Force and Fury

Force and Fury's Emporium of Faces

The Collection

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Below, for my reference and that of anyone bored enough with life to read this, are my various character sheets from over the years.

The Hourglass Order

@TheMushroomLord I love your character's angle of not actually being that gifted but being a genuine hard worker. Pending a reference pic, she's approved and you can pop her in the Character tab in our OOC.

The Hourglass Order

@Medili Eun-Ji is approved! Thanks for starting to fill in a part of the world that hadn't gotten much love before!

@Zombehs as is Nerio! I love his use of the gift and pirates (or 'privateers') are badass when done right.

@Noxious Damn, now THAT'S a CS. Your character is approved and your characterization of Eskand even more so were that possible.

@Jumbus I know that there's a lot to catch up on, but welcome aboard. If there's anything that I can do to make it easier, I'm only a DM away!

The Hourglass Order

@SilverPaw That's a cool and compelling CS and is approved. Feel free to add it to the Character tab. Two quick question, though:
1) Who is Nazath in terms of your character and his importance in her storyline and the world? I'd lovve to find a way to work him into the story and have him fit organically into the world if I can. Feel free to respond here or DM me, if you like.

2) Are you on our discord server yet? We have about twenty people on there and not all go by their forum names, so it's a bit hard to keep track of. If you're not, feel free to join!

@Noxious No worries about your timeline. People will have until Friday night / Saturday morning EST to get CSes in and I'm pretty on top of things. It's all up to you in the end, but we'd love to have you and I encourage existing characters to occasionally have connections. That'd be awesome.

@SnickerSnacker DFKM fam. This is hilarious. Mallow is officially canon now as "that one obnoxious goose in the Arboretum that everyone knows and avoids." or, alternatively, "The Feathered Demon of Hedda's Lake."

The Hourglass Order

@Animus Carmilia is an intriguing character with a meaningful origin and unique angle. She is wholeheartedly approved and I look forward to seeing her as part of our story. Feel free to head over to our OOC and add her to the character tab.

The Hourglass Order

@Noxious Feel free to drop into our Discord or OOC. We're still waiting on some CSes and we don't start until Saturday. Would love to see you in there!

The Hourglass Order

Have some NPCs. For those wondering, they won't take up any character spots. No worries.

Marlijn Vaanse

Marlijn (Marlynn) Vaanse

You will never freeze in Ersand'Enise. In fact, I've found you're unlikely to sneeze. You might even think that it's not a big deal, but if you were Eskandish, you would know how I feel.

16 | Female | Eskandish | Noble | 7.23

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ [Cultured]
❖ [Puckish]
❖ [Unscrupulous]
❖ [Performer]
❖ [Generous]

Marlijn is the oldest daughter of an Eskandish viscount and has a twin brother, Owain, who she's older than by half an hour. He never hears the end of this. In general, Marlijn is much for clever quips and quick comebacks. She plays the cultured young lady quite convincingly and is well-heeled enough to understand her duties and ultimately, with some grumbling to confidantes, abide by them. She's a bit of a wild child deep down, though: not quite a tomboy, but treads right on the edge of that. She has a soft spot for animals and spends as much time out in the forest or putting her horses through exercises as is socially appropriate. Then, she returns to her studies with perhaps less diligence than she should. She's the kind of person who tends to fall right in the middle of the pack academically. She isn't dumb; she just can't be bothered to jump through all of those hoops with any real enthusiasm. She saves that for the physical and social sides of things.

Though she's a quick talker, good liar, and a bit of a charmer, Marlijn isn't much for gossip and even less for people who talk down to her. Being a low-middling noble is not always easy. Those below you look up jealously and seek to challenge your authority and those above you are the most snobbish sorts who enjoy looking down on you. The world is annoyingly complex and, though Marlijn usually feels as if she's up to the challenge of it, it's oh-so tiring at times and she'd rather things just be simple. Her facade of demure noble feminine virtue is less-than-perfect in these moments and she has the reputation of being a serial eye-roller. She once told her brother, only half-jokingly, "I'm over it, you know? All the being a show pony and smiling and curtsying and talking to people who don't really wanna be talking to me either. Just like... let me find a decent husband who isn't twenty years my senior or smells like turnips and sweat. Set me up with a nice little keep somewhere not-awful. I'll pop out a few kids, get deep into my cups with the other local ladies, yell at my servants a bit, and then just get to do the things I wanna. That'd be nice. That's a happily ever after, right?"

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

Marlijn in Full Mage Regalia

Simply put, Marlijn is very pretty and, in her less insecure moments, she knows it. She's tall and slim, with bright blue eyes, long auburn hair, and a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She looks a couple of years older than she is and most people are surprised to learn that she's only sixteen. There's usually a twinkle of something mischievous in her expression, and you sometimes wonder what must be so funny in her head. Spoiler: it usually isn't what you think.

When she doesn't have to be presentable for others, Marlijn dresses for comfort: a simple tunic and loose, light ankle-length skirt in earthy tones. The ensemble is completed with a cloak and riding hood held together with a gold clasp in the shape of a bee, some sturdy boots, and a belt with pouches. Her hair is usually draped over her shoulder in a loose braid or double ponytails. Of course, Marlijn all dressed up aims to impress. While she isn't much for frilly dresses and prefers clothing that leaves her unencumbered, she'll happily wear ostentatious jewellery. She likes bold and striking patterns, particularly in her house's colours of sapphire blue, gold, and white.

L A N G U A G E S

Marlijn finds sitting with a tutor and learning languages to be just about the most tedious thing in the world. She's fluent in her native Loh Eskandish, of course, and passable in Avincian. She's also picked up a few Revidian and Perrench words and phrases from her regular visits to the port of Pesperdam on family business. That's about it. Secretly, she feels a bit intimidated by the northern nobles with their flawless Avincian and self-conscious about her accent and less-than-perfect way with the language since she's used to being quite clever with words in her native tongue.

T H E G I F T

Marlijn is above average but not exceptional in terms of The Gift, kind of like she is with most things. She prefers drawing from kinetic and arcane sources and favours two styles of magic: the practical things that'll help her look after her horses, make her life easier in small ways, and allow her to augment her performances, as well as illusion magic. She shares a tutor with her brother and, for reasons unknown to either of them, finds it the most amusing thing in the world to just appear in places or pop out of nowhere and scare the living daylights out of people. It's not as if she has any ambition to do sinister things. Being able to alter what people see and turn literally freakin' invisible is just cool, she supposes. As long as Marlijn stands still in a place where the light isn't changing too much, she can actually already go invisible. How awesome is that!? For what it's worth, she isn't bad with Magnetic casting either, because lightning is cool too.

B A C K G R O U N D

Marlijn sometimes feels as if she's not even the main character in her own life. Her upbringing has been, for the most part, utterly unremarkable. Her father is a typical lower-middling noble (a viscount) who looks after his lands, holds court twice per week with the commons and representatives from Pesperdam Town's guilds, and has various little projects going. He complains at not being high-ranking enough to be invited to the college of electors, and tries to petition a friendly great house every once in awhile to bump Pesperdam up to full County status. He funds port improvements when he's had a good harvest and tightens the purse strings when he hasn't. He goes hunting and riding with some of his knights and men-at-arms and, in a non-traditional move, sometimes brings not only Owain, but Marlijn along too. She's quite good with a snaphaunce, able to take a rabbit reliably from 100 yards, though she secretly thinks that bunnies are kinda cute.

Of course, the viscount makes up for that bit of a break from the expected by maintaining a regular search for suitable suitors for his daughter. He hopes to have her marry up as part of his long-term project to get into the college of electors (spoiler: the poor guy has no chance). To serve this ambition, Marlijn spends a considerable amount of time on her needlework, sitting and chatting with her ladies-in-waiting and the neighbouring baron's daughter, Tannifer. She's also expected to maintain musical interests and it's here that she actually has some passion. While, secretly, she prefers tunes more like the bawdy ones that she heard when her party stopped by a tavern in Pesperdam Town one evening a couple of years ago, the viscount had a harpsichord imported at great cost from Perrence for her to play. Marlijn is indeed passable on the 'Scalloped Beast' as she calls it, but she much prefers the lute and making up clever little rhymes to go with her original compositions. While she doesn't stand out as a player, her lyrics are considered quite amusing by most, and she has quite the performer's flair.

In terms of important formative experiences, Marlijn's had few that stand out. There was a pilgrimage to the Verdant Throne when she was eight years old, where she began climbing the tree before being fished out with one of the fruits already in her mouth (she actually lost a baby tooth while biting into it). She also traveled to Ersand'Enise when she was twelve and it was apparent that she and her brother were fairly strong in The Gift. Marlijn decided that she wanted to go there. It sounded ever so much more exciting than her everyday life in Pesperdam: repeating Avincian phrases and practicing calligraphy with her tutors, gossiping with Tannifer, needle and thread in hand, or slamming away at a harpsichord for hours to sheet music brought over from Revidia. In light of this, perhaps it's not surprising that being accepted to Ersand'Enise means a helluva lot to Marlijn Vaanse. She doesn't come from a bad place. In fact, her life is quite privileged and she knows it. She doesn't have a pain or trauma-filled past, and she's never really even been particularly unique or special. What this place is, though, is agency. She wants some of that, deep down, more than anything else.

M O T I V A T I O N

Um... I may have actually answered this under 'Background'. Oops? Basically, Marlijn's a bored, smart, slightly underachieving creative type who prefers to either be the centre of attention or to be left to her own devices, with little in between. At the end of the day, she wants some agency and control over her life and to be able to chart her own course towards a 'happily ever after' with, perhaps, a not so small dose of fun and adventure along the way. To her, Ersand'Enise represents her first step on that path, and she's both nervous and excited.

I N V E N T O R Y

Marlijn regularly carries a small notebook to write down her wittier ideas and was gifted a big, pretty, gold-winged staff as a going away present. She twirls it when she's bored and uses it to help her cast. She also has quite a bit of jewellery, two nice gold chains, and multiple pairs of shoes and boots. She has a satchel full of focus words for illusory spells that she's trying to master and dozens of pages of sheet music. There is a fine lute and a less-fine lute leaning against her night table or slung over her shoulder at times and her wardrobe is packed full of dresses organized from 'really fancy' to 'plain Jane'. She'd kind of like to train and keep a bird since there are so many here and it's kind of a tradition. She finds magpies rather adorable little pests. Perhaps she'll add an animal familiar at some point.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

❖ quick-witted
❖ great horseback rider and good with animals
❖ musically talented
❖ kind of has some feminine wiles, actually
❖ very good with illusions

Marlijn's just honestly pretty good at being a competent young noble girl, likeable, and morally somewhat decent despite herself. She's often been only half-jokingly described as 'a little bit above average in everything'. In particular, though, she's good with illusion, animals, and music, and usually pretty socially put together.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ kind of spoiled, to be honest
❖ not as worldly as she thinks she is
❖ not the most diligent student
❖ has a need to be seen as interesting and fun - can be approval-seeking
❖ pretends to be cynical but honestly just kind of a dreamer who's become a bit afraid to dream

Marlijn can be a bit of a suck. If she's not good at something or doesn't enjoy it, she doesn't really try. She also tends to seek external validation and likes to be a bit of a performer, but only on her own terms. In a practical sense, she sometimes overestimates her own competence and can embarrass herself or get into hot water. Her most common response is to react with stubborn pride, hold it together because Eskandishwomen don't cry, and then go home and ball her eyes out while having a near-anxiety attack. Finally, while she's not a snob, she's still more or less a typical young noble with much of what that entails.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

Marlijn will simp for pretty boys. She'll never admit as much and act indignant if you accuse her of it but, deep down, she's a typical thirsty teenager.
Colour Code: D2691E

Penny Pellegrin

Penelope 'Penny' Pellegrin

"I admit to being more than a little distracted by the...wit and depth of the conversation at this table."

"It seems mother wishes to turn me into some sort of lifelong penitent for sins I've not committed."

17 | Female | Perrench | Royalty | 8.19

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Sardonic
❖ Pessimistic
❖ Good-hearted
❖ Pampered
❖ Insecure

Most of Penny's life has been defined by being the family disgrace. She was born without a left leg and with a moderate form of ectrodactyly in her left hand and this was cause enough for her superstitious mother to see her birth as divine punishment for the sins of her and her husband. This would be quite a bad state of affairs in most families, but is only magnified due to the fact that Penelope's parents are King Rouis XI of Perrence and his wife, Queen Mathilde. Unallowed to attend balls, public functions, or even to venture past the palace gardens, Penny is a young woman stifled. She reads, she paces (crutch in hand), she grows things and draws and writes. She pretends to hate those formal family dinners when both father and mother are home, but secretly, she loves them. She is a forgotten middle child in many ways, with no prospects for marriage despite her station and no hope of amounting to much, so she is not one to hold back on pithy observations and cutting commentary and it is oh so amusing (often not only to her). The Gift is sometimes her plaything. When she's bored or sucky, she uses it to play tricks on her siblings, particularly if they're being obnoxious (at least one always is). A laugh at someone else's expense is still a laugh. Besides, they deserve it.

However, deep down, beneath many layers of snark and resigned cynicism, there's a curious, big-hearted girl who has dreams of seeing the world, meeting new people, and being valued instead of either pitied, stared at, or avoided with whispers, stolen glances, and sad shakes of the head. Because you place your right hand on your left hip, pointing to your left leg when you honour Oraff (the creator) while making the sign of the Pentad, religious superstition holds that Penny's missing limb is a mark of that God's disfavour. She does not believe it. She refuses to. She has a private tutor and she practices Binding Magic for hours on end, quietly determined to prove that she isn't what they say she is. On some warm Dorrad nights, though, as she lies awake in bend, staring at the swirling patterns on her ceiling and wishing for sleep, she worries that they're right and that she'll fail. She wonders why she couldn't just be whole and normal. She tries to dream that she is, but even in her dreams, she remains stubbornly the same person who she knows and does not love.

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

Were it not for her birth differences and their prejudices, most people would consider Penelope quite beautiful. Tall and statuesque, with a light dusting freckles, bright green eyes perhaps just a bit too large for her face, and a resting smirk, she is the spitting image of her mother. Her hair is a rich copper-chestnut brown and, when not styled in the fashion of the courts (even though she does not attend them), can usually be found pulled back in a Perrench braid. Since she was young, it has displayed a remarkable resistance to maintaining any sort of cohesive style or form for long and appears almost preternaturally tousled.

Penny wears long, light dresses. They vary in colour and she has many - some, hand-me-downs from her older sisters. She likes things that are lacy but feel solid and protective, so lacy hems and collars abound but not much else. She enjoys buttons, for whatever reason, and will often fiddle with those running down her sleeves. She also wears gloves. The left one is modified to fill in the gap in her palm and it has a dummy finger attached by a thin string to the one beside it. Out of habit, she does not take her gloves off unless sleeping or bathing. She has a pair of crutches (a handful of pairs, actually), but doesn't like how they fill her hands. As a result, she often gets around with only one. She's rarely in a hurry anyway. There's nowhere to go and not all that much to do.

L A N G U A G E S

For a noble lady of Penelope's station, languages are a must. For her, they're also something to do, and she has numerous correspondents all across the twin continents who she writes to. She is fully fluent in Perrench, Avincian, Revidian, and her mother's native tongue of Kerreman, and at least conversant in Eskandish, Torragonese, Joruban, and Belzaggic. Once you learn one language from a family, the others come easily. She sometimes practices her calligraphy and is looking to correspond with someone in Oiyac or Mycormi, but yasoi are so much more reticent in real life than they are in all of her old books.

T H E G I F T

Penny approaches prodigious levels in her use of the Gift - unsurprising for a blueblood of her pedigree. With little else to do but read, write, and learn, she also trains all day, memorizing focus words and inventing little spells of her own that she gives funny names to. While she's practiced with all five canonical schools, it is Binding that she puts most of her effort towards. She spends a considerable amount of time on Arcane as well, mostly the illusory branch, works with Kinetic to help ease the difficulty of walking long distances, and with Magnetic because it's her tutor's favourite and there's something peacefully destructive about watching fingers of electricity writhe and snap. Guiltily, she dabbles in internal Chemical spells and tells herself it isn't so that she can make people like her. That's what a madwoman would think. Penny isn't mad and will not let herself go mad. She simply won't. Besides, Binding Magic is her preferred school. If she can't heal herself, she reasons, she can at least heal other people. Then, she cringes at the thought of how melodramatic and self-indulgent such a statement would sound aloud.

B A C K G R O U N D

Penny remembers the looks most of all: the first looks when people see her or the second ones when they make sense of her. It first really registered when she was around four years old. Until then, she was blissfully unaware of her differences and what they would mean. She grew up playing with her siblings - there were many and they were close in age. There were servants' daughters and cousins too. They always told the most wonderful stories and she used to like to hear them until she realized that those were stories of a world that was being kept from her. They're now a weird, resentful kind of addiction. She still needs to hear them, but they no longer bring her joy.

When she was seven, her parents attempted to arrange for her a marriage with the second son of a Torragonese lord, but instead of making arrangements by proxy, he decided to visit. Penny played with the boy and they laughed and smiled and she teased him that they'd be married someday and that he should listen to his wife. Then, he and his father left.

One time, when she was ten, there was a ceremony at the Cathedral de Ste. Defrois. She rode in a carriage through the streets of Relouse, listening to the clatter of the horses' hooves and the church bells ringing. She remembers leaning out with her little tiara and waving with her right hand at the commonfolk. They were loud and dirty and shouted, and she was a bit scared, but they waved back, and there were kids her own age in there too.

She hasn't traveled since. She hasn't done much of anything since and wasn't going to be allowed to. That is, until her brother Arcel intervened. She is to attend Ersand'Enise under an assumed name, as the invented daughter of an unremarkable merchant paid a sum by her brother. She is to be his agent there. She is to meet with people and exchange letters with them. She knows Arcel: he is not vile, but he is ambitious and underhanded. Penelope - Penny Pellegrin now - doesn't much care. It's a species of freedom, at least, and she'll take it, even with all of the risk and the fears.

M O T I V A T I O N

More than anything, Penny wants to spread her figurative wings. She wants to live an actual life. She wants to prove to herself, at least, that her mother is wrong about her. There is a deep well of bitterness there, though she shakes her head to clear it and simply tries to appreciate that she has never hungered nor wanted for any physical need a day in her life.

Penny is eager to be at Ersand'Enise and to make something of herself, but she is deathly afraid of the real, actual, wild people out here. How will they react to her? Will they laugh at her jokes? Will they just see her: Penny - a girl from Perrence, or will it be pity, awkwardness, or avoidance? She knows it will. It'll have to be, like it always is. What if anybody finds her out - or learns of whatever her brother is up to? Will she be able to play a merchant's daughter convincingly? She feels like a fraud when it comes to life. She hasn't lived very much and knows it. Still, sometimes she takes a deep breath and counsels herself that she can do this. She is a princess of Perrence. Her forebears earned the crown at some point. They were capable people. So is she... she hopes - she really, really hopes.

I N V E N T O R Y

Penny almost always carries a satchel slung across one shoulder, with some basic jewellery, a small journal, letters and wax, and a comb (partly as a joke) inside. She uses one crutch the majority of the time, to keep a hand free, and two when she knows that she'll have to do a lot of walking that day. They're made of light, lacquered wood with soft pads on top for her armpits. She'll never be found using a wand or staff as a focus object, having practiced freecasting from a young age. For spells absolutely requiring one, a crutch is very much like a staff when held a certain way. Penny's recently taken to wearing a spare garter even though she already has one to hold up her stocking. She uses it as a strap to tuck secret correspondence for her brother into and spends the next while paranoid that it'll slip out and Black Rezaindians will come for her in the night.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

❖ funny and clever
❖ grudgingly kind-hearted
❖ excellent courtly manners
❖ good memory
❖ skilled in language and literacy

At the end of the day, Penny falls on the side of being a good person. Her acerbic comments are more than just a cover, but also not her entire story. She's well-heeled and it shows. She can wield etiquette like a weapon if need be and generally has very good recall for obscure trivia and details. This carries over into languages and the written word, where she can speak seven languages, at least to a degree...at least usually.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ anxious and insecure
❖ not very worldly at all
❖ proud and paradoxically judgemental
❖ tires quickly when walking
❖ questionable self-awareness and victim complex

Penny's upbringing and the constant feeling of being unwanted has done a number on her mental health. She's not a wreck or a basket case, but she struggles with intense flashes of anxiety and self-doubt. She worries about how people will perceive her and tends to assume the worst, though she actively counsels herself not to. She can be a bit of a stepford smiler at times.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

Penelope of Perrence is here incognito, as a lowly merchant's daughter named Penny Pellegrin. It would be unusual for anyone but the high-ups in the school establishment to know who she really is. Also, see here for a demonstration of how she walks on one crutch. Beware that I may have had to go into the weird part of YouTube to dig this up.
Colour Code: F7976A

Manfred Hohenfelter

Manfred Hohenfelter

When asked by a member of the Aesthetic Society, "What do you feel when you shoot some poor mage?" his reply was, "Recoil."

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18 | Male | Kerreman | Noble | 6.14

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Intense
❖ Professional
❖ Cold
❖ Work Hard, Play Hard
❖ Religious

Manfred is a consummate professional. Despite his parents' doubts about his chosen path, or perhaps because of them as well as his experiences in war, he's dedicated himself to his craft with the utmost conviction. In his approach to others, Manfred will always treat them with decency and professionalism unless they have done something to deserve differently. However, practically speaking, to those who don't know him, this behaviour can come across as cold and, in all honesty, it often is. Manfred isn't a shell of a man, but he's seen things that most people his age haven't and he doesn't feel much connection to his peers as a result. Besides, he knows that these are all monsters in the making and he doesn't have the energy to try to save them all. If he knows someone well, that would be another matter, but he prefers not to get attached. Things are less complicated that way and he doesn't like complications.

Manfred also prefers people who are what they claim to be. He has little time for liars, manipulators, and decadent types. Being honest and useful and maybe subtly stroking his ego without seeming sycophantic is the path to getting Manfred to like you. If he catches you in a lie, he won't hate you. He'll just stop trusting you and you'll never see any side of him beyond the professional. Betray him and, for all that he seems cold, this is one of the few things that tends to make his blood run hot. Manfred will appear to shrug it off. He'll wait. Sooner or later, he believes, Dami-Zept balances everything out. He will take his revenge and it will be decisive and deserved.

In general, Manfred is a devout Quentian, who carries a pocket-sized copy of the Ruhrich (the Menana) on him at all times, but he also appreciates the wisdom of the Angic Philosophy of Rettan. Despite being a member of the nobility, he views the regular lording of their powers over ungifted people and the violent and unaccountable excesses of most mages with deep distaste but, in the name of his faith, he counsels himself to keep an open mind. It isn't easy and it's only getting harder.

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

Manfred with Fritz a few years ago

Manfred is slightly taller than average height for a Kerreman. He has dark brown hair usually tied back in a short ponytail and grey-brown eyes. He's not bad looking, but doesn't stand out as exceptionally handsome. He's old enough that he's grown a but of stubble and has to shave. As a member of the nobility, he has access to fine clothing and will dutifully wear it when appropriate, taking pride in his appearance. However, he prefers a simple doublet and vest of quality materials, with a leather belt, breeches, and sturdy boots for his everyday wear. His clothes often show evidence of cat hair, despite his best efforts to keep them clean. He has four of the exact same outfit and a fifth, slightly more styled, for the day of worship. He launders his clothes on the fourth day of the week and lets them dry on the fifth. He believes in doing this himself and will only hire a washerwoman if she's especially pretty his schedule is especially busy. Manfred can also sometimes be found in a uniform of military cut, complete usually with a coat in the Navy Blue of the Kerreman Crown. When in the field, he wears a bandoleer with ammunition pouches, a rapier at one hip, a wheel-lock pistol at the other, and a marksman's rifle slung over his shoulder.

L A N G U A G E S

Manfred speaks Kerreman as a mother tongue, as well as fluent Avincian. He knows Perrench as a matter of practicality and can understand some Holmanian because it is more or less mutually intelligible with his native language. Besides, it's useful to know the tongue of your enemy. He'd like to pick up some yasoi too, for similar reasons. Unfortunately, it's hard to find a tutor these days.

T H E G I F T

Manfred's use of the Gift is rather pedestrian. Technically, he falls within the lower average range for a magus, but his family has a strong martial tradition and, as a second son, he is expected to take an officer's commission in the army. The problem is that he would rather be anything but a mage and, even if he were to be one, he'd be only a middling mage at best. The graveyards of Constantia are full of middling mages. To this end, he has decided to eschew tradition and train as a magusjaeger. In this capacity, Manfred's use of the Gift is wholly practical. His primary school is Kinetic, which helps him guide bullets, provides an abundant drawing source, and can help stop incoming projectiles. He has enough capacity to function at a higher defensive level than the average magusjaeger. His secondary schools are Arcane and Magnetic. The first is for the magnification, stealth, and low-level illusion abilities, which he is quite good with. In a dim space and if he's more or less still, Manfred will be effectively invisible. Meanwhile, Magnetic provides some manipulation of metals - useful on a battlefield - as well as protection against internal chemical spells and an alternative way to alter the course of his shots and others'. He has precisely zero interest in magic beyond what it can do for him in a practical sense. He has grown up around practitioners of the Gift and is inured to its uses. He finds no wonder in it - just a tool.

B A C K G R O U N D

Manfred comes from a long and distinguished line and, while none of his forebears have been famous mages, many have been respectable or even notable. His family are Reichsgrafs (imperial counts), outranking all other nobility with the exception of dukes, and hold stewardship in the Queen's name over a large swathe of mostly rural farmland in Meckelin-Thandau. It is good and rich land and a portion of it is reserved for the estate that Manfred grew up on and its surrounding hunting grounds. From an early age, Manfred enjoyed hunting with his two brothers, Jurgen and Klaus, and his wolfdog Fritz. They would spend hours outdoors in the warm months, often on horseback and sometimes joined by their sister, Nina.

Manfred grew up, in many ways, as a normal boy of his country and station. Then, the Holmanians attacked. Seeking to take advantage of Kerremand's distraction, desperate, bony bands of yasoi launched raids over the border as well. Jurgen was old enough to be attending Ersand'Enise up north, Klaus was but a boy, and Nina a young girl, but Manfred had entered his teens and joined his father on the fields of battle. Only beginning to develop his talents at that age, he was given a largely ceremonial posting as morale officer.

It started simply enough. He would go out to meet the troops in their camps or on the march and speak with the non-commissioned officers - sergeants, corporals, and the like. He'd encourage them, sing some marching songs while they politely watched, and go report back to the higher ranking officers - most of them magery or cavalry. Then, the army saw battle. It was against the Holmanians under General Gerd Von Mikkelstern of Albesatz-Zuber: the Iron Duke, and they outnumbered his forces by double. Yet, Manfred could do little but survive and hope. The heavens crackled with thunder. The air reeked of blood, shit, and ozone. Did you know that human flesh, when slightly cooked, has a sweet smell? A sickeningly sweet smell? Manfred will never forget that smell. And so he watched mages fling thunderbolts across the sky. He watched knights roasted alive inside their armour by Arcane magic. Great chains, their iron links caked with rust and old blood, scythed across the battlefield, breaking human bodies. Soldiers - men he knew - who he had sung and marched with, who'd called him 'little lord' and laughed and patted him on the back after giving him a swig from their flasks... he watched them fed into the meat grinder of the enemy's magery - and their soldiers fed into his.

And nobody gained an inch of ground. A soft rain began and the two armies retired from what had been a grassy field and was now a wasteland. All night, he heard the voices: calling for their mothers, praying for Oraff-Zept to save them, for Ahn-Eshiran to take them, crying. Grown men were not supposed to cry and Manfred couldn't take it. He wandered out of his tent in the darkness, right to the edge of the battlefield, and there they were: crawling and dragging torn, boiled, and ravaged bodies through the muck. Manfred recoiled. His heart beat faster and the pressure mounted in his eardrums. Grey Rezaindians shuffled along, lanterns swinging in the blackness, gathering the dead. It did not matter whether they were Kerreman Grey Rezaindians or Holmanian Grey Rezaindians. They were all Grey Rezaindians. The wails rose, carts shambled past, and eventually, the greys gave way to White Rezaindians who drifted in like ghosts in a fog. A lick of flame it'd be. Every once in a while, they'd stop and there would be a wail, and brief, intense burst: Ahn-Eshiran's gift to the maimed and the dying.

The armies met the next day. Manfred huddled by his father in the magery. The cavalry was dispatched to distract the enemy mages and there was a twinkle in the graf's eyes when he told his son 'you won't want to miss this, my boy." The magery of Kerremand eliminated the King's Own Lassanzee Fusiliers in less than a minute and, with it, almost every grown man from the Holmanian village by that name. There was scarce time to celebrate. The enemy had not been idle. A pair of Internal Chemical Mages had light-bent to slip behind Kerreman lines and he saw people melt from the inside - their eyes bubbling out of sockets, the skin sloughing away in sickly colours, and a foul yellow gas seeping like death across the battlefield. Then, one looked at him and he felt the start of a pinch and knew that, at age fifteen, it was time to make his peace with the gods.

Only, it wasn't. The cruel grin on the mage's face froze in a mask of shock and he fell face-first, dead, a smoking hole through the back of his head. Moments later, the second mage fell. Nobody saw the magusjaegers who'd done it. They worked silently. They did not ask for accolades. They just did their jobs, and that had saved Manfred's life.

For the very first time, the Iron Duke lost in open battle. Truly, it was a Pyrrhic victory, for he had bled the Kerremans just as dry as they had bled him but, around that time, Kerremand had a bit more than its neighbour in the way of young men. That night, Manfred joined the commanders of the army in the general's tent, drinking, feasting, and singing songs about how Holmanian women are whores and how their men make good fertilizer. Most of them were mages. They weaved their hands through the air as they described how they'd cut this guy in half or blown that one's head up like a firework. At some point, pumped full of beer as a sort of mascot, they boy excused himself from the tent on the pretense of having a piss. Some of the soldiers were singing and drinking too. Some were not. The ones who were dead certainly were not. There was one particular group that drew his attention, though: small, aloof, and dressed in dark clothing. They sat in silence in the night, the embers of their pipes and tips of cigars burning like fat orange fireflies. The magusjaegers were cleaning their rifles. They spared glances out at the battlefield, already preparing for their next fight.

M O T I V A T I O N

Manfred is at Ersand'Enise out of obligation. As a Hohenfelter, he was signed up for the school from the moment the previous cohort entered, and there was never any option not to go. He hides his utter hatred for mages and what they represent behind a mask of cold professionalism, ever worried about slipping back into the comforting normalcy of a decadent noble lifestyle. He still feels a sense of duty to his family and country, however, and will do nothing to shame or disgrace them. Regardless, aside from what he can learn of light-bending and countering internal chemical magic, he would rather be just about anywhere else.

I N V E N T O R Y

Manfred has a chest full of clothes. He carries a ring with the seal of House Hohenfelter, a quill, some ink, and a small journal. The customary coin purse is there, and his is well-stocked. Try to sneak up on Manfred and pickpocket him. See what happens. Finally, he carries a magnifying glass on him. This item serves two purposes: one is for practice with light-focusing and the other is as a light to amuse his cat. A large orange Ragamuffin, Kürbis is given free reign of whatever Manfred's current living space is and is an excellent mouser. Aside from his wolfdog Fritz, who is quite elderly now and could not travel with him, Kurbis is also just about the only thing that you will ever see Manfred show affection for. Also, he has guns - lots of them, and they are very good ones. Swords and knives too.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

❖ Preternaturally accurate with a rifle or any sort of projectile: don't mess with him.
❖ Pinpoint etiquette and manners: he has all of the training of a high noble. He can make you shrivel with an outwardly polite smile.
❖ Hard worker: Manfred puts in the work. No excuses. Not having much of a social life helps.
❖ Hardened: Your social politics and jibes really, actually don't bother him. He's seen some shit.
❖ Kerreman: He can really hold his drink. Don't get into a drinking contest with him. You'll lose.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ Distant and detached: Manfred just sort of sees people as... not bad, but just 'there'. Nobody really means much of anything.
❖ Morally Superior: Manfred really does believe that he's better than you, filthy mage. He won't say it, but he'll let you know.
❖ Stubborn: He can become very set in his ways, mostly for the sake of his pride and because he hates admitting when he's wrong.
❖ Hardened: Manfred had a sense of humour once. He was fun and talkative. He's pretty unlovable now and convinces himself that he likes it that way.
❖ Kerreman: Sometimes, he will drink too much, and you might not want to be around him then unless your name is Fritz or Kürbis.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

❖ He's not a revolutionary or anything, but Manfred listens to what The Traveler has to say and agrees with some of it. Still, he thinks the guy is a madman overall.
❖ Manfred loves a hearty meal.
❖ He's actually kind of looking for a wife if he can find one. That way, he won't be legally obligated to obey his father's commands as a member of his household.
❖ Colour Code: 2E8B57

Jomurr Ikon III

Jomurr Ikon III

I don't think I'm better than other people. I know it.

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16 | Male | Belzaggic | Noble | 8.36

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Confident
❖ Competitive
❖ Shameless
❖ Showman
❖ Snobbish

Jomurr's a second son and he has complexes. He's powerful, rich, and handsome, but he's a second son. His father is an arch-conservative duke under Emperor Jobanzaggah IV and the mindset has rubbed off on him. To some degree, his snobbishness is reactionary and a response to the threat of the other classes' rise. A lot of it stems from a genuine belief that Dami chose people like him to govern, though. Jomurr looks at himself and rightly perceives that he's better at magic than 99.9% of the population. He's healthy, he's smart (even if it's more due to a good education), he's good-looking, and he's physically capable, perhaps even more so as he gets older. In a sense, he feels as if Ersand'Enise is a battleground where the lesser classes are trying to challenge the nobles' right to rule and that, if they win, the consequences for society will be genuinely disastrous. It is also a place where he can let loose. He can learn and unleash his full potential without restraint or compunction, and he can prove himself the better heir to his father. Zemon's RAS is only 7.82, after all.

L A N G U A G E S

Belzaggic: native
Avincian: fluent
Joruban: fluent
Perrench: fluent
Revidian: passable
Azjulish: passable

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

Look at the pic. There's your answer. He dresses in light, loose cloths, like most Belzaggic people. He'd show off his muscles if he had a bunch, but he's still a bit scrawny. Impeccably dressed, though. He just screams 'noble'.

T H E G I F T

Jomurr is a prodigy with the Gift and has the goal of either becoming an Arch-Zeno someday or returning to his house and usurping his firstborn brother to rule over the Duchy of Zowenga in his stead. Jomurr practices with all schools and knows the fundamentals of all. However, his favourite is Chemical and he's learning Atomic from a Zeno hired to be his tutor. He also has a thing for Kinetic because it's just so damned fun tossing plebs out your castle window with but a flick of your finger. Alas, this school only allows for two specializations. He should have his father talk to the Zenos about that. Arcane is pretty dope too. Binding? Hah! Binding magic isn't used for offense, and who needs healing? You have some pleb to follow you and heal you, of course!

B A C K G R O U N D

Jomurr's a second son and he has complexes. He's powerful, rich, and handsome, but he's a second son. His father is an arch-conservative duke under Emperor Jobanzaggah IV and that mindset has rubbed off on him. To some degree, his snobbishness is performative and a reaction to the perceived threat of the other classes' rise. A lot of it stems from a genuine belief that Dami chose people like him to govern, though. Jomurr looks at himself and rightly perceives that he's better at magic than 99.9% of the population. He's healthy, he's smart (even if it's more due to a good education), he's good-looking, and he's physically capable, perhaps even more so as he gets older. In a sense, he feels as if Ersand'Enise is a battleground where the lesser classes are trying to challenge the nobles' right to rule and that, if they win, the consequences for society will be genuinely disastrous. It is also a place where he can let loose. He can learn and unleash his full potential without restraint or compunction, and he can prove himself the better heir to his father. Zemon's RAS is only 7.82, after all.

M O T I V A T I O N

"I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was!"

In all seriousness, see the above bit on 'background'. Basically, like everyone else, Jomurr's here to become the person he's going to be for the rest of his life. He's also here to flex, though.

I N V E N T O R Y

Tons of outfits, a coinpurse full of Kizans, Coronas, and some Neskals because that's what all of the cool kids are paying with. There's no bigger flex than rolling up to some merchant, purchasing a papaya, and asking if he can make change for your Great Neskal. Jomurr also carries the signet ring of his house and a Teddy Lion that he sometimes sleeps with.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

❖ Magic prodigy
❖ Quick and athletic
❖ High noble and well-connected. He can pull some strings when he needs to.
❖ Quick with words, usually.
❖ Good liar

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ Honestly just kind of a jerk
❖ Insecure, deep down
❖ Overconfident
❖ Not quite as quick with words as he thinks he is
❖ Does not handle failure well initially

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

Unless they're from Belzagg and/or a high noble from at least a neighbouring region, other students are unlikely to know that Jomurr is a second son.
Colour Code: 800080

The Hourglass Order

@Izurich Thanks. It's nice to have a second set of eyes to vet these things and I suppose that she passes muster. I was mainly worried because she's just so angsty. I'm not usually a fan of overly angsty characters.

The Hourglass Order

Penny Pellegrin

Penelope 'Penny' Pellegrin

"I admit to being more than a little distracted by the...wit and depth of the conversation at this table."

"It seems mother wishes to turn me into some sort of lifelong penitent for sins I've not committed."

17 | Female | Perrench | Royalty | 8.11

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ Sardonic
❖ Pessimistic
❖ Good-hearted
❖ Pampered
❖ Insecure

Most of Penny's life has been defined by being the family disgrace. She was born without a left leg and with a moderate form of ectrodactyly in her left hand and this was cause enough for her superstitious mother to see her birth as divine punishment for the sins of her and her husband. This would be quite a bad state of affairs in most families, but is only magnified due to the fact that Penelope's parents are King Rouis XI of Perrence and his wife, Queen Mathilde. Unallowed to attend balls, public functions, or even to venture past the palace gardens, Penny is a young woman stifled. She reads, (crutch in hand) she paces, she grows things and draws and writes. She pretends to hate those formal family dinners when both father and mother are home, but secretly, she loves them. She is a forgotten middle child in many ways, with no prospects for marriage despite her station and no hope of amounting to much, so she is not one to hold back on pithy observations and cutting commentary and it is oh so amusing (often not only to her). The Gift is sometimes her plaything. When she's bored or sucky, she uses it to play tricks on her siblings, particularly if they're being obnoxious (at least one always is). A laugh at someone else's expense is still a laugh. Besides, they deserve it.

However, deep down, beneath many layers of snark and resigned cynicism, there's a curious, big-hearted girl who has dreams of seeing the world, meeting new people, and being valued instead of either pitied, stared at, or avoided with whispers, stolen glances, and sad shakes of the head. Because you place your right hand on your left hip, pointing to your left leg when you honour Oraff (the creator) while making the sign of the Pentad, religious superstition holds that Penny's missing limb is a mark of that God's disfavour. She does not believe it. She refuses to. She has a private tutor and she practices Binding Magic for hours on end, quietly determined to prove that she isn't what they say she is. On some warm Dorrad nights, though, as she lies awake in bend, staring at the swirling patterns on her ceiling and wishing for sleep, she worries that they're right and that she'll fail. She wonders why she couldn't just be whole and normal. She tries to dream that she is, but even in her dreams, she remains stubbornly the same person who she knows and does not love.

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

Were it not for her birth differences and their prejudices, most people would consider Penelope quite pretty. Tall and statuesque, with bright green eyes perhaps just a bit too large for her face and a resting smirk, she is the spitting image of her mother. Her hair is a rich chestnut brown and, when not styled in the fashion of the courts (even though she does not attend them), can usually be found pulled back in a Perrench braid. Since she was young, it has displayed a remarkable resistance to maintaining any sort of cohesive style or form for long and appears almost preternaturally tousled.

Penny wears long, light dresses. They vary in colour and she has many - some, hand-me-downs from her older sisters. She likes things that are lacy but feel solid and protective, so lacy hems and collars abound but not much else. She enjoys buttons, for whatever reason, and will often fiddle with those running down her sleeves. She also wears gloves. The left one is modified to fill in the gap in her palm and it has a dummy finger attached by a thin string to the one beside it. Out of habit, she does not take her gloves off unless sleeping or bathing. She has a pair of crutches (a handful of pairs, actually), but doesn't like how they fill her hands. As a result, she often gets around with only one. She's rarely in a hurry anyway. There's nowhere to go and not all that much to do.

L A N G U A G E S

For a noble lady of Penelope's station, languages are a must. For her, they're also something to do, and she has numerous correspondents all across the twin continents who she writes to. She is fully fluent in Perrench, Avincian, Revidian, and her mother's native tongue of Cirrimanic, and at least conversant in Eskandish, Torragonese, Joruban, and Belzaggic. Once you learn one language from a family, the others come easily. She sometimes practices her calligraphy and is looking to correspond with someone in Oiyac or Mycormi, but yasoi are so much more reticent in real life than they are in all of her old books.

T H E G I F T

Penny approaches prodigious levels in her use of the Gift - unsurprising for a blueblood of her pedigree. With little else to do but read, write, and learn, she also trains all day, memorizing focus words and inventing little spells of her own that she gives funny names to. While she's practiced with all five canonical schools, it is Binding that she puts most of her effort towards. She works with Kinetic to help ease the difficulty of walking long distances, and with Magnetic because it's her tutor's favourite and there's something peacefully destructive about watching fingers of electricty writhe and snap. Guiltily, she dabbles in internal Chemical spells and tells herself it isn't so that she can make people like her. That's what a madwoman would think. Penny isn't mad and will not let herself go mad. She simply won't. Besides, Binding Magic is her preferred school. If she can't heal herself, she reasons, she can at least heal other people. Then, she cringes at the thought of how melodramatic and self-indulgent such a statement would sound aloud.

B A C K G R O U N D

Penny remembers the looks most of all: the first looks when people see her or the second ones when they make sense of her. It first really registered when she was around three or four years old. Until then, she was blissfully unaware of her differences and what they would mean. She grew up playing with her siblings - there were many and they were close in age. There were servants' daughters and cousins too. They always told the most wonderful stories and she used to like to hear them until she realized that those were stories of a world that was being kept from her. They're now a weird, resentful kind of addiction. She still needs to hear them, but they no longer bring her joy.

When she was seven, her parents attempted to arrange for her a marriage with the second son of a Torragonese lord, but instead of making arrangements by proxy, he decided to visit. Penny played with the boy and they laughed and smiled and she teased him that they'd be married someday and that he should listen to his wife. Then, he and his father left.

One time, when she was ten, there was a ceremony at the Catherdal de Ste. Defrois. She rode in a carriage through the streets of Relouse, listening to the clatter of the horses' hooves and the church bells ringing. She remembers leaning out with her little tiara and waving with her right hand at the commonfolk. They were loud and dirty and shouted, and she was a bit scared, but they waved back, and there were kids her own age in there too.

She hasn't traveled since. She hasn't done much of anything since and wasn't going to be allowed to. That is, until her brother Arcel intervened. She is to attend Ersand'Enise under an assumed name, as the invented daughter of an unremarkable merchant paid a sum by her brother. She is to be his agent there. She is to meet with people and exchange letters with them. She knows Arcel: he is not vile, but he is ambitious and underhanded. Penelope - Penny Pellegrin now - doesn't much care. It's a species of freedom, at least, and she'll take it, even with all of the risk and the fears.

M O T I V A T I O N

More than anything, Penny wants to spread her figurative wings. She wants to live an actual life. She wants to prove to herself, at least, that her mother is wrong about her. There is a deep well of bitterness there, though she shakes her head to clear it and simply tries to appreciate that she has never hungered nor wanted for any physical need a day in her life.

Penny is eager to be at Ersand'Enise and to make something of herself, but she is deathly afraid of the real, actual, wild people out here. How will they react to her? Will they laugh at her jokes? Will they just see her: Penny - a girl from Perrence, or will it be pity, awkwardness, or avoidance? She knows it will. It'll have to be, like it always is. What if anybody finds her out - or learns of whatever her brother is up to? Will she be able to play a merchant's daughter convincingly? She feels like a fraud when it comes to life. She hasn't lived very much and knows it. Still, sometimes she takes a deep breath and counsels herself that she can do this. She is a princess of Perrence. Her forebears earned the crown at some point. They were capable people. So is she... she hopes - she really, really hopes.

I N V E N T O R Y

Penny almost always carries a satchel slung across one shoulder, with some basic jewellery, a small journal, letters and wax, and a comb (partly as a joke) inside. She uses one crutch the majority of the time, to keep a hand free, and two when she knows that she'll have to do a lot of walking that day. They're made of light, lacquered wood with soft pads on top for her armpits. She'll never be found using a wand or staff as a focus object, having practiced freecasting from a young age. For spells absolutely requiring one, a crutch is very much like a staff when held a certain way. Penny's recently taken to wearing a spare garter even though she already has one to hold up her stocking. She uses it as a strap to tuck secret correspondence for her brother into and spends the next while paranoid that it'll slip out and Black Rezaindians will come for her in the night.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

❖ funny and clever
❖ grudgingly kind-hearted
❖ excellent courtly manners
❖ good memory
❖ skilled in language and literacy

At the end of the day, Penny falls on the side of being a good person. Her acerbic comments are more than just a cover, but also not her entire story. She's well-heeled and it shows. She can wield etiquette like a weapon if need be and generally has very good recall for obscure trivia and details. This carries over into languages and the written word, where she can speak seven languages, at least to a degree...at least usually.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ anxious and insecure
❖ not very worldly at all
❖ proud and paradoxically judgemental
❖ tires quickly when walking
❖ questionable self-awareness and victim complex

Penny's upbringing and the constant feeling of being unwanted has done a number on her mental health. She's not a wreck or a basket case, but she struggles with intense flashes of anxiety and self-doubt. She worries about how people will perceive her and tends to assume the worst, though she actively counsels herself not to. She can be a bit of a stepford smiler at times.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

Penelope of Perrence is here incognito, as a lowly merchant's daughter named Penny Pellegrin. It would be unusual for anyone but the high-ups in the school establishment to know who she really is. Also, see here for a demonstration of how she walks on one crutch. Beware that I may have had to go into the weird part of YouTube to dig this up.

Honestly, not sure how I feel about her. The angst is reaching epic proportions.

The Hourglass Order

Visuals, Maps, and Graphics

Political Map of Sipenta in the Year DZ54

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Species Map of Sipenta in the Year DZ54

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Political Map of Sipenta in the Year AE14

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Blank Map of Sipenta, Customizable

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Rotating Globe of Sipenta in the Year DZ54

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Map of the Free City of Ersand'Enise

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Schools of Magic Symbols

Magnetic (Thunder)

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Arcane (Fire)

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Binding (Blood)

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Chemical (Essence)

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Kinetic (Force)

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Atomic (Deep Arcane)

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Temporal (Spatial)

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Dark (Sorcery)

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Yasoi Syllabics

Written Sypori

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Though there are a number of different yasoi languages, those from Constantia are mostly mutually intelligible and use the same alphabet. Being the most widely spoken and official in Mycormi, Oiyac, Hypari, and many outlying colonies, Sypori is the member of this language group most often encountered outside of Constantian yasoi lands. Hence, it serves as a good example of yasoi syllabics in use.