Abstract Proxy

𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 - 𝘈𝘳𝘤 𝘐: 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭

Umara

_{Still in the Stonehill District, still by the West Gate, and still getting rained on.}

---

"Firstly, I possess no pockets," Umara said to the two gargantuan guards, following after Tennaeus, and then gesturing plainly at her dress. She cast a questioning look back at Galahad, she had high hopes the knight would do something or at least provide a useful distraction, but she knew better than to rely on others, especially unmeasured and untested strangers. The self-proclaimed prophet seemed likely to confuse the ogres and if not, then his substantial strangeness might monsters arouse all the superstitious fears that such dim, dark creatures surely possessed.

"Secondly, I am clearly no mere human," she added, holding a finger to each of her eyes in slow succession. Perhaps the mammoth monsters would listen to golden haired speaker and her sweetly placating words, but what little Umara knew of ogres did little to inspire any great confidence in such diplomatic attempts at entering the city.

Umara was tired. She was growing increasingly cold. Her hooded cloak, waxed as it was, would not repel water endlessly. Were she not facing monsters several times her size, Umara might not have resisted the temptation to say some quiet rude things to the ogres. But she was no fool. She was no reckless adventurer. And so she waited, stoically next to Tennaeus, trying to adopt the somber, serious bearing of a clearly not human creature, annoyed at the mere implication that she might be something as mundane as a mortal human.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Ziska

---

Sparing a moment as she carefully disengaged from the fleeing Crimson Fists, Ziska studied the crumbled form of the enemy RVN-3L with grim satisfaction. The pilot had been unlucky. She didn't fancy the enemy MechWarriors chances in the storm. But they knew the risks. And now they knew the score.

Keying her mic, Ziska finally replied over the encrypted comms, "I'm good, Giggles, thanks for the assistance. You too, Desperado. I'm falling back."

She didn't bother taking any potshots at the enemy light mechs as they faded out of range. Her BattleMech was in no state for more fighting. She was in no state for more fighting. The Colonel's orders were clear, it was time to fall back. She knew they had to pace themselves. Asymmetric warfare was a marathon, not a race, and the Green Knights would have more time to bleed the Crimson Fists dry..

"I always said you'd die on some backwater planet," a deep voice rumbled from the jump seat crammed into a corner of the already cramped RVN-3L cockpit.

"Shut up," Ziska hissed between gritted teeth. She didn't bother to look. She would have recognized the voice anywhere. The smug, Davion military accent. The rolling consonants, laced with the rough pronunciation of a born scumbag. She could feel the flicker of unwelcome neurofeedback. The system was running hot. Reya would be happy. Her modifications to the Guardian ECM system had worked perfectly. However, Ziska doubted Reya would be happy about her BattleMech. Davids, Davids she knew would be furious. The thought of his imminent rage almost made it all worth it. It had been too long since their last argument and subsequent screaming match.

"I'd rather not," the speaker countered, laughing in the old way that Ziska had always hated.

Cursing loudly, Ziska turned, staring daggers at the heavy set man sitting uninvited in her BattleMech,"Get out of my BattleMech, Thomas."

"Don't hate me Tereza," Thrice-Hanged said, raising his hands up, grinning as if that would mollify her. "I'm just the messenger."

"Yeah? And what message is it that you're here to share? ComStar finally looking to pick me up?"

"Ha, I don't think they'd take you. Not anymore. But that's not what I need to tell you-"

"Shut up, Thomas, I don't want to hear it," Ziska said, waving a hand wearily. "Dead people can't talk. Go away. Leave me alone."

"Ah...How's the head? You hit it harder than you thought, didn't you?"

"I'll live," Ziska fumed, trying to rub the blood out of her left eye. She'd have to bother Doc Yuri. The blood was a pain. The pain was more pain. Ziska felt a pang of annoyance. She felt tired. It wasn't the time to sleep. She had to keep moving.

"Stay awake, Tereza. You're not much use unconscious," Thomas chided. "Kinda fucked up though, isn't it? You're talking to a dead man. To a ghost. You're losing it."

"I'm not," Ziska chafed, remembering Family Man's screaming.

"Systems running hot. Neurofeedback. Head wound. You're just noise. Nothing more," Ziska continued, willing herself to believe it.

"You tell yourself that, Tereza. Tell yourself that this conversation isn't happening. Remind yourself that you don't believe in any of this crap anyways."

"I don't," Ziska said, nodding. "You were always the one blabbering about Blake's infinite mercy. But please, spare me the preaching, it was bad enough when you were alive. Go away, Thomas, please."

"If only you knew," Thrice-Hanged said, his voice suddenly low and sad. "However, I can't leave, not yet, I still have matter to discuss with you."

"I'm not talking. I'm not talking to anyone," Ziska countered. "You're not here. You're not real. And if you are. Well, then I'm going to kill you again. I'm going to kill you again. And again. And again. I'll kill you as many times as I have to until you finally leave me alone."

"You didn't kill me the first time," Thomas chuckled.

"Well, it's the thought that counts isn't it? Not my fault that the Davion pirate hunters beat me to the punch."

"Ha, you were planning to kill me? For shame, Ziska, and here I thought that were were-"

"Of course," Ziska interrupted, letting out a low bitter laugh. "You were losing it. You were going to get us all killed. A mad dog gets put down, Thomas, you know that."

"Aye, I always told you that."

"You did. You always did. You fucked up. You fucked it all up, Thrice-Hanged. And now. Now I'm here. And you're...you're still dead."

"You got a plan?"

"Colonel does, I suspect, maybe the others too. I'm just doing what I do best. Surviving. Killing. You know, the usual."

"Intimately," Thrice-Hanged cheerfully agreed and Ziska could feel his smile burning across the air between them.

𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 - 𝘈𝘳𝘤 𝘐: 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭

Umara

---

Rolling her eyes, Umara took several steps away from the plain elf that seemed to be chastising her. What words she had said had been far from vulgar and she saw little reason in his manner.

She made no effort to hide her annoyance as she studied the unwelcome interloper. In her thoughts, she marked him a danger by his actions and by his words. His lies were bizarre. His manner peculiar. To endanger their endeavor so soon and without apparent reason, suggested only treachery.

There was no quarrel between them. She had not exchanged so much as a single word with the elf throughout the long journey. She did not know him. She knew nothing about him. She knew no name, no title, or even vocation. The measure of his motives eluded her, but Umara was not so guileless as to miss the provocation laced sweetly within his words.

"The nomads of the Desert Salts, the G'ana, have saying: 'The Gift of words is the gift of deception.' I thank you for the reminder," Umara said, channeling the kindly knife of politeness practiced by the famed swordsmiths of Nyskal.

Umara forced a smile onto her lips, nodding to the blond elf. Let him stew on that, she thought as she turned away from him. She walked slowly, willing no nervousness in her step and stopped next to the tall figure currently interrogating their unfortunate guide.

Better a pretty face, than a dull one, Umara reasoned casting a quick glance at Galahad before scowling once more at the beleaguered Farfa.

𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 - 𝘈𝘳𝘤 𝘐: 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭

Umara

---

"Farfa plans to drown us," Umara bitterly said, standing unsmiling in the rain. The half-hearted shrug she shot the silver haired patrician as he stood in his increasingly wet fine clothes implied no apology for her interruption. "Why else would he leave us waiting in this weather?"

Fresh anger shook the weariness from Umara's tired limbs as she glared at the damp eyed demon. Frustration drove the faint traces of sleep from her eyes. The journey had been long. The dangers had been many. She could summon no more patience. Sparks of anger flickered to life in her heart. The danger was obvious. The threats freely spoken. Imprisonment. Enslavement. And death, always death. As she stood facing the gates that lead into the City of Demons, Umara thought that a small bag of coin seemed a poor bargain for her services.

The carriage had brought only more strangers, strangers stranger still with each passing moment. Umara's right hand moved reflexively to the pendent that she wore. Her fingers traced the patterns etched into the soft gold. She suspected that they would find that the line between life and death among the demons to be too quick and sharp for their liking. She shook her head to drive out the angry thoughts, glancing warily at the oracle. His appearance, although darkly outlandish, barely concerned her. She did not begrudge others their eccentricities, least of all when it came to their manner of dress. There was madness in his words, but it did not bother her. Madness held little mysterious to the young pyromancer. Derangement was not uncommon in a blight and dying land.

He had woven no spells. He had spoken no curses. And he had carved no runes into the earth with his staff. The stranger did not scare her. Adorned in bone and hiding beneath a stolen shell, he simply struck her as a sad. She did not relish the smell of his rags, but she did not fear his person. Still, he disturbed her. She did not know the veracity of his claim, but the presence of an oracle demanded greater caution. Prescience was a dangerous science. Prophecy was not without risk. She had no desire to be trapped by a soothsayer's visions. She had burned through the threads that had bound her. She had forged her own fate. And she would not be ensnared again.

The diminutive knight had cast new clouds of worry over her thoughts. His introduction threatened to shatter the last mote of restraint that she commanded. In names there was power and the two strangers had offered their names freely to the demon and the monstrous guards. Trust given so freely did not bode well for their shared venture. They would say too much. They would act too rashly. She felt an unwelcome pang of regret deep within her stomach.

Unfortunately, it was well past the time for leaving.

𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 - 𝘈𝘳𝘤 𝘐: 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭

Umara

Umara Imaradi

________________________________________ Umara Imaradi 18 | Female | Human _______________________________________________ ❏ BIRTHPLACE: Umara hails from the infamously eerie Masquewood Swamp, found deep within the easternmost reaches of the Realm controlled by Styx. ❏ CASTE: Umara is a traveling alchemist, offering her services to the strange caravans that still travel the blighted lands. For a modest, extremely fair price, of course. ❏ AFFILIATIONS: As a professional Alchemist with a capital A, Umara is a member in good standing of the Alchemist Society. With a mind to her filial duties, she also maintains sporadic contact with her parents by way of somewhat regularly posted letters, carefully curated to ensure that she always appears to be doing very well. ❏ GOALS: Umara seemingly lives only to further her understanding of the alchemical and arcane arts. Any money that remains after paying for her own basic necessities and current debts, is inevitably spent in pursuit of increasing her knowledge in these two fields. _______________________________________________ TALENTS: ◆ Alchemy: Despite her youth, Umara is a talented alchemist, capable of combining reagents to produce substances both mundane and mystical in nature. ◆ Arcane Scholar: Magic is not a mere feeling. Magic is not simply exerting one's will upon the world. Magic is a science. Magic is another gateway that must be opened and another threshold that must be crossed in order to understand the nature of the universe. Convinced that this the truth, Umara views herself as an scholar, following in the faded, often hard to discover footsteps of arcane scholars of long gone ages. In a world filled with death and decay, precious few individuals would care to challenge Umara's claims of scholarship. ◆ Analytical Mind: Umara possess a sharp, analytical mind. She is uncommonly good at logically analyzing a situation, problem, or discarded tome packed full of forbidden and terrifying knowledge that will likely threaten not only her, but the entire party. EQUIPMENT: Clothes and Jewelry ◆ A hooded blue cloak, adorned with embroidered celestial bodies. ◆ A turquoise dress, suitable for travel, painted shifting shades of blue and green, and decorated with small trinkets cast in gold. ◆ A set of glass earrings that seem to glow with a cold light when seen from the right angle. Small inscriptions etched into the metal holding soft glass globes suggest that the earrings were shaped by a master craftsman in the City of the Dead some three hundred years ago. ◆ A gold pendent bearing runes associated with a long forgotten deity of knowledge. The sole profit from a hasty and disastrous visit to a ruined temple, Umara wears the amulet as a form of good luck charm. Tools and Alchemical Supplies ◆ A simple leather backpack. ◆ An old, battered book, written in a elaborate cursive that is exceedingly difficult to read. ◆ An unassuming knife that Umara keeps in a leather sheath looped to a belt tied around her waist. Although the blade is sharpened, Umara by her own confession has neither the inclination nor training to use it as anything but a tool. ◆ A portable alchemist's kit consisting of two glass beakers, a light metal frame for holding a beaker over a flame, a glass stirring rod, as well as a small pestle and mortar. ◆ A pouch of common alchemical ingredients, including salt, iron powder, and purified water. ◆ Carefully secured in her traveling pack, Umara keeps three flasks of Alchemist's Fire. A useful substance for any burgeoning alchemist to create, Alchemist's Fire is a sticky, adhesive fluid that violently ignites when exposed to air and continues to burn until the flame is extinguished. Miscellaneous ◆ A small, battered journal, full of hastily scribbled notes and formulas. ◆ A small bottle of black ink (no more than one ounce) and an elegant metal ink pen that clearly cost a sizable sum of money to purchase. A waterskin currently filled with clean water.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Touched by the arcane, Umara's eyes dance with not just alertness, but burning flames that leave her eyes a forever shifting yellow-orange. Above and below her eyes, Umara paints geometric shapes, reminders of her discoveries and meaningful meditations on the nature of the Arcana. Enchanted by the ether that flows through her, Umara's hair is cast an ethereal hue of pale blue. Her skin is faded fawn, colored by the sun and time spent on the road. Middling in height, Umara has the lithe, if not athletic, then at least trim figure, of one who spends her life traveling from one settlement to another. The excess fat of too much pleasure, too much wine, and the softness associated with the hearth have had no time to leave their traces on the young woman. Unconvinced of the kindness of her fellow travelers, Umara takes care to hide unwelcome shapes brought on by a growing adulthood. She does not hide that she is a young woman, but she has learned it is best to cultivate a sense of mystery about her person and to keep her companions at arm's length. Personality ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Frequently too curious for her own good, Umara is intensely and dangerously curious when it comes to all things related to magic. Possessing the do-it-yourself education of a practicing alchemist, Umara is surprisingly well-read for a waif lost to the the allure of travel. A quick learner, gifted with a knack of careful experimentation, Umara approaches all of life with the broad minded view of an alchemical researcher. A scientist of all that binds the universe together, as it were. The young alchemist is endlessly analytical and thoughtful when it comes to magic, happily spending hours reflecting on the nature of the arcane and attempting to reconcile it with her understanding of the physical world. For all her many intellectual gifts, Umara is still young. She is focused only when it comes to her professional responsibilities and personal studies. Outside of alchemy or magic, she is decidedly disinterested in most things and does her best to avoid expending any serious effort. Convincing the young pyromancer that it would be good to complete the necessary chores of the road or to acquire some practical training, perhaps in how to fight, appears thus far to be an exercise in futility. A pensive creature by nature, Umara's mind frequently wanders, and left to her own devices she can often be found daydreaming or scribbling alchemical recipes in her journal. Buried beneath a studious exterior, the young woman carefully guards an inner sense of worry. A gnawing, gasping fear that she has missed some important secret and that she is doomed, utterly and completely doomed. This worry can lend her words and actions with an unexpected edge of cruelty. Umara is stubborn. She is brash. She is moody. She is still trying to figure out what it means to be an almost fully developed person, to be a woman, and to be herself. Occasionally caught within a web of irrational frustration, Umara wants to be independent and chafes under rules. Even when the rules make sense, even when the rules are fair, and especially when the rules exist to protect her. Without redirection, her obvious frustration and sullenness tends to spiral into the angry shouting matches full of spiteful words. However, in the silent hours of the night when she lays awake, full of guilt and regret over her most recent outburst, Umara knows, she knows better. Caught in these moments, bitter and unwelcome clarity forces Umara to admit quietly to herself that she simply wants someone to tell her that everything will be alright. And that this time, this time, she will truly believe them. Arcana ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Major: The World Possessing the Major Arcana known as the World, Umara is a Pyromancer, a mage specializing in fire-based magic. Fire is hers to command, conjure, and employ as she sees fit. From her hands appear hurtling bolts of fire, baleful fireballs that blossom into raging explosions, cruelly scorching rays, and imposing barriers of fire. Young and inexperienced, Umara finds that having material components tied to the magic she evokes at hand vastly increases her chances of success when slinging spells. Minor: N/A

---

Combat: 1/10
"What need hath the learned magician for the profane physical implements and crude weapons of those uninitiated in the great mysteries of life?"
_{Sudro Karavastar, The Lost Lectures of the Haedrun Mages}

A reader, not a fighter, Umara is tragically unprepared for any sort of combat. She is not strong, she is not fast, and she is no more resilient than any other young woman found within the Realm. She has not trained under great knights, she wields no magical weapon passed down for generations, and she is almost completely uninterested in physical pursuits. Having long since accepted the proclamations of far older and wizened wizards concerning physical violence, Umara desperately clings to the idea that when it comes to fighting, someone else will probably do it for her. If not out of honor bound duty or professional responsibility, then at least out of pity.

Culture: 6/10
"It is said by the Izarian merchants that there are more tongues spoken by all the races of the Realm than leaves in the Masquewood Swamp. The true number matters little, something cannot come from nothing. Aware of the diversity of our Realm, the astute traveler is compelled to broaden their linguistic horizon. But what is language, if not culture molded into discrete units of speech? I say then, to understand language, you must understand culture. Knowing this, perhaps the wise among you, will also agree that to understand culture, you must finally understand the history of the Realm."
_{Gavrin Taggert, A Traveler's Guide to the Realm}

Fond of reading and driven by her intellectual pursuits, Umara is not uninformed concerning the diverse languages, cultures, and history of the many peoples scattered across the Realm. Far from a bespectacled historian, constant travels since her earliest years have nonetheless provided Umara with a wealth of personal experience from which to create a more holistic understanding of the Realm than many others might manage.

Commerce: 2/10
"What is the value of gold? Why waste breath on acquiring mountains of coin? Who cares for paltry trinkets? Can you buy knowledge with these things? No? Ah, then why should these things concern you? Why should you covet them? And why should you die for them?"
_{Master Ilira, Spiritual Reflections}

Steeped in esoteric ideas of reality, money is merely a means to Umara, a means to acquire more knowledge and base necessities unfortunately required for her continued survival. Umara takes no pleasure in collecting money. She finds no joy in counting out coins she receives for her work. And she certainly has no aspiration of dying with enough gold to fill a magnificent, priceless tomb. Certain that the pursuit of wealth is merely the quickest path to enslavement, while the pursuit of knowledge is the only way to to discover freedom, true freedom, Umara spends her money quickly and often foolishly, persuaded that her dreams demand little pragmatism. The workings of commerce, the flow of trade routes, and the value of goods across the Realm, similarly hold little interest to Umara.

Magic: 6/10
"This universe, our universe, is an awe-inspiring universe of magic. Waves and motions surround us, for there are no atoms. Here, in this place, you must discard all belief in barriers to understanding. You must put aside understanding itself. The universe cannot be seen. The universe cannot be heard. And it cannot be detected by fixed perceptions. Reality, all of existence, is the ultimate void. There is no preordained canvas upon which forms can be painted. I warn you, that here, in this place, you have only one awareness, only one way to discover the truth. You are a magi, a magician, gifted with a Major Arcana. Use it! Use your imagination! Here, you must learn what is to be human. You must be a creator of order, of beautiful shapes and systems, an organizer of chaos."
_{Arend Berend,The Collected Philosophical Works of Ossul Entarro}

To consider Umara, is to consider magic. She eats magic. She drinks magic. She sleeps magic. Though of few years compared to some, the girl-woman has nourished the seed of knowledge granted to her, cultivating a great tree of knowledge concerning the arcane arts. Skilled in the magic ascribed to the Major Arcana known as the World, Umara possesses a growing academic understanding of magic. Where some see subconscious art and willpower, Umara sees diligent study and understanding. Dedicated completely to this path, Umara strives only to learn more and to fully master her Major Arcana.

Survival: 3/10
"Wizards? Pah! They know nothing about the world or how it works! They're weak, sniveling cowards who hide in their towers and wouldn't last a day in the wilderness."
_{Timmok Thrice-Hanged, Recovered Letter}

Well acquainted with the many perils of long journeys across uninhabited and dangerous lands, Umara is keenly aware of the importance of being able to survive in the wilderness. However, beyond endeavoring and largely succeeding at not becoming an unduly burden to those she travels with, Umara is not particularly gifted when it comes to following tracks, hunting wild game, navigating frozen wastelands, identifying signs that direbears live nearby, predicting the weather, or avoiding quicksand and other natural hazards.

Karma: 5/10
"Pilgrim, answer me this. What do you despise? What fills you with unbidden loathing? What swells your heart with unrepentant violence? By this do you truly come to be known."
_{Mialee the Just, Reported Words}

Others view Umara with uncertainty, unsure of what to make of her, and undecided on how to treat her. Enigmatic, Umara does little to help resolve any lingering doubts concerning her person and at times, Umara seems almost to relish the wide berth that most people give her. Save for matters of business or the unavoidable demands forced upon her by the most base level of social etiquette, Umara keeps to herself or her close companions in public, seldom engaging freely with strangers. Yet, her appearance is peculiar and her mannerisms would generously be described as quaint. In short, she presents a person that is hard to miss or forget. Still, the wisp of a girl hardly seems to pose any great danger and many a wanderer has concluded that she is nothing more than yet another strange alchemist plying her infernal trade. In truth, it is only the ignorant and unnecessarily cruel that risk suffering the young pyromancer's ire.

---

𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 - 𝘈𝘳𝘤 𝘐: 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭

Umara

Umara Imaradi

________________________________________ Umara Imaradi 18 | Female | Human _______________________________________________ ❏ BIRTHPLACE: Umara hails from the infamously eerie Masquewood Swamp, found deep within the easternmost reaches of the Realm controlled by Styx. ❏ CASTE: Umara is a traveling alchemist, offering her services to the strange caravans that still travel the blighted lands. For a modest, extremely fair price, of course. ❏ AFFILIATIONS: As a professional Alchemist with a capital A, Umara is a member in good standing of the Alchemist Society. With a mind to her filial duties, she also maintains sporadic contact with her parents by way of somewhat regularly posted letters, carefully curated to ensure that she always appears to be doing very well. ❏ GOALS: Umara seemingly lives only to further her understanding of the alchemical and arcane arts. Any money that remains after paying for her own basic necessities and current debts, is inevitably spent in pursuit of increasing her knowledge in these two fields. _______________________________________________ TALENTS: ◆ Alchemy: Despite her youth, Umara is a talented alchemist, capable of combining reagents to produce substances both mundane and mystical in nature. ◆ Arcane Scholar: Magic is not a mere feeling. Magic is not simply exerting one's will upon the world. Magic is a science. Magic is another gateway that must be opened and another threshold that must be crossed in order to understand the nature of the universe. Convinced that this the truth, Umara views herself as an scholar, following in the faded, often hard to discover footsteps of arcane scholars of long gone ages. In a world filled with death and decay, precious few individuals would care to challenge Umara's claims of scholarship. ◆ Analytical Mind: Umara possess a sharp, analytical mind. She is uncommonly good at logically analyzing a situation, problem, or discarded tome packed full of forbidden and terrifying knowledge that will likely threaten not only her, but the entire party. EQUIPMENT: Clothes and Jewelry ◆ A hooded blue cloak, adorned with embroidered celestial bodies. ◆ A turquoise dress, suitable for travel, painted shifting shades of blue and green, and decorated with small trinkets cast in gold. ◆ A set of glass earrings that seem to glow with a cold light when seen from the right angle. Small inscriptions etched into the metal holding soft glass globes suggest that the earrings were shaped by a master craftsman in the City of the Dead some three hundred years ago. ◆ A gold pendent bearing runes associated with a long forgotten deity of knowledge. The sole profit from a hasty and disastrous visit to a ruined temple, Umara wears the amulet as a form of good luck charm. Tools and Alchemical Supplies ◆ A simple leather backpack. ◆ An old, battered book, written in a elaborate cursive that is exceedingly difficult to read. ◆ An unassuming knife that Umara keeps in a leather sheath looped to a belt tied around her waist. Although the blade is sharpened, Umara by her own confession has neither the inclination nor training to use it as anything but a tool. ◆ A portable alchemist's kit consisting of two glass beakers, a light metal frame for holding a beaker over a flame, a glass stirring rod, as well as a small pestle and mortar. ◆ A pouch of common alchemical ingredients, including salt, iron powder, and purified water. ◆ Carefully secured in her traveling pack, Umara keeps three flasks of Alchemist's Fire. A useful substance for any burgeoning alchemist to create, Alchemist's Fire is a sticky, adhesive fluid that violently ignites when exposed to air and continues to burn until the flame is extinguished. Miscellaneous ◆ A small, battered journal, full of hastily scribbled notes and formulas. ◆ A small bottle of black ink (no more than one ounce) and an elegant metal ink pen that clearly cost a sizable sum of money to purchase. A waterskin currently filled with clean water.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Touched by the arcane, Umara's eyes dance with not just alertness, but burning flames that leave her eyes a forever shifting yellow-orange. Above and below her eyes, Umara paints geometric shapes, reminders of her discoveries and meaningful meditations on the nature of the Arcana. Enchanted by the ether that flows through her, Umara's hair is cast an ethereal hue of pale blue. Her skin is faded fawn, colored by the sun and time spent on the road. Middling in height, Umara has the lithe, if not athletic, then at least trim figure, of one who spends her life traveling from one settlement to another. The excess fat of too much pleasure, too much wine, and the softness associated with the hearth have had no time to leave their traces on the young woman. Unconvinced of the kindness of her fellow travelers, Umara takes care to hide unwelcome shapes brought on by a growing adulthood. She does not hide that she is a young woman, but she has learned it is best to cultivate a sense of mystery about her person and to keep her companions at arm's length. Personality ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Frequently too curious for her own good, Umara is intensely and dangerously curious when it comes to all things related to magic. Possessing the do-it-yourself education of a practicing alchemist, Umara is surprisingly well-read for a waif lost to the the allure of travel. A quick learner, gifted with a knack of careful experimentation, Umara approaches all of life with the broad minded view of an alchemical researcher. A scientist of all that binds the universe together, as it were. The young alchemist is endlessly analytical and thoughtful when it comes to magic, happily spending hours reflecting on the nature of the arcane and attempting to reconcile it with her understanding of the physical world. For all her many intellectual gifts, Umara is still young. She is focused only when it comes to her professional responsibilities and personal studies. Outside of alchemy or magic, she is decidedly disinterested in most things and does her best to avoid expending any serious effort. Convincing the young pyromancer that it would be good to complete the necessary chores of the road or to acquire some practical training, perhaps in how to fight, appears thus far to be an exercise in futility. A pensive creature by nature, Umara's mind frequently wanders, and left to her own devices she can often be found daydreaming or scribbling alchemical recipes in her journal. Buried beneath a studious exterior, the young woman carefully guards an inner sense of worry. A gnawing, gasping fear that she has missed some important secret and that she is doomed, utterly and completely doomed. This worry can lend her words and actions with an unexpected edge of cruelty. Umara is stubborn. She is brash. She is moody. She is still trying to figure out what it means to be an almost fully developed person, to be a woman, and to be herself. Occasionally caught within a web of irrational frustration, Umara wants to be independent and chafes under rules. Even when the rules make sense, even when the rules are fair, and especially when the rules exist to protect her. Without redirection, her obvious frustration and sullenness tends to spiral into the angry shouting matches full of spiteful words. However, in the silent hours of the night when she lays awake, full of guilt and regret over her most recent outburst, Umara knows, she knows better. Caught in these moments, bitter and unwelcome clarity forces Umara to admit quietly to herself that she simply wants someone to tell her that everything will be alright. And that this time, this time, she will truly believe them. Arcana ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Major: The World Possessing the Major Arcana known as the World, Umara is a Pyromancer, a mage specializing in fire-based magic. Fire is hers to command, conjure, and employ as she sees fit. From her hands appear hurtling bolts of fire, baleful fireballs that blossom into raging explosions, cruelly scorching rays, and imposing barriers of fire. Young and inexperienced, Umara finds that having material components tied to the magic she evokes at hand vastly increases her chances of success when slinging spells. Minor: N/A

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Combat: 1/10
"What need hath the learned magician for the profane physical implements and crude weapons of those uninitiated in the great mysteries of life?"
_{Sudro Karavastar, The Lost Lectures of the Haedrun Mages}

A reader, not a fighter, Umara is tragically unprepared for any sort of combat. She is not strong, she is not fast, and she is no more resilient than any other young woman found within the Realm. She has not trained under great knights, she wields no magical weapon passed down for generations, and she is almost completely uninterested in physical pursuits. Having long since accepted the proclamations of far older and wizened wizards concerning physical violence, Umara desperately clings to the idea that when it comes to fighting, someone else will probably do it for her. If not out of honor bound duty or professional responsibility, then at least out of pity.

Culture: 6/10
"It is said by the Izarian merchants that there are more tongues spoken by all the races of the Realm than leaves in the Masquewood Swamp. The true number matters little, something cannot come from nothing. Aware of the diversity of our Realm, the astute traveler is compelled to broaden their linguistic horizon. But what is language, if not culture molded into discrete units of speech? I say then, to understand language, you must understand culture. Knowing this, perhaps the wise among you, will also agree that to understand culture, you must finally understand the history of the Realm."
_{Gavrin Taggert, A Traveler's Guide to the Realm}

Fond of reading and driven by her intellectual pursuits, Umara is not uninformed concerning the diverse languages, cultures, and history of the many peoples scattered across the Realm. Far from a bespectacled historian, constant travels since her earliest years have nonetheless provided Umara with a wealth of personal experience from which to create a more holistic understanding of the Realm than many others might manage.

Commerce: 2/10
"What is the value of gold? Why waste breath on acquiring mountains of coin? Who cares for paltry trinkets? Can you buy knowledge with these things? No? Ah, then why should these things concern you? Why should you covet them? And why should you die for them?"
_{Master Ilira, Spiritual Reflections}

Steeped in esoteric ideas of reality, money is merely a means to Umara, a means to acquire more knowledge and base necessities unfortunately required for her continued survival. Umara takes no pleasure in collecting money. She finds no joy in counting out coins she receives for her work. And she certainly has no aspiration of dying with enough gold to fill a magnificent, priceless tomb. Certain that the pursuit of wealth is merely the quickest path to enslavement, while the pursuit of knowledge is the only way to to discover freedom, true freedom, Umara spends her money quickly and often foolishly, persuaded that her dreams demand little pragmatism. The workings of commerce, the flow of trade routes, and the value of goods across the Realm, similarly hold little interest to Umara.

Magic: 6/10
"This universe, our universe, is an awe-inspiring universe of magic. Waves and motions surround us, for there are no atoms. Here, in this place, you must discard all belief in barriers to understanding. You must put aside understanding itself. The universe cannot be seen. The universe cannot be heard. And it cannot be detected by fixed perceptions. Reality, all of existence, is the ultimate void. There is no preordained canvas upon which forms can be painted. I warn you, that here, in this place, you have only one awareness, only one way to discover the truth. You are a magi, a magician, gifted with a Major Arcana. Use it! Use your imagination! Here, you must learn what is to be human. You must be a creator of order, of beautiful shapes and systems, an organizer of chaos."
_{Arend Berend,The Collected Philosophical Works of Ossul Entarro}

To consider Umara, is to consider magic. She eats magic. She drinks magic. She sleeps magic. Though of few years compared to some, the girl-woman has nourished the seed of knowledge granted to her, cultivating a great tree of knowledge concerning the arcane arts. Skilled in the magic ascribed to the Major Arcana known as the World, Umara possesses a growing academic understanding of magic. Where some see subconscious art and willpower, Umara sees diligent study and understanding. Dedicated completely to this path, Umara strives only to learn more and to fully master her Major Arcana.

Survival: 3/10
"Wizards? Pah! They know nothing about the world or how it works! They're weak, sniveling cowards who hide in their towers and wouldn't last a day in the wilderness."
_{Timmok Thrice-Hanged, Recovered Letter}

Well acquainted with the many perils of long journeys across uninhabited and dangerous lands, Umara is keenly aware of the importance of being able to survive in the wilderness. However, beyond endeavoring and largely succeeding at not becoming an unduly burden to those she travels with, Umara is not particularly gifted when it comes to following tracks, hunting wild game, navigating frozen wastelands, identifying signs that direbears live nearby, predicting the weather, or avoiding quicksand and other natural hazards.

Karma: 5/10
"Pilgrim, answer me this. What do you despise? What fills you with unbidden loathing? What swells your heart with unrepentant violence? By this do you truly come to be known."
_{Mialee the Just, Reported Words}

Others view Umara with uncertainty, unsure of what to make of her, and undecided on how to treat her. Enigmatic, Umara does little to help resolve any lingering doubts concerning her person and at times, Umara seems almost to relish the wide berth that most people give her. Save for matters of business or the unavoidable demands forced upon her by the most base level of social etiquette, Umara keeps to herself or her close companions in public, seldom engaging freely with strangers. Yet, her appearance is peculiar and her mannerisms would generously be described as quaint. In short, she presents a person that is hard to miss or forget. Still, the wisp of a girl hardly seems to pose any great danger and many a wanderer has concluded that she is nothing more than yet another strange alchemist plying her infernal trade. In truth, it is only the ignorant and unnecessarily cruel that risk suffering the young pyromancer's ire.

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𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 - 𝘈𝘳𝘤 𝘐: 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭

I have plans to reintroduce morality and goodness to the lands, if allowed that is. :D

And in classic waffle fashion, provided it doesn't conflict with any GM/DM plans, I'd like to swap/write most reluctant and unassuming character gifted (or in their view cursed) in the alchemical arts.

⥑ Ember to Ashes ⥏ Dark Fantasy/Mythology (Interest Check)

Imma go out of left field for myself and write something related to the Hanged Man.

So dibs, I guess? Or fight me via haikus, thx.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Ziska

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Ziska heard screaming. She heard talking. Her head hurt. Her face hurt. She could taste something metallic in her mouth, streaming slowly between her lips. Blood. Her own blood. She ran a hand along her head, until she felt a stab of pain that left her cursing. The cut was deep enough. It would keep bleeding. It would annoy her. Smashing a hand angrily the nearby circuit break panel, she spoke calmly to herself,"Get up. Get up. Get up...Get up, Ziska."

The leg actuators spun with fresh power as Ziska carefully moved her throttle, giving the shaken battle computer ample time to register the granular movements. Trying to see through fresh layer of red, Ziska gently moved her pedals, trying to find purchase on the ground beneath her. Metal groaned, demolished armor plates twisting, and then breaking off as the RVN-3L began to move. Somehow, improbably, the battered light mech stood up. Lying down was death. Standing still was death. Fighting was probably death. But Ziska had almost died several times. It didn't bother her. It didn't worry her. They'd drawn blood. Her blood, but she'd cut them too. The active NARC beacon still flashed happily on her HUD. One way or another, there would only be one RVN-3L standing.

Forcing her BattleMech to stand, Ziska wiped the worst of the blood from her face with the back of her hand. The comms chatter annoyed her. Killing was a business. A job was supposed to be done cleanly. She didn't need her feelings to kill. She didn't hate the Crimson Fists. A job was a job. A kill was a kill. But better them than her.

"You talk to much, you all talk too much," she hissed, shivering with a fresh pang of pain that dug into the front of her forehead, Doc wouldn't be happy, Reya would probably complain, and the Colonel would have some helpful advice Ziska decided with a heavy note of resignation. Not bothering to key her mic. Let them think her wounded. Let them think her already dead. They'd find out soon enough.

"Giggles," Ziska said, shifting her wounded RVN-3L into a shuttering gate as she ignored the alarm klaxon and warning symbology that glittered in front of her,"Kill this trash."

They needed to kill the enemy RVN-3L. They needed the ECM back. They were out of time. The other RVN-3L had to die. She wouldn't weather another volley of LRMs. Her RVN-3L wouldn't survive more LRMs. She had no armor left for the Longbow to sandpaper. It was time to gamble, Ziska knew, it was time to be clever, and it was time to see how cool the Crimson Fists were under fire. Hearing the tell tale swoop of burning rocket engines, Ziska saw a hail of LRMs thundering towards the enemy RVN-3L. She didn't miss the single SRM missile that followed soon after.

Deftly dancing to the side, Ziska aimed her own weapons at the RVN-3L and let loose another alpha strike. Overkill was the only kill as Thrice Hanged had always said.

⥑ Ember to Ashes ⥏ Dark Fantasy/Mythology (Interest Check)

I am intrigued and you have my interest!

Happy to write this in casual or advanced as well (I tend to write more along advanced, but I am flexible as always).