Obscene's Scratchpad

[Obscene Symphony]

Alicia Nilsson

"Character quote here."

_______________________________________________ Alicia Signe Nilsson Female | 23 | Swedish | 5'6" | 120lbs _______________________________________________ Single word/emotion that defines your character. _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Quote about Skills here." ___________________________________ [+] [REMOVE THIS. A list of everything your character is good at... just, uh, keep it realistic. If I see one judo black belt with survival skills training, cooking, and rifle training, I'm gonna slap a bitch. REMOVE THIS.] [Skill name here] ⫻ (Brief (or lengthy) explanation of skill/talent here)

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Quote about appearance here." Essentially how your character looks. Be detailed here. Go over skin color, build, height, hair (including color, style, etc), scars, and other body alterations (Piercings, tattoos, etc). Along with describing clothing style but that's optional.

_{Psychology
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Quote about personality here."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ (What does your character hope to accomplish in life?)

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ (What is your character's outlook on life?)

SEXUALITY ⫻ (Your character's sexual preference?)

FEARS ⫻ (What does your character fear?)

REPUTATION ⫻ (What is your character's reputation in Araminta and in the Vanburen family?)

THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ (What is your character's relationship with James like? What did they think about him?)

FLAWS ⫻ (What holds your character back?)

_{Backstory
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Quote about backstory here."

Pretty standard affair. I'm not going to expect a super long essay here, just the basics and whatever. Make sure you explain how and why they got their abstraction.

_{Abstraction
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Quote about abstraction here."

TYPE ⫻ (Put Adept, Awakened, Apparition, Aberration (Afflicted/Affixed/Agent/Adjoined/Abscised), Blind or One-Eyed-Open)

ABSTRACTION ⫻ (Put the name of the Abstraction here, with a one sentence description of what the Abstraction does. If Adept put what color their light is and what their channeler is.)

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ (Go in-depth with how the ability functions normally. Explain everything I need to know.)

AURA SENSING ⫻ (Optional. What auras can your character see, how far, and under what circumstance?)

LIMITS ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)

WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)

^{Other
_{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Extra Quote here."

Anyyyything else?

--CUT THIS AND PM IT TO ME--

_{Secret
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

What is your character hiding from the rest of the Vanburens?

--CUT THIS AND PM IT TO ME--

[Obscene Symphony]

Alicia Nilsson

_______________________________________________ Alicia Signe Nilsson _______________________________________________ 23 ┃ November 14, 1995 ┃ Female ___________________________________ Banff, Alberta ___________________________________ Bassist and Vocalist - Gramophone

Character Summary Personality ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Alicia is a very driven individual, tirelessly pursuing whichever goals or interests she has at the time. True, her interests often change, but she's eternally dedicated to music and enthusiastically throws herself into her work. A relentless optimist, she believes you can overcome anything with the right attitude and has no time for people who get in their own way feeling sorry for themselves. Growing up in a hotel environment made her sociable, with polished and practiced people skills. Her mother taught her grace and experience taught her ease with new people, and as a result she's very comfortable in social situations; people who know her say she could make friends with a tree. She can smile and be friendly even when she really doesn't want to, and knows when and when not to hold her tongue. However, growing up in such a bustling environment made her uncomfortable being alone, and she does her best to fill her time with friends and strangers alike. When she can't do that, she turns to music as a companion, but has been known to satisfy her need for company by heading out to a local club and partying it up with total strangers - perhaps more than could be recommended. Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ [+] Height: 5'6 Weight: 120lbs Physical Description: Alicia is a classic Nordic beauty, with clear pale skin, light blonde hair and a pair of vibrant blue eyes. She's slim but not shapeless; she doesn't have a whole lot going on in the hips or bust, but manages a feminine figure nonetheless. Fashion Style: Alicia can dress it up or down depending on the circumstances, but always likes to keep it classy. She likes to look polished, nothing forgotten or overlooked. She keeps her nails neatly manicured and painted, wears just enough makeup not to look sloppy, and is never one to just let her hair do any old thing. She's not one for trends, and instead likes to stick to tried-and-true classics, though she's not beyond at least looking at the latest styles. When she dresses down she still keeps everything coordinated, and when she dresses up, look out for a bombshell. Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Born and raised in Banff Alberta, Alicia grew up in a bustling tourist town where her parents, Swedish immigrants, ran a small hotel. Their hard-working nature rubbed off on Alicia, who helped out at the hotel as much as she could in her time outside of school, starting when she was old enough to collect room service trays. Her parents worked her hard, but they also loved her dearly and supported her every endeavor to the best of their ability, even though she flitted between interests with every changing wind. What never wavered, however, was Alicia's love for music. Ever since she picked up an upright bass in her junior high band, she fell in love with music in all its forms, fell in love with rhythm and beat and harmony. She couldn't get enough, and sampled every genre she could get her hands on, never sticking with just one. Her love of music bloomed on the little stage in the hotel bar, where she and her high school friends would practice every genre they could think of in the off-hours and even played a few gigs down there when the liquor started flowing. After a period of exploration and experimentation, the antique feel of the old hotel and the cozy little bar inspired them to try a new genre, which immediately clicked as something they could turn into their "sound": Electric Swing. One cold Alberta Winter afternoon, the group dusted off their old concert band instruments - a trumpet, a soprano sax, some drums and Alicia's upright bass - and gave it a try, and things snowballed from there. They fell in love with the genre, performing covers of songs from the twenties as well as existing electric swing. They became a popular attraction in the hotel bar, where tourists and locals alike would cram in to get a taste of the Nilssons' daughter's band. From there, they played some gigs at other bars around Banff and even got a high-octane cover of "Hit the Road Jack" aired on the community spotlight section of a local radio station. They recorded their semi-nightly sets at the Nilsson hotel bar and posted them to YouTube, gaining a decent following. People liked their retro feel and the unexpected complexity of their music, and finally they gave themselves a name: Gramophone. It was about a year later that someone with connections in Honey Lake was visiting Banff and heard talk about this strange band at the Nilsson hotel, and had to take a listen. They sent whoever they knew a video of one of Gramophone's sets and not a week later, the band got a call and an invitation to the label. Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ▶ Alicia's taste in music is diverse, and she can appreciate just about anything with a beat. She's not a fan of screaming, though; she thinks it just sounds like noise. ▶ The band's not all trumpets and bass; they've been known to swing it up a cappella style on road trips too. ▶ Alicia is fluent in Swedish and English and is working on French; however, she prefers English. Her parents insist on speaking English at home. ▶ "It's ah-lee-see-ah."

[Obscene Symphony]

On any other night Aaron would have rolled his eyes at Max’s textbook indolence, but tonight he valiantly refrained, though he did break character for a smirk and a raise of the brow at being called, well, Aaron. The lack of effort for even so much as a tried and true “Fido” meant Max was either very angry or barely conscious, though on this sort of special occasion Aaron supposed it could be both at once.

He spun his ring behind his back, a look of vague amusement on his face. He was well aware this party was nothing but a chore for half the mages present, and if not for the fact that Max was Eris’ mage and any offhand comment he made about the evening would be piped directly to Varis, he might have even encouraged him to kick back with his earbuds in and pretend to look engaged if anyone came down the hall. Unfortunately, tonight was as much a show for the guests as it was for host and help (albeit a dull and disinteresting one), so Max would just have to grin and bear it like the rest of them. Or whatever his equivalent to grinning was; Aaron had only ever seen the sneaky kind.

“Oh dear, Eris didn’t get you into his soaps, did he?” he teased, shaking his head with a grin. “Better not. If he comes down the hall and sees you watching one, you’ll never hear the end of it.” Channeling Eris, Aaron tossed Max a cheeky wink before melting seamlessly back into his pleasant, professional demeanour. “I don’t have any alcohol to serve you, but if I can get you something else to take the edge off, let me know.”

There, Max could chew on that for a while. After all, angry with a story that would make Eris giggle must have been better than boredom, or else Max shouldn’t have been complaining in the first place. Meanwhile, Aaron checked his watch: it would soon be time to serve the next bottle to the sitting room. At least disengaging from the conversation wouldn’t be difficult; Salem, clearly nursing his injured pride if that sullen look out the window was any indication, was content to leave him out of the newest discussion on arcane majors, and with a knowing glance to Maddie, Aaron was all too happy to hold his peace on that.

Still, he wasn’t completely frozen out, and Lilie seemed a little left behind in the conversation too. “The rumour mill’s been blissfully quiet on my end as well,” he offered, leaning a hand on the back of the couch where Lilie was sitting. Lips curving into a wry smirk, he quirked his head and added, “Although, do you remember that TA I told you about who hated me? I learned something pretty interesting about him a few weeks ago.”

Chuckling, he straightened, crossing his arms in lingering disbelief. “Turns out Ralph and I are distant cousins. I ran into him after the practical and shared my discovery, but I don’t think he was as thrilled about the news as I was.” The very memory was almost too much, his shoulders quaking with silenced laughter as he replayed the sight of Ralph storming out of the post office in his mind. He still couldn’t believe he did it; seeking out chances to piss people off was so out of character for him, and yet despite the plummeting temperatures and outright hostility he’d been getting in Affinity Mastery ever since, his only regret was that he only had one chance per week to torment Ralph with the curse of sharing a drop of Starag blood.

_{[Scribe of Thoth] [Hero]}

[Obscene Symphony]

• Name: Radaam Esi
• Age: 23
• Race: Suryana
• Appearance: At a height of 8’2”, Radaam towers above even other Suryana, the sheer size his of typically broad and muscular six-armed frame only emphasized by the deep, rich brown of his skin. Deep black hair tumbles from his head down to his chest, with pieces often braided or otherwise wound, framing a sharp jawline, straight nose, and sharp blue eyes so dark one could be forgiven for mistaking them as black.
  
  Being known (by those not scared away by their savage reputation) for their fine craftsmanship of textiles and jewelry, Radaam also follows the Suryana tradition of adornment; he can usually be found with an array of colourful beads or ribbons woven into his hair, and his neck, wrists and ankles usually bear some form of jewelry. His taste in clothing and accessories is simpler than most Suryana he knows, but he still rarely goes without something to decorate himself with.
  new line
• Personality: Though the constant stoic, unamused expression he wears might indicate the contrary, Radaam at heart is a kind and gentle soul, more apt to avoid confrontation than to seek it out. Quiet and a little shy, Radaam is happiest when he doesn’t need to do the talking; he’d much prefer to sit quietly and listen, or otherwise calmly reflect. To that end, he highly values serenity, playing the mediator more often than not in his continued efforts to keep the peace.
  
  As a devout follower of the Suryana’s reverence of fate, and can usually find peace in the idea that everything happens for a reason, and whatever happens to him is the will of fate. Unfortunately, though he tries to reconcile it, this faith rarely softens the blows of judgement from the ignorant. Though he’s gotten good at turning the other cheek and does his best to keep a thick skin, suspicious looks and whispers of the Suryana’s supposed “savagery” wound him; he tries to disprove them by example, going out of his way to be courteous in new places, but there are still times when the lies become too much and drive him away.
  new line
• History: If asked about his life, Radaam would say there isn’t much to tell. He had a simple, pleasant upbringing; his parents, a weaver and a woodcarver, loved him dearly and taught him the value of an honest day’s labour, and his little sister Zahra’s playful innocence and mischief taught him how to set a good example and appreciate the simple joys of life. The Suryana territories of Eastern Strahn were peaceful and the communities tight-knit, and Radaam developed a deep attachment to his people and heritage.
  
  While he was encouraged to try his hand at myriad different disciplines, Radaam never quite found his niche in any of them. Weaving was fun and engaging, but his fingers were clumsy; woodworking was well-respected, but he struggled to reign in his strength; cooking was tempting, but his palate simply wasn’t sensitive enough to tell between the good and the bad. In fact, the only skill he ever found considerable success in was the one that matched his demure personality the least: fighting.
  
  Combat in Suryani culture was not an outlet for aggression, but an amiable pastime, so far removed from sentiments of anger or hatred that disputes between Suryana would rarely, if ever, come to blows. Instead, fighting was a friendly engagement, not unlike a game of ball or cards in other cultures. Thus divorced from aggression, Radaam’s only qualm in his one special talent was that it wasn’t the most refined of endeavours; still, his natural endowments of height and strength made him ideally suited to all manner of brawling, armed and unarmed alike. Over time, the fighting ring became something of a second home to him, the one place where the typically withdrawn youth could really emerge - or indeed, explode - from his shell.
  
  His twentieth nameday brought with it the next stage of his journey, when he would be expected to undertake a traditional pilgrimage far from the forests of his birth. While the thought of leaving the familiar lands he’d grown up in intimidated him, expectations were high, and the goal of his journey too precious to ignore: on his travels, he would discover whether his fate would unfold in his homeland, or if destiny lead him elsewhere.
  
  There was no certain time his pilgrimage was to end, and so Radaam has spent the three years since wandering lands near and far in search of destiny, never settling too long in the same place. The new places and people fascinate him, but he longs for the day his wandering will finally come to an end; hopefully when it comes, he will have gained the wisdom to recognize it.
  new line
• Abilities/Skills:
  • Radaam excels in unarmed combat, especially proficient at grappling and groundplay. He is also skilled with a staff, though he does not tend to carry one on him.
  • Ever averse to conflict, Radaam makes a patient and diplomatic mediator, a skill that can be translated into negotiation should the need arise. While bartering with tough merchants or staving off a possible fight, his imposing stature also helps.
  new line
• Other: Nothing atm - will update

[Obscene Symphony]

skills

classes

[Obscene Symphony]

Lienna Orhneaht | Minor Crest of Gautier

“You won’t survive the winter.”

Name

Lienna Orhneaht

Age

18 _{Born the 17th day of the Pegasus Moon, 1476}

Country of Origin

The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Social Standing

Commoner - soon to join a minor branch of House Gautier

Crest

Minor Crest of Gautier

Starting Class

Monk

Weapon of Choice

Black Magic (Bow secondary)

Strengths

Reason & Bow

Weaknesses

Heavy Armour & Flying

Personality

The far northern reaches of Faerghus have a way of imprinting themselves on the people who live in them; frigid, thorny, and severe. Lienna is no exception. Aptly described as “cold”, Lienna looks out for herself first and without exception - everything and everyone else is secondary. She’s not the person to go seeking compassion, and definitely isn’t the caretaking type, more liekly to watch you wither and die than take on any extra burden. Still, she can be bargained with, if something of adequate value is offered in return.

As such, Lienna judges things (and people) by how much they can help or hurt her; the beneficial are kept, and the malignant or burdensome promptly abandoned. Socially, she’s attentive and sharp, willing to say or do whatever she needs to to get what she wants, but not an breath more. A hardened air of bitterness from a life hard-fought is apparent in everything she does, but she has no interest in hashing out the past. At the same time, she sees little value in thinking too hard about the future: to Lienna, what matters most is surviving the here and now, and anything beyond that can be dealt with later.

History

In the Northern reaches of Gautier territory there sits a small village by the name of Hima, best described as a motley assembly of shacks huddled around a small church right on the border of Faerghus and Sreng. Sandwiched between Srengese aggressors and Gautier defenses, the village felt the full brunt of their endless struggle for territory, often caught up in the crossfire of battles or raided for supplies by Srengese forces. Infertile soil, harsh climate, and continued regional unrest made the battlegrounds of Faerghus and Sreng all but unlivable, but nonetheless Hima stubbornly persisted, its people clinging to their inhospitable birthplace like weeds on a cliffside. It was there, in stubborn Hima, that Lienna was born.

She was an only child, left in her elderly grandmother’s care when she was just days old by a mother who wanted nothing to do with her and a father no one could name. With little money to care for a baby, Lienna’s grandmother, Oma, was forced to pick up whatever extra bit of work her old bones could manage, sewing and mending for pennies to make ends meet. Lienna eagerly helped when she was old enough, picking up odd jobs and hunting small game, and the two of them together managed to get by. There was no time or money for school, but Oma did her best to teach Lienna to read, write, and add numbers together; when the child exceeded her own knowledge, she sent her to the village church to learn from the priest and read the scriptures. It was at that church where, at the age of nine, Lienna first discovered she bore a Crest: the Minor Crest of Gautier.

Lienna was excited at first, told by the Priest that her Crest was a blessing from the Goddess, but to Oma, the news was unwelcome. Having heard the stories of how Crests destroyed lives and ripped families apart, she impressed upon Lienna that she must keep her crest a secret, that the nobility of Faerghus would kill, steal and die to add Crest bearers to their ranks and that if anyone found out about it, she would surely be stolen away. But word of a Crest bearer among the commoners of Hima was bound to get out, no matter how closely guarded the secret; soon enough Lienna heard townspeople talk about it, heard it discussed among the Gautier soldiers who often passed through. A few offers of adoption eventually came in from minor nobles, no doubt eager to claim ownership of her Crest, but Oma always forcibly denied them. Lienna didn’t want to go, anyway; from Oma’s stories, Crests sounded more like a curse than a blessing, and she wouldn’t see her little family broken for anything.

If only such things were within her control.

When Lienna was twelve, Oma started changing, her great age manifesting in ugly ways. It was subtle at first; she’d forget where she left her sewing or trail off in the middle of a sentence, simple mistakes easily attributed to the ravages of time. But her decline was fast, staggeringly so. Soon, she was forced to retire from her little mending business when she could no longer reliably tell the difference between shirts and pants. She began missing meals, and started wandering away from the cabin at all hours of the night, searching for places and people Lienna had never heard of. One evening, Lienna came home to an Oma who didn’t recognize her, speaking of things fifty years past as if they happened just yesterday.

There was nothing for Lienna to do but take up the mantle of caretaker. Within a few months she was transformed from child to parent, her days and nights stretched thin as she scraped together all she could to care for a grandmother who’d forgotten who she was. The townspeople were no help; they were sympathetic at first, but when the true nature of Oma’s condition got out they avoided her like the Imperial plague, thinking her madness was contagious or a divine punishment for some horrible sin. Whatever their reasons, it was quickly apparent to Lienna that without her Oma to turn to, the only person in the world she could rely on was herself.

The worst came when Lienna was fourteen. After being forced to run from a routine village raid, she returned to find her grandmother unharmed, but absolutely hysterical. Lienna was shocked; Oma had long since lost touch with reality, seeing and hearing things that weren’t there and prone to bouts of paranoia, but this episode was the most intense Lienna had ever seen. Oma was inconsolable, howling and screaming for Lienna to get away. Like countless times before, Lienna tried to tell Oma who she was, but Oma was unusually stubborn, insisting that she looked nothing like Lienna and that her granddaughter had been taken away by evil things that had been chasing her. She hurled unimaginable abuse at the so-called “imposter”, screaming horrible things Lienna never thought she’d ever hear pass her Oma’s lips. When Lienna finally managed to calm her down, it was like Oma was asleep with her eyes open, staring blankly and not uttering a word.

She never spoke again.

For Lienna, the years that followed were like living with a corpse she couldn’t bury. She did her best to care for her, sure, but to Lienna, Oma was dead; the body left behind was just an empty husk, a cruel mockery of the wise and vibrant woman she loved so dearly. Alone in the world, she grew bitter and distant, calloused from the pain and grief that shook her every time she looked at Oma’s hollow stare.

Lienna had just come of age when Oma finally passed, and she didn’t pause to mourn her. Instead, Lienna resolved to get as far away from that sad little cabin as she could manage, determined to use whatever methods she could muster not to spend another second shivering in Hima with a belly full of snow. She knew her Crest was her best shot at escaping, and was fully prepared to take advantage of it; Oma would have hated the idea, but the hells would take Lienna before she let a long-dead ghost control her any longer.

After a short stay at the village church and a lot of prodding the Gautier soldiers, Lienna learned of a Gautier Earl, the current Margrave’s brother, who was struggling to produce a Crest-bearing heir. Seeing her chance, Lienna got in contact with the Earl, who was expectedly welcoming of the chance to absorb another Crest-bearer into his family. Marrying an Earl, Lienna reasoned, would solve all of her problems: she’d leave Hima and live in an estate, never to worry about the roof over her head or her next meal ever again. So what if the Earl was two decades older than her; marrying him and bearing a few Crest babies seemed a small price to pay for a guaranteed life of comfort.

Still, Lienna was no fool - she wouldn’t agree to lock herself away in a far-flung Gautier keep without insurance. Oma taught her to read and add because she insisted that if she wasn’t educated, she’d be swindled for the rest of her life; this was no exception. Lienna needed to learn more about the world she was entering, understand their politics and make connections of her own lest her new husband or any of his highborn peers try to take advantage of her ignorance. Thus, she agreed to marry the Earl under one condition: He would sponsor her education at the Garreg Mach Officers’ Academy. After insisting that he’d keep an eye on her so she wouldn’t take his money and run, the Earl agreed, and arranged for Lienna to attend Garreg Mach for the year preceding their marriage. Lienna didn’t care; she’d accept an army of chaperones if it meant getting what she wanted.

Trivia

• Lienna stands about 5'3" with a thin, willowy frame. Her hair is long, straight, and the colour of ivory, usually either braided or worn down. Her skin is fair and generally clear, and her eyes are a deep amethyst purple.
• Her favourite dish is Beast Meat Teppanyaki. While simple, it was a special treat enjoyed on the rare occasions when her village could get their hands on Noa fruit.
• Having broken a leg as a child when she fell from a tall tree, Lienna has a potent fear of heights.
• “Orhneaht” is pronounced or • nay.

Class prog:

Monk -> Mage -> Warlock -> Gremory

Spells:

Blizzard -> Freeze -> Fenrir -> Fimbulvetr

Uniform:

Long skirt, standard blouse w/ mild bishop sleeves (jacket omitted), short boots. In place of bodice on blouse is a dark sash wrapped around midsection (dark brown like pic?) tied in a loose floppy bow on front right.

[Obscene Symphony]

Jorah von Riegan | Crest of Riegan

- Placeholder until I get his image -

“Let's dance!”

Name

Jorah von Riegan

Age

20

Country of Origin

The Leicester Alliance

Social Standing

Heir Apparent of House Riegan

Crest

Crest of Riegan
_{Jorah’s Crest gives him an uncanny ability to read people’s emotions, and makes them more receptive to suggestion - that is, until they realize what he’s doing.}

Starting Class

Fighter

Weapon of Choice

Bow

Strengths

Bow & Riding

Weaknesses

Reason & Authority

Personality

Perhaps his greatest virtue and flaw all in one, Jorah may be physically incapable of taking anything seriously. He’d call it an asset, being that he doesn't suffer long from heartache or disappointment, and it's nearly impossible to get under his skin. A little too sure of himself, Jorah doesn’t see much beyond the moment, often blind to the consequences of his actions. His impulsivity can often end poorly when his urge to push the envelope overrides his common sense, but he offsets his occasional bad luck with a near-insufferable ‘could have been worse’ attitude. He's laid-back and playful, with a devil-may-care outlook on life and an easy confidence that often strays into cockiness; a born performer and avid show-off, Jorah is generally happiest when all eyes are on him.

Much to his father’s chagrin, Jorah has a nomadic soul, drawn to wander and explore all the world has to offer… although, his more level-headed sister might suggest he's only traveling between fair maidens' beds. As a notorious flirt and a devilish charmer, even Jorah would have to admit that such a theory isn't entirely baseless. Beneath the flippant attitude and flirtatious remarks, however, Jorah is a genuinely kind soul, happy to live and let live without judgement and generally averse to doing harm unless he must.

History

When Jorah was born, his father, Duke Rodolph von Riegan, rejoiced. Possessing of the Crest of Riegan, Jorah was the first bearer of a Major Crest the family had produced in generations, cementing his spot as heir apparent to House Riegan’s seat among the Five Great Lords and making him a future great contender for influence at the Roundtable. With the issue of inheritance squared away early on in his tenure as Duke, Rodolph could raise his heir and conduct his business as Duke with a weight off his mind—for a few months, anyway.

As it turned out, Jorah grew into Duke Riegan’s biggest headache, a far cry from the responsible, stately heir he was meant to be. As soon as he could walk, he was difficult to keep still; among other antics, he was notorious for running off in the direction of anything that caught his eye, rules or danger be damned. As a child, he turned escaping his handlers into an art form, and his Crest power was apparent from an early age - he had an infuriating talent for getting what he wanted, no matter how strict his caretakers claimed to be.

His teenage years brought no relief; in fact, the only change that seemed to manifest was when he made the transition from chasing mice and butterflies all around Derdriu to chasing comely maidens instead. Knowing how much of a boon his son’s Crest power could be as a negotiator, Duke Riegan began taking Jorah with him on business trips around Fódlan, hoping that seeing him in action would endear the boy to politics and motivate him to take his role as heir more seriously. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect: it gave young Jorah a taste for adventure.

From then on, Jorah was impossible to contain. What used to be an itch to cause trouble around the Roundtable and the Riegan estate expanded to include all of Derdriu and beyond, turning the boy into a bona fide flight risk. Having finally gotten a taste of the world beyond Derdriu, he was desperate for any chance to experience more of it, driven to distraction by stories told by soldiers and merchants with nary a thought spared for his lessons or responsibilities. Hoping to stifle his son’s wanderlust, the Duke responded by barring him from any travel outside of Derdriu; instead, he simply turned Jorah’s birthplace into his prison.

Chafing under his overbearing father but ever mischievous, Jorah still managed to find loopholes in his sentence. In his later teen years, he took to a habit of walking the streets of Derdriu in disguise, using the creative moniker “Torah” to talk to the commoners without the pretense of nobility. Unsurprisingly, one of his absolute favourite haunts (aside from a number of taverns and cat houses) was the Derdriu waterfront, where he spent countless afternoons chatting up salesmen, sellswords and swashbucklers from every corner of the world. Heedless of the danger of being an unprotected noble heir surrounded by foreigners, Jorah thrived in their company, soaking up everything he could squeeze from them about their homelands and their adventures. Still, while sailors’ stories were enough to tide him over, they couldn’t sate him forever; before long, the Aquatic Capital felt more to Jorah like Fódlan’s Fishbowl, where he could gaze out at the entire world parading through the harbour, but never follow them whence they came.

The ever-present tension between Jorah and his father finally came to a head when Jorah turned twenty, far past the age where he should have started taking his role seriously and still with his head in the clouds. Duke Riegan had long threatened action if Jorah couldn’t get his act together, and Jorah had long resisted him, insisting that his younger sister Delia was more fit than he for the position. After an explosive argument, the Duke finally gave Jorah an ultimatum: he would attend the Officers’ Academy at Garreg Mach and return a fitting heir, or he wouldn’t return at all.

Trivia

• At 5’8”, Jorah is neither tall nor short, with a lithe frame covered in wiry muscle. His hair is blond and almost always kept tied back in a number of braids; let down, it’s long enough to reach the middle of his back. He gets his wine-coloured eyes from his mother and his deep tan skin from his father, and has taken to painting his face with symbols he learned from Brigid sailors, despite his father's protests.
• Jorah is an avid lover of music and dance, and has learned to play a number of instruments. His time on the Derdriu docks also taught him a wide repertoire of folk and sailing songs, which he’s more than happy to break into at any moment.
• His abundant energy (and one embarrassing incident where he inexplicably got stuck on a chandelier) earned him the nickname “Monkey” from his mother.
• Jorah’s favourite food is super-spicy fish dango from the Empire, though he’s generally a fan of anything foreign and anything liable to sear the tongue out of his head.

Family:
Duke Rodolph von Riegan - father
Tatiana von Riegan - mother
Delia von Riegan - sister
Charlotte & Dolores von Riegan - little sisters (age 6)

[Obscene Symphony]

Alicia Nilsson

_______________________________________________ Alicia Signe Nilsson _______________________________________________ 25 ┃ November 14, 1995 ┃ Female ___________________________________

Character Summary Personality ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Alicia is a very driven individual, tirelessly pursuing whichever goals or interests she has at the time. True, her interests often change, but she's eternally dedicated to music and enthusiastically throws herself into her work. A relentless optimist, she believes you can overcome anything with the right attitude and has no time for people who get in their own way feeling sorry for themselves. Growing up in a hotel environment made her sociable, with polished and practiced people skills - not that she always opts to use them. Her upbringing in hospitality taught her ease with new people and how to deal with them, and as a result she's very comfortable in social situations; people who know her say she could make friends with a tree. Pulling out what she calls her "retail self", if she must she can smile and be friendly even when she really doesn't want to. Outside of business, she's prone to running away with the conversation, and she struggles to remember that not everyone is as eager to meet new people as she is. However, growing up in such a bustling environment made her uncomfortable being alone, and she does her best to fill her time with friends and strangers alike. When she can't do that, she turns to her ever-changing hobbies as a companion, but has been known to satisfy her need for company by heading out to a local club and partying it up with total strangers - perhaps more than could be recommended. Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ [+] Height: 5'6 Weight: 120lbs Alicia is a classic Nordic beauty, with clear pale skin, light blonde hair and a pair of vibrant blue eyes. She's slim but not shapeless; she doesn't have a whole lot going on in the hips or bust, but manages a feminine figure nonetheless. She can dress it up or down depending on the circumstances, but always likes to toe the line between classy and comfy. She likes to look polished, nothing forgotten or overlooked, but never stuffy; an outfit of leggings and an oversized wool sweater might look thrown together until one notices the matching socks and hair clip. She keeps her nails neatly manicured and painted, wears just enough makeup not to look sloppy, and is never one to just let her hair do any old thing. She's not one for trends, and instead likes to stick to tried-and-true classics, though she's not beyond at least looking at the latest styles. When she dresses down she still keeps everything coordinated, and when she dresses up, look out for a bombshell. Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Born and raised in Banff Alberta, Alicia grew up in a bustling tourist town where her parents ran a small hotel. Their hard-working nature rubbed off on Alicia, who helped out at the hotel as much as she could in her time outside of school, starting when she was old enough to collect room service trays. Her parents worked her hard, but they also loved her dearly and supported her every endeavor to the best of their ability, even though she flitted between interests with every changing wind. To Alicia, magic was a normal household occurrence; her parents never really talked about it, and the little charms sewn into her clothing and the enchanted shoes that kept her from running into traffic felt so run-of-the-mill she never felt the need to question it. As she grew older and more curious, any questions were met with uninteresting answers of, "oh, it's just something my grandmother taught me" or, "it's nothing special, just an old family recipe". Fortunately, these were enough to satisfy the boisterous young girl, whose many hobbies kept her occupied enough to keep her from digging too deep into her family history. However, one thing always did pique Alicia's interest: the occasional letters and gifts she'd receive from her mysterious aunt on the west coast. She'd only met aunt Signe a handful of times, Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ▶ ▶ ▶ Alicia is fluent in Swedish and English and is working on French; however, she prefers English. Her parents insist on speaking English at home. ▶ "It's ah-lee-see-ah."

[Obscene Symphony]

Ben
Irina
Lilie


fontmeme fifth century caps size 30 light sky blue

Irina WIP

_{You can run on for a long time // Run on for a long time…}

| Female | 319 | Vampire |

Name

Irina Albakova Astorio

Appearance

Tall, athletic, and with a gaze that could pierce steel, Irina cuts an imposing figure, standing around 5’10” (or, more often, a full 6’ in boots) with a weight of 150lbs. She is the very embodiment of “disciplined”, standing rigidly straight and moving with purpose. Her natural eye colour is gold, but her eyes appear red most of the time with thirst; similarly, while paleness is expected of vampires, Irina’s skin tends to take on a somewhat more deathly pallor. While still ethereally beautiful by nature, Irina stands out among her vampiric peers as looking just a little more dead than most.

A relic of brutal Astorio training, she keeps her shock-white hair cut short and dresses in clothes that hug the body, nothing sticking out to get grabbed; leather jackets, slim-fitting trousers, and heeled riding boots make up much of her everyday wardrobe. One ever-present accessory is a scabbard hanging from her right hip, home to a blade that she wears at all times. While quite spartan in most aspects, Irina does like to indulge in dark lipstick and eyeliner.

Personality

Irina’s personality is the product of a lifetime spent on guard: alert, adaptable, and brutally efficient. She wastes nothing, be it time, energy, or even breath; she has no skill or patience for chatter, and as such speaks bluntly and concisely, and only wants to hear you talk long enough to get what she needs. What little remains of her patience is usually spent managing her self-imposed thirst, and mercy isn’t a word in her vocabulary: clashes and corrections start and end swiftly and brutally, nothing drawn out longer than necessary. Order and discipline are everything to her, and she holds those close to her to the same rigid expectations she applies to herself.

An Astorio to the core, Irina sets a calculating eye on everything she sees, and will learn someone’s size, build, skills and handedness before ever bothering to learn their name. Much like her House contemporaries, she’s well acquainted with violence and revels in combat, though she will only allow herself to indulge long enough to get the job done. Accustomed to an uncertain future, any plans she makes are fluid and flexible, rarely extending more than a few years ahead; in fact, planning ahead is probably the only respect in which Irina could be considered “laid back,” her opportunistic nature lending itself well to adaptation.

Bio

Ask Irina about her life and she’ll reply that there isn’t much to tell; she was born to Count Adrian Astorio after her “twin” brother Mikhail and elder brother Dmitir, and knew her mother only as “Hawk” for the few short years before they were separated. She learned quickly that Dmitir was a softie and Mikhail was a shitheel, became her father’s favourite by being neither, and was quickly launched into 65 brutal years of training, a trial by Lord Pieron himself, and eventually usurped her father. By all accounts, it was a typical Astorio upbringing.

Of course, an Astorio upbringing is spent with one’s back against the wall, and Irina’s was no different. Her earliest memories consist of fear and bloodshed, of a time where anything and everything had to be fought for. Decades of swinging every weapon known to civilization, learning to embrace hunger, pain, and desperation, looking over her shoulder because nothing and nowhere was safe, all to be honed into a ruthless killing machine—to her, it was… unremarkable.

But it was anything but in her father’s eyes, especially when compared to her companions on that journey: her brothers, Dmitir and Mikhail. Count Adrian had his work cut out for him with Dmitir: his first child by about a century, Dmitir was meek and soft-hearted from the first, possessing a merciful streak that rarely bade well for Astorio children. By some miracle he survived his training, but his father’s varied attempts to thicken his skin never hit their mark, teaching Dmitir only to keep his anguish to himself. When, at long last, he ventured into the woods for his final trial with Lord Pieron, he never returned, either dead or alive, and has never been seen or heard from since.

Of course, news of Dmitir’s supposed treachery spread quickly through the family, and with his line thrown into disrepute, it fell to Count Adrian’s other two offspring, only children at the time of Dmitir’s disappearance, to restore his honour. As such, he pushed his “twins” even harder than he had Dmitir, though he would not escape his challenges just yet.

While his second son, Mikhail, was more promising, he was still far from the paragon Adrian needed to restore his reputation. Unlike his brother, Mikhail didn’t have a merciful bone in his body; in fact, he took pleasure in suffering of all sorts that bordered on sick even by Astorio standards. Physically weak but quick, he avoided direct confrontation as much as he could, preferring to deceive, trap, ambush, and backstab his opponents into submission. This cloak-and-dagger methodology combined with a silver tongue and a talent for subterfuge cut him out better for the Sinnenodels than the Astorios, and despite the fact that he managed to pass all of his training, it was soon clear that his dishonourable nature would only reinforce popular opinion of Adrian’s line as cowardly.

As such, the Count’s last hope lay in his daughter, and fortunately, she did not disappoint. From the very first, Irina outpaced both of her brothers in intensity; every little thing she did, from schoolwork to play-fighting to feeding, she did with unmatched vigour, a whirlwind of nigh-uncontrollable energy. She craved direction and approached everything with single-minded purpose; in other words, she was the perfect clay to be moulded into Count Adrian’s saving grace.

Easily his favourite of his children, Irina was the one he pushed hardest of all, desperate to turn her into something any good Astorio would be proud of. And the harder he pushed, the better Irina responded, thriving under the pressure. Her father’s discipline allowed her to channel her as-yet aimless energy into a force to be reckoned with, easily destroying any task she was pointed at. The more she struggled, the more she hurt, the more her determination grew, egging her on to demolish every new obstacle in her way until there were none left to conquer.

When she finally surpassed her father and took his title, Count Adrian died with a smile on his face, secure in the knowledge that Dmitir’s transgressions had been atoned for.

These nights, Irina’s goals are somewhat less clear. Having amassed not only her father’s holds, but those of some other minor players in House Astorio, her material future is secure—assuming she can hold them. Titles and property in House Astorio change hands overnight, and the uncertain nature of Astorio life has turned her into quite the opportunist, accustomed to taking whatever chance happens to float by, and that’s largely how she’s been living since her rise to Countess.

Of course, even Astorio ears aren’t deaf to rumours of upcoming discord. Perhaps now would be a good time for a change...

Likes

Order / discipline / straightforwardness / cleanliness / dogs / combat / cold weather / motorcycles / challenges / dark lipstick

Dislikes

Other nobles / doublespeak / complaining / negotiation / dishonourable behaviour / poorly-trained mages / bottled blood / her brother Mikhail

Habits

• Fasting
• Using her enhanced senses for everyday purposes
• Clicking her boots
• Referring to mages as animals (ex. “kitty”)
• Keeping eerily still
• Cleaning

Other

• Irina’s sword is a heavy cavalry sabre, forged more heavy-duty than those designed for human use. A human would find it too unwieldy to use, but as a vampire, the extra weight is negligible to her.
• Irina is a skilled equestrian and a talented driver, and has trained in horseback and vehicle-mounted combat both on- and off-road. Her ride of choice is a motorcycle.
• She might not admit that she loves dogs, but Irina certainly has great respect for them, and her favourite breed is the Doberman Pinscher. She’s had a Doberman all her life; her current dog is a male named Hugo.
• Along with her sabre, Irina keeps two things on her person at all times: a flask of mage blood (changed out every week) and a silver pocket watch, preset to a three-minute timer.

[Obscene Symphony]

Hider

Aaron was no stranger to stress. Not by a long shot. His mother told him he’d always been wound a little tight, and his life had been peppered with periods of nigh-inconsolable anxiety: His mother’s illness had his normally docile teenage self getting into fist fights with castle guards and defying Lucan, and in the week leading up to his Awakening, he only ate about a few days’ worth of food, struggling to keep anything down as the prospect of being mundane loomed over him like a death sentence. And, of course, he'd been walking on glass since his first night at the Academy.

But this was different. He thought he knew stress. He was a fool; he truly had no idea. Every waking moment since that broadcast was a storm of worry the likes of which he’d never known; to say it drove him crazy was to neglect the miles past crazy he’d traveled. His only thoughts were of what might have become of Varis, what might become of him if his master really was dead. His nightmares continued throughout the break, but he didn’t care; they paled in comparison to the terrors that plagued him about what might happen if Varis really was dead. Besides, it wasn’t like he was sleeping much anyway, with the swirling pit in his stomach jarring him awake every other moment.

On top of the uncertainty—Malek’s cryptic assurance was no help—he was trapped, Ryner having locked down the castle like a fortress to keep investigators out and a certain manic light mage in. It was the first time Aaron ever felt the walls of Noila Castle close in around him; for a week—a week!—he was forced to stay put, consoling himself by scouring anything and everything that might be even tangentially related to Varis, his companies, the Red Hand, or any other Sinnenodel who might want to target him. But the castle, for all its resources, held next to nothing; he’d never noticed before how much of its records pertained only to the royal family, or how deftly the censors of the realm kept the internet clean of anything too interesting. Yet another instance of having drifted through life blind until now.

That week was one of the longest of his life, along with a few other milestones: It was the first time he’d ever flagrantly tried to disobey an order from the Princess, the first time he’d ever tried to escape castle grounds without permission. To his chagrin, the guards had prepared; Ryner must have had them scramble their usual shift schedules so Aaron couldn’t exploit his knowledge of their routine. Of course, if he hadn’t been tackled by guards those few times, he couldn’t claim to know where he’d go next, or what he’d do. He had no knowledge of investigation, no idea who to contact with Malek and Eris dismissing him, no idea who could help, but it didn’t matter. Even wandering aimlessly in search of a solution would be better than being forced to sit still and do nothing.

By the time he was finally, finally allowed to leave—albeit transported by an armed retinue back to the Academy—Aaron was a stranger to himself. His very skin felt like a prison, tight and squirming, and it was as if he watched his life from some faraway vantage point, difficult to comprehend that anything happening was real. He was exhausted—no, far beyond exhausted, he looked like a man on the brink of death—but he couldn’t rest. How could he when his master might be dead, captured, tortured, or worse? He’d gone through every possible scenario so many times they’d all started to bleed together, his brain running on fumes in a haze somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, but he couldn’t stop. Not until he knew for sure.

On arrival at the Academy, Aaron bypassed his dorm entirely, taking off to every administrative building he could think of in a search for ever more information. Repeatedly, he was told the same thing: There was a standing order that none of Varis’ belongings were to be moved unless he failed to show up for his first class. That was more than he’d been able to learn at home, thank fate, but still infuriating, and no matter how hard he tried, no one he spoke to could—or would—elaborate. So what, were they just as uncertain as him? He was sure Ryner knew something, but his pleading had fallen on deaf ears back at the castle, and he was too disgusted with her cruelty to face her any longer. He ran around campus for a solid night to no avail, until he was forcibly brought back to his dorm and told not to resurface until class the next night.

And so he was trapped again.

As much as he wanted to smash every window in the place just for something to do, he controlled himself; instead, he kept himself occupied by deep cleaning the dorm more times than he could really remember, Dawn hanging from his hip all the while. He washed and disinfected and polished until his hands were red and raw, straightened everything to geometrical perfection, chased every last speck of dust from the house. More than once he stared calculatively at the closed door to Varis’ room or the locked drawers in his desk. There could very well be something among Varis’ belongings that might shed light on his whereabouts, but Aaron refrained. No matter how out of his mind he was, he wouldn’t cross that boundary while there was still any possibility Varis would return. But if he didn’t, Aaron would tear that room and desk to shreds if he had to.

If he slept at all, it would have been with his head on his arm, slumped over the kitchen island between trawling news articles on his phone. But aside from occasional bursts of fruitless research, his phone was largely forgotten; Eris didn't have anything to offer him—or even the decency to answer his phone himself—and no one else could help him, so the multitude of notifications from Lilie and everyone else the past few nights went largely unanswered. He’d long since put it on silent; in his state, he was pulling his sword at every little noise out of place, paranoid it was the Red Hand or some wannabe Sinnenodel heir coming to finish what they started.

When 8:15pm finally rolled around, finding Aaron pacing a rut in the living room floor, things were no different. Between heartbeats swooshing in his ear, the jostling of the front door lock was deafening; Dawn was out and ready before he even registered moving, but then he went stone-still, glaring absolute murder at the door from the end of the hall.

You had better try to kill me after all this fucking grief.

Aaron watched with burning eyes as the door swung inward, heart thundering his ears as someone stepped in. Time crawled as the intruder slipped inside; first a foot, then another, a coat, a glove. Aaron held his last breath, muscles tensed and ready to strike, mind blank and focused until the colour returned to his vision and a red head of hair came into view.

His heart halted in his chest as the realization struck him. It wasn't a stranger, it wasn't an illusion; it was Varis.

“Master?!”

Aaron straightened so fast he almost lost his balance, fumbling to sheathe his sword with unsteady fingers before rushing down the hall to meet him. Honestly, it was a miracle he found his scabbard at all; he was so shocked he nearly dropped the blade on the floor.

“Master, you're alright!” He exclaimed hoarsely, too overwhelmed to temper his voice. It took all he had to keep himself from reaching out to confirm that Varis was real; relief hit him like a freight train, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. His vision swam, mind abuzz and blank at the same time. He wanted to jump for joy and fall to his knees to thank whatever powers that brought his master back safely.

He did neither, opting instead to catch his balance with a hand on the wall, looking like a man who’d just skirted death. “Master, I'm so glad to see you safe,” he breathed, hardly able to muster a proper speaking voice. “I was so worried, Master, I did everything I could but Ryner wouldn't let me leave, I was out of my mind— of course, you don't care. It’s not important.” He cut himself off from his rambling, raising a hand. He was a total wreck, running his mouth like a fool, but he didn't care. Varis could yell at him all he wanted so long as he was alive and present to do it.

Even with that in mind, Aaron could scarcely contain himself. For the first time in a week, he could breathe, though he struggled to gulp the air down around the growing lump in his throat. Relief didn't even come close to describing it; he didn't spare a single thought to how Varis had treated him the past few months, genuinely overjoyed that he was back, hale and whole.

Suddenly, Aaron gasped; he hadn't made sure of that yet! “But you, Master; are you alright? What happened? They didn't tell me anything—Is there anything I can do?” He spoke earnestly, his questions firing one after the other.

_@Achronum

[Obscene Symphony]

[Obscene Symphony]

“The only thing that can define me is me! Now shut up and do something useful!”

“I am Euryphaessa, and naught escapes my sight!”

can’t see the haters

UENO EMIHA
上野 咲羽

170cm | 125lbs | 18 | 3rd year | Female

ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ

Under construction

ＡＲＣＡＮＡ

The Moon

ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡ

Euryphaessa most often manifests as a swarm of many small, black-and-white butterflies, which disperse around the area in which they are summoned. These butterflies act as Emi’s eyes and ears, giving her enhanced awareness of her surroundings and any changes thereof. To attack, Euryphaessa’s butterflies converge into a tall, humanoid creature with five arms and butterfly wings where its head should be.

ＳＫＩＬＬＳ

Spotter - Scout out the area, making it harder for enemies to ambush you and easier for companions to land hits. (Passive)
Pulinpa - Create a distraction, inflicting Confusion on one foe. (Magical)
Memory Blow - Unleash a flurry of strikes, inflicting medium damage and Forget to all foes. (Physical)
Bluff Call - Detect your foes’ weaknesses. (Ability)

ＴＲＡＮＳＦＯＲＭＡＴＩＯＮ

Upon transformation, Emi dons a flowing empire dress made from layers of shimmering white gossamer. Tattoos of flowers and other flora sprout up across her entire body, whose blooms change colour and species depending on her mood.

ＷＥＡＰＯＮ

Emi does not carry a weapon.

ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ

To ask Emi’s parents about her life, they’d say she caused quite a stir when she was born, and hasn’t stopped since. The first part, at least, is true: having contracted an infection in utero, Emi was born without much use of her eyes, and in the following few years she was determined to be legally blind. She spent the first few years of her life in her parents’ small-town home, under the watchful eyes of doting parents and doctors alike; however, when it came time for her to start school, the family had to pack up and move to Kyoto, where she could attend a private school for the blind. Tuition and rent were expensive, forcing Emi’s parents to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, but they handled their stresses gracefully. All they wanted was for their daughter to live the fullest life they could offer her; Emi understood that even from a young age, and decided early that she’d make sure her parents’ vision for her became a reality, vowing never to allow anything to hold her back.

That resolve pushed her to pour herself into everything she did, from schoolwork to navigation lessons to hobbies. As it turned out, the lifestyle suited her: Extroverted and full of energy from the start, Emi had no problem throwing herself into action. She carried that attitude forth when she left her private school to attend Hinotori High, thriving with more people to meet and more activities to involve herself in. It didn’t take long for her to find her way onto every student association she could fit around her schedule, and in the gaps between meetings, she was always planning things with friends. Overall, her manic schedule rarely left her with a moment to herself - and you know what, Emi liked it that way.

She started her second year just as strong, but fate rarely goes long without changing. It wasn’t far into the school year before something happened, something beyond imagining, to tip her world sideways and shake out all the sense. Something awakened inside Emi that she could barely comprehend, let alone explain; the desperate utterance of one word set in motion events that shook her to her core, and led her to question not only her sanity, but the very nature of reality itself.

Persona.

Be it by luck, fate, or something else entirely, Emi was mercifully not made to cope alone. As it turned out, something similar had happened to a close friend of hers, and that friend introduced her to a few other students who’d had similar experiences. Encouraged that they weren’t alone, together they helped each other to make sense of the strange new world they found themselves living in, learning about Personas, Shadows, and the Other Side. Before long, research turned into investigation, and soon enough the aptly-named Torch Bearers passed an absolutely wild summer of battle, strife, friendship, and introspection, all in an effort to burn out the corruption lurking behind every mirror. It was terrifying, crazy, and miles beyond reasonable belief, and it was an experience Emi was certain she’d never forget.

Until one night, she stumbled home through the mirror with her mind and memories blurry. In the morning, she was told her friends were dead.

She didn’t believe it at first. Knowing the power they commanded, Emi couldn’t accept that any one of her friends could possibly succumb to something as simple as a house fire. In fact, it wasn’t until she was taken to the wreckage to smell the smoke for herself and feel the ashes between her fingers that she even believed there’d been a string of fires at all. There was just no way; it had to be fake, or a misunderstanding, or some kind of collateral damage from some climatic battle on the Other Side. But the Other Side would no longer admit her; when she tried to cross over and find where her friends had gone, she only succeeded in shattering her mirror.

But even if she couldn’t believe they were dead, her friends were most definitely gone, and the loss of such close friends would be devastating for anyone, even without uncertainty and suspicion gnawing in the backs of their heads. Emi’s desperate insistence that the fires couldn’t have claimed her friends fell on deaf, piteous ears, her concerns waived as the tragedy of a grieving girl still in denial. School, once a haven, became a torment; Emi couldn’t bear to walk the halls that now felt so empty, couldn’t stand the pity in people’s voices when they offered their condolences. As a result, she took the rest of the school year off, sequestering herself away at home with only her grief and confusion for company. Questions taunted her day and night, and uncertainty threatened to consume her: What became of her friends? Why had she been spared the same fate? And why on earth couldn’t she remember?!

For months, Emi was a husk of herself, her outspokenness silenced, her buzzing social life traded for solitude. Neither the efforts of her parents or her doctors could console her, and no possible progress on the investigation of her friends’ disappearance could satisfy her. As the new school year approached with little improvement, it seemed that the grief and the guilt would consume her - until, at long last, a light shone through the darkness.

A dream. A gentle-voiced man in a lavish train car came to her one night, speaking of things at once outlandish and hauntingly familiar. But what pulled Emi from the depths of her hopelessness wasn’t the man, the contract, or the key; rather, it was the woman beyond the door, singing an aria that Emi knew by heart. It was a melody that one of her friends, presumed dead, always used to sing. One she always claimed she’d “heard in a dream.”

The dream came back night after night, but it didn’t have to; it only took that very first night, when Emi shot up in bed with her face streaked with tears and that music in her head, for her to cast off the shackles of grief once and for all. She was no good to anyone mourning alone in her room, and as far as she was concerned, that song was the clue she needed. Her friends didn’t die in a fire: they were Torch Bearers, fire only made them stronger. Now, it was certain that something else was at work here, and at long last, Emi was going to figure out what.

Her friends called her The Navigator. Now it was time to lead them home.

ＭＩＳＣ

• While Emi is legally blind, like most blind people, she still has a little bit of vision - mostly an awareness of light and dark. This can sometimes help her notice if someone or something crosses in front of her, if someone turns on/off the lights, or to notice oncoming vehicles at night.
• Emi owns a collapsible white cane, though she doesn’t use it much to navigate. At school or at home she prefers to navigate by touch (ex. following walls to junctions), memory, and the little vision she has. If she’s out with friends, she’ll usually have one of them help guide her. In fact, pretty much the only time she’ll break out the cane is when she’s running errands on her own.
• She usually participates in normal classes, recording lectures in lieu of notes on a small recording device, though her study materials and evaluations often take on a more accessible form. She also has daily meetings with an expert in the special needs centre to help her with anything she might need, though she’s been skipping them as of late.

[Obscene Symphony]

. Bad omens in my head

For every word that started on your breath

Sweet child, you'll end up dead .

[Obscene Symphony]

[Obscene Symphony]

joey thing ideas
name: Kyreth (maybe goes by Kyr/Kyrin?)
race: Tainted who tries and fails to pose as an elf
age: 18-19

pics

HAT

Born in some city centre to some cheating bitch who got rid of him asap (possibly a bastard of some then-unmarried rich/noble woman?)

Grew up in orphanage until he was old enough to start working for food/lodging (~7) (has no surname)

Worked in various taverns/brothels/drug dens doing menial tasks (clearing dishes, other chores) for food, had some minor fire accidents, not understanding why

Also got roped into all sorts of untoward schemes because he was hungry and kids are great for staging thefts

Wasn't taught much about his heritage, just that Tainted are supposedly cursed demonic traitors and that a lot of the Tainted he grew up around seemed to embrace that stereotype

Kyreth wasn't cut out for that kind of life, he didn't want to take advantage of people, didn't like the cutthroat lifestyle, just wanted to make an honest living (but there's nobody honest in Urchin's Run or the Reprieve and honest folk outside of Buscon don't hire Tainted)

Eventually went to Straithmoor, struggled to find work but ended up with a steady setup doing odd jobs for a blind old lady who befriended him and introduced him to Selene

Taken by the first truly kind soul he'd ever really met and receptive to the message of deliverance for the downtrodden, the faith became a lifeline for him. The old lady gifted him a crude iron crescent that he treasures and keeps around his neck on a leather cord at all times.

Eventually causes another accident (setting the neighbour's thatch roof on fire?) and is run out of Straithmoor, now he has to find work elsewhere and he's heartbroken about having to leave his gentle old friend



Took a walk to the summit at night
To burn a hole in the old grip of the familiar
And the dark was opening wide
Do or die

TEST TEST

[Obscene Symphony]

“I don’t want any trouble.”

Male | 18 | 5’11” | 140lbs

Name

Kyreth

Appearance

Kyreth is fairly tall and slim, with a wiry, sinewy build honed from a lifetime of odd jobs and limited food. His stark white hair is short and choppy, lying every which way even as he tries to brush it back, and the only “style” to speak of is the inconsistent lines of a haircut obviously done with a knife. His dark complexion hides the oft-present shadows under his eyes, and a tight-lipped nervous frown conceals a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Aside from his dark grey complexion and his speckling of white freckles, the first things people usually notice about Kyreth are his eyes; entirely white and pupil-less, they’re a dead giveaway of his Tainted blood, even if his horns and tail are covered. His horns are quite short and curl tightly over his head, making them mercifully easy to cover up. His tail is quite skinny as Tainted go, and long enough for the end to lay on the ground - if it ever decided to lay still, that is. It tapers smoothly to a point resembling half an arrowhead.

In an effort to make traveling a little easier, Kyreth hides his Tainted features to the best of his ability, concealing his horns with his hood and hiding his tail under his tunic, wrapped tightly around his waist. With his pointed ears, from a distance he can almost pass for a dark-skinned Elf, although the charade usually fails once anyone comes close enough to notice the distinct lack of pupils in his eyes.

Classification

Primordial - Fire

Abnormality

Kyreth has a spattering of white freckles on his face and body, concentrated around his cheekbones (especially the outer corners of his eyes) and the tips of his horns and tail. These freckles, along with his eyes, glow dimly in the dark.

Personality

Kyreth is non-confrontational to the bone. Fairly meek and lacking much confidence, he’ll take a lot in stride if it means avoiding a fight. In a group, he’s liable to try and play the mediator, but equally likely to get steamrolled if the parties aren’t convinced by his soft tone and shrinking presence. Still, he does his best to break up fights, even though the practice has earned him a few bumps and bruises in the past.

Abuse is a fact of life for the Tainted, and one Kyreth has grown to accept; when faced with contempt or even violence, he prefers to either escape the situation or endure until it’s over, often with an apology on his lips. While he plays the role of doormat well, he’s not driven so much by self-preservation, but by concern; he has a sickening fear that taking too much exception to “the everyday hassles of life” will only serve to embolden the more sinister part of him, making him do something he’ll regret. To Kyreth, a few scrapes and bruises from those who spurn his kind aren’t worth losing himself to his own innate savagery and confirming their fears.

Even as mankind rejects him, Kyreth also struggles to find community among his own kind. Although he grew up under the care of a protective Tainted community, he’s grown to become even more uncomfortable around them than he is around other races, feeling utterly alien with his aversion to dishonesty and violence. As such, he ended up in no man’s land, finding no home among the Tainted nor the rest of the world. Deep down, he worries that if he were to live among the Tainted again, as he used to, he’d revert back to his old ways and lose all the progress he’s made. Best not to stay too long.

Above all else, Kyreth just wants to lead an honest, unintrusive life. He’s gentle at heart, if a little guarded, and tries his best to be kind to anyone he meets - sometimes to degrees very much undeserved. It’s an uphill battle, but for Kyreth, every meek smile not returned or kind word answered with scorn is just one more step toward atoning for his ancestors’ sins - and his own.

Bio

The beginning of Kyreth’s story is not unique, at least among the Tainted.
Left on the doorstep of a Tainted orphanage in the Dregs of Buscon, he was just one of many helpless, crying babies disposed of the moment they opened their pupil-less eyes.

Although the world is a cold and dangerous place for the Tainted, for a blessing the Dregs were somewhat of a haven; with blades drawn and teeth bared to the rest of the world, the Tainted of Buscon fiercely looked after their own, and as such the many orphans of Urchin’s Run grew up with something of a family all around them. Tainted children were more or less welcome just about everywhere in the Dregs, and given guidance and leniency not afforded to outsiders. It was common for those in the community with a little to spare to kick some to the orphans, either in donations to the oft-crowded Dragon’s Clutch orphanage (originally named “Aziaza’s Refuge”, which understandably didn’t stick) or directly to the children themselves, who would often use their spoils to practice the bartering and swindling skills they picked up from their elders.

Things worked surprisingly smoothly. With outsiders generally wary of the Dregs, the insular Buscon Tainted managed to avoid much of the vitriol suffered by others of their kind, running an internal society relatively cut off from the rest of the city. Any outsiders naive enough to wander in usually regretted their time there, falling victim to pickpocketing and cheating at best, or violence at worst. Although conflict between Tainted often crackled, most fights were swiftly ended by bystanders and perpetrators ostracized for disturbing the peace; outsiders, however, were fair game.

And so it went. To Kyreth, it was normal; outsiders hated them, so any foolish enough to intrude on their one sanctuary got what was coming to them. Children were protected, but not coddled; Kyreth and every other child was expected to earn his own way and keep his head on a swivel; “You’ll need that skill one day,” as his elders always said. So, from the moment he was old enough to hold a broom, Kyreth worked; sweeping up taverns, running errands for brothel ladies, playing the innocent accomplice to swindlers - every job, no matter how dingy or underhanded, was worth the room and board it earned him.

But that didn’t mean he liked it. Kyreth was used to the harsh life of the Dregs, but he wasn’t well suited for it; in an uneasy peace maintained through necessity and a hierarchy of might, the skinny, small-horned boy fell squarely at the bottom of the totem pole. Averse to conflict and bad at it besides, Kyreth was easily pushed around by his peers and ordered hither and yon by his elders, with little capability or option to refuse. He made a habit of shrinking into corners when brawls broke out - and there were many - and always flinched at the blows and insults thrown around, no matter how many times he’d seen or heard them. The crass stories of tricking, cheating and beating outsiders that everyone else seemed to enjoy disturbed him, and even as he grew up and his peers grew into their underground society, the underhanded ways of the Dregs never stopped making Kyreth… uncomfortable.

Maybe that was why, despite his community’s tense closeness, Kyreth never really felt like one of them. In a pack of wolves, it seemed he was the runt, never strong or bold enough to bare his teeth like the others did, and shying away from the fervor of their voices when they howled. Though he’d never voice it, he could see why outsiders feared the Tainted; they thought his kind were traitors, devils, and worse - and after all he’d seen, who could blame them? The Dregs weren’t entirely bereft of kindness, but it was never offered to outsiders, who were ironically decried for their intolerance as the Tainted refused to tolerate them.

And that wasn’t even to mention Kyreth’s own sins. They started when he was young, too young to realize they even involved him, but whenever he got scared, or frustrated, or angry… accidents happened. Most of the time, it was just a bit of singed hair or a scorched hem after a particularly vexing scuffle with bigger kids, a leaping candle flame when a tavern patron said something particularly crass, but sometimes they were worse. Once, he set an outsider’s pantleg on fire by accident when the man tried to kick him out of the way, cursing at the “damn devils” in his path. Kyreth had heard the stories of the Tainted, how they were a cursed, fallen race, punished by Aziaza Herself for their alliance with the dragons - to him, it only made sense that his little “accidents” were a result of that unholy union. Why else would fires leap to life when he got angry, if not for some ancient draconic curse?

So he clung to the shadows, and did his best to contain the devil that seemed to dwell inside him. But when his whole world was a slum beset by crime and conflict, how could he possibly avoid feeding his sinister side? Avoiding confrontation was a delicate dance all on its own, let alone prying himself out of underground jobs he’d done for ages without protest. As time went on and keeping his darker side in check grew more and more demanding, Kyreth had no choice: he had to separate himself from the moral depravity of the Dregs and remove the temptation. No, it wasn’t just the Dregs - he had to get out of Buscon altogether, go somewhere new where he could get away from his dishonest life and start again.

So he did. As soon as winter ended in his eighteenth year, Kyreth gathered what few belongings he had and abruptly left, offering no explanation. Knowing only life in the bowels of Buscon, he laid eyes on what lay beyond the city walls for the first time and ventured out in search of something better.

That was the idea, anyway. In reality, it was a miserable endeavor; if it wasn’t hunger and cold snapping at his heels, it was other travelers throwing stones as he passed, or shops and villages chasing him away. More than once he found himself on the receiving end of violent thugs airing their grievances, and he could count on his fingers the number of nights he managed to spend under a roof. But, despite more than once yearning to return to the Dregs and put his lofty ideals behind him, Kyreth persevered, continuing his trek down the coast to Straithmoor. After all, those people were just scared - and Kyreth couldn’t blame them.

Straithmoor welcomed him as much as any other settlement along the way: with curses, stones and pitchforks. But as he searched on the edge of town for a good place to camp, Kyreth found something he didn’t expect: a tiny old woman mending a fence, calling out for him to help her. He didn’t believe it at first, thinking she must have meant to call for someone else, but there was nobody; it was just him, her, and a vast empty field. When he drew closer, he saw her cloudy grey eyes and for a second, thought she was another Tainted in disguise, living impossibly among this harsh and hostile town. But he was wrong - she was simply blind. No wonder she called out to him, she couldn’t see what he was.

Kyreth thought about outing himself to her - it would feel dishonest to lend a hand to someone who might not otherwise want it if they knew what he was - but decided to hold his tongue. After all, if she chased him off, her fence would stay broken, and that didn’t seem to be much help. Resolving to confess after his work was done, he followed her summons and helped her patch the fence. But just as he was about to inform her and take his leave, the woman asked another favour of him. Then another. And another. And more and more until he’d been sleeping in her shed and eating her food for two months in exchange for whatever help he could provide.

Food and board weren’t all she provided, either. She also provided company, companionship the likes of which Kyreth had never known before. He chalked it up to a lonely old woman wanting someone to talk to, but the reason didn’t really matter to him; he drank up every word, every second like a castaway finding fresh water. She told him stories about her late husband, the dedicated rancher; her sons, the fishermen, all dead now; and most importantly, she told him about Selene, lady of the moon and deliverer of the downtrodden.

Selene’s message touched Kyreth to the very core. The only god he knew much about before was Aziaza, who cast down the treacherous Illarin and would probably add every Tainted to her throne of bones upon their deaths - understandably, not an encouraging tale. But until now, Selene was unknown to him, and her mission of succor to the poor and suffering was the first glimpse of hope beyond death that Kyreth had ever seen. He latched on immediately, and became an adamant follower as soon as Berta taught him how. Impressed with his enthusiasm, she even gifted him the crescent hanging in her doorway, insisting that he needed the protection from bad luck more than she did.

Those two months were a dream come true for Kyreth, but sooner or later, everyone must wake. And Kyreth did wake; abruptly and violently. Having got it into his head that he would do something nice for Berta, he went into Straithmoor proper with some proceeds from her farm, hoping to trade them for a chunk of good swordfish - Berta’s favourite. But while the fishmonger took his payment, he wouldn’t hand over the fish. Instead, he laughed in Kyreth’s face, scoffing over the idea of trading with a devil.

Normally, the insult wouldn’t bother Kyreth, and he’d cut his losses and go away. But those were Berta’s wares the fishmonger had stolen, and Kyreth couldn’t tolerate that. As hard as he tried to contain himself, his temper flared - and so did a flame, catching the fishmonger’s stall alight and reducing it and his catch to ash. In an instant, the fishmonger and many of the passerby were on Kyreth, and it was all he could do to escape the town in one piece. He couldn’t go back to Berta’s house, fearing for her safety as well as his own, so he ran until his legs could no longer carry him and the shouts and torches faded into the night.

And that was it. A perfect dream, ruined in an instant. Kyreth was distraught, more convinced than ever that he harboured an evil that needed to be contained. But he still had to eat, and the winter cold was fast approaching, so he made for the road again. Apparently some establishment called a “Bounty House” had just opened in Finnagund, far away from anyone who knew who he was or what he’d done.

Likes

• Working - legitimately earning his keep gives him more satisfaction than anything else in the world.
• Helping people when he can
• Full moon nights - they make him feel like Selene is watching over him.
• Fish, almost any way

Dislikes

• Fire - accidents always seem to happen whenever he’s around it.
• Deceit - or anything dishonest, shady, or generally off the straight and narrow.
• Conflict
• Temples - despite his faith in Selene, he always feels like an intruder on holy ground.
• Meat, unless dried - there’s just something uneasy about eating something with blood.

Habits

• Looking over his shoulder
• Apologizing
• Checking his belongings
• Grabbing the back of his neck
• Hiding his teeth (for example, trying not to smile too wide)
• Clutching his Selene pendant when nervous

Inventory

Kyreth doesn’t have much, but he does make sure to carry:

• A weathered, waist-length cloak with a large hood, fashioned from one piece of canvas. He’s had it since he was small enough for it to fall to his knees.
• A sturdy needle and a spool of strong linen thread
• An old single-edged knife, sharpened so many times that the blade has grown narrow
• A sharpening stone
• A large water skin
• An oilcloth bundle of cheap traveling food, like dried meat or fish skins
• A heavy, palm-sized Crescent of Selene, crudely fashioned from iron and worn under his tunic on a leather cord. This is without a doubt his most treasured possession.

Other

• Kyreth prefers to cover his horns with a hat if he can find one; he fears that walking around hooded all the time makes him look suspicious. Sadly, his only hat recently got destroyed in a Mishap, so it’s back to hoods for now.
• Like most Tainted, Kyreth’s tail is very reactive to his emotions, so it can be difficult to conceal wrapped around his waist. As such, he prefers to keep his cloak on whenever possible.
• Growing up in gambling houses got Kyreth pretty good at Buscon’s most popular games of chance - and especially good at cheating. However, he renounced that practice years ago in pursuit of leading a more honest life.

[Obscene Symphony]

[Obscene Symphony]

✦ Maya [surname]
✦ 22
✦ Female
✦ Faceclaim and/or physical description
✦ Weapon

✦ As opposed to a personality or bio section, I’m going to request that you do an in-character response to one of the following prompts:
✧ The way your character died (and thus entered Decibitus). Please be aware that all souls that enter Decibitus have significant personal reason(s) to not simply move through to the After.
✧ A brief excerpt of your character’s first job as a reaper or a job that impacted them significantly
✧ Your character has just been given the offer to become a reaper, what brought them to say “yes”?

✦ Magic Branch
✦ Magic
For the sake of balance, I’m going to give everyone pokemon syndrome and limiting initial spells to 4 per character to start with. Please note that these are specifically significant spells that can be used for combat or have a massive effect in setting. Spells for day-to-day living do not have this cap. Spells in this list should be within the same branch of magic–if you tell me your magic is elemental, I want your spells to be elemental.

[Obscene Symphony]

WIP - Maya Desrosiers

________________________________________ Miriam "Maya" Desrosiers Female | 22 | Cosmic _______________________________________________ "Don't you dare come in here and tell me HR wants to talk again." ________________________________________

"Why should I be careful? What, am I gonna extra-die?" Appearance Maya is a decent height for a woman at 5'7", though she's usually boosted a bit taller with heels. She has a slim but shapely build, fair skin, and long, straight black hair. She prefers business casual style, preferring short skirts, stockings, and blouses. Her eyes are a dark wine colour, and her face, conventionally pretty, is often slack with boredom and mild contempt. When an unusual job comes up on the board, however, those eyes take on a dangerous, thrill-seeking glint at the prospect of some rare excitement. Weapon Maya wields a long hammer with an angled head, equipped on the reverse with a short bladed spike and combustive boosters that allow her to add some extra kick to a swing or directly blast an enemy. The boosters are controlled by a trigger on the shaft. From tip to tip, the hammer is about as long as she is tall. Magic Maya's field of magic is Cosmic, specializing in spells having to do with the manipulation of gravity. Kounia - Maya's most commonly used spell, Kounia is a spoken spell that allows her to change the direction of the gravity affecting a person or object. Opprimunt - A written spell that allows Maya to multiply the force of gravity in a designated area. Usually prepared in advance as a trap to impede enemies. Gravis - Similar in effect to Opprimunt, Gravis is a spoken spell that affects only one target. Duratus - A spoken spell which neutralizes gravity's effect on the target entirely. Maya is still working on this one; it'll take some tweaking of velocity as well as gravity to get it perfect, but the goal is to be able to use this spell to stop a fall. Currently only works on one target, but she's working on expanding it to multiple. "How did you die?" "Isn't that supposed to be rude to ask? Whatever, I don't really care. It's a short and kind of bullshit story anyway. I was 22, your classic goody-two-shoes - came from a nice family, got good grades, didn't get pregnant before twenty, all that. Didn't really do much interesting; you know how it is, half of everyone you know tells you to get your crazy out before you're too old to party and the other half says that can all wait until you get your education and you're out on your two feet. I kinda split the difference; didn't party too hard but wasn't a loner or anything. Went away for school, joined a sorority. The usual. Anyway. There I am, wasting my life studying for some bullshit physics degree, thinking I'll go have a real life once I'm done, and then - BAM! Meningitis. Like, are you fucking kidding me? What kind of bullshit is that? You french one guy at a party, go to bed the next week with a stiff neck and never wake up again? Give me a fucking break. But that's what got me, and then my dumb ass wakes up here, dead, and what, I'm supposed to just be cool with that and move on to the After just like that? Yeah, okay. Fuck that. I barely spent any time on Earth! I never got to live my life there, so I'm damn well gonna live it here until I'm good and ready. I guess that's what brought me to this job. I spent like, I don't know, a year or so just hanging out in Decibitus at first. Really trying to let loose, you know? Live a little? Ha. But it didn't take long for that to get boring - I guess I shouldn't be surprised that a city full of dead people with mortality issues is kinda lame. So then I remember they told me I could be a Reaper (which at first I was like, no, I didn't die just so I could get a nine-to-five in limbo) and think hey, maybe slaying demons or whatever that entails will be more exciting than nightclubs full of reincarnated geriatrics. Of course, now I've been on for about a year and a half and... yeah. No. I mean, sure, you get a little action every now and then when there's a wisp that got a little too mature or some especially uncooperative dead guy on Earth, but Jesus, who figured death would still have paperwork? And like, an HR department? You're telling me I still have to deal with payroll when I'm dead? So yeah, turns out the afterlife isn't that much more impressive than normal life - although not being able to really die again is cool, I guess. And now with the train out of whack things are even more annoying. But hey, maybe whatever's holding up the train will be a bit more of a challenge."

[Obscene Symphony]

Trainer is a bastard
Trainer is a bastard (trainer's colour)
Testtestestest
Trainer is a bastard (hair colour)
Trainer is a bastard (hair lighter)
Trainer is a bastard