| ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ |
"Never take the sun for granted, for this could be your last."
| ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ |
๐๐๐๐ |
Lisotta Cassava
๐๐๐ |
Twenty-seven.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Female. (she/her).
๐๐๐๐ |
Human.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Chasind Apostate.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Chasind - Elven - Orlesian.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ |
Acolyte.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
darkolivegreen.
Lisotta Cassava
๐๐๐ |
Twenty-seven.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Female. (she/her).
๐๐๐๐ |
Human.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Chasind Apostate.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Chasind - Elven - Orlesian.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ |
Acolyte.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
darkolivegreen.
| ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ |
๐๐๐๐๐๐ & ๐๐๐๐๐ |
Lisotta barely crests five feet and two inches with incredibly light musculature.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ & ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ |
Swarthy undertones hidden under an olive complexion, almost christened to bronze in shadows. Dull amber eyes and a thick, tumbling mass of ebony hair that curls over her brow and lays betwixt her shoulder blades in a tumultuous braid festooned with feathers.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
A distinct tattoo rests upon the bridge of her nose: dual lines of separate lengths with the topmost edged and swept underneath her gaze and to her temples. Lissota also decorates her body in smudges of black, from the pout of her lip and upon her eyes, down the lengths of her arms in circling, jagged lines. She is further distinguished by the number of scars that decorate the plane of her torso and thighs and tell-tale burn patterns down the slope of her backside and up along her ribcage.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ |
Her armor is a curious assortment of Grey Warden regalia and typical trinkets of her Chasind origins: petite flashes of silver nestled against the black fur of a wolf pelt with a broken maw crested over her shoulder, its head fashioned as a pauldron. The bulk of the animal hide is thus bustled at the base of her spine, with beads made from bones sewn through its mass that nearly drags against her heels. The Gray Warden insignia is emblazoned in black ink that bleeds against the blue and silver lines of her fashioned robes. Black, cured leather sheaths both hand and foot up to her elbows and knees that are cinched tight with both silver buckles and blackened hide and twine. The same leather is angled over her hips and looped with a medicinal pouch and holstered over her thigh where an iron dagger is openly displayed.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Lisotta is a vision in both shadow, furs, and silver; often melded into the backdrop and lingering among the precipice of one's peripheral as something akin to a bestial specter. She's haunting in common graces and intimidating in close quarters, her glare affording little pleasantries with her blatant ignorance of social cues and etiquette. Banked within somber eyes, darkness lingers. These are hazed edges that pluck at her pupils and waver under the cape of her lashes with every sweep that grows ever darker to illustrate the insanity within. Madness slides against her skin in tangible waves, creating a near barrier that hums atop marred flesh and never seems to dissipate in its derangement. Her swagger is always too quick or too slow, she seems to allude to disharmony no matter the effort she gives as if eternally suspended in magical throes and out of place. Lisotta speaks in hushed tones and swift whispers even if it's just in constant inquires against her superiors. Her voice is soft and silken in comparison to her rather crude appearance.
Lisotta barely crests five feet and two inches with incredibly light musculature.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ & ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ |
Swarthy undertones hidden under an olive complexion, almost christened to bronze in shadows. Dull amber eyes and a thick, tumbling mass of ebony hair that curls over her brow and lays betwixt her shoulder blades in a tumultuous braid festooned with feathers.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
A distinct tattoo rests upon the bridge of her nose: dual lines of separate lengths with the topmost edged and swept underneath her gaze and to her temples. Lissota also decorates her body in smudges of black, from the pout of her lip and upon her eyes, down the lengths of her arms in circling, jagged lines. She is further distinguished by the number of scars that decorate the plane of her torso and thighs and tell-tale burn patterns down the slope of her backside and up along her ribcage.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ |
Her armor is a curious assortment of Grey Warden regalia and typical trinkets of her Chasind origins: petite flashes of silver nestled against the black fur of a wolf pelt with a broken maw crested over her shoulder, its head fashioned as a pauldron. The bulk of the animal hide is thus bustled at the base of her spine, with beads made from bones sewn through its mass that nearly drags against her heels. The Gray Warden insignia is emblazoned in black ink that bleeds against the blue and silver lines of her fashioned robes. Black, cured leather sheaths both hand and foot up to her elbows and knees that are cinched tight with both silver buckles and blackened hide and twine. The same leather is angled over her hips and looped with a medicinal pouch and holstered over her thigh where an iron dagger is openly displayed.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Lisotta is a vision in both shadow, furs, and silver; often melded into the backdrop and lingering among the precipice of one's peripheral as something akin to a bestial specter. She's haunting in common graces and intimidating in close quarters, her glare affording little pleasantries with her blatant ignorance of social cues and etiquette. Banked within somber eyes, darkness lingers. These are hazed edges that pluck at her pupils and waver under the cape of her lashes with every sweep that grows ever darker to illustrate the insanity within. Madness slides against her skin in tangible waves, creating a near barrier that hums atop marred flesh and never seems to dissipate in its derangement. Her swagger is always too quick or too slow, she seems to allude to disharmony no matter the effort she gives as if eternally suspended in magical throes and out of place. Lisotta speaks in hushed tones and swift whispers even if it's just in constant inquires against her superiors. Her voice is soft and silken in comparison to her rather crude appearance.
| ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ |
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
A plethora of "why's" crowd her mind and burden her thoughts, only to clash against the short and chaotic path before her drenched in both blood and shadow. It's a short walk to the gallows that haunt her step at every turn and already Lisotta fears the reaper that haunts her dreams; bathed in dragon-flame. Her life was already shortened when the curse of mana began to pool through her veins at a young age, never fitting in, never finding her niche in life. With this added mantle of a Grey Warden, she fears and loathes an early death (she sees the end as a cage, a finality of damnation she is not ready for) and seeks to prolong her life if only to see the sunrise just one more time before she goes.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Life. Lisotta only wishes to live.
A plethora of "why's" crowd her mind and burden her thoughts, only to clash against the short and chaotic path before her drenched in both blood and shadow. It's a short walk to the gallows that haunt her step at every turn and already Lisotta fears the reaper that haunts her dreams; bathed in dragon-flame. Her life was already shortened when the curse of mana began to pool through her veins at a young age, never fitting in, never finding her niche in life. With this added mantle of a Grey Warden, she fears and loathes an early death (she sees the end as a cage, a finality of damnation she is not ready for) and seeks to prolong her life if only to see the sunrise just one more time before she goes.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
- Adaptable -- Growing up within the wilds has given Lisotta many means to adapt to her surroundings.
- Analytical -- Naturally she studies occurrences and those around her, and poses questions to simple nuances of the world, curious about the nature of others.
- Clandestine -- Fading into the background affords one to be well versed in secretive nature and means.
- Superstious -- Lisotta will hinge her entire day and tasks upon the slightest symbol or omen, to her there is a hidden meaning behind everything.
- Introverted -- Sometimes it's difficult to pry Lisotta away from her inner musings, lost within her thoughts, and often found alone.
- Inhibited -- Lisotta is naturally repressed.
- Ritual Indulgence -- Smoke and hallucingetic herbs.
Life. Lisotta only wishes to live.
| ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ |
โ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | -2
x x x
โ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | -1
x x x
โ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐ | +1
Natural Lore.
Poison Lore.
โ ๐ฏ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | +1
Stealth.
Initiative.
โ ๐ธ๐๐๐๐ | +3
Entropy.
โ ๐ป๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | +3
Darkspawn Detection.
Seeing.
Tracking.
โ ๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | 0
Intimidation.
โ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | 0
x x x
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Shapeshifter.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Linguistics.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
x x x
โ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | -1
x x x
โ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐ | +1
Natural Lore.
Poison Lore.
โ ๐ฏ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | +1
Stealth.
Initiative.
โ ๐ธ๐๐๐๐ | +3
Entropy.
โ ๐ป๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | +3
Darkspawn Detection.
Seeing.
Tracking.
โ ๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | 0
Intimidation.
โ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | 0
x x x
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Shapeshifter.
She blends seamlessly from human to beast in whorls of black and smoke that pool around her stance before she shifts, the process sudden and manic and wholly mesmerizing as flesh gives way to onyx fur. Lisotta favours the form of a wolf: a vicious mass of black that plows through enemies mercilessly with fang and claw. Her battle cries are eerily reminiscent of a human wail before and after the battle has concluded and sometimes, only sometimes, it's difficult to discern the woman from the beast. In these moments the madness she harbors comes to violent fruition and derangement clouds the mind of a creature some would admire for its strength. Lisotta came to know the means of changing forms from a long line of shapeshifters that have dominated her tribe, their claims to the specialization garnered from hidden origins.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
Linguistics.
Novice โบ Journeyman
Poison-Making.You can learn new languages easily.
Novice
Observation.Youโve managed to survive the dangerous training required to make and use poisons and other useful but dangerous compounds.
Deathroot Extract & Spider Venom.
Deathroot Extract & Spider Venom.
Novice
You have an eye for detail.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
- Arcane Lance: A bolt of arcane energy flung from your hands or staff.
- Hex of Torment.
- Horror.
- Entropic Cloud.
- Petrify.
- Chain Lightning.
- Tempest.
- Wolf Form.
| ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ & ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ |
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ |
- Chasind Staff.
- Iron Dagger.
- Grey Warden/Chasind Robes.
- Lyrium Potions.
- Earthen Cinch.
- Poison flasks.
- Health Poultices.
- Bedroll, Traveling Clothes, and a Waterskin.
- Various Herbs; mostly Deathroot.
- A long, curious pipe made from bone.
- Pot of black, paint-like substance.
- Pouch of assorted bones both old and fresh.
- Tomes & Scrolls of various writings done by her hand and others bound in tanned animal hide.
| ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ |
Maliphant DeGardet -- "We can speak the same tongue yet we stalk on opposite sides of an invisible line of both predator and prey; always watching and waiting for the other to strike, be it with barbed silver tongues or flickers of wild magic. The dialect he speaks is far too embellished for me to understand, the honeyed words and smooth intonations lost upon me, a savage. If I can help it, I'd rather avoid Mal entirely, far across the camp, for there is something there within that I'd rather not know.
Aldwin Howe -- "A mage like me and then not, raised within the confines of the Circle whilst I grew upon swamp and shadow. Spells so unlike the other, means entirely wrought from a different place of self and know-how. I look upon him with the wonder if my life would have been different had I been sired within a gilded cage, burdened and bound by my emotions of potential rage. Maybe if we weren't so different, two sides of the same coin I think it goes, I might be able to look upon him as something of a friend.
Anselm Niemeyer -- "I look to him as one who knows madness on the battlefield and home, and yet flings himself upon such tiring attempts to keep it contained under the guise of justice, such bound under drink. Such sadness lingers within his gaze that I can't help but observe upon the fringes like a skittish creature, never attempting to speak to him beyond mere camaraderie. I wouldn't even know where to begin."
Venatra, The Huntress -- "She once made note of strange swirls in the bottom of my cup one morning, worried for their design that reminded of her of this one time -- and another tale she spun about cloud patterns and horn spirals and bent blades of grass to create a sigil eerily reminiscent of an eye. She torments me, the only one that doesn't allow me to just be, and enjoys it too, I don't know whether to appreciate her candor or hate it. I'd think she had it out for me personally if I didn't know it was because we both know I am the better tracker."
Cadarn Valgarok -- "The only Dwarf I had ever known was a merchant that often frequented the swamps trading herbs and spices for the pelts my tribe possessed. He once gave me a curious gem of polished amber with a slit of black, an eye he said of a legendary beast that prowled ridges and cliffs and lurked among shadows. Cadarn gives me nothing but silence and unnerved glances, the chasm betwixt us vast and rife with unease. I know him to be capable, as both Warden and Templar, his silence a balm compared to those that fill the day with their noise as if attempting to compensate for the words we fail to speak. His avoidance doesn't pain me like I think it should, perhaps it is for the best."
Rannon Bryce -- "He reminds me of the hunters of my former tribe, those that served and provided for us in every season and loyal despite the breadth they give me, not quite distrusting but never venturing near. The confidence he carries is envious, to say the least, a leader in all spades. I think he, most of all, wouldn't flinch at my presence on the field donned in the form of a wolf."
Marianni Neris -- "She simply lives, and for this I admire her for whilst finding it cumbersome, if not entirely exhausting. The exuberance she propels and the pride she commands are qualities that remind me of a girl that once was only to be lost upon the darkness of could-have-beens. If only I thought her capable of sitting still long enough, I'd show her the tomes in my possession, the ones scrawled elegantly within the Dalish tongue and those of Orlesian prose, and, maybe, the ones inked harshly in the script of my own people."
Aldwin Howe -- "A mage like me and then not, raised within the confines of the Circle whilst I grew upon swamp and shadow. Spells so unlike the other, means entirely wrought from a different place of self and know-how. I look upon him with the wonder if my life would have been different had I been sired within a gilded cage, burdened and bound by my emotions of potential rage. Maybe if we weren't so different, two sides of the same coin I think it goes, I might be able to look upon him as something of a friend.
Anselm Niemeyer -- "I look to him as one who knows madness on the battlefield and home, and yet flings himself upon such tiring attempts to keep it contained under the guise of justice, such bound under drink. Such sadness lingers within his gaze that I can't help but observe upon the fringes like a skittish creature, never attempting to speak to him beyond mere camaraderie. I wouldn't even know where to begin."
Venatra, The Huntress -- "She once made note of strange swirls in the bottom of my cup one morning, worried for their design that reminded of her of this one time -- and another tale she spun about cloud patterns and horn spirals and bent blades of grass to create a sigil eerily reminiscent of an eye. She torments me, the only one that doesn't allow me to just be, and enjoys it too, I don't know whether to appreciate her candor or hate it. I'd think she had it out for me personally if I didn't know it was because we both know I am the better tracker."
Cadarn Valgarok -- "The only Dwarf I had ever known was a merchant that often frequented the swamps trading herbs and spices for the pelts my tribe possessed. He once gave me a curious gem of polished amber with a slit of black, an eye he said of a legendary beast that prowled ridges and cliffs and lurked among shadows. Cadarn gives me nothing but silence and unnerved glances, the chasm betwixt us vast and rife with unease. I know him to be capable, as both Warden and Templar, his silence a balm compared to those that fill the day with their noise as if attempting to compensate for the words we fail to speak. His avoidance doesn't pain me like I think it should, perhaps it is for the best."
Rannon Bryce -- "He reminds me of the hunters of my former tribe, those that served and provided for us in every season and loyal despite the breadth they give me, not quite distrusting but never venturing near. The confidence he carries is envious, to say the least, a leader in all spades. I think he, most of all, wouldn't flinch at my presence on the field donned in the form of a wolf."
Marianni Neris -- "She simply lives, and for this I admire her for whilst finding it cumbersome, if not entirely exhausting. The exuberance she propels and the pride she commands are qualities that remind me of a girl that once was only to be lost upon the darkness of could-have-beens. If only I thought her capable of sitting still long enough, I'd show her the tomes in my possession, the ones scrawled elegantly within the Dalish tongue and those of Orlesian prose, and, maybe, the ones inked harshly in the script of my own people."