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City of Evanthe [Isekai] [Lith x ProxyInc]

@Lith

<sup>'What,' the thought trailed off while a fresh wave of pain pulsed through the back of her skull. It lingered in lazy loops around her eyes. The world around her was dusted with a haze while she blinked away the ache that plagued her eyes. She felt dry, sore, and mildly numb. Confusion laid thick on her while she listened to the stranger drone on in her ears. How'd she get here? Why was she on the floor? Adrenaline should have kicked in but at this point her body was prepared to just give up and let whatever was to happen, happen.

"W-We, we didn't mean to cause any disruption. I'll gladly pay you for uh, food and drink." Another voice had spoken up.

Imogen tilted her head towards him, taking him in with a judgmental squint. 'Pay? We?' She scoffed slightly before finding the motivation to finally sit up-- at least partially. Who was this man to suggest that she pay. And for what? Being kidnapped? She propped her elbows against the wrinkled dark fabric of her pants, dropping her head into her cupped hands while her mind probed for the last coherent memories from the night prior.

"Pay? Pay with what, hm?" His words cracked with age, wheezing out with a horse whisper as if he had been ages since he had spoken.

Imogen's temper had slowly risen with the panic that had begun to swirl in her breast. She couldn't remember much, Swirls of a bright purple haze. A faint voice who's words and sound escaped her grasp. She couldn't place anything. "Don't mock us!" She winced at the sound of her voice. It wasn't like her to lose her temper, but what else could she do? Her brain puzzled at the missing pieces. Nothing made sense and the stranger's careless tone only further grated against her raw nerves.

"Don't lose yer' head with me, miss. I'm not the reason why you're here."

She looked up in time to watch him shrug his weathered shoulders before stepping back some.</sup>

City of Evanthe [Isekai] [Lith x ProxyInc]

Imogen Nichols

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---

<sup>Height: 5'4
Weight:185 lb
Body Type: Soft, low muscle tone
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Occupation: Baker (back in her world)

Abilities:

Arcanist: (NOVICE)
After coming too in this world, Imogen has a very base level of understanding how native vegetation and minerals can be used and combined to create potions or pumices for those around her. This is a skill that derives from her home world's experience as novice baker. She's quick to grasp both measurements and chemical breakdowns after a short study of new raw material.

Medicine:
A bonus or perhaps a side effect stemming from her arcanist trait; Imogen has the rudimentary magical ability to heal or treat minor wounds. As her arcanist skills increase so will her knowledge of medicine deeper. Be it to her to treat or trick, I guess we'll just have to see.

Personality:
Quiet, polite, and kind. Imogen is the poster child of blending in with the woodwork-- so to speak. She's often soft-spoken and chooses to keep to herself more than put herself out on display. That's not to say she isn't friendly when the need arises. In fact, she's rather genuinely charismatic and endearing when approached. She just rather, not. Armed with a well-drilled customer service smile and voice she's quick to soothe irate tempers and after years of being in customer service the experience has leant her some decent problem solving skills.

Likes:
Savory dishes.
Music.
Bread.
Floral scents.

Dislikes:
Brash, hot-headed people.
Being rushed.
Being bossed around (Or hovered over)
The sound of a loud, unruly crowds.

Fears:
Strangers :)
Large, open spaces.

Weaknesses:
Both weak in physical form and immune system.
General anxiety.</sup>

City of Evanthe [Isekai] [Lith x ProxyInc]

𝕮𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝕰𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖍𝖊

---

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper."
—W.B Yeats

---

<sup>Wake up . . .
A voice calls out from behind the heavy darkness that seals your eyes shut. It echoes something familiar; the memory grazing your fingertips before slipping back beneath the murky fog inside your brain. Every limb feels heavy as if filled with lead. Unknown scents swirl in the cool, misty air that laps around across your face. Moving seems like a chore. One you intend to give up on before even attempting when something hard strikes across your hip.
I know you heard me the first time,the stranger's voice is tinged with annoyance. You can't just stay on my floor. The pair of ya have to move.

Pair? You struggle to grasp the strangers meaning while forcing your eyes to open. Soft lights fill your vision. Their warm, buttery glow calling forth a dull ache from the back of your skull. The world around you is bathed in a blur. Shapes and colors meld together until your stomach clenches with something sour that threatens to come up. Forcing yourself to turn your head you gaze upon another body laying beside you. As you squint you start to make out it's shape. Whoever is strewn out on the ground in the same fashion you are; looking back at your with a confused look. Between the two of you someone looms. You presume this figure is the owner of the voice. He's tall— well, from your current perspective he looks to be. The light shines off a polished balding dome. Deep creases furrow across his wide forehead. Greying, bushy brows are drawn up while he looks down at you both with an expectant glare. In his meaty grasp the man holds a well-worn looking rod.

"Come on now. We'll get ya some food and ale to help steady ya." His voice sounded loud, crisp, as if he were speaking directly into your ears. But with a cold feeling growing in the base of your spine you realize the man's lips didn't move. Panic begins to flood, giving life to your previously useless limbs. Allowing you to push up off the hard stone floor beneath you.</sup>

Escape from the Prison Mine

______________________♧______________________

<sup>Make your self’s useful distractions- Mhin had said with a sharp, hushed, bite. Meanwhile, Erith’s brain was on fire. He had been eying Kristo and his work for the last few minutes. The back of his brain itching while a whole new shape was being made from the soft, thin strands. It wasn’t magic but it might as well be. Thick fingers ran along the now ruined pattern—admiring the texture and the way they still hooked and looped together. Lovely . . .Wait, useful. Yes.

Erith snapped his head upwards letting his eyes roam from Mhin’s still untamed hair to the rest of the lot. There was a good chance between the handful of them. Though it would it have been easier if they could these God forsaken cuffs off. The feyling wasn’t sure how the others felt but his itched and burned from time to time. Not to mention the pure frustration of being able to feel his magic sit just beneath the surface but not be able to access it. It was enough to make him itch.

With a soft sound he cleared his throat. Eirth’s nose scrunching before he repeated it, but this time louder and more aggressive. With a woeful feeling he leapt to his feet; one hand tossing the ruined project back at Kristo. ”Oi, watch what you’re doing you large, blundering oaf!” His voice made him wonder a little—bouncing off the dense and dark walls. He had hopes that Kristo would take to the ruse and meet him in a game of theatrics. If not. Well, then the guard really would have a situation to handle. Erith strode forward slowly. Letting the tip of his warn shoes drag along the gritty floor before stopping just shy of a few inches to loom above the man.

”Just because you failed at something doesn’t give you the right o be tossing and making a mess. Ya hear?” He paused while his tail made its way to grab the fabric and toss it back onto the ground with a soft thud. Erith crouched down, arms propped on his knees while he tilted his head to the side. ”Now pick it up.”

Despite his words and the aggressive way his body took up the space before the man; Erith did his best to flash his meaning behind his eyes. He waggled his brows at Kristo in a comical way and let our a toothy grin for a split second before settling his features back into a stern look. Step one, play fight. Step two, get the fuck out of here. The faint taste of freedom came like a delicate breeze. Sweet, soft, and full of hope.</sup>

______________________♧______________________

@Zora

Escape from the Prison Mine

Very crowded cell.

Then Erith can braid everyone's hair!

Escape from the Prison Mine

Or maybe Erith instead of Mort in the 1st cell where the fight takes place, as he's more believable as the cause of a fight lol

@Saiyan

Are you saying my sweet Erith would cause ruckus?!

Cause if so . . . You'd be absolutely correct he would love this idea.

Escape from the Prison Mine

______________________♧______________________

<sup>’Clink.' 'Clink.' 'Scrap.’ The dining hall was filled with little sharp tings and scrapes of crude cutlery dragging against the dingy dishware they tried to pass for plates. Each sharp sound bit at Erith's brain, like dozens if razor sharp teeth gnawing away at his nerves. He couldn’t say he fully hated the mines. He liked the tedious work. Plus, rocks were fun. But the “cafeteria” was a whole different beast. His icy-blue eyes rolled and winced every few seconds with each new sound. Not only that—it was also filled with a myriad of unpleasant smells and bodies that slurped and devoured each meal. Though the gruel was something little better than what he could have dug out of the trash. But at least it was palatable—mostly. Sometimes he’d let his mind wander off to some of the best dishes he had eaten. But not today, today was filled with teeny annoyances that caused the feyling to bounce anxiously in his seat.

”Just chew. Chew. Chew. Chew.” His fevered brain yelled at him while mirroring his own hasty gnashing of teeth against the hard, tacky break. It was desperate to drown out the chaos that was building around him. It felt like little jolts of electricity were itching beneath his skin giving cause for his legs to bounce at a rapid pace. Unfortunately it was to no avail—eating and chewing just wasn’t enough to dispel the torrent of sensations rushing through him. ”Well, that’s enough of that,” he said under his breath, fingers gripping the plate while swinging his legs out from beneath the table. Dinnertime was over. Would he regret not finishing it? Probably. But that was future Erith’s problem. Current Erith needed something better to do to fill his time.

The feyling had made his way partly down the cafeteria before hushed voices cause his attention. ”I know that voice! His tail curled it’s way around his waist, the tip flitting back and forth excitedly. He could feel his shoulders slump away from his ears while relief flooded over him.

To say Erith made his way over towards the nearby table was an understatement. There was a noticeable bounce with each step as he more or less danced his way over; tray still in one hand. ”MHIN,” Erith shouted excitedly before sliding into an empty seat amidst the group. He shoved the plate away from himself before propping his head up on the table. A wide grin plastered across his face while he looked at the elf. Her fiery hair fell around her face with no real sense of direction. He had offered once to braid it for her. To which Mhin had very quickly, and harshly, shot him down. He tore his eyes away from her and glanced around the table. Maybe he was mistaken but if felt as if there was an uneasy air to the table. He noted the darkened and serious looks etched onto their faces. ’Well, Mhin’s face always looks like that . . .’ Erith’s brows knitted together in a moment of hesitation before brushing off the notion.

He lowered his head trying to make as much as eye contact as possible with each of them before whispering, ”Did I miss something?” His forehead wrinkling slightly as his brows drew up. This smelled like a mystery and if there was anything Erith liked it was adventure.

"Can I join?"</sup>

Escape from the Prison Mine

Erith Thornhollow

Erith Thornhollow

______________________♧______________________

^{_{Sandy blond hair is kept in a lose and messy braid down the nape of the young man’s neck; tapering off just a little below his broad shoulders. The color was a soft contrast against his pallid skin. A warm flush of cinnamon seemed to be permanently burnt across sharp cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. Erith was about average as a feyling goes when it came to height. An impressive five foot and two inches, three if he was standing exceptionally straight that day. Though most days you could find him hunched over something, fumbling or fidgeting with something in those blocky, stubby fingers of his.
Erith loved to tinker with things and it showed. Strong muscles corded around his arms and lead into strong, thick fingers. His palms well worn and calloused with years of wear on them. Even his clothes usually bore smudges of oil and grease deep into the tawny dyed fabrics. While the patchwork pockets sown haphazardly on were filled with various bolts and debris.
His tail was a great aid while he worked. The color a few shades darker than the hair upon his head though by the end of a day’s work it was often just as dark as the stains upon his shirt. But regardless of the grime and the mess—Erith’s sky blue eyes remained unclouded. Chipper in the way they would sparkle beneath the flames of a nearby torch. With just a touch of mischief that would curl at the corners of full lips. He often looked like he was lost in thought and perhaps he was; or at least musing over some well-kept secret.}}
______________________◇______________________

Age

^Twenty-three

Personality

^{Erith has been compared to a painfully bright spot of sun on a dreary cloudy day more than once. Known for his pointless rambling, nearly nauseous optimism, and short attention span. Everything he does, he does loudly and would be comedic if it often didn’t end with him in some sort of trouble. Mischief is in his DNA and even if he wanted to lead a straight forward life there was just too much for him to discover still. And discovery often means skirting the law—or at least bending the rules just a tad.
The artificer burns to know how everything works. And he does mean everything; people included.}

Backstory

<sup>”Huh? What? No, I didn’t—well, actually,” Erith paused, eyes flickering over his shoulder and back at the crude, worn cloth his tail was wrapped tightly around. The evidence was damning. Not that he had a leg to stand on even without it. Word got around quickly when there was nothing else to do but work, avoid torture, starve, and sleep. Erith, the absent minded thief. Stupid tail.
He looked back at the towering man before him. Blood vessels throbbed around those graying temples, blood shot eyes wide and shaking in their rage. The man's lips were thin and peeled back over rotting teeth.”Listen, it’s not that I want your dirty rag of a blanket. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever smelled such a combination of foul odors. Really, what are you eating? Did you know that even with the slop here that you can work around and eat better? It’ll definitely give you a more pleasant aroma. Though. Maybe it’s a sign of something gone wrong within? Erith had already lost the plot. His arms folded across his chest while his tail waved the soiled blanket in the air like a flag behind him.

”Oh for fucks sake, just shut up!” The man bellowed, his anger now shifted to annoyance. His dirt stained hands ripped the cloth out from Erith’s grasp, him startling in return. ”Stay to your side if you know what’s good for you.” The threat was thin. It wasn’t like there was much room for anyone, anywhere. They all knew it. And as before Erith would be tossed to another cell. Another group. Where he would eventually fall into another misunderstanding.

With a heady sigh the feyling slumped backwards and against the cool wall. This was how he landed here in the mines in first place. Though one could argue—actually, he did argue. In front of everyone. That it was the Nobleman's fault in the first place. The memory sat soured at the forefront of his brain. Why carry around such shiny bobbles if he didn’t want to talk about it? It wasn’t Erith’s fault that it was so flimsy either. He shook his head at how easily the thing had shattered in his hands. The look upon the small gathering crowd's face as the realization settled in. Thoigh he suppose it cpuld have ended in a worse way. After all if he hadn’t been sold here where would he be? Sat locked away. Bored with nothing to do. At least here he got to use tools and scoured the earth for new material.</sup>

Class

^Artificer

Notable skills or abilities

^{Shapeshift: Erith can change his shape to any person he’s visibly seen with limitations. He can only hold the shape for two hours maximum and can only grow about a foot larger than his actual size.
Magical tinkering/infuse item: Can imbue object and tools that he has working knowledge of with skills and enchantments that are bereft of the objects natural purpose.
Prehensile tail: Erith’s tail acts and serves as an extra arm. While it isn’t as strong as his actual arms it still can carry and move objects up to fifteen pounds.
Night vision: A natural trait from his fey heritage, Erith can see up to twenty feet in the dark or more in dimly lit spaces.}

Anything else:

^{Eirth is a kleptomaniac. Not by choice but driven by compulsion and egged on by his need to take things apart. Often his tail is the culprit, dipping into pockets on a whim.}

Escape from the Prison Mine

Erith Thornhollow

Erith Thornhollow

______________________♧______________________

^{_{Sandy blond hair is kept in a lose and messy braid down the nape of the young man’s neck; tapering off just a little below his broad shoulders. The color was a soft contrast against his pallid skin. A warm flush of cinnamon seemed to be permanently burnt across sharp cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. Erith was about average as a feyling goes when it came to height. An impressive five foot and two inches, three if he was standing exceptionally straight that day. Though most days you could find him hunched over something, fumbling or fidgeting with something in those blocky, stubby fingers of his.
Erith loved to tinker with things and it showed. Strong muscles corded around his arms and lead into strong, thick fingers. His palms well worn and calloused with years of wear on them. Even his clothes usually bore smudges of oil and grease deep into the tawny dyed fabrics. While the patchwork pockets sown haphazardly on were filled with various bolts and debris.
His tail was a great aid while he worked. The color a few shades darker than the hair upon his head though by the end of a day’s work it was often just as dark as the stains upon his shirt. But regardless of the grime and the mess—Erith’s sky blue eyes remained unclouded. Chipper in the way they would sparkle beneath the flames of a nearby torch. With just a touch of mischief that would curl at the corners of full lips. He often looked like he was lost in thought and perhaps he was; or at least musing over some well-kept secret.}}
______________________◇______________________

Age

^Twenty-three

Personality

^{Erith has been compared to a painfully bright spot of sun on a dreary cloudy day more than once. Known for his pointless rambling, nearly nauseous optimism, and short attention span. Everything he does, he does loudly and would be comedic if it often didn’t end with him in some sort of trouble. Mischief is in his DNA and even if he wanted to lead a straight forward life there was just too much for him to discover still. And discovery often means skirting the law—or at least bending the rules just a tad.
The artificer burns to know how everything works. And he does mean everything; people included.}

Backstory

<sup>”Huh? What? No, I didn’t—well, actually,” Erith paused, eyes flickering over his shoulder and back at the crude, worn cloth his tail was wrapped tightly around. The evidence was damning. Not that he had a leg to stand on even without it. Word got around quickly when there was nothing else to do but work, avoid torture, starve, and sleep. Erith, the absent minded thief. Stupid tail.
He looked back at the towering man before him. Blood vessels throbbed around those graying temples, blood shot eyes wide and shaking in their rage. The man's lips were thin and peeled back over rotting teeth.”Listen, it’s not that I want your dirty rag of a blanket. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever smelled such a combination of foul odors. Really, what are you eating? Did you know that even with the slop here that you can work around and eat better? It’ll definitely give you a more pleasant aroma. Though. Maybe it’s a sign of something gone wrong within? Erith had already lost the plot. His arms folded across his chest while his tail waved the soiled blanket in the air like a flag behind him.

”Oh for fucks sake, just shut up!” The man bellowed, his anger now shifted to annoyance. His dirt stained hands ripped the cloth out from Erith’s grasp, him startling in return. ”Stay to your side if you know what’s good for you.” The threat was thin. It wasn’t like there was much room for anyone, anywhere. They all knew it. And as before Erith would be tossed to another cell. Another group. Where he would eventually fall into another misunderstanding.

With a heady sigh the feyling slumped backwards and against the cool wall. This was how he landed here in the mines in first place. Though one could argue—actually, he did argue. In front of everyone. That it was the Nobleman's fault in the first place. The memory sat soured at the forefront of his brain. Why carry around such shiny bobbles if he didn’t want to talk about it? It wasn’t Erith’s fault that it was so flimsy either. He shook his head at how easily the thing had shattered in his hands. The look upon the small gathering crowd's face as the realization settled in. Thoigh he suppose it cpuld have ended in a worse way. After all if he hadn’t been sold here where would he be? Sat locked away. Bored with nothing to do. At least here he got to use tools and scoured the earth for new material.</sup>

Class

^Artificer

Notable skills or abilities

^{Shapeshift: Erith can change his shape to any person he’s visibly seen with limitations. He can only hold the shape for two hours maximum and can only grow about a foot larger than his actual size.
Magical tinkering/infuse item: Can imbue object and tools that he has working knowledge of with skills and enchantments that are bereft of the objects natural purpose.
Prehensile tail: Erith’s tail acts and serves as an extra arm. While it isn’t as strong as his actual arms it still can carry and move objects up to fifteen pounds.
Night vision: A natural trait from his fey heritage, Erith can see up to twenty feet in the dark or more in dimly lit spaces.}

Anything else:

^{Eirth is a kleptomaniac. Not by choice but driven by compulsion and egged on by his need to take things apart. Often his tail is the culprit, nabbing and dipping into pockets on a whim.}

Let me know if I need to fix or change anything ^^;