All at once, Quinn's mind ground against itself, spat out a few sparks, and stuttered to a stop. She blinked once, twice. There was no way this was really happening. There was no way. It was impossible. Besca was—she was—it didn't make sense. Nothing about it was right. This couldn't—it wasn't—she blinked again. A fourth time, still sitting in the chair and staring like she'd seen a nightmare. Besca was—holding a door open. She was HOLDING A DOOR OPEN. FOR HER.
“I..don't understand.”
She shook her head, like she was trying to clear fog out of it. Doors weren't supposed to be held open like that. They were supposed to be shut all the time unless Mom and Dad wanted to give her food or talk to her. She was using the door wrong. But before she could open her mouth, the vivid image of the door to her room standing open flashed behind her eye.
“I...” Was...was this what it was like to be...invited somewhere? She reached up a hand to ball her eye, not really believing what was happening. But when her hand fell again, Besca was still there.
She blinked one more time before her lips turned up in an unsteady smile. “I think I'd like to go. If your friends are all as nice as you, I think I'll like them a lot.” Then, from a part of her deep down that she didn't recognize, she added, with just a pinch of vehement energy: “I don't think I like being stuck in one room very much either.”
Her stomach felt odd again. It felt like something inside her was...coming unknotted, maybe?. She huffed in a tense breath through her nose, then blew it slowly out. In, out, just like Besca said. It'd pass soon enough, right? She hoped it would pass. The panic still nibbled at her feet, but the breathing was helping. It was helping a lot.
She loosened the muscles in her legs that she hadn't known had been straining, and with a bit less energy than before, she hopped to her feet. She hoped Besca's friends were nice.
Then she smiled again, and walked out through the door.
The woman's voice echoed down to Quinn like it was moving through deep water, almost hard to hear over her heart thundering against her eardrums. Having a panic attack. Breathe. She watched the woman's deep, exaggerated breathing as though from very far away, and started to follow suit, trying as best she could to stop the fevered pace of her breaths and bring them in line with the woman—Besca.
She started to feel better—not a lot better, but a little better—and the faraway look in her eye slid away some as she focused on Besca's own. She was nice. She was really nice. She'd never heard anyone talk to her so gently, and for some reason she couldn't understand, it made her heart hurt.
"Where are your folks?"
For just a moment, she was caught between concern and dread, and her breathing hitched. Something really was wrong with her. Mom and Dad loved her. Why was she so scared thinking of them all of a sudden? It didn't make any sense. They loved her. She knew they loved her. They told her they loved her, and they kept her nice and safe. She loved them too. But for some reason, the thought of them coming home made her feel like she was going to choke. She screwed her eye shut as she tried to answer. Her voice wasn't shaking as much as it had moments before, but it was still a long way from steady.
“I—they're scientists. They went to...” Where were they going? “They went to do a...science...thing. I don't remember where. Or they didn't tell me.” They didn't tell her. “I—” She was all alone. “I—” She was a bad daughter. “I shouldn't—” Her breaths started to catch—
She remembered what Besca had said, and forced her breathing to slow down.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
It really did help, didn't it? But still, the words tumbled out faster than she could stop them.
“I shouldn't have snuck out, and I know that, and they're going to be really mad at me if they find out, but they left the door open and...I guess I just wanted to see what was outside.”
Her eye opened, and she looked down at her hands again. They were still trembling, but they were relaxed now. She felt a little better, not so much like the walls were closing in on her. In. Out. She tried smiling. Her lips twitched, but it didn't quite work. She felt the rising tide of panic gripping at her legs again, but she ignored it as much as she could.
As she was led back into an interview room, Quinn was left on her lonesome, sitting down in the chair, bouncing a little in excitement. A few minutes later, a woman with an eyepatch—just like hers!—walked in, started talking, and sat down across from her. Her smile brightened.
"You can just call me Quinn, if you want!"
This woman intimidated her for some reason.
The eyepatch—it was nice to see someone else with one, really. And the 'twinsies' did seem like she was trying to put her at ease.
But something about her made Quinn feel like she was being judged. Well, of course she was being judged. It was an interview, after all. Being judged was the whole point. But...judged judged. So for the first time since she left her room, she let herself slow down a bit, and collect her thoughts a bit more. And she tilted her head a bit at "funny," let that bright smile dim slightly. Did she do something wrong? She didn't want to be yelled at.
"Well, it's my first time outside, so I was wondering what was happening in town. I've never been, and it looked like a lot of fun. Then I saw a sign for pilot interviews! I don't know that much about pilots or Saviors or anything, but I..."
She trailed off. She didn't really know what the question was, but that felt like the wrong answer. What should she say to this woman?
Ah, that's what the judge—y was reminding her of. It was kind of like the way Mom looked at her, every once in a long while. She definitely reminded her of Mom, at least just a little. But she loved her Mom. She frowned. So why did that look make her feel so ill at ease?
"...I—I don't—I'm not used to all these people, and the dock was really busy and loud and kind of overwhelming, so I thought this would a little quieter?" That wasn't the right answer either. She looked stupid. This woman was going to get mad at her, she knew it sure as she'd ever known anything. Her words started to stick in her throat. "And I—well, I still don't know much about pilots, but I guess I've—" No. No. That answer was bad too. She was starting to feel a little bit dizzy and lightheaded. Her stomach felt...strange. Off, somehow. Like it never had before. She couldn't explain it. It didn't hurt or anything. It just felt different, a twinging feeling from right down in the pit.
A deep and elemental fear began to build in her. Maybe this woman was hurting her. She acted nice, but why else would she feel like this? Maybe Mom and Dad were right and the people outside were going to hurt her. Maybe they were right, and it was going outside at all that was hurting her. It was making her sick. She never should have disobeyed them. She could feel her breaths turning shallow in her chest, and her heart was pounding in her ears. Her hands clenched into tight white fists on the table in front of her, and she stared at them. She thought she was about to pass out.
She thought maybe she was about to die.
"Sorry," she muttered, voice shaking like a leaf. "I don't—feel quite right."
Not in a bad way. Not really. On the contrary, Quinn loved all the (very loud!) sounds, all the sights, all the delicious-smelling food (she had no money, did she...?) that she had no way of identifying, the crush of people, no matter how perhaps rude they were...it was all wonderful, and she found herself popping out of the thick of it with a smile on her face that she'd never worn anything like before. But still, overwhelmed she was. And the stage, with all the lights and music...was just a little too much for her
And that was when she saw the sign: RISC PILOT INTERVIEWS, and the smile on her face grew even wider. She didn't know what interviews entailed for RISC. And she didn't know what "compatible applicants only" meant. But That didn't mean she couldn't find out, right?
There was a little line waiting in front, so she took her place, looked up at the puffy clouds in the blue sky, and advanced whenever she heard the line go forward. People were muttering all around her. She barely even listened to what they had to say—sims? Qualifications? There was that word 'compatibility' again—and what she heard, she didn't understand. So she tuned them out, looking at the town where...she guessed she lived? Hovvi, right? It was really pretty, so colorful, so far unlike the four white walls she'd look at for...forever. The road under her feet was rough, and she laughed to herself as she scuffed her feet against it.
It was one of those foot-scuffs that tipped her off balance, sending her forward with a yelp and subsequently bonking her head into a doorframe. "Ouch!"
She took a moment to recover her footing, rubbing her forehead and laughing, before she properly aimed herself the door and into another building. Following the line still, she walked through an other door, this one labeled Administration. What was a community center anyway? It didn't seem like it was at the center of the community, and it wasn't something she'd ever looked up before. Maybe like a city hall? But it didn't seem big enough. What were they administrating?
"Here, young lady."
She jumped, knocked out of her thoughts by an older man with silvery whiskers. She'd somehow come up to a desk-booth-thing without noticing. He'd slid a clipboard and pen underneath the clear glassy wall, giving her a nice smile. "Fill this out, the interview comes later."
"Oh. Okay! Thank you!"
Holding the clipboard in both hands, she trotted over to a seat and sat, looking over the paper with the pen in her hand.
Name? Quinnlash Loughvein! Age? She was sixteen, right? Sex? Female! Date of birth? She paused, looking up at the ceiling. She'd never had a birthday party or anything. She thought it was maybe in the summer? But she wasn't sure. So she jotted down The summer, I think and moved on. Address? Uh...hmm...she...she really didn't know. She lived in the house on the cliffs, but that didn't seem like a proper address. She chewed on the back of the pen for a moment (it was oddly satisfying to gnaw on) before shrugging and writing, I dunno. Contact Information? Oh. She didn't have a phone or anything. She didn't have an email. She'd never needed one, she'd only talked to Mom and Dad, and they'd only been a room away! Another chew, and she answered, I don't have one. That would be fine, right? Not everyone had one. But maybe she should get one someday. That sounded cool! Oh, there was that word again! Compatibility Status? Honesty was best, right? So she wrote in her messy, slanty handwriting, I don't know what that is. Medications? Nope! She'd never taken anything like that! Emergency Contacts? Oh, that was easy! Mom and...
She paused.
No. She couldn't write Mom and Dad's names. If they knew she'd snuck out, they'd get really mad, and RISC getting in contact with them would definitely let them know! But they were the only people she knew. So she just wrote, I don't have any. Handicaps? N—oh, never mind, she almost forgot! Missing my right eye.
And there was the line for a signature! She swished through it with a flourish, then marched back up to the man behind the counter. It had only taken her a few minutes, and she was excited for what came next. "I'm done! Do I sit down again?"
He looked at her strangely "Yeah, kiddo. Take a seat, they'll call your name when your interview's up."
She waved at him, then plunked herself back down, content to wait and smile still glued to her face and ignoring the glances that came her way. She didn't mind. They'd all gone through what she was, right? They should get it!
More time passed. She didn't quite know how long, but she spent most of it thinking about what she'd seen and very pointedly trying not to think about going back home. She knew she'd need to, but she'd like to stay outside as long as she could before she had to go back into her room. She hoped she could remember the sights and smells, whenever it happened. It had been so nice to breathe the fresh air. She'd never realized how stale it was at home!
"Ms. Quinnlash Loughvein?"
She jerked her head up, then hopped to her feet. "That's me!"
She hadn't seen it open without Mom or Dad there for...a long time. A really really long time. Years? Ever? She didn't know. The two of them had always been there, hovering around her, making sure she was safe. Where did they say they had gone? A science thing somewhere? She didn't quite know where they were, or for what. But she was a good daughter, like they'd always told her to be. So she shouldn't leave. It wasn't safe out there, she knew that.
But still. She couldn't help but stare at the door.
The little stack of plates in the corner had been scraped clean of food, and in the other corner, another stack—uneaten—was covered, prepared for the next few days until Mom and Dad got back and could make fresh food again. And she knew they'd be back before the food ran out. She trusted them completely. After all, without them, what would happen to her? She'd be totally lost, like they always said. The world was scary and dangerous. She didn't want to go outside anyway.
But the open door still niggled at her
That was the last time, wasn't it? When she'd seen the world out there just that once, and her eye had exploded. It had hurt a lot. But...if they were telling the truth and it was because she looked outside, then why could they go out and be fine? It somehow didn't make sense to her. She obviously knew they couldn't be lying. Why would they ever lie to her? They'd never lie to her. They cared about her so much. But...maybe they were wrong?
The open door beckoned.
She shifted slightly from where she sat on her hands upon the small bed, fidgeting as she stared. She'd been staring at it ever since she'd noticed it earlier that day.
She stood, walking slowly, hesitantly, to the door. As she stood before it, she grew more agitated. She shouldn't even be thinking about this. Mon and Dad would be mad if they saw her, she knew. They would yell at her for a long time. She nudged it slightly with her foot, jolting back as it creaked open just a little bit more. They would super mad. But...they weren't here right now, were they? She'd go out, see what the rest of the house was like, then come right back and close the door. After all, it was just a little peek, right?
She stumbled backwards, heart jumping into her throat and hand pressed to her chest, as the door opened with a deafening shriek that echoed through the empty house. She hugged herself on instinct, tensing up for the inevitable: Quinnlash Loughvein, what do you think you're doing?!
But no shout came. It was silent as the grave. She gradually uncoiled herself, hesitating before the threshold of her room—her world—and the scary outside world. It's...it's fine. It's just a peek, right? It's just a little peek. Just to the...what did they call it? The 'living room?' She thought it was a silly name. She lived in her room. Shouldn't that be the living room? That made more sense, right?
Step.
...She didn't know what she'd expected. Did she think it would make a different booming noise or something like that? It was just a normal step, like all the steps she took in her room. So the next step was easier. And the next after that, as she walked down a wooden-paneled hallway. The closer she grew to the opening at the end of the hallway, the quicker and easier the steps came, as she chased a half-remembered vision of a sunset. Until, at long last, she emerged into a different light than she'd ever known. It was brilliant. It was wonderful. This was what they called 'noon,' she thought, the time when the sun was the highest in the sky, and the light was brightest. All trepidation forgotten, she ran to the window, pressing her hands up against it. She'd never seen anything so beautiful than the moment.
In front of her hung the edge of a craggy cliff, falling away until it met water with a blue so intense she wanted to shield her eye. The sky above was a brighter, more shocking blue that ran off to the horizon, speckled with puffball clouds. By the time she realized she'd spoken, she'd already moved on, trying to take in the whole world around her.
"Wooooowwww..."
Before her brain could catch up to itself, she'd already stepped towards the door, holding a hand out, eye still glued on that distant, magical horizon as the noontime sun flashed and whipped across the waves.
QUINNLASH LOUGHVEIN, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!
Her hand stopped. She swallowed, suddenly very aware that she was breaking all the rules. All of them. Just a peek. She was just taking a peek. She couldn't actually go outside. It was really dangerous, right? If she went out, she could be hurt really badly, or even killed.
But...
Her hand moved again.
They were gone. They'd be gone for a while, if the amount of food left was something to go on. She could go out and come back and they'd never know, right? She wouldn't get in trouble. Just for a minute. Out, in, just to see what it was like out there, in that majestic and terrifying world out there.
She stared out at the world.
The world glistened back.
Yeah. They wouldn't know.
Creeaaaak
A rush of wind blew over her and she gasped, taken aback, and stepped forward without thinking about it.
The walls fell away, and the outside world enwrapped her. She twirled slowly, trying to take in everything. The cliffside. The lake. The pastel forests. The ramshackle road. And at the end of it...
She'd never seen anybody besides her parents before. And down there? It was a hum of activity. So many people, she couldn't even hope to count. A huge structure that went up-up-up into the sky loomed, and...
Saviors.
Those are Saviors.
Step.
Step, step.
Quinnlash ran.
Her breaths came fast and heavy, braid thumping against her back and whipping about behind her as she bolted down to the city. Town? Village? She wasn't sure. But she wanted to see it all. She couldn't run for long, and it turned into a shaky laugh as she stumbled to a stop. There were so many people. So many houses. Soldiers, Saviors, pilots. She didn't know that much about them, but she knew that they saved the world, and they were amazing! There was nothing she wanted to do more right now than walk down through that crowd, see everything, hear everyone.
The world was so big, and she wanted to see all of it.
So she heaved in a last unsteady breath. It wouldn't be more than a few minutes until she got there, right?
Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately the tops of her thighs. Untied, it falls nearly to her ankles. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps.
Psychological Profile
Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much
1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as
1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive.
In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information).
Background Information
Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed.
The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior.
There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries.
Savior
Designation
Ablaze
Body
Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal.
Weapon
Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.
Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps.
Psychological Profile
Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much
1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as
1) Anxious 2) Short-tempered 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive.
In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information).
Background Information
Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. Her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, seem to have been experimenting on her to provoke compatibility; thus, she was kept completely isolated, only aware of what her parents allowed her to be. Modium ichor was administered to her in microdoses in water, keeping her in a state of perpetual illness that she did not recognize. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (suspicion of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed.
The second time she snuck out was immediately before meeting Besca and joining RISC, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. Then she came to RISC and was assessed for compatibility before being removed from her situation and taken to the Aerie. Though she is aware by now that what her parents were doing to her is not normal, she is as yet unaware that they were microdosing her with modium. Dr. Darroh has taken responsibility of her and should be consulted before this is revealed.
Savior
Designation
Ablaze
Body
Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side of a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organism run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal.
Weapon
Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to ten seconds to increase the destructive yield dramatically, up to approximately three times the size and intensity of the blast at full charge.
Full Name - Quinnlash Loughvein (Don't call her Quinn. She hates that.) Age - 28 Gender - Female Vocation - Caster Nationality - Midnos
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Emotional Quinnlash is boiling with emotion. Even if she could bottle it up anymore, she wouldn't, and it flows freely out of her. Most of her emotions are...less than charitable much of the time, but she has a greater range than that, certainly. While uncommon, it's not impossible to see a wide smile on her face after a stressful situation has resolved in her favor. Most of the time, though, it's anger. Lots of anger.
Reckless Just like emotions, Quinnlash boils with energy. She has issues with thinking things through. Exacerbated by her emotional nature, it's all too common for her to shoot first and ask questions later, or to run headlong into certain and overwhelming danger. She does put a bit of thought into controlling this impulse, but it's always there, and usually controls her instead.
Critical A vestigial remnant of an ignored past, Quinnlash is very critical, both of herself and others. While this can be useful, as she never throws around criticism unless she means it, it's often misunderstood. Her often hostile emotions can conspire to make genuinely constructive criticism sound a whole lot like "just be better."
G I F T
Soul Ablaze The burning soul-ember that Quinnlash received erupted against her innate pyromancy. When the two settled, she found that in the process, her magic had become unstable and volatile, allowed her to break pieces of her soul off and wield them. Though each one created reduces how long her magic can last, these fragments become flames that never fade, never waver, never die, until the magic within them burns out and returns to her. They can be reabsorbed at will, restoring her splintered soul with a flash of light from her eye; or fed from her magic, renewing them ad infinitum. Notably, her soul does not immediately mend itself when she reabsorbs a soul flame. It takes some time for it to fully rejoin. Still, nobody else can fracture their own soul this way. Nobody but Quinnlash. This is her Gift.
E Q U I P M E N T
Undying Light Quinnlash's weapon of choice against the Void is an enormous rifle-cannon. Created with one of her broken-off soul flames at its core, she can stoke it until it destabilizes and erupts, raging at its constraints until the trigger is pulled. When it is, the magic is released, launching an explosive barrage of scorching fire from the barrel. It takes time for Quinnlash to feed the fire to its fullest extent, but when the furnace is fully stoked, Undying Light is a force of nature and a sight to behold.
Physical Description
A woman of perhaps 5'5" with an extremely average build, Quinnlash can melt into a crowd of people with relative ease as long as she pulls a hood over her head. Not only imbued with a pyromancer's ember but a pyromancer herself, her single eye gleams with a brilliant yellow light. Her hair is very long, kept in a tight braid that trails down her back. Though most if it is the dark gray it always was, bits and pieces of the fringes around her face have begun to bleed the same vivid hue as her eye.
While her body certainly isn't unfit by any stretch, it's not to the same standards that many other Hunters have trained to. Her tendency to keep her distance means that much of her evasive skills in combat rely on creating space between her and enemies as fast as she can. She's nimble enough, of course, needs to be in order to avoid being struck by any return fire, but not very strong. The most obvious place to see this is in her musculature. It is very apparent that she's not a frontline fighter by any means. What she lacks in strength, though, she makes up for in consistency. Though her muscles aren't overly strong, they are filled with a seemingly unnatural endurance and surefootedness even for a hunter. Bought and paid for with each backwards step taken while lining up a shot, that manifests in confident and easy movement, even in the most perilous situation.
She wears long, baggy, thick clothes with many layers, worn and tattered by now, as she travels. She no longer feels the cold now, heated as she is with an ember from deep inside. But deep within her, in a part that she despises, there is a fear that one day, she will lose what makes her human. That perhaps she already has. That her soul, already so fragile, will shatter like a pane of glass, and she'll lose something very, very important.
Character Conceptualization
Quinnlash was a scholar once. A books-in-a-library-in-Midnos, dyed-in-the-wool scholar. She'd been raised to be one her entire life. Ever since she could read, her parents—both reputable scholars themselves—had inundated her, drowned her, with diagrams, carvings, and so many books. Some as heavy as she was and varying widely in topic, the only way for her to keep her head above water was to swim. And swim she did, meekly accepting her parents' demands and doing her work, kept totally isolated in her room within the small but lavish house in the capital of Midnos. She grew very knowledgeable for her age as she simply read. Not that she could understand most of what was in the books. But what else was she to do? With nothing else around her, all the time she could ever want, and the only two people in her world constantly telling her to study at such a young age, what could she do but eat, sleep, and read? She didn't want to go outside. Her parents told her that it was dark. It was dark, and scary, and filled with things that wanted to hurt you. Best to just stay inside studying, right? She could go outside when she was older.
But when she was seven, she was allowed to leave the house. Just once, with her father close beside her. She clung tightly to him, looking fearfully at the dark world, as he took her to see a strange woman. The two of them spoke seriously in low voices for some time. What little she could hear, she didn't understand. Words like "magical affinity," "innate talent," "potential for phenomenal things." She had no idea what was going on, and flinched away, clutching to her father's clothing, when the woman reached her glowing hand out to her. She averted her pale violet eyes from her and closed them tightly, terrified. But no touch came, only a faint warmth that soon faded entirely. She opened her eyes in time to see the woman nod gravely at her father and then turn to walk towards her. And no matter how Quinnlash struggled, no matter how she screamed or cried—the pyromancer took her. The last things she ever heard from her family were two words from her father, as she tearfully begged him to take her back home with mama, please, whatever she did she was sorry, she'd be a good girl from now on, she'd never ask to go outside again:
"Goodbye, Quinn."
From then on, she studied different topics, in different ways. How to conjure flame. How to use it to defend yourself. How to exercise fine control over it. How to channel it for sustained periods. The work was grueling—mentally and physically exhausting. Months bled into years and years bled together, as she studied and trained as a pyromancer, first from a small group of skilled pyromancers and then—as her prodigal once-in-a-generation skill became apparent—by Ezlineia Aldos, the Pyromancer-Queen of Midnos, whom she became very close to. She even started calling her Mom.
Still, the habits ingrained into her by her parents held. Whenever she had time to spare, little enough of it thought there was, she would plod her way into Ezlineia’s library and find the book that Ezlineia told her to sink her brain into to distract her from the crippling fear she felt of the outside world. In reference tomes and manuals of pyromancy, the world was categorized. Understandable. Dissected. But whenever she stepped outside, it all bled together into a mess of darkness and confusion that she fled from time and again. She'd heard the stories of the Void. She'd heard tales about what lurked out there in the darkness. And she was, as ever, afraid. So she buried herself with scholarship and training, distracting herself from the terrifying world around her. She was a perfect piece of moldable clay: quiet, meek, obedient, desperate to be loved, and hopelessly eager to please.
Time ticked by, revealing Quinnlash, now a very powerful—if very inexperienced—pyromancer of 24 years, still lurking in Ezlineia’s libraries, reading about the world that she was ever and always too scared to explore, even past her doorway. There was a hidden, growing part of her that wanted, that desperately yearned, to see what was out there. But it was crushed beneath something far more meaningful that had bubbled up beneath her of late. Studies had been done in Midnos on how to fight the Void. How to resist their corruptive influence. She should know, she’'d read them all. But nothing she'd ever found in her mentor’s library knew what they were. And with that realization, the deep-rooted anger reared its head. She had been shut up her entire life, first of her parents' will, then Ezlineia’s, then her own. And now, 24 years into her life, what did she have to show for it? An exhausting fear. A horrible feeling of being trapped. And not a fragment of new knowledge to contribute to anything. She knew how to wield fire, but what did that matter if she didn’t even know what she was fighting?
Angry. Angry.Angry. Angry at the entire world. But she didn't let it out. She couldn't let it out. She closed in again. And she let it fester. It simmered beneath her for a year and a half, during which time she grew increasingly desperate to find out more about the Void. To find out something, anything, about the Void. A way to justify to herself the decades spent in isolation.
But she never did.
And nearing the tail end of her twenty-fifth year, the caldera of rage had swollen within her, growing more and more misplaced tremors of anger. Anger at her parents, who locked her in one room for years, and instilled deep within her the fear of the unknown that still dogged her feet. Anger at that damned pyromancer Elan for taking her away from her family when she was scarcely old enough to understand what was happening. Anger at Ezlineia, for her obsessed devotion to training her to become the next Queen. But most of all? Most of all, she was so furious it made her sick to her stomach at herself. If all the Midnosian studies on the Void were useless, what was she? Hiding in the library walls, never daring to take more than a few steps outside? Her whole life...what did any of it mean?
No more. No more calculating decisions for weeks before taking a single action. No more staring silently at the ceiling, unable to sleep, eyes fearfully darting about the room for hours. No more suppressing her emotions, crushing them down until they boiled her alive. No more books. No more. No more useless scholarship. No more being groomed to take the throne by Ezlineia. After all, a queenship was just another, shinier cage. Never again. No more. She needed to leave this place. To escape. To throw herself into something else, something so singular and savage that she could only ever think of it. Her brain screamed for it.
The caldera burst. The volcano erupted.
With barely a conscious thought, she found herself strapped to a table as a willing volunteer, with Mom standing above her.
"Are you really sure you want to do this, Quinnlash?" "Fucking yes! Hurry up already!
The Queen sighed almost mournfully. And then came the pain. Her pyromancy warred with the ember growing within her, violently rejecting this foreign flame. Her skin peeled off and regrew. Her blood seethed and boiled. Her muscles were shredded, rebuilt, and shredded again. She vaguely remembers her bones snapping like brittle burnt twigs under their own weight. And her eyes incandesced, searing themselves white hot and bubbling within her skull. One of them ran out of her face, dripping like magma to the floor and collecting in a smoking, ruined pool. Only the other made it through the transformation from scholar to something far more dangerous, and it was forever dyed with a baleful yellow light.
In the years since, she's changed so much from the her that hid from the world that she doesn't even recognize what she was anymore. She's a different person now. The life of a Huntress was one that she'd only come upon through reckless abandon and overpowering emotion—sheer blinding anger—and so that is who she became. She barely even remembers the old Quinnlash. The Quinnlash that she left behind. And for that she is thankful, as she embraces a new Quinnlash. The Quinnlash who fights the darkness. Who embraces the constant pain. Who does all she can to not feel fear. Because if she does, then the rest of her—the one she's tried so hard to forget—may come creeping back.
Never again. Fight for the sake of fighting. Never again. Move on. Never again. Don't ever look back.
Full Name - Istilyn Tisereus Age - 35 Gender - Female Vocation - Strange hybrid of Warden and Caster Nationality - Aulrithia
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Tension Terse and quiet and doesn't like beating around the bush.
Remembrance The weight of Aulrithia hangs heavy on Istilyn's shoulders.
Release All that stress needs to go somewhere, and Istilyn channels it straight into her combat.
G I F T
Blood Ties Through Istilyn's blood flows the memory of Aulrithia, and she is very conscious of that. Blood is more than just what you are; blood is the ties that bind. And that is the core of Istilyn's Gift. By shedding her blood upon an object, she may choose to let that Aulrithian memory flow over it, and doing so binds it to her in an intrinsic and fundamental way, allowing her to control them with her mind. Though she can only have so many of these Blood Ties at a time, and the objects can only be so large, it is still a powerful thing, that blood of old Aulrithia. This is her strength. This is her identity. This is her Gift.
E Q U I P M E N T
Wrack and Ruin Utr scoffs at the idea of only using one weapon. Why only use one when she has so many?
Instead of any kind of solid blade, she is incredibly skilled in one very particular kind of hydromancy, whereby she forces water, whether liquid or gas—though ice escapes her—into solid form and creates vicious blades from the water all around her. These maintain their forms as long as she focuses on them, meaning they can be thrown, but each one increases the strain on her relatively limited pool of magic.
She can create most weapons, but tends to prefer a long, graceful scythe. It's the weapon she's most familiar with by far, and the range it gives her is formidable indeed, rendering her a blur of blue and white as she ceaselessly cleaves the Void all around her.
Physical Description
Slender and short—only an inch or two above five feet and not quite skinny enough to see her ribs, but almost—Advance-Captain of the Midnosian Pyromancer-Knights is not the first thing that comes to peoples' minds when they see Sozaelamine Vaega Aricia. There are people who have asked her whether or not she's playing in her daddy's armor, ignoring the perfect fit, the hand resting on the pommel of the longsword, the confidence in her stance, the hard set of her soft young face, and the glaring judgement that dances behind her brilliant purple eyes. For the most part, she wears her knight's armor; plates of intimidating metal backed by chainmail and fitting like a glove. Done up in gleaming silver-black and chased with bright orange, it truly fits her like a glove. Since her transformation into a hunter, she's foregone the helmet, letting her short, pale gray hair fall freely.
She moves with a practiced grace that shows how skilled she is, and how strong. Not a foot out of place, not a move too sloppy, she is extremely invested in being skilled and in showing how skilled she is. Tein in particular rises and falls like a dancer's ribbon, scything through Voidlings in the dozens, if not hudreds.
Character Conceptualization
There was a silver spoon in Sozaelamine's mouth from the second she was born.
The scion of the illustrious Aricia family, she truly was coddled as a child, and through many of her formative years. Her parents spoiled her rotten and she wanted for pretty much nothing at all. Instead she looked over Midema from the balcony of her parents' manor and thought of herself as the master of all she saw.
Some years went by and she got slapped in the face with a harsh dose of reality when her parents grew sick of her indolence and kicked her out of their house. Not permanently, but long enough for her to spend some time having a think about who she wanted to be instead of slacking off all day. It was the Void Eclipse, there was no room for people like that in Midnos.
In the span of one night, Sozaelamine was catapulted from the highest rung of society down to the lowest level, booted firmly into the dirt of Midema. Her only option was to pull herself out of that dirt (well, it wasn't her only option, but something inside her refused to let herself creep back to her family in failure). So instead, she did exactly as her parents wanted and started getting her hands dirty. Over the next few years, she worked odd job to odd job and began to value the freedom more than the comfort, and stayed gone. Her muscles grew hard. Her eyes grew sharp. And one day—completely by chance—she happened to run into a woman named Keypiir in all her knight's finery. She saw Keypiir, and was instantly enraptured by this member of the Pyromancer-Knights. And Keypiir, for her part, looked at this young woman—still a girl, really, only barely fifteen—and saw within her the makings of a fine knight.
And so that is what she became. Taken underneath Keypiir's wings, she steadily rose through the ranks. As did Keypiir. Ten years hence, she attained the illustrious title of Advance-Captain. Sozaelamine, of course, what thrilled for her. Over the years, the two of them had formed a very close mentor-student relationship. And even something almost sisterly.
All that changed during one fateful defense of Galah, a small settlement in the outlying regions of Midnos. The hunters were dispatched elsewhere, and so the Pyromancer-Knights stood before the Void.
Too much. Too much. They were overwhelmed quickly, and the end of the world stood before them. All of the Pyromancer-Knights retreated, with the exception of Keypiir, still fighting to evacuate all the villagers, and Sozaelamine, who stood paralyzed looking out at the horror-night.
Then Keypiir—strong, brave Keypiir—ran up to her, brandishing a blade in her right hand a flame in her left, and let a small, sad smile show. "Live, Soza. Live."
She threw herself forward.
Sozaelamine ran.
Her next dream was tormented by the images of Keypiir's last moments. She should have been braver. She needed to braver. She needed to be as brave as Keypiir. She needed to be Keypiir, to show her fortitude and bravery to everyone. She needed to destroy the Void, just as her beloved mentor had tried to do so valiantly that horrible night.
And so, Advance-Captain Aricia submitted herself to the ministrations of Queen Ezlineia, and let the flame become her. Let it forge her into a brand against the eternal night, so that one day, she can purge the cloying guilt that clings to her, and make Keypiir proud.
Full Name - Utrvangr Wintercrown Age - 28 Gender - Female Vocation - Warden Nationality - Ldrant
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Cloud and Storm When foreigners meet Utr, they are pleasantly surprised for the most part. In the burning cold city of Frostknife, they are met not with the warlike nature of much of the country. Rather, they can find refuge with this resident Hunter, calm, balanced and easygoing. But that's just Utr's surface, the top side of her cloud. Beneath it lies the storm. As personable as she seems, as friendly as she acts, as warm as people think she is, she is still a Ldranti at heart. Much of her attitude is a front to keep people around her, as during these troubled time, everyone's better off together. But in battle? Under stress? That facade peels away to reveal the vicious, wild-eyed warrior she is at heart.
Strike The Prey Hand in hand with the comforting show that she puts on comes Utr's immense patience. She's in no rush to play her hand, whether in combat or in conversation. This conspires with the rest of her character to form her both literally and metaphorically into a vicious, sharklike ambush predator. The only time she tosses this self-control away and lets herself truly cut loose is when fighting side by side with other hunters, standing against the end of the world.
Inlet Riptide And that place before the end of the world is where she truly belongs. Though she has been referred to as the Flower of Frostknife and she accepts it as it furthers how easy it is for her to get along with people—no sense in overt hostility until they've earned it, after all—she is and always will be a warrior first and foremost. She takes a fierce, bright joy in combat, at showing how skilled she is at it and how razor-keen she's honed her skills over the years.
G I F T
Dragon's Breath A terrible and perfect synchrony of her native hydromancy and the furnace inside of her, Dragon's Breath is a powerful and versatile gift, useful whether on the offensive or defensive, or even for utility. Utr has the unique ability to absorb water all around her directly into her, taking residence in the metaphysical space where magic sleeps. And there it sleeps as her Embersoul blazes all around it. And after it heats, she can expel it from her body—usually her mouth—in a superheated blast of steam that surges forward with force enough to shake stone and cleave hordes asunder, leaving behind a blinding, blazing cloud.
As powerful as it is, Dragon's Breath has twin drawbacks that prevent it from being her main vector of combat. The first is the delay. After she takes in water from the world around her, a minute or so needs to pass before her Embersoul has sufficiently heated it. The other is storage space. Utr can only take in enough water to use her Dragon's Breath once, though once she's absorbed it she can hold it indefinitely. Thus she generally uses at the start of fights, leaving behind enough moisture to bring to bear her true method of fighting.
E Q U I P M E N T
Formless Flow Utr scoffs at the idea of only using one weapon. Why only use one when she has so many?
Instead of any kind of solid blade, she is incredibly skilled in one very particular kind of hydromancy, whereby she forces water, whether liquid or gas—though ice escapes her—into solid form and creates vicious blades from the water all around her. These maintain their forms as long as she focuses on them, meaning they can be thrown, but each one increases the strain on her relatively limited pool of magic.
She can create most weapons, but tends to prefer a long, graceful scythe. It's the weapon she's most familiar with by far, and the range it gives her is formidable indeed, rendering her a blur of blue and white as she ceaselessly cleaves the Void all around her.
Physical Description
Slender and short—only an inch or two above five feet and not quite skinny enough to see her ribs, but almost—Advance-Captain of the Midnosian Pyromancer-Knights is not the first thing that comes to peoples' minds when they see Sozaelamine Vaega Aricia. There are people who have asked her whether or not she's playing in her daddy's armor, ignoring the perfect fit, the hand resting on the pommel of the longsword, the confidence in her stance, the hard set of her soft young face, and the glaring judgement that dances behind her brilliant purple eyes. For the most part, she wears her knight's armor; plates of intimidating metal backed by chainmail and fitting like a glove. Done up in gleaming silver-black and chased with bright orange, it truly fits her like a glove. Since her transformation into a hunter, she's foregone the helmet, letting her short, pale gray hair fall freely.
She moves with a practiced grace that shows how skilled she is, and how strong. Not a foot out of place, not a move too sloppy, she is extremely invested in being skilled and in showing how skilled she is. Tein in particular rises and falls like a dancer's ribbon, scything through Voidlings in the dozens, if not hudreds.
Character Conceptualization
There was a silver spoon in Sozaelamine's mouth from the second she was born.
The scion of the illustrious Aricia family, she truly was coddled as a child, and through many of her formative years. Her parents spoiled her rotten and she wanted for pretty much nothing at all. Instead she looked over Midema from the balcony of her parents' manor and thought of herself as the master of all she saw.
Some years went by and she got slapped in the face with a harsh dose of reality when her parents grew sick of her indolence and kicked her out of their house. Not permanently, but long enough for her to spend some time having a think about who she wanted to be instead of slacking off all day. It was the Void Eclipse, there was no room for people like that in Midnos.
In the span of one night, Sozaelamine was catapulted from the highest rung of society down to the lowest level, booted firmly into the dirt of Midema. Her only option was to pull herself out of that dirt (well, it wasn't her only option, but something inside her refused to let herself creep back to her family in failure). So instead, she did exactly as her parents wanted and started getting her hands dirty. Over the next few years, she worked odd job to odd job and began to value the freedom more than the comfort, and stayed gone. Her muscles grew hard. Her eyes grew sharp. And one day—completely by chance—she happened to run into a woman named Keypiir in all her knight's finery. She saw Keypiir, and was instantly enraptured by this member of the Pyromancer-Knights. And Keypiir, for her part, looked at this young woman—still a girl, really, only barely fifteen—and saw within her the makings of a fine knight.
And so that is what she became. Taken underneath Keypiir's wings, she steadily rose through the ranks. As did Keypiir. Ten years hence, she attained the illustrious title of Advance-Captain. Sozaelamine, of course, what thrilled for her. Over the years, the two of them had formed a very close mentor-student relationship. And even something almost sisterly.
All that changed during one fateful defense of Galah, a small settlement in the outlying regions of Midnos. The hunters were dispatched elsewhere, and so the Pyromancer-Knights stood before the Void.
Too much. Too much. They were overwhelmed quickly, and the end of the world stood before them. All of the Pyromancer-Knights retreated, with the exception of Keypiir, still fighting to evacuate all the villagers, and Sozaelamine, who stood paralyzed looking out at the horror-night.
Then Keypiir—strong, brave Keypiir—ran up to her, brandishing a blade in her right hand a flame in her left, and let a small, sad smile show. "Live, Soza. Live."
She threw herself forward.
Sozaelamine ran.
Her next dream was tormented by the images of Keypiir's last moments. She should have been braver. She needed to braver. She needed to be as brave as Keypiir. She needed to be Keypiir, to show her fortitude and bravery to everyone. She needed to destroy the Void, just as her beloved mentor had tried to do so valiantly that horrible night.
And so, Advance-Captain Aricia submitted herself to the ministrations of Queen Ezlineia, and let the flame become her. Let it forge her into a brand against the eternal night, so that one day, she can purge the cloying guilt that clings to her, and make Keypiir proud.
Member
AlteredTundra
Kuro
Red Hood
rabidbacon
Asura
ColdAtlas
Izurich
Damycles
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