits pushed him into speaking to humans and convincing them of his usefulness. When they moved to Britain, he was more than prepared to let his plans come to fruition. In those days, it was the radio that appealed to the masses. So, he started there. His voice was thick as honey and his words were cloying in a time where the world was trying to gain its footing from WW2. Yet, one might have noted that some of his interviews leaned towards collectors and scholars from the British Museum. His radio personality seemed to be equally interested in the state of the world and the Colussus that was at the museum. "An interesting piece of art," he'd say before moving on. Placing those seeds of thoughts in people's minds was what he was hoping to do. Zeus was always about getting out of rough situations no matter what, and that's where he thrived. But, he did miss the comfort of his palace on top of the world. When they were moved to DC, Zeus had had many lovers and media careers from the ends of where he could venture. America in the early 00s was more than a bit of a culture shock. Yet, there he was in the heart of American politics, Washington DC. Zeus didn't know how long this would last, so he gathered as much influence and patronage as he could. It was easy to stuff politicians, scientists, and journalists in his pockets when one had his charm and looks. Didn't hurt that his knowledge of foreign policies was surprisingly accurate. When they ended up in Seattle, Zeus was more than tired of performing the same old song and dance. The new medium in which he could exert his influence made itself quickly known. No, not the internet even if it was the prominent solution. For a man of his age and clout, he'd have much more luck on television. At the suggestion of a colleague from DC, he spoke with the producers of a local broadcasting company. He started at the bottom, but in the five short years in Seattle, he went from a surprisingly handsome anchor to a full-blown television personality. Seattle Late Night with Rich Schaeffer became a success. His face was on billboards, sides of buses, and televisions. All the while, he kept up with the family that would have anything to do with him. More importantly, he kept his fingers in the pies surrounding the Colossus. If he could solve the reason that they were here, trapped in these forms with their limitations, then the other gods would look at him as a hero once again. No longer pulling his brothers from the belly of their father, but pulling the gods from the useless land of the humans.

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝙑𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙀𝙎 & 𝙑𝙄𝘾𝙀𝙎

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 𝗩𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗨𝗘𝗦 x x x 𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗦 x x x 𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 & 𝗙𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗦	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Charismatic Intuitive Brave Narcissitic Lascivious Vengeful x 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 // To sit on the throne that he's made himself without contest. Having that sort of power suits him in more ways than one. Yet, returning back to Olympus is the main goal, but he knows he has all the time in the world to complete that task. Why not revel in the lack of machinations from the other gods? 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 // In simple: being powerless. Returning to cowering in a cave far from his kingdom is his biggest fear. He didn't fight and fight and fight to lose it all again. He will do anything to maintain his status.

VELES || GOD OF DEATH & CATTLE

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝕍𝔼𝕃𝔼𝕊

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙏𝙔 & 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉𝘼

Levi Stocke | #9d947a

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗗 𝗜 𝗩 𝗜 𝗡 𝗘 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗗 𝗜 𝗩 𝗜 𝗡 𝗘	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗠 𝗢 𝗥 𝗧 𝗔 𝗟 𝗧 𝗛 𝗘 𝗠 𝗢 𝗥 𝗧 𝗔 𝗟

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

𝗘𝗣𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗧 x x x 𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗢𝗡 𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗣𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗦 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	Cattle & the Underworld x x x Slavic Underworld, Shepherds, Cattle, & Nature's Chaos 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 // He has been imagined as a dragon, which in the belief of the pagan Slavs is a chimeric being, a serpent that devours livestock. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗗 𝗔𝗚𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗢𝗖𝗖𝗨𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	Дими́трий медведь 36 he/him/his bisexual xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝙈𝙔𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙔 & 𝘽𝙄𝙊𝙂𝙍𝘼𝙋𝙃𝙔

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬 𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬 You awaken curled into the large root of a tree. The overhang of leaves is thick and the air tastes pure and old. Before you sit a large wooden plate loaded with vegetables, fruits, and dried meats. Next to it is a wooden goblet filled with a dark purple liquid. Standing beyond that is a man that seems to be both old and young, leaning on a long staff with massive horns erupting from his head and a bearskin thrown over his shoulder. He turns as he hears you stir. "Oh good, you awaken." His voice was a deep rumble, not thunder—never thunder—but more like the groan of an ancient tree in a strong wind. "Eat. Drink. And tell me of yourself, my foal." You reach forward and go to ask a question only to find your voice gone. "It'll come back soon. Maybe you could do without talking for while. You, mortals, do love to squawk." Your expression blossoms into surprise. "Fine, I shall go first... "There was child. He was lost in woods on surface. Blond locks and sweet smile were threatened to be pecked away by crows. I found him. In shape of bear, of course. Jyah. Jyah. Don't give me that look. What about this entire place seems natural? Anyway. I took him. I brought him here, to Naiwa. I sat him on my golden throne and named him my son. My Jaryło. Of course, he was not my son by blood. Instead, lost infant was Perun's offspring. Cursed god of sky, thunder, and general shit." Veles spit, it is black like ichor. "He loathed me for calling Jaryło my own. Yet, he left that little bastard in forest. Every time I touched surface, he'd rain lightning down upon me. So, I took to form of bear. It was easier to hide from him. Perun couldn't tell his creatures apart. That's what you get for living so far above mortals you love. "Years passed. As they do. You, mortals, become wrinkly, old, and impotent. But mighty Veles still rules from Nawia. I sewed seeds of chaos for Perun. Laughed at his attempts to smite me down. And when he turned his backs on you mortals, I gave you magic. I returned your cattle. I made rivers flow deep and blue. Anything to make Perun pause. He was supposed to be your mortal's gods. I could take his followers as easily as I could his son." Veles pauses, laying his staff down. "Jaryło grew up. He took wife. He slew winter. He danced in spring and in blood. A good boy. Until he was taken from me. "Great irony, scholars say. I call bullshit. I went across plains, demanding his return. Those mortals that knew much and spoke nothing, I cursed. Disease ravaged them. I spun chaos across lands. But I got too proud. Too foolish. What? Gods can admit when they're wrong. Hindsight is for owls with their wicked heads. Perun finally caught me. He sent lightning down upon me and made sure that I'd return to Nawia. Sit on this throne. Be unable to find Jaryło. So, that's why you are here. "I hear war is brewing up there, but not pitiful mortal one. One between gods. I'm curious. Friends could be made. Bargains struck. Jaryło could be found. But I need to do this not seen." He approaches you, kneeling in front you. The food and drink before you knocked aside, you having eaten and drank your fill. He places his massive hands on your cheeks and pulls your gaze up to him. His eyes are dark, eternal, and terrifying. "You're dead, anyway. You shouldn't mind me having stroll in your flesh?"

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬 "I woke up covered in ash because they thought they could defeat me by burning forest I was hiding in! I laugh. But I remember black. Soot. It covered me. My large hands, smaller. My mighty horns, gone. Something wasn't right. I now was now like mortal. There were gods that never seen ground. Hah! I walked in mortal's homes and taught them magic. I fed them. I walked them into Naiwa. Jyah. Jyah. Stop looking at me like that. We're both drunk..." Veles's turn to mortality was a mixed one. He'd spent a lot of time among the mortals, during the good times and the bad—even if he was what created the bad. Yet, when he was no longer wanted, or if his battles became too hard he could turn into a bear and slip back to Nawia—the underworld. Now he was trapped in the flesh of his own doings and mistakes. He didn't care for the steam that rose from the blood of the battlefield. His plan had always been to find a way to outsmart Perun and retrieve Jaryło. Now, both were a moot point. When the first god died, trying to escape their invisible cage, Veles watched with interest. And his lips twisted as he couldn't see their ghostly visage rise from death. He called out to Nawia, but he heard silence. He tried to shift into a bear, only to find his flimsy flesh unchanged. A god of chaos that had no hand in his own downfall, wasn't a happy one. He cursed the other gods and ventured from them as far as he could. All his plans were on the wind, and he was power and purpose were fleeting. Yet, Veles wasn't purely made of pride and idiocy. As it was said of him: "Like the bear, he is powerful and wise, but he also has the fangs and trickery of the snake. Duality is his nature and survival is his promise." So, he carved an existence in the form of a small shop in London. He found other immigrants from Slavic bloodlines, and he told stories from the homeland. Many a бабушка saught him out when there was disease or death upon their house. They referred to him as a shepherd, not knowing why. He tended to his flock while amassing a small following that became criminal in nature. When he was unfortunately upended and moved to America, he found the fruit of his endeavors actually held up. He could contact his growing connections in London. It was enough to get established in DC before finding himself on the West Coast. The transient nature of their constant upheaval and relocation wasn't something that was hard for Veles to get used to. He was the shepherd to the Underworld, after all. In the shady part of Seattle, he started a butcher shop, importing delicacies from London. He made a name for himself, and the бабушкаs quickly took a liking to him, along with hipsters talking about how "authentic" his sausages were. Slowly, he was building up his blue-collar criminal connections again. If he couldn't seed into the earth with his mighty Underworld, he'd use the figurative one of mortals. The Medved Butcher Shoppe moved more than cuts of meat, and its old-world criminal influence could easily be seen. He could move things in and out of Seattle with a smile and a shot of vodka. Still, Veles takes kindly to the other gods that wish to stop by and share a drink or two with him. His dalliances are no secret.

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████
𝙑𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙀𝙎 & 𝙑𝙄𝘾𝙀𝙎

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 𝗩𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗨𝗘𝗦 x x x 𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗦 x x x 𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 & 𝗙𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗦	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Paternal Cunning Giver Gluttonous Blunt & Crass Shit Starter x 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 // Veles wants to maintain the power he has gained and to grow and nurture it. He hopes to keep his family close, and his enemies closer. Maybe he wishes for a return to godhood, but he isn't so single-minded as others. 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 // Losing the people he has grown close to, just like he lost his son all those many many centuries ago. He doesn't wish to call enough attention to himself to be beaten or outsmarted. Veles fears his cozy little underworld being ripped away. Also, not a fan of storms. Perun managed to instill that into him.

[psych0pomp]

Rex Black - First Mate

𝑵𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒆 𝑷𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒆

Rex Black

𝑨𝒈𝒆

38

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

Male

𝑷𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

If the saying "built like a brick shit house" was a person, it'd be Rex. At 6'3", he cuts an imposing figure that finds all the door heads with his forehead. He has broad shoulders, covered in thick musculature that tests the patience of his shirts and jackets. His physique lacks the finer details of someone that tries to keep in shape for aesthetic reasons, with a thicker waist and utilitarian edges. That doesn't keep him from dressing as if he's hot shit, though. Rex has surprisingly good posture for someone dressed like they lost all their platinum on a border planet. His hair is dark, cut short on the sides but is a little longer on top. He has a well-trimmed beard that shows his age with a bit of gray coming in. But he's well-coifed despite the cracks of age. He has brown eyes that are nowhere near the innocence of a doe, and a smile with straight teeth that are suspiciously pristine. Fond of bright prints, worn pants, well-shined boots, and his leather jacket--it's hard to tell if he'd fit in with the Core Planets or the Border ones.

𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒎𝒔

Rex doesn't like for other people to get the last word in. Quick wit is belied by his figure and tendency to roll his eyes and snort through other's words. He's congenial in a way that mayonnaise is appetizing. Maybe mixed in with other things it's palatable, but it is an acquired taste by itself. In pleasant company, he can handle himself like a member of high society. He'll degrade his tone and nature to vinegar and grit mixed in with a teaspoon of sugar in a less-than-pleasant company. In a company that he's familiar and familial with, he's substantially more appetizing. Still prone to biting remarks, they're the sort a brother would give you. A laugh, a wink, and a nod later, there will be no hard feelings. He's fine with receiving as good as he gives. It'll be a cold day in hell before he takes people's opinions to heart. This makes personal growth hard for him, but it also allows for him to be someone's emotional punching bag with nothing lost. He'll listen and offer advice. Then he'll hand over his knife and point to the nearest box or bag to throw it into. He believes that both emotional and physical release is good for one's soul.

𝑺𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒔

Rex is known as the sort that can get things done with a bit of elbow grease, money changing hands, and occasionally some stabbing. Despite the brick shape of his head, it's actually a good one for business. He's a decent lie detector, if only because he does it so often. He knows how to make good on his promises, and finagle a contract to benefit himself and others. He'll show his hand if he needs to. He'll not show off his shipmates, though. That's their own business. But he knows what the sum of their experience costs, and he'll not suffer a platinum less. He's good at spotting talent and putting talent where it needs to go. His record-keeping is immaculate, the sort of tending to books and ledgers that someone with extensive academic experience (and culinary experience in cooking books) can provide. And that aforementioned stabbing? Well, he's surprisingly skilled with blades. If he could own a sabre and not seem like a posh bag of wind, he would. Instead, he has a rather nasty knife that he wears on one hip. He has a pistol on the other, but no one should ask him to shoot a can off of their head. They might not have a head afterward. He's well-traveled and versed in a few different customs. He's no Companion, but he's not a mewling babe in varying societies. He's penned a lot of information in a small book of star charts he has. Beyond that, he is a decent violinist, a hobby that his mother wished for him to take up. Maybe she wanted a daughter? Maybe it was a way to get him to use his hands for something other than scheming. He's picked up card-playing from high-society to poor rabble and everything in between. And he's an amateur ornithologist if only because owning (or being owned by) a bird takes a level of knowledge and commitment that one might need a degree in. No one should remark on the bird memorabilia he carries around. He knows.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝑬𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚

Long Story Long

Rex Black was born Reginald Belle LaPaygne, a member of Alliance High Society. They weren't a family that was born into wealth but instead cobbled it together through numerous trade deals that had gone their way almost too easily. He knew the best schools, the best fashion, and the best care. Of course, none of that involved his parents. He was shuttled between nannies of varying ages and stature. By the time he was five, he could write every single one of their names but not his own parents'. He had an older brother, Gerald "Gherry", that was set to inherit the family business when their father decided to retire. Gherry usurped all their time and left Rex to his own devices.

He spent most of his formative years on the planet Valentine in the Core. Occasionally, his family would visit their expansive estate on some of a border planet to oversee "business." This was where Rex got a taste of freedom. When he was a young teenager, he decided to skip out of the estate and visit town. He was robbed, beaten, and laughed at. It was probably the best experience of his life. He'd never faced a challenge or its consequences. This event provided both in a neat, little package. Sure, he could tell his father and something could be done. But what was the fun in that? He knew he couldn't try to challenge them to a fight, despite his fencing and wrestling lessons. Instead, he decided to play smart. Between greasing the palm of the local law enforcement and acting like a wounded animal, he was able to get each of those little shits out of his hair. He smiled wildly at them as they were disciplined in the town square. It was a thrill to get his way without his hand being held. While this sounded like a learning experience, this was not a good lesson to take to heart.

Despite Gherry's birthright, Rex wasn't entirely forgotten in the family business. His physical demeanor and conversational acumen were noted by his father. So, he was considered his brother's "partner" for a lot of business deals as they entered their early twenties. About that time, the patron of the LaPaygne family wished to retire. So, the two sons were sent to his varying clients and fixers to make sure the family's deals were "in line." Rex quickly learned that his family had made their money off of criminal networks trying to play as if they were altruism embodied. He found this quite amusing, considering the airs that his family put on. His brother, on the other hand, was repulsed by the nefariousness of it all. Rex was able to convince Gherry to perform like the zoo animals they were for their father. When he retired, Gherry could go any way he wished to with the family business. That seemed to placate his older brother--if not worryingly so.

Rex traveled with him, and while they were securing business deals and extending ones that were already in place, Rex was finding his feet in the galaxy, as well. He started a bit of a side hustle to secure himself a nice honeypot when things went south, as he was sure they would with Gherry's sweet nature. The hustle didn't involve physical goods but instead secrets and knowledge. Words were an untraceable and infinite resource. It wasn't a lot, but he was able to slide some favors into his back pocket. He had expected to use them for something more monumental... destiny had a different idea.

When the Unification War knocked on their door, the Alliance was more than happy to use the LaPaygne's connections to secure ways to win. This meant that the nature of the sibling's trips became more and more hazardous. It wouldn't be Rex's doings that would catch up with them, but instead, it would be Gherry's. They would get stuck in the middle of a conflict, a battle of attrition that had left them stranded and without an engine. Worse yet, they were Alliance-born citizens that had been doing business with the Independents. It had been Gherry's idea. He'd become bolder and bolder as the years had gone on. The plan was to sell weaponry to both the Independents and the Alliance. Fuel a war from both sides, and make a profit off of both. Rex thought it was a bit too risky, but everything seemed to line up perfectly. That was until the Alliance ambushed the Independence forces, all parties were surprised to see each other there.

So, in hopes of getting out of that unwinnable situation alive, Gherry sold Rex out. He abandoned his brother on their sinking vessel, The Highland, as he escaped in an Alliance pod after jettisoning all of theirs, stating that Rex had betrayed the Alliance and had been holding Gherry hostage. The Highland was fired upon and left for dead. Fortunately, the ship wasn't entirely as critical as believed, and Rex was able to land, but there was no going back in it.

Considered dead, Rex decided to start the hell over. In the small town of Shallow Gulp, he was able to do just that. He quickly cashed in the few favors he had, knowing that when his brother got back to proper society he'd be declared dead. It allowed him to adopt a nom de plume, information and payment for a ride on a ship called China Doll, and one parrot he named "Lucky." The last little bit was more for his sanity than anything else. Lucky had been left alone in a cage for days, sitting on the shelf of a general store like he was nothing more than stock. "Abandoned too?" was all Rex had said to the bird as it perked its head up and stared at the rough-looking human. It was a bond forged in understanding. But it wouldn't be the last one that day.

Rex met Cal when he offered too much platinum to get a ride off the dismal planet he'd been trapped on and to a place where he could shovel out a new existence. It was more than conspicuous, a man that looked like he'd been through hell offering a lot of money for a simple ride. It came out rather quickly to Cal who Rex really was. He gave the basics to the captain, not really knowing how it would go but not having anything to defend himself with other than the truth. Things went surprisingly well. Rex kept expecting Cal to betray him, but the man never did. So, maybe Rex held on for a few more stops. He learned his way around the China Doll and helped secure lucrative jobs without too much fine print. It also helped cement Rex Black as a living person that was very detached from his previous life. Cal and he traveled together for a handful of years throughout the galaxy before parting ways. Their adventures were many and more than a few were blackmail worthy, but it was all done in good faith. Yet, as the years went on, the unfinished business of his past finally gnawed at him enough for him to attend to it. He didn't want Cal to suffer for his dealings, and so he parted ways on good terms with the captain.

His recuperation and reflection led him to wonder how his family was doing. As much as Rex hated it, he had to get back into the business of knowledge brokering to get to his family. He was only able to nab a couple of favors, nothing big, but it did land him in the Core System. After a few hands of cards, terse situations involving guns, fists, and blades, and many a platinum and credit shared--he'd finally found a way to hold his brother accountable for his actions anonymously. Rex had the records from all those years ago. Unfortunately, the plan went south. Fortunately, needing a ride off of Persephone couldn't have come at a better time. It was time to reunite with an old friend and see the stars again.

Long story short? Rex is a grifter and card shark that came from the far reaches of the galaxy. He dodged the Unification War, learned to gamble and fight, and made some friends along the way. Of course, he also made some enemies, but you aren't here to know about that facet of his life. His troubles are his. You're just here to hear about that bird, aren't you?

Lucky was won off a man called Big John. A nasty fellow that had a tendency of slitting the throats of anyone he lost a bet to. So, he never lost a bet. That was until Rex came along. A few hands of cards later, and he liberated the poor avian creature from Big John's grasp. Unfortunately, he also had to run as fast as his legs could take him, or he'd be liberated from them.

A man by the name of Cal Strand, and his ship the China Doll, was there to save him. They shot off into the sky as Rex flipped off the shrinking spec of John in the distance. A bond of brotherhood was formed shortly thereafter. The two became inseparable. Their adventures were numerous and could be recounted over cigarettes and liquor to anyone dumb enough or close enough to listen. That was until Rex had to skip town. He'd received a rather interesting message in the middle of the night. Nothing too grand. Just a poor damsel in distress that he needed to destress. He bid goodbye to Cal and set off into stars of his own.

Fast forward to today. A few scars and a few tales later, he'd be reunited with an old friend on Persephone. Maybe Lady Luck favored him after all.

𝑶𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓

Yes, Lucky still travels along with him. The bird has quite the attitude but seems more than happy to be around Rex. He has a fondness for tucking himself into the folds of Rex's coat and finding his way around the ship like a nosey mouse. Surprisingly, the bird is still alive, but Rex seems to believe that the bird's invincible. That being said, Lucky always stays aboard whatever ship Rex is on. There's a rumor going around that the bird helps him cheat at cards.

[psych0pomp]

Last Moments of Dys

The bottom of the prophet’s feet tore open as brambles sprouted below her. Each pulsed, writhed, and hummed with a thousand blood-red worms that propelled them forward. She glanced back, the darkening sky illuminating the gray landscape. Red spiked from the monochromatic ground as it roared towards her like a surging tide. She jerked her head forward, tallow locks stuck to her brow through sweat. She drew the scroll in her hands to her bosom as she ran. It was the last divination from the Grand Prophet. It was to be seen by the Empress’s eyes, and the Empress’s eyes only. She was almost there.

The last ship out of Dys. She had to board it. The ritual was almost finished. If she was touching the land or sea around it, she’d join the thousands locked in stone. The last bit of magic pulsed through her. Shyssryra’s power was waning, but the god of the air was still alive. The prophet flexed her palms parallel with the ground below. Wind poured from them and vaulted her into the air. The stagnant smell of death washed off her for a moment. Her golden hair danced in the waning light. She looked like an angel—an arbiter. The prophet stretched her arms behind her, and the wind rocketed her forward. The Empress’s boat lingered in the harbor, and she could feel the eyes of her majesty on her.

Pain lanced around her abdomen as the red vines ripped up through the ground and wrapped around the prophet. Once a flying bird, she now went limp in its hold. The prophet screamed. No. She was almost there. She was almost free. Her hands tore at the vines, but the brambles atop them pierced deeper into her flesh. She felt the worms enter her body. At that moment the goddess of air’s voice died, and another took its place. An infinitesimal number of consciousnesses infiltrated her mind. It was the Blighted. The Worm Queen had her hold. Using the last ounce of her magic, the prophet vaulted the scroll towards the ship. The wind carried it as far as it could. She couldn’t see whether it made it onto the deck as she was dragged down to the ground.

Sing. They Sing. One Voice. Sweet. Sing. Sing. were the words that thrummed in the prophet’s head. Yet, whatever victory the Worm Queen had gotten, by converting a prophet of Dys, the gods made sure to take it from her. The ritual finished. Pressure pushed through the air and screaming infested the prophet’s mind as the Worm Queen begged for answers. The gods had died. They’d sealed their bodies in stone. And their bodies were the creatures, the plants, the sky above, the water around them, and the land underneath them. As their immortal flesh hardened, so did all Dys—even the Worm Queen and her subjects.

The prophet smiled as the world around her turned to stone, the sky blackened, and the water dried up. The brambles were caught in the stone, stuck to writhe against the indomitable might of the dead earth itself. She turned her head towards the boat, watching it push off and into the horizon beyond. This was the mortal’s last hope, she thought, as her flesh was sealed in stone along with the worms in it.

The records of the Worm Queen's true name were lost to time. All that was known was that she was the betrayer god, the fallen of the almighty. Sent, not into the earth below, but the abysmal ether that existed at the edges of this reality. There the tearing and twisting of time and space turned the goddess into a horrendous abomination that no one could dare lay eyes on. The gods were content in their decision to banish her, her crimes unknown but unfathomable. Once a goddess of beauty and creation was now one of parasitic hunger and congealed madness. So, the gods shouldn't have been surprised that she wasn't content to stew. That she'd formed plans, conscripted minions, and gained power.

She infected the minor gods first, planting her blood-red worms into their holy flesh and letting them burrow deep—devouring them from the inside out. Before the gods had a chance to realize that they had become compromised, it was too late. The mortals went to war in their name. But as the gods began to fall, so did their prophets. Those that commanded the gods' power began to lose it as their flesh was devoured by the Worm Queen's minions. Those that had decided to serve her had power unbridled. Their abilities far exceeded those of the prophets. They became known as the Blighted, powerful infested servants of the Worm Queen.

The gods tried to fight against their folly, but not even their pride could overcome the Worm Queen's onslaught. So, they sent the Arbiter's of Mortality away, angelic creatures that were not deities but whose powers were intrinsic to the mortals' existence. And then the gods sealed themselves away, turning the massive continent of Dys into stone along with them. All the people upon the land, blighted or no, were frozen. The Worm Queen became trapped within the bowels of Dys itself.

The surviving mortals were sent to faraway lands, ones that they had barely colonized. There were only a few cities in the massive Dyssian Archipelago, but there were also few mortals left to occupy what they had built. They'd been reduced so dramatically in number. The last to leave Dys was the Empress, but her boat was never seen or heard from again. No one knew what happened to her or her consorts, and as the years passed—they came to not care.

The Arbiters helped the mortals build and stabilize their new home before they sealed themselves away in seven hidden temples throughout the archipelago—safe from any residual corruption of the Worm Queen. Only one arbiter remained outside of confinement, the Arbiter of Balance. She took a mortal form and became Grand Inquisitor to the Prince Reagent.

Fifty years have passed, and the Empress's nephew sits on the throne of the archipelago. Once a powerful commander in the Empress's grand army, now an unbelievably fat monarch who's barely aged from those days of yore. The Arbiter of Balance has seen to it that the last of the Empress's bloodline doesn't leave the throne abandoned. The Dyssian Empire is too frail to try to handle a political uprising. And as long as the arbiter stands by the Prince Reagent's side, no one thinks to challenge them. And what of the Blighted cultist? In the fifty years since escaping Dys and forming the New Dyssian Empire, there have been isolated incidents of cultists across the isles. Yet, it was nothing that the Arbiters and their Inquisitors couldn't squash. Stability was hard to carve out in the decimation of thousands of years of culture. Yet, one balmy autumn night, a dark corner of our history was about to have a light shown upon it.

In the dwindling hours of the morning, the navy captain on an official Dyssian patrol ship saw a massive dreadnought lurching into the bay. He summoned all hands to the deck and attempted to flag the ship down. Yet, it moved towards them without aim. When they were able to get their lanterns angled at the portside, they saw the banners. It was the Empress's ship, having been deemed destroyed or lost at sea. The last ship to leave Dys, and home to relics and knowledge of their now Lost Age. The captain silenced his crew with either coin or a blade and ran through the streets of the capital straight towards the Arbiter of Balance's home. Whatever was aboard that ship could change everything, and he was terrified of what would happen if the Blighted got their hands on it. If they hadn't already...

The Formation of the Dead Men Brigade

Prince Reagent Ambrose Halfauhst Valecario's eyes darted over the waxy pages that he held gingerly in his hands. Torn from a book, they should have been nothing more than tattered leaflets to be burnt on a pyre. Yet, these pages were old, taken from a book that was published at the height of the Lost Ages. They spoke of the Underhen Wall and its creation to ward against the raiding barbarians from the north. The haunted truth of it, the one written in those pages, was that it was formed from a mixture of stone and bones. Bones taken from the barbarian's ritual burials. A resounding piss in their face. Ambrose knew this was all inconsequential to his current rule. Yet, the Mistress of Masks and Ruler of Spies, a woman only known as Traveller, delighted in bringing him things from their collective past. Neither of them could stand the scholarly types, and so they relished the infrequent times that they could speak of history in candid tones without being corrected.

At that moment, the doors to his audience chamber burst open. The Arbiter of Balance, Grand Inquisitor Seraphine, stood in the entrance. Her pale hair contrasted brightly with her dark skin, and those haunting lavender eyes fell on Ambrose. "Everyone out," she barked. The chamber always held the courtly hangers-on, Ambrose didn't mind them. It reminded him of the times at his aunt's court, except there was more light, and the conversation was far more pleasant. The members of the court glanced around as if Seraphine was talking to anyone but them. She narrowed her gaze. "I said everyone out." They scrambled out, ducking their heads as they passed by the statuesque woman. Ambrose handed the papers back to Traveller, who bowed and probably smiled behind her porcelain mask before excusing herself as well. Seraphine glared at the woman as she left.

"I do not know why you consort with her, she's Old World danger." The Arbiter said as she turned, shutting the doors and barring them from the inside. Ambrose chuckled, watching what might have been a diminutive woman in some people's eyes hoist up a massive slab of wood and slide it into the holder.

"What do they say about keeping your enemies closer?" Ambrose asked. He shifted in his seat, the worn velvet padding having lost its luster in its hasty trip across the sea. He tugged at his waistcoat, the fanciful fabric barely clinging to his prominent midsection. The dress shirt underneath was displayed in diamond-shaped gaps between the pearl buttons.

"Just don't," Seraphine snapped as she briskly approached him. "But this conversation is neither here nor there. I come with important news."

"Obviously. Didn't think you'd lock us in for the weather report."

"Your humor is not the armor that you think it is." There was only a beat before she began again. "Your aunt's ship has arrived in the harbor."

Whatever smile that had been plastered on Ambrose's face quickly died. He ran a hand through his coifed blond hair. "The Empress's ship? Was there—"

Seraphine shook her head. "Not to our knowledge. Captain Renalt Highfield caught sight of last night during his patrol. He managed to latch onto it and tow it out of sight of the rest of the harbor. And in all that time, he said he didn't see a single body or light. It's assumed that there's no one on board."

Ambrose propped his elbows upon the armrests and rested his softened jaw in his hand. His eyes went to the numerous paintings that adorned the walls of the audience chamber. Many were of royalty and heroes long gone. There was one of his family, and next to it was one of the Empress Nova Valecario. Her jet black hair was pulled away from her face in a severe manner, adorned with a gold crown that looked as if the sun was cresting just over her head. Her eyes were gold, and her face was fair with a dark smile. She was an intimidating figure, even on painted canvas. His eyes may have drifted to his own portrait, painted when he was known as the Hero of the Last War. He'd held the line against the Blighted as the mass exodus had been underway. Long blond tresses, a crown, and a svelte form holding a golden sword. "Well, if she was truly on that ship. They'd plowed into the harbor and demanded that I abdicate whatever inkling of power I had to her. So, it doesn't take a prophet to know that she's dead."

"Or in a state that wouldn't allow her to command the ship," Seraphine added cautiously.

"As if the Empress would be incapacitated. She'd rather die than see herself rendered useless. I know my aunt. Nova was impossibly stubborn. Unnaturally bullheaded." He sighed. "But we had expected as such when she didn't show up within the first few years. Now, that just brings to question why the ship has arrived now?"

Seraphine, garbed in the red and blacks of the noble houses of the Empire, shifted. "That was my thought. It could be a trap. It could be a blessing. What I do know is that whatever lost vaults of information that were aboard the ship need to be recovered, immediately, before the Blighted have a chance to infiltrate it."

"I agree. And it will be hard to achieve something on that scale without the Blighted being alerted and planting their own people in the rescue crew. That's why we need to find a way to do this swiftly and without the inclusion of those that we don't trust." He straightened up, eyes sliding across the stained glass windows of the building. "Which, I hate to say, is everyone. The oligarchy is so disrupted that it's a hat toss as to who is truthful. These are no longer the clandestine rulers of old. This is new and unknown territory."

"Are you implying, Prince, that we not use the soldiers we have our disposal? That we hire mercenaries? It would still be quite easy for the Blighted to place themselves in those ranks as well."

Ambrose smiled. "My dearest, Arbiter. I've had quite the idea." He straightened up in his chair and interlaced his fingers, resting them on the swell of his belly. "Where's the one place that the Blighted couldn't infiltrate on short notice? A place filled with people that the Empire wouldn't mourn if they were lost on this mission? That would give anything to prove themselves whether it be for glory, coin, or otherwise?"

Seraphine raised a pale brow and placed her hands on her hips, her claw-like nails biting into her clothing. "Are you saying what I think you are saying? My Prince." She frowned. "Ambrose. That is a foolish idea."

"But it is a good one."

The arbiter rocked back and forth on her heels before turning away sharply. "I'll let the Warden of Iron Spike know that we will be borrowing a few of her prisoners."

Map of the Dyssian Archipelgo