glibglobb

Blight [OOC]

Oh and I will correct my mistake with the [OOC] eventually, I just don't feel it would be right to bug admins about something petty when the site is still in intensive care.

Blight [OOC]

Haha I know how you folks feel. I got bit by the RP bug just after xmas and immediately looked for rpgguid. Then I discovered to my chagrin that it was down. I tried a few other communities for a while, but they were honestly shit. Couldn't get anything started. It got so bad at roleplaygateway that I.... I.......I....fuck I can't even say it.... I made.... a vampire/werewolf game... THERE I SAID IT! <runs into room crying>

Oh and on that note IC is open :-P

I do pictures for the first round because I feel it helps establish the setting.

Oh, and don't be sad if your character wasn't directly referenced. Just wedge yourself into ongoing action or set your own scene and subplot spinning.

Blight [OOC]

Drezlen clung to the side of the mountain like a tick, its mines sinking deep into the stone, its bloated warehouses bulging with precious metals: silver, copper, iron, even mithril. Foundaries digested the ores in smelters whose fires never cooled, belching endless streams of thick smoke and ash which added to the dark haze that daily blanketed the city. At the wharf, a black, tainted lake formed by damming the once white rapids of the Blackwash, barges jostled for room their captains eager to return to the bright, sunny capital to the south. At the center of all Drezlen’s filth, as if it itself was the source, sat the Blight. Situated in a low point, an ancient sinkhole caused by overzealous dwarf miners, the Blight provided the city with cheap labor: sturdy dwarves for mining ore, untiring trolls for transporting it and industrious gnomes for working it. Daily, those fae lucky enough to obtain a job, streamed out of the slums clutching their working papers with paranoid fingers, making sure not to make eye contact with the armored iron police who monitored the crowds.

Klade watched them pass with a tightened jaw - disgusting. He knew some ignorant nobles and their soft, liberal sycophants thought the fae beautiful, innocent even. If they only knew. His eyes turned momentarily from the runty crowd of gnomes and dwarves and to his partner standing resolute on the far side. Iron visor lifted, Klade could see the patch over his left eye. He knew what lay behind it or more to the point what didn't. He'd been there that night, a junior officer who still thought fairies were the cute characters of story books. He could remember ripping that rabid pixie from Jaden’s face like it was yesterday and he still had the scar on his palm to prove it, left by the same needle sharp blade which had gouged Jaden's eye. Not forgetting the lesson he’d learned that fateful night, Klade returned his attention to the crowds. Never trust a faery, not even a pixie... least of all a pixie.

Klade's grip tightened on the pommel of his iron claymore as a massive troll passed above the smaller fae like an ice berg being swept along a river. The head with its sweeping rack of horns turned toward the young officer and Klade expected defiance in the monster’s yellow eyes. Instead he saw only sadness. “Keep moving there,” shouted Jaden from across the street.



Niabell waved rapidly to the crowd as it churned through the greenlight district. Her sister, tall for a wood elf, craned her elegant neck over her shoulder. “You don’t really think he’ll see you?” As if in defiance of her words, a wrench rose to catch the morning light and flashed as it waved in response. Iliana sighed in exasperation as her younger sister clutched her heart in joy. “A gnome….?” The wood elf wandered over to her sister’s dressing table and plucked one of the many tiny brass contraptions off its surface. She held it up as if evidence of the absurdity of it all. “Niabell you’re in love with a gnome.”

The young elf turned about blushing, but quickly rushed to snatch the treasured gift from her sister’s hands. It was a dancer formed entirely from wire artfully wound into a swan figure. She turned the crank on the clockwork and watched it dance with wide eyes. Iliana just shook her head, “you better not let the mistress catch you fraternizing with lowborn.”

“Aignéis isn’t as bad as you think,” her sister protested as she set the toy down amidst a lustrous collection of similar bronze fancies.

“Oh really, let me tell you that Sidhee still thinks of herself as a Seelie queen,” Iliana snorted, “as if that would make her queen of anything but a brothel these days anyway… You mark my words, though, if she finds out you’re seeing a commoner, a gnome no less, and not as a client. You’ll find yourself out on the street serving up two copper quickies for goblins.”



Schlind inched his bloodshot eyes close to the gutter. Green skin crinkled about the narrow sockets as he watched heavy leather work boots and tinker clogs alike shuffle past. The goblin absently picked a mushroom from where it protruded from a crack in the concrete. After gobbling up the blue toadstool he dropped down into the muck. “You see her?” another fetid fae gargled from the shadows.

“Too crowdy,” Schlind whined, hunching his malformed shoulders. “Wait till waist beards go to their mines, then I looks again.”

The other goblin stepped from the shadows, a rotund faery with the both the shape and complexion of an infected pimple. “If we don’t find her Prince'll drain our blood for mana juice.”

“Gretch! You don’t need remind me,” Schlind looked toward the eroding walls of the sewer where a phosphorescent signature still glimmered beneath newly applied green graffiti. The battle between the two gangs, wyldling and Unseelie, left its mark in alleys and on bricks all across the Blight and under it.

“If we don’t get their cook,” his companion snarled, “wyldlings run the underbelly soon. You want that, work for crazy humans who eat magic and trip the dream? You seen what wyld magic do!”

“Might be better than serving mean ol' Princie,” Schlind grumbled.

The other goblin’s eyes flared, “no even be thinkin’ that you mold brain!” His beady eyes drifted up warily, “Prince hear you, Prince hears everything...”

Schlind gripped holt of the slimy rails which lead to the surface, “I… maybe go look again now.”

“You do, I watch out… for basalisks…”

Schlind climbed back toward the surface, his stunted brain squeezing out a rough image of the girl he was tasked to find. Human yet not, a dreamborn with the violet hair to prove it. 'Changelings they was called, children of da chanted, most die, found by goblins floating with the trash, eyes glowing like still live. This one not flushed though, this one get Schlind flushed if Schlind not find her...' Reaching the top of the ladder, the young goblin pressed his eyes to the grate once more, peering through a hundred pair of legs, looking for the girl with the purple hair.



Mayor Brannig watched the chaos unfold from on high, hands spread wide across the stone railing of the palace veranda. High above the soot, he breathed deeply of the relatively fresh alpine air. Casually, he knocked some snow from the granite ledge and watched it tumble down toward the angular roofs of clustered estates which jutted up like the shorn surface of a shingled sea. "Zar?" His grey elf guard's pale eyes swiveled ever so slightly beneath a sharpened brow. The grey preferred monosyballic names, this much Brannig knew... more efficient.

"My Lord?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Zar." The broad shouldered, broad bellied man straightened his back, "I'm not a Lord, I'm a business man." He looked down, practiced eyes finding the old foundry in seconds. Memories of hellish heat and choking fumes seared his mind. "You think blood bought me this office."

"No sir," the Grey Elf replied evenly, "you were elected." Brannig studied the slim flawless figure of the monochromatic faery but found not the slightest hint of sarcasm.

"Yes... elected." He leaned back out the high window. "What do you think of proposition nine, Zar?"

"An opinion?"

Brannig knew by now that Grey Elves thought of opinions what most people think of the unmentionable black sludge they accidentally track in from the street. "An assessment," he rephrased.

The Grey Elf scanned the room. He was alone with the mayor, a common occurrance for most human Lords trusted their Jarnalfar protectors more so than they did their own wives. "It's a mistake, sir."

"Hmmmph," the Mayor chewed on his next words a moment before spitting them out, "some in my court tell me the fae may revolt if it fails to pass. The last time the dwarves went on strike it cost us four barges worth of silver... a Blight in chaos, now that might shut down production for weeks or more..."

"Will the mayor excuse me for speaking freely?"

Brannig sized up the elf once more. He had the build of an adolescent boy, with the delicate features and pointed ears of one of those green light whores, yet he had seen the elf catch an arrow right out of the air, an arrow aimed for his own heart. "I'd have you speak no other way, my friend, Gods know you're the only one in my whole court who speaks sense."

"There is a jacta among my people, an error in thought, it is called nel dwekar, the slippery slope. Your advisors, those who wrote this proposition, they think with their hearts instead of their brains, they intend to give and they expect thanks, but they step onto the nel dwekar and they will only get more demands. They will give even more and the demands will grow, they will grow until the unthinkable is what is."

Brannig looked at Zar shocked, "but the proposition only lifts the daytime curfew... and only for the lowtown districts."

"It will not stop at that. Nel dwekar. Once you step onto the slope you can not stop until you reach the end and the end is the unthinkable. Fae loose throughout the city, wild magic setting fires in the commons, enchanters peddling their drugs to highborn children."

"By the Gods Zar, I never considered...." Brannig stepped away from the window, suddenly recoiling from the city and the Blight which festered at it's center. "I will accept your counsel, my friend, by Dagon I swear this proposition will never reach the voters." He stopped beside his body guard on the way to the wardrobe. "Do you not feel anything for the fae, Zar. I mean, your people were once..."

The blue eyes stared back untarnished by emotion. "The essence of things is to be found in the present my Lord, not the past."

Blight [OOC]

As far as the timeline expect to see IC opening posts today or tomorrow. For those still working do not be scared off. There is no, I repeat no, cut off date. This isn't like enrolling in a class, so take your time. We'll still be here :-P

Blight [Dark Faerytale/Steampunk]

For anyone still working on characters or seeing this for the first time, we still have spaces and you can find us on the OOC. There's no cut off and I'll keep accepting good submissions until we reach 10 active which we will never reach so yeah. For everyone else let's shift game discussions to the OOC and stop bumping this so new games can get their exposure. We can rebump it later if we ever have serious need of new blood.

Blight [OOC]

Okay sorry for the delay, seems whenever I have free time rpgguild is down. So we have the first player made race, Wisps up. Check them out, Ichthys did an awesome job. With them comes his character, Lior.

And, yes, Elsa, OP for the IC is coming, don't jump the gun :-P. Here is what I usually do. I'll post three or four brief scenes in order to give everyone a better sense of the setting and some preexisting events to connect your characters to. The hook for the mainplot might come in the first round or it might be later. You'll know it when you see it because the mainplot will have world altering consequences which will either be obvious or foreshadowed. Failing that I will just point and say, "There Main Plot Uuugg."

Blight [Dark Faerytale/Steampunk]

@Tali We can work with that, yeah. That'll be fun. Just be aware that the law against God moding ends where the PC's free will ends. A voice from your subconscious is involuntary (like a migraine) so I can and probably will eventually God mode it. It's just too good a plot device to ignore. Don't worry though I only do that kind of thing mid to late game once you've established the actor's character. Even then it's cowritten by us so if I make an error, just tell me in OOC and we can edit.

@All Okay I think I have all the player characters and their pics (all hail google image search) listed on the OOC. Unfortunately I thought that Mahz simply hadn't added the separate OOC board yet so I titled the thing Blight [OOC] without realizing that all threads automatically now have IC and OOC tabs. <FACE PALM>

Blight [OOC]

Cast

Aignéis

Name: Aignéis
True Name: Zelphyr-Blessèd
Race: Elf
Court: Seelie
Appearance: Aignéis has the traditional fair skin and slender build of the Highborn Alfar. This includes slightly pointed ears, long, thin fingers, and a certain unnatural sheen in her eyes. They are almost catlike in the way they reflect the light, and when they can properly be seen they are a dark, deep purple, rimmed with a pale silver. Aignéis considers them among her best features and is often known to colour around them with dark kohl to draw attention to the colour and shape, which is ideal and desired among humans but commonplace among highborn elves. Coupled with the dark blue/black colour of her hair she is naturally contrasted between the lighter and darker cooler colours.

Much about her is sharp and fine, from the shape of her chin and the shape of her nose to the distinct appearance of her cheekbones. She has long arms and legs, and finely toned muscles which are strongest around her stomach and thighs. Aignéis has the same level of strength and agility as all of the other high borns, though she keeps the muscles in her arms well defined in case she ever needs to menace the customers who are menacing her girls. Unlike some of the girls she spends her time with she does not have an overtly feminine figure, despite having rounded hips, as her breasts are small and she does not display them in the manner that other prostitutes tend to do.

She keeps her hair long and is fond of keeping it in thin braids so that she can pin it out of the way but still display it as a mark of her femininity. Often there are also wooden beads tied in with the braids to give them colour. As she is from the Seelie court originally, also called the Summer Court, Aignéis is fond of using bright, summery colours such as reds and oranges and golds. She also dresses in them, preferring to use a lot of thin, flowing fabrics when she is working that hold tightly to her torso but are loose around her arms and legs, often showing more skin than hiding it. When she is not working she wears loose fitting wraparound pants in the darker shades of the summer colours and a short, tight fitting shirt that shows her midriff.

She has a tattoo over her right shoulder and around the upper half of her right arm. It is a floral design, largely based around the calla lily (I'm thinking that the significant for this is because it has something to do with her family crest, as she is high born). Aignéis also has a tattoo on the inside of her left thigh featuring a sun design, and a tattoo of thorns surrounding her left ankle. She had each tattoo done to mark significant changes in her life.

Background: Aignéis was born into a family as the elder of two daughters, her parents had a certain expectation of what their lives should have been, as highborn elves. As she grew older Aignéis began to realise that what she had been told and what the world really was were completely different things. She became estranged from her family and found work in a brothel, swiftly working her way up through the organisation until she became one of the higher ranked managers, answering directly to the owner. Part of her increased responsibility includes nurturing girls who are new to the life and making sure that they are paired with appropriate customers.

Despite her status in the prostitute community and her realistic perception of the world around her, Aignéis is bitter and angry about her situation. She is good at hiding how she really feels, especially in front of customers who would not like to see how much she really hates them. This is not the case with all of her customers, however, as some of them like to see her hatred as she works.

Possessions: Aignéis has very few possessions because she took very little from her family home when she left them. She has her clothes, obtained with money she earned herself, and a wooden backed hair brush as well as the cord she uses to tie her hair and the painted wooden beads she uses for decoration. She does own a pair of daggers that she keeps near her person at all times for self defense as some customers have been known to act a little loose and free with their hands when they are not entitled to. She also has a small hand mirror, which was a gift from a particularly affluent customer who was fond of her. The mirror bears a crack along the top edge from a time in which she dropped it.

Talents: Aignéis is quite flexible and she uses this often in her work, though it does come in handy when she is required to defend herself. She is well practised with her knives, and can use them as both weapons and tools. She is also particularly adept when it comes to languages and can speak three fluently and an additional two poorly. (Not sure about what languages they should be?) Aignéis does not pride herself on her communication skills, though working in a brothel for so long has given her a good sense of what people want to hear and she is an excellent liar when the need arises.

Glamer: Despite her high born blood, Aignéis is fairly poor at direct telepathy to other elves. Her ability to communicate with them relies heavily on their power, rather than hers. The strength of her glamer is located in her empathy, and she is particularly adept at stirring emotions in others. What she brings out in them is rarely true emotion, and rather an imitation of the emotion that she has attempted to create. As a result the person she has worked her glamer on is able to discern the difference between the false emotions and their real ones. As she uses this mostly in her work the recipient does not complain, although it does come in handy in regards to self defense because she is able to distract her opponent momentarily and gain the upper hand.

Belle Époque

Name: Belle Époque
True Name: Neraida Krenaia
Race: Nymph (Naiad)

Court (if applicable): Seelie. The nymphs of antiquity were predominantly affiliated with the Seelie court, though their lack of organization or societal structure made that a loose association, at best. Out of necessity, many have sought refuge with various groups and accept whatever political preferences the situation dictates. However, most identify with the Seelie, whether they express it openly or not.

Appearance
Youthful in appearance and light in frame, Neraida is practically waifish by Naiad standards, which is not to say she's plain or unendowed by any means, but that her beauty is not of the more voluptuous nature common among nymphs. Hers is delicate, slender, with refined features and a fluid grace that lends even ordinary motions an artistic quality. Raven black hair flows in long, straight, silky sheets well beyond her shoulders, even when tucked back behind her ears and held in place by an ornate rosewood comb inlaid with mother of pearl. Her eyes are a brilliant aqua that darkens near the perimeter of the iris, the contrast giving the illusion of a faint glow with the correct lighting. In more public settings, Neraida prefers drab, loose-fitting garments of the kind seen among beggars or, at the very least, draws an over-sized cloak around herself to disguise her form, for nymphs of any sort are frequently the targets of pimps, brothel owners, and wealthy "collectors" seeking to harness their wild beauty for unsavory purposes. Within the shadowy corners of the Blight, however, she indulges her vanity with revealing assemblages of leather and lace, smartly accessorized with baubles of brass and bone.

Background
The birthing of a nymph has specific requirements, the most significant of which are being a female infant born of a nymph and near or within an appropriate element containing a sufficient degree of enchantment. For a Naiad to be born in the Blight, the most accessible such environment runs below the streets, where magical residue and stillborn faeries are flushed into enchanted cesspools; hence, their often being referred to derogatively as sewer nymphs. Neraida is one such creature, descended from a line that traces back to the fountain nymphs of antiquity. If being thrust violently into a pool filth were a harsh entrance into the Blight, the years that followed were no better, seeing her only loosely cared for by a mother who sought little more than her own salvation from the despair of the Blight by way of a mattress and steady supply of well-paying clients. Whether she saw her dream realized and left for better conditions, was abducted by a collector, or simply grew tired of the child, a teen-aged Neraida found herself abandoned entirely. In hindsight, she'd perhaps been done a favor, as there was little her mother could have taught the girl that didn't involve being groped by sweaty, plump old men for a few coins.

Having been kept underground for the majority of her childhood, though left to roam the sewers freely, Neraida had little experience with the world above and no idea what horrors awaited young nymphs on the surface. Over a series of surface ventures spanning several months, the naive girl marveled at the interest and generosity afforded her by men, for her biology had not yet developed such that they were bent toward lust. In return, she graced them with warm, vivacious banter, laughing easily and frequently becoming flirtatious - the natural progression of a budding nymph. Recognizing her nature, a brutish older boy with tousled black hair and a wicked sneer took interest in her, leading a small gang of similarly ill-tempered miscreants along behind her, trailing her back to the sewers. One evening, as she lowered herself part-way into a storm drain to return to the city's underbelly, shouts and heavy footsteps rushed toward her, startling the young nymph. She scrambled through the narrow opening, but rough hands caught her heel and yanked her back, thrusting her against the hard street. A heavy weight settled on her, crushing her small frame underneath. Neraida cried out, receiving a sharp crack against her jaw powerful enough that her sight faded for an instant, followed by a clammy, coarse palm sealing her mouth shut. Though her body strained against the weight, desperately seeking freedom, it was her mouth that ultimately secured it. Opening her mouth to the point of discomfort, the girl managed to get hold of several fingers and gnashed them off with a savage bite. With a roaring bellow, the weight lifted, freeing her momentarily. The noise attracted help from an unlikely source - one that would change the course of her life. A rival gang had been looking for Torvyn Fain, now better known as Torvyn Two-Fingers, and his cohorts for some time. Fortune glanced their way in nymph form and, once they'd dispatched Torvyn's lot, the group saw the girl to safety.

That was nearly a decade ago, when the small band of elves and half-breeds were little more than amateurish thugs. Now, as seasoned professionals led by a handsome young Alfar named Zemum Donovon, they make their living as a small cell in an extensive crime syndicate dealing in virtually every illegal enterprise imaginable. At Zemun's side as partner, confidante, and lover, stands the lovely Naiad, who now goes by the name Belle Époque. The group has done well over the years dabbling in illegal gambling and occasionally dealing in aether and fairy dust. However, their mainstay has always been thievery, primarily within the Blight, but in rare instances beyond its confines as well. Regardless, if there's a profit to be made, Donovon's crew wastes no time in exploiting any opportunity. While their success has largely gone unnoticed, their exploits have approached the level at which attention from the Iron Police is inevitable.

Possessions
Neraida travels lightly, preferring mobility over attachment to belongings, so it's uncommon to find her carrying anything more than a few coins, a jagged bone shiv at her waist, and a pair of smaller bronze knives, each tucked into a boot. She does, however, keep a varied stash of outfits, trinkets, and other accessories in the attic of an abandoned watchmaker's shop her cell calls home. A rosewood comb decorated with a delicate floral pattern made with inlaid mother of pearl is her only possession with any sentimental attachment as it's the only thing of her mother's belongings that remained.

Talents
Neraida knows the sewers as well as anyone, and can easily navigate their extent. She's also familiar with many of the inhabitants who've taken up residence there, though familiarity should not be taken to imply favorable disposition, as there are many quarters through which she dare not venture without first arranging the price for safe passage.

Moving with flowing grace, she quickly learns talents based predominantly on agility, especially those requiring little skill. Her dancing is artful and hypnotic, not unlike the mesmerizing shimmers of a brook's water across smooth stones.

Glamer
Being quasi-elemental creatures, nymphs have an innate affinity for their specific element, which in Neraida's case is fresh water. In potable bodies of water with a volume at least several times her size, Neraida can assume water form, with effort, or remain in her normal form for extended periods, "breathing" through her skin in much the same way as an amphibian. With regard to the latter, the purity of the water is directly correlated to the amount of time she can remain submerged without suffering ill effects or drowning, much in the same way as one might react to breathing smoke-filled air.

A nymph's charm is derived from three mechanisms, of which two are biological. Beyond their natural beauty, for which they are best known, all nymphs secrete a pheromone to which human males are most sensitive, but which can also appeal to male faeries as well, depending on their physiology. Among faeries, elves seem to be most sensitive, while trolls are the least. When not overpowered by the stench of the Blight, ones olfaction might detect from Neraida the faint scent of fresh rain and the light sweetness of lilies - a common description of the Naiad pheromone from those sensitive to it. Neither beauty nor pheromone are capable of more than basic attraction; however, when combined with nymph glamer, a receptive male can be lured into a much deeper charm. Note that receptive should be taken as open to the nymph's influence, as those already hostile or unfavorably disposed toward a nymph are unaffected.

As a point of trivia, more than one alchemist has attempted to capture the essence of a nymph's pheromone, and neither pheromone nor nymph has survived the process.

Delphi

Name: Delphi (Del-Phi)
True Name: Hana (Means flower in a lost tongue)
Race: Gorgon Half breed.
Court (if applicable): N/A. Fomori.
Appearance: In the darkness her bare feet patter against the cold stone, coming into the light her eyes, a piercing ice blue with vertical reptilian slits blink against the violent light of the sun, what little peeks through a mix of cloud and smog. Her snakes recoil and hiss a protest as their pale pink eyes adjust in what little capacity they were able. Their bodies slender in white with silken scales that catch the light in an iridescent display, which with the darkening sky will paint them in hues of the aurora borealis the humans are so found of, they are after all enchanted snakes. With pale skin like china and a band of purple hue across her lids and temples that one could forgive for thinking was painted she stood at only five and a half feet tall, short but not crippling so. Though of course she did look 'swamped' by her snakes, some of which had little trouble wrapping about her chest to find a place to rest.

She was slender, dainty even with a sweet hour glass shape with long slender fingers tipped with silver white claws like that of a great bird, though shorter and stubbier than one might expect of a Gorgon. Instead of a tail she also had legs, humanoid in shape and design with dainty toes at the end of her feet, though not to be forgotten by heritage from ankles to her hips on the outer side of her legs laced a pattern of scales in the hue of the ocean spray under sunlight, glistening like diamonds and pearls in any light. Stopping at the curve of her hips and flat stomach.

She would be seen wearing simple cotton dresses, which hid a rather modest bosom with a cord tie shut, it fell to the tops of her thighs and otherwise she remained rather bare. Save for the tribal bracelets and cuffs considered parts of her heritage.

Background: Delphi isn't like the rest of her race, she was the 'flower' to them. While most would think the fomori would shun such a creature whose looks were delicate, if not fair and whose blood wasn't quite as muddied -or perhaps muddier depending on your view- than theirs they did the opposite. They hoarded her like a prized dove, which didn't always make her feel protected, sometimes she wondered if her 'sisters' in the brood were just squabbling over who got first bite. She, apparently, smelled delicious to them, like prey but they were not so gone to the beast -as some were- that they could not see that she was indeed one of them.

When the humans came, coveting their eyes she was hidden behind stones and when they were pulled away each time there were less and less of the brood until only two others and Delphi remained. The humans were quiet for a long time and for a while it seemed that they would never come again. The three became like sisters, albeit slightly dysfunctional ones, the two full gorgons bickering and fighting over Delphi at times and sometimes over even sillier things. Unknown to the half blood the sisters were not doing well with the sudden silence and had heard from the cities of man what was done to their kind.

More fool the humans, very few were born with the 'gift of the eyes' and those who were were hidden far away, the power most gorgons obtained was a much subtler one and the humans were not interested in finding out what that was. They wanted the eyes, so it was inevitable the humans with their mongrels the grey elves would come again and though they hid two were found and dragged before the human masters. One was killed on the spot, their snakes cut from their head as a warning to the other who went mad from the sight.

Delphi had gone outside, climbed a higher ridge to bask and at the noise she watched in horror flattened ot the rock as her remaining sister was hauled away.

Possessions: A small hand mirror, her bracelets and dress. A satchel full of flowers.
Talents:
-Good at reading people.
-Can be very stealthy.
-Can swim very well.
- Very Agile and dexterous.

Sorcery:
- Voice: Her papa, he was a siren and his gift to her didn't stop at the fairness of her features, her voice upon singing can evoke emotions, memories, or weaken a person. Perhaps even kill them should she wish it. Although the more intense the song the higher the price to her personally. [See Weaknesses]
-The eyes: Upon her desire her eyes will glow faintly like her scales, the victim will then forget everything they had done since sun up that day.

Weaknesses:
- Delicate. She has trouble 'replenishing' her sorcery without the aid of someone who can perform such tasks so it takes twice as long for her to recover from fatigue.
-Hungry Her snake half and her 'other' half are constantly at odds about what to eat meaning she is often hungry even if she has eaten.
-Voice If used while weak it could render her mute, if she sings 'the death note' while weakened it will likely kill her as well.

Clarissa

Name: Clarissa (Claire) Kerley Loughnane
True Name: Praecampere (roughly ‘bursting magic’)
Race: Changeling
Court (if applicable): N/A
Appearance:



Standing at a height of only four feet nine inches and weighing a mere sixty-seven pounds, Claire does a pretty good job of disappearing in crowds when she wants to, her choice of somber clothing helping her further blend into the urban landscape and become inconspicuous. Her lack of significant muscle tone and a youthful figure also help her evade notice, appearing at first glance to be just another child on the streets.

The fact that her short, curly hair is dark pink may hinder her attempts at discretion, however. In fact, the oddity of the hair color tends to be a pretty big warning sign for those who harbor a fear of changelings and wyld magic. When she’s not worried about people reacting adversely to her nature, she tends to decorate it with ribbons or clips that her mother gave her when she was younger. The only abnormal trait of her grayish blue eyes is that they appear to be metallic, but it can be hard to notice compared to her hair. When she’s glamming on the other hand, they’re usually all people notice about her.

The clothes that she usually chooses to wear are loose, yet comfortable, allowing for good freedom of movement. This normally means that she wears trousers and tunics, with a cloak and gloves for colder weather. It is also quite common for her to wear a sleeveless vest of some kind over her tunics to provide additional protection from the elements without hindering movement. A belt about her waist also allows her to carry her purse and some other things she may need on her.

Background: Claire was born to a female alchemist who really should have known better than to continue dealing with glamming materials while pregnant, but desperately needed the income. As such, she was born a changeling, expected to die shortly after being born. But, by some strange stroke of fortune, she managed to cling to life, her mother taking care of her. Living out in the Blight where conditions were poor at best, it was not a very luxurious or fulfilling childhood, especially with her inability to go for more than four hours without a dose of glam. There were times when she would push the boundary a bit while she was helping her mother, but she could never manage to go longer than a few minutes without it, body seizing up as if something was drastically wrong without it. And even when she had had a dose, she was still prone to spacing out or vivid hallucinations, including a particularly chatty individual named Lucius Pontias IV who liked to show up whenever it was most inconvenient. Really, it was a wonder that her mother had managed to stay sane at all dealing with her.

When she was old enough to understand things like the alchemical recipes her mother used, she began learning the tricks of the trade, her mother hoping that she could help out and increase their income by a significant margin. That was also how she learned to make fairy dust, a low-grade form of glam. At the very least, that gave her some self-sufficiency that allowed her mother some measure of greater freedom, which was kind of essential for her as the face of the business. No one would buy anything from a changeling, of course, so Claire did a lot of the mixing work. And the set-up seemed to work quite well. They weren’t living in a palace, obviously, but they were able to maintain rent and purchase food and clothing when needed.

It is a common proverb that all good things must one day come to an end, and it certainly seemed to be true of Claire and her mother. The way of life that they had managed to create and maintain was seemingly destroyed in an instant as the Iron Police kicked down the door and stormed the building. Her mother, afraid of what the Iron Police would do if they found a changeling in the building, hid her away carefully with a few doses of glam and went to talk to the commander of the group. From what Claire could hear through the door, they had received an anonymous tip that glam was being produced in the building and were thus there to investigate the premises. Unfortunately, they did find some fairy dust left in one of the pots that they used for mixing. As a human, she was just going to be arrested, but the commander also ordered the building burned as a warning to the fae alchemists who may be producing the same foul drug. While they were outside the building preparing to set it ablaze, Claire managed to grab two tomes of recipes, a bag with twenty copper pieces, the few doses of glam, and her cloak before sneaking out the back.

Knowing that her doses of glam wouldn’t last her very long, Claire attempted to figure out some way of being able to produce more, only chancing upon a contact for one of the local wylding gangs by complete accident. The contact recognized that she was a changeling due to her strange hair color and casually mentioned that his boss would like to meet her. Figuring she had no other choice, she agreed and followed the guy to a decrepit building that appeared to be on the verge of collapsing. He led her inside and to the boss, passing several other gang members in the process. Then, after a process eerily similar to a job interview, the boss decided that she would be allowed to join if she would agree to cook glam, figuring that it might allow him to make more money. Ever since, she’s been with them.
Possessions: Two books of alchemy recipes, a small purse with twenty copper pieces in it, two changes of clothing, her cloak, the ribbons and clips that her mother gave her, a set of lockpicks the gang gave her, and her gloves.
Talents: Claire is pretty good with remembering recipes and creating potions and other substances of high quality, which makes her a great cook for the gang. Due to her nature as a changeling, she’s also had to learn how to be stealthy and avoid detection. The gang has also taught her a lot about performing other illegal activities, such as picking locks or pockets, as well as how to protect herself with a knife. Usually, she doesn't use these skills in the field, but the boss considers it a good idea for everyone to learn them anyway. Her control over the wyld magic, limited though it may be, could also technically qualify as a talent, despite being a trait of her nature.
Glamer: Wyld magic

Fallon

Name:
Fallon

True Name:
Naomh (pronounced “neev”)

Race:
Wood Elf

Court:
Prefers to ignore any and all politics. Her grandparents, whom she never knew, were firmly under the Seelie Court.

Background:
Fallon grew up in a room above a shady Blight tavern with her mother and father. They all shared the one dirty little room, and Fallon was often left to herself while her parents were out making very little money. She was used to this alone time and would often spend it either playing with her ragged little doll her father had once brought home for her or exploring the noisy, smelly streets and alleys. One might look at the sight of a barefoot little elf running around Blight unsupervised and tut quietly to themselves, but eventually the regulars grew used to the sight of her and ignored as they did the other Blight children.

Mother and Father hadn’t come home for a few days when the knock came. Fallon stood carefully, feeling slightly lightheaded. She was unsure of how to respond to the unexpected knock, for she was simply a child, and she was alone. She didn’t have long to ponder the question before the knocker thrust open the door heavily – it offered no resistance. An Iron Monster loomed in the doorway. It wasted no time as it boomed “Gather your things. Quickly, now, scoundrel! Come!”

Something about the monster made Fallon sick to her stomach, and her dizziness increased. Fearfully the little elf girl did as she was commanded. After stuffing all she could into her slender arms, she followed the Iron Monster with the decorated armour outside into the streets, where her mother was waiting with another Iron Monster. Out in the light Fallon realized that these weren’t monsters, they were humans wearing a Monster’s skin. Fallon was thrust towards her mother, roughly crashing into her. Then the two iron-clad humans stood, as though guards, at the door of the tavern. It was clear that they would no longer be living there.

A few days of living on the streets proved to be too much for Fallon’s mother. Oftentimes she’d snap at Fallon quite out of the blue, saying “We’re both going to die out here, don’t you understand! Your father … oh, that father of yours … he’s destroyed us! The Iron Police are going to come for us. They’re going to round us up, take us to the camps!” It only took a few days for her mother to sell Fallon to some strange women. Fallon could remember standing on the broken steps of an old building, looking up at three tall, lovely but painted women. Her mother was bargaining for something. “No, fifty … Look here, she’s young but she’s already so beautiful. She’s growing fast, she’ll be ripe soon. Fine, but I won't go lower than forty!”

Thinking on it many years later, Fallon supposed that was her mother’s form of saving her from the cruelty of the camps. At least the brothel could take care of her, and she formed a sort of family there. Years of experience and building a reputation helped Fallon climb up towards a slightly more prestigious but no more dignified role as an escort.

Possessions:
- An old, ragged doll from her childhood
- Several simple dresses and one or two more elegant gowns, most given to her by her customers
- A small simple hand mirror
- Various “makeup”

Talents:
As is the Elven way, she is very emotionally sensitive to those around her. Sometimes, if the thought is strong enough, Fallon can pick up on words or images from a person, almost as though reading their mind. Or, with other Elves whom she is close to, she can exchange some messages between them without speaking a word.
Other than that, Fallon is clever and resourceful, having scrabbled her way up from nothing since she was a little girl. Her life in the brothel has taught her many things, and being able to read people has been an immense asset as well as a disadvantage, as some of the humans she has served in the past have been … less than honourable.

Kalan

Name: Kalan

True Name: Filryn (means Twin blood)

Race: Half Elf (Human/Grey Elf)

Court (if applicable): N/A

Appearance: The first thing you would notice upon looking at Kalan is his youthful grey skin, making it clear to any who see him of his heritage, however the trained eye would realize that it is of a much lighter color than typically found among the Grey Elves. Perhaps then they would take notice of blue eyes too eerily human taking note of their interest or his slightly pointed ears perking up upon hearing something noteworthy.

However what you'll most definitely see is his long white hair resting on his shoulders, with the occasional thin strands falling upon his face which he has made a habit of blowing out of the way. Despite it's length he makes sure it is kept in a reasonable tidy fashion, less because he cares about his appearance but more to appear socially acceptable.

At a glance he is quite muscular in comparison to a Grey Elf yet would be considered to have a slim (although athletic) build in comparison to humans, he stands at six foot making him quite tall among elves but only average in comparison to mankind. He typically goes around in leather armor in order to make travel safer yet remain speedy while also wearing a light satchel to carry his few possessions and a small belt in order to hang weaponry from.

Background: Kalan wasn't born out of love, but rather intellectual curiosity. For years the Office of Faery Affairs has made use of Grey Elves in order to subjugate the Fae races however over time they had begun to notice a number of weaknesses they have taken great care to ensure isn't know to the public. Eventually it grew to a point where it began to hinder the operations of the Iron Police and so after the Iron Police put significant pressure on the Office of Faery Affairs, they hired a famed alchemist known as Alfred Magnus in order to figure out a way to fix their problem.

Taking a batch of Grey Elf Volunteers (who saw the reasoning behind his experiments as rational and for the greater good), he tried many different methods ranging from drugs to iron grafts to organ transplants but nothing he did worked as intended or without great consequence. He had all but given up and had resigned himself to the wrath of the Office for failure when he had a brilliant idea. He had been sitting in a brothel after yet another day of pointless work when as he sat there watching a young elf's performance, he wondered what would happen if he could cross breed out the weaknesses of the Grey elves.

Impassioned by his sudden stroke of genius, he returned to his laboratory and began pondering just how he would go about it. He realized that using another fae was pointless as it would result in a creature afflicted with the weaknesses of both Fae and Grey Elves so it occurred to him that only possible breeding which could improve the Grey Elves is one between Man and Elf. Now he knew that it was controversial for a human to have a child with any normal Elf but it was almost as taboo as bestiality for a human to even have sex with the husk of a creature as soulless as a Grey Elf if they would even agree to it in the first place.

So he decided that it must be him who bit the bullet for the sake of progress and after finding a willing volunteer, they had sex and conceived Kalan. Kalan spent his years being trained up for the Iron Police while simultaneously being tested in order to find the limits of his nature, to Alfred's amazement he went further than anyone expected surpassing both his parent races and Kalan quickly found himself out on the field in patrol with the Iron Police.

He was a hit with the other officers. A Grey Elf with a sense of humor, what are the chances? And he got the job done quicker and more efficient than any other Grey Elf ever could so it was no wonder he was soon an officer, something almost unheard of for a Grey Elf, not that they particularly cared. It was the eve of his Promotion Ceremony and his fellow patrolmen had come to collect him from his chambers when they found that he had gone missing. No one could fathom why he had gone , he was a Grey Elf after all he shouldn't care.

But no one truly understood what it was like to be Kalan.

He had never really had a childhood seeing as his mother couldn't love him and his father saw him as a pet project, his Grey Elf comrades couldn't deal with his emotional needs due to their lack of emotion and his human comrades expected him for the most part to be just like other Grey Elves at the core so it left him confused for most of his life.

He could never give vent to the remorse he felt every time he looked into the eyes of a Fae he just captured.

He could never give vent to the self-hatred he felt when his parents showed no love towards their own son.

He could never give vent to the loneliness he felt when he realized no one in the world was like him.

And eventually it was too much.

Possessions:
*His Clothes (Casual and Leather Armor)
*Twin Steel Daggers
*Twin Revolvers and ammo.

Talents:
For reasons unknown, he had always been scarily dexterous and agile, he never understood how as it was intuitive but he found it remarkably easy to make shots, dodge things and stab people in ways most would think impossible. As he has experimented with this he has found that focusing and blocking out his emotions increases this unearthly skill but it is incredibly difficult to maintain this level of concentration meaning only when he has time to concentrate (i.e. to plan out a single move) or if his emotions are dampened some how could he use this skill to it's highest potential.

However he has also found that his dexterity depends on how predictable the situation is and when more unpredictable elements such as magic are introduced, he is more likely to miss. For instance, he'll find it easy to shoot a man in his left hand who was sprinting across his field of vision, but if it was a gnome using magic to sprint across his field of vision it would be much harder for him to hit them with any success.

Furthermore his upbringing has meant that he has a good knowledge of how both alchemists and the law enforcement operate. He also possess many skills relevant to the Iron Police as a result of his time serving under them and some basic alchemical knowledge due watching his father.

Glamer: N/A as he is a non magical creature and his abilities are a result of biology alone.

Lior

Name:
Lior

True Name:
Votum Lucidus

Race:
Wisp

Court:
Seelie

Appearance:
Young and slim, Lior stands around the petite height of 6 inches, about the size of a human hand. With skin colored like the night sky, eyes that are reminiscent of the stars that dot it and hair that compliments that white of the moon, Lior is quite unusual to the other Fae folk and especially to humans; to other Wisps however, he is no more different than them, as odd colored skins, hair and eyes are a staple of the species. Lior’s skin is very soft and smooth to the touch, devoid of any hair except for that on his head, and his overall composition is of a thin and feeble stature - mostly due to the poor diet that he maintains in the Blight. That said, Lior’s constitution is incredible, considering his poor diet, due to the immensely active lifestyle that constant hiding and running provides.

Background:
Lior does not recall his early life for whatever reason. Whether due to motivated forgetting, amnesia or repression, Lior is just unaware of most things from his first years on Ilaya. The few fragments that he does retain are incomprehensible and scattered, usually no more than a faint image or bits of sound. From some time spent uncovering his own history though, Lior knows that his parents are dead and that he was born the youngest (or one of the youngest) of a medium-sized family. He also has reason to believe that some of his lost siblings may be alive, although he wouldn’t recognize them if he ever encountered them. To his discontent, Lior does not know what events transpired to the current path his life has taken, nor who was involved and most importantly why and how. That said, Lior’s earliest memories begin at the youthful age of 5.

At 5, Lior was already alone and subject to the hard reality of the Blight. Small, weak and young, Lior spent much of his early years accompanying other homeless Fae and scrounging the scraps that they provided him, as well as doing his best to stay hidden and away from humanity and the Iron Police. His life was bleak and not very promising; there were many times the Lior believed he was going to die, although death never came to collect him. Soon, Lior found himself becoming more attached to the generous Fae who sacrificed a bit of their belongings for the inadequate and useless Wisp. He longed for some sort of companionship and due to lack of any solid relationship, he was misled in labeling strangers as family. A very bad move to make.

Lior was taken advantage of by many. Some used him as a decoy or bait. Others as a lackey. And even others subjected Lior to certain things that no child should be subjected to. This continued for years, and Lior was forced to become apathetic and emotionless to such evil or break under it. Lior developed this stoneheartedness against malevolence differently though. Rather than becoming a solemn individual, a punchbag, he became more cheerful against opposition and challenges. Metaphorically, he fought fire with water, and it proved to be an unusually good choice. Where he was once a victim, he was now a victor. No longer did he put up with such malpractice, but he didn’t necessarily pronounce such doers of such evil as his enemies. Rather, he saw the good. He saw how they only acted from the same fear and distrust and vulnerability and pain that snapped at Lior, and he extended a hand of equal friendship.

Now this new philosophy wasn’t without its kinks, and not everyone responded positively, but for the most part, Lior’s life improved. He began to no longer be just a pawn but an individual instead. Sure, he still had a lot to learn, and sure, his life was still relatively horrible, but Lior now saw things through a different lens. Humanity was no longer an enemy but a victim of the same oppression that now plagued the Fae - they were only lashing out at their former masters in rebellion. Lior saw humanity as hurting as him, but that didn’t mean he could enlighten humanity and the Fae to this theoretical observation. He did, however, respect and understand humanity to a degree, doing his best to stay away from them as an act of kindness and of self-preservation. Still, he saw no excuse for the wrongdoing that humanity and Fae committed on a regular basis, but Lior didn’t see any way he could change things. Yet, at least.

Therefore, Lior now spends his days remaining hidden, trying to uncover more about the past and just trying to survive; he believes that in learning from the mistakes of history, he and others can rewrite the future. He remains a hopeful character and clings to the wish that one day things will be better. He may make friends, and he may make enemies. He may die a fruitless life or end up succeeding. But whatever, Lior will not go down without doing everything he can on his part. He’s tired of the world being that way it is, and that is the core of his resolve.

Possessions:
Clothing - Lior wears only a simple, brown robe made of rough cloth. The robe reaches down to his ankles and is not very fashionable in the least. On the bright side, the fabric, although uncomfortable and stained, is very durable and dependable. Of course, Lior has also fashioned himself a simple undergarment of the same fabric beneath the cloth, if only to be decent. Besides the cloth, Lior wears nothing, not even simple sandals to protect his calloused feet from the unforgiving ground.
Storage - Lior carries with him a small sack made from scraps of fabric sewn together. The sack is proportional to his tiny size and is just a simple bag for storage.
Weapons - Not really a true weapon, Lior uses a sharpened piece of stone that he keeps in his sack for protection. The stone does have the potential to pierce through skin - albeit no killing potential. The stone isn’t a reliable form of defense at all, and Lior is not skilled in using it.
Miscellaneous - Within his sack, Lior has pieces of parchment, most of them written on. These parchments are just interesting bits of literature that he has stumbled upon. Most of them are incomplete though.

Talents:
Remarkable Optimism - Although nowhere near naïve or ignorant, Lior possesses a large dose of optimism that some might find spectacular, especially considering the circumstances. Lior is always able to see the bright side (no pun intended) and the good in most things, which grants Lior’s weak body an indomitable spirit. This optimism also proves to be advantageous in its sheer ability to give Lior, and others, good measures of will, courage, confidence and hope.
Natural Scholar - True to his race, Lior is a natural scholar and despite his youth, holds a fair amount of knowledge on a variety of subjects, especially those subjects of magic and the Fae. Lior is also quite intuitive, able to learn quickly and efficiently, much like his Wisp ancestors. This intuition and knowledge culminate into a very wise Wisp as well, who can think well on his feet and has proven to be creative and resourceful - as any fae creature is usually forced to be.
Excellent Vision - Lior naturally has excellent eyesight, comparable to that of a lesser bird of prey, and better vision in darkness, which is a simple adaptation from living in dark areas most of his life.
Survivalist - Lior is quite adept at survival and survival techniques. One does not live on the streets without picking up a few things.

Glamer:
Transcendence - A glamer native to Wisps, this glamer allows Lior to transcend the laws of physics momentarily to perform impossible feats. Unfortunately, in the Bilght, Lior can only use Transcendence for a short number of seconds before being fatigued, and the glamer is rendered useless against metals like iron and steel.

Needle

Name: Alcibiades Wystragaunt
Alias: Needle
True Name: Balbaetrigaust
Race: Pixie
Court: Unseelie by association.

Background:

Pixies. They swarm and they scrabble, scramble and screw and in the end they flutter about like moths to the greenlight before ending their brief, hectic, violent lives beneath a boot, a hand, or in the net to some lab or another. Barely fae, let alone human, without purpose or function the feral things live out their days as much as vermin as fae.

Or at least, that's how it usually goes.

No one is really sure when Needle showed up or how. It was just a name that came with some fairy dust--”From Needle, baby”--or even a girl for a night. Then it turned into a name you heard at the tavern, where run down men muttered that they heard someone “went to visit Needle” or “made a little friend”. Then all of a sudden one of the cloth merchants was paying a troll for a needle that he tucked into the brim of his cap. And suddenly, when a wyrdling hustling a merchant with a needle in his hat winds up with pincushion for eyes, Needle stopped being such a little friend.

Needle is not like other pixies, but he can't help what he is. A naturally violent temper makes him dangerous and a vicious, consuming charm draws others to him. A great patron of entropy, he draws to him anyone who can feel the allure of just letting go and uses them until there's nothing left. When they've burned out, there's always another to take their place, but his disposable friends and accomplices have bought him a surprising amount of sway and muscle when he needs it.

And he does, because word on the street is that Needle wants anything he can get his hands on that has to do with sorcery, the really old stuff. Sorcery, Alchemy, Magic, Glam, bring it to Needle and you'll get what you want for it.

No one is sure that giving it to him is a good idea, but he's more of it already than anyone guesses,

Possessions:
Needle himself possesses little. Whatever his latest clothes are worn ragged, a tiny crown worn ironically and a long, thin needle are all he tends to have on him. What he has instead are contacts, people who owe him things or hold things for him or people on his payroll. And what's theirs can, and has before, very quickly become his when necessary.

The only things he truly cares about, that he keeps for himself and hides away where no one else can watch him, are the scrolls and books about sorcery and fae magic he's managed to acquire.

Talents:
Needle is an intensely social predator, a skilled liar and an expert manipulator. He replaces empathy with desire and is very good at manipulating what others want for his own ends. As a pixie he's quick and dexterous and quiet, of course, and more than capable of going unnoticed, but his true talent is his inability to forget. His memory is eidetic, to see is to know—and he has seen more than enough alchemical tricks and odd little secrets to know more than he really ought to.

Glamer:
Needle is, of course, an adept flier, capable of controlling his own natural weight and buoyancy to impressive degrees. He's had plenty of energy to practice, pumping himself up as much with the drugs his clients use as anything else--when you're a pixie, it doesn't take much. He's also learned to do the same with others, and for brief periods of time he can, with enormous effort, tug even something as large as a troll up into the air with him.

Though he constantly explores the old magics, the old ways for something, anything that will give him the desperate edge he needs over the wretched humans, he's never had an ounce of success.

Blight [Dark Faerytale/Steampunk]

Oh, just one more thing, TaliPaendrag, everything has a true name, according to fae cosmology, but humans normally do not bother with their true names or put any stock in fae 'superstitions'. In other words it's a faery thing. Do you want to have learned your true name yourself through your dreams the way a fae might due to your changeling heritage?

Blight [Dark Faerytale/Steampunk]

@Tali Well done. Accepted. I want to just emphasize how much wyld magic differs from magic in most fantasy settings. You have almost zero control over what the magic does. You can direct it better than a wyldling, but you can't control it once it is released. Essentially it will be like aiming a rainbow firehose that occasionally turns things into chickens...

@All OOC is up. It's just a copy/paste of the opener, but at the bottom I will try to add a list of all the characters. If I miss anyone, just say something. Subs are scattered all through this thread so it's a tad confuzzled.