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Ezzelin Bakerose
Satyr
Coon Family
Ezzelin Bakerose does not really belong out here in Leoren. He came from out Southeast across the sea. Well versed in arts of secrecy, stealth, and projectile weapons, he was first drawn to the military, until an unfortunate circumstance landed him with the Coon family. Not that they were the unfortunate part or anything. He now serves the family and has proved to be valuable and reliable. He doesn't tell about his past, and they don't pry. It is his own to deal with, and he hates to recall it, even for his own sake. It's unclear wether he merely despises it for it was terrible or perhaps because he misses it. Even Ezzelin isn't quite sure. He loves his life here with the Coon family, and wouldn't want to part of it. But there's something lacking, he says, not in them, but in himself. And he wants to find whatever it is. Something within him yearns to be out there. Perhaps it is the call of adventure or the wild blood that flies through his veins. He's always in the outside, weaving through trees and following rivers. He was born as a nature spirit and a spirit of nature he will always be. For he is a satyr. Most satyrs stick to respectable, healing orientations, but Ezzelin has always been a bit of a defiant one. He certainly doesn't seem so Satyr-like upon first meeting him, for he appears rather different in a way that makes the very nature of his race pale. Ezzelin is defined as handsome, exotic, and stylish. He wears clothing traditional of his far away roots, made of fine, sturdy cloths that are both lightweight and protective. Baggy pants of purple with gold designs on the sides, though he insists they are words. A strange girdle about his waist made of two different sashes wrapped about his waist with armored plating about the middle and flanking his hips. In the back just over the small curve of the spine, his varied weapons are kept in their separate sheaths, with a knife belt coming around from the back to rest on his upper thigh. He wears a thin, sleeveless shirt for more mobility. Plated boots and armored gauntlets protect his lower legs and arms respectively. On his arm, he has a tattoo of a red phoenix. His skin is fair, not necessarily pale but close enough. His straight, brown hair is kept short so it never obscures his vision, and he keeps it as neat as can be despite its wild tendencies. His horns are also short, and usually are hidden by his hair. It often detracts from how formal and respectable as he aims to appear. His narrowed eyes are dark brown till they're pretty much black. Only in very bright, direct light will one notice they is actually brown in them. Because of his lack of defined horns and that his legs are not so exaggerated of goat shape, it is assumed he is only half-Satyr. But he is full. He has all their strengths and weaknesses, having the ability to jump and leap with grace and ease, balance at precarious heights, blend into the forest, and other attributes as only a creature of the wild can possess. But even though he is defined as Satyr, he is not a stereotypical one. Ezzelin loves fighting and enjoys the rush of adrenalin in a chase or a high risk heist as such the Coon family are known for. He is also very violent and acquainted finely when it comes to killing arts and defensive work. He values life to an extent. He would never harm an animal, for it is a creature driven by instinct and has no rational thought, whereas he has no qualms killing a sentient being, as when it attacks him or he attacks it, it has all the rational capabilities to harm him. He also does not believe in mercy, seeing it as a sign of weakness and an inability to finish what was started. if one cannot deal the killing blow, they never should have entered the fight to begin with. Such is his philosophy, and that is what makes him most dangerous, more even than his skill.
Satyr
Coon Family
Ezzelin Bakerose does not really belong out here in Leoren. He came from out Southeast across the sea. Well versed in arts of secrecy, stealth, and projectile weapons, he was first drawn to the military, until an unfortunate circumstance landed him with the Coon family. Not that they were the unfortunate part or anything. He now serves the family and has proved to be valuable and reliable. He doesn't tell about his past, and they don't pry. It is his own to deal with, and he hates to recall it, even for his own sake. It's unclear wether he merely despises it for it was terrible or perhaps because he misses it. Even Ezzelin isn't quite sure. He loves his life here with the Coon family, and wouldn't want to part of it. But there's something lacking, he says, not in them, but in himself. And he wants to find whatever it is. Something within him yearns to be out there. Perhaps it is the call of adventure or the wild blood that flies through his veins. He's always in the outside, weaving through trees and following rivers. He was born as a nature spirit and a spirit of nature he will always be. For he is a satyr. Most satyrs stick to respectable, healing orientations, but Ezzelin has always been a bit of a defiant one. He certainly doesn't seem so Satyr-like upon first meeting him, for he appears rather different in a way that makes the very nature of his race pale. Ezzelin is defined as handsome, exotic, and stylish. He wears clothing traditional of his far away roots, made of fine, sturdy cloths that are both lightweight and protective. Baggy pants of purple with gold designs on the sides, though he insists they are words. A strange girdle about his waist made of two different sashes wrapped about his waist with armored plating about the middle and flanking his hips. In the back just over the small curve of the spine, his varied weapons are kept in their separate sheaths, with a knife belt coming around from the back to rest on his upper thigh. He wears a thin, sleeveless shirt for more mobility. Plated boots and armored gauntlets protect his lower legs and arms respectively. On his arm, he has a tattoo of a red phoenix. His skin is fair, not necessarily pale but close enough. His straight, brown hair is kept short so it never obscures his vision, and he keeps it as neat as can be despite its wild tendencies. His horns are also short, and usually are hidden by his hair. It often detracts from how formal and respectable as he aims to appear. His narrowed eyes are dark brown till they're pretty much black. Only in very bright, direct light will one notice they is actually brown in them. Because of his lack of defined horns and that his legs are not so exaggerated of goat shape, it is assumed he is only half-Satyr. But he is full. He has all their strengths and weaknesses, having the ability to jump and leap with grace and ease, balance at precarious heights, blend into the forest, and other attributes as only a creature of the wild can possess. But even though he is defined as Satyr, he is not a stereotypical one. Ezzelin loves fighting and enjoys the rush of adrenalin in a chase or a high risk heist as such the Coon family are known for. He is also very violent and acquainted finely when it comes to killing arts and defensive work. He values life to an extent. He would never harm an animal, for it is a creature driven by instinct and has no rational thought, whereas he has no qualms killing a sentient being, as when it attacks him or he attacks it, it has all the rational capabilities to harm him. He also does not believe in mercy, seeing it as a sign of weakness and an inability to finish what was started. if one cannot deal the killing blow, they never should have entered the fight to begin with. Such is his philosophy, and that is what makes him most dangerous, more even than his skill.
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Tamerlane Greed
Siegeman
Tiefling
A very mysterious person with a knack for getting into where he doesn't belong without people noticing. The life of a thief would have suited him well, but despite his origins, he hasn't their lack of respect. In a way, he always seems to know more than you think. He is a brilliant tactician, but his clumsy nature outside of battle makes most people laugh and doubt his true capability. Plus, he tends to always stare with a rather blank look despite his very expressive eyes. One of the military's seigemen, Tamerlane is probably the most cunning. Not just for his ability to fool others into thinking he's not that bright, but he has a lot of other smarts and talents in general. He does not explode like some or flaunt himself like the young captains. He never goes out of his way to prove his nature. Rather he creeps and slips about, staying to shadows, silent and sure. He is a very calculative and decisive creature with a tendency to look before he leaps. He does not like to act impulsively, as it could only lead to ruin. He tends to manage, watch, and manipulate those under his command in an effort to make them the best of the soldiers in the siege that he could. Some could say he is a bit controlling, and he is, but he has had to be. It may not seem that way, but there is a lot of competition among the military ranks, and Tamerlane is not exempt from them. Reluctantly pulled into the fray of such competition due to his desire to retain his position and avoid being oppressed by those attaining higher rank than him, he has been fighting and making his own way through the other ranks and getting higher and higher in status. He has learned that stealth is best where outward display is not. He can hide in shadows and vanish into thin air. He can walk through a whole room of people without them knowing he was ever there. For a young man that is descended from evil demons, he looks rather plain, but has a handsomeness all his own. He has softly pointed features and a strong facial structure. His hair is white with dark gray ends and it reaches past his shoulders. His eyes are a startling blue. He has a strong physique and great muscle structure, pale skin, and pointed ears. He appears to be between nineteen and twenty-one, but his real age is unknown. This doesn't necessarily mean he's ben around forever, only that he's been around long enough to know a thing or two, and that his appearance can be deceiving. He has the tendency to act like an old man when not being his usual self: exhausted, shaky, moody. He doesn't like being approached and never lets anyone get close, except perhaps some of his fellow soldiers now and then. He's terrible at expressing himself and his thoughts, preferring to keep quiet and leave it alone. Not many want to approach him for not understanding him, and those who try to, often leave anyway. He's pretty much given up on relationships of any kind. Keeping people at a distance is his default. The last time he really let someone in, they betrayed him and wound up dead. Not his fault, but he blames himself for it. It's just one of the many deaths he's laid on his own shoulders. He feels like every time a person close to him or under his command or commanding with him dies, he's responsible. he feels he should have done something to prevent their deaths, and wether or not it was perceivable that he could, he always finds a way to make it so. And so he's tired. Tired and stressed and under so many pressures from himself along with the ones that his career demands. He doesn't see a way out, and probably doesn't want one either.
Siegeman
Tiefling
A very mysterious person with a knack for getting into where he doesn't belong without people noticing. The life of a thief would have suited him well, but despite his origins, he hasn't their lack of respect. In a way, he always seems to know more than you think. He is a brilliant tactician, but his clumsy nature outside of battle makes most people laugh and doubt his true capability. Plus, he tends to always stare with a rather blank look despite his very expressive eyes. One of the military's seigemen, Tamerlane is probably the most cunning. Not just for his ability to fool others into thinking he's not that bright, but he has a lot of other smarts and talents in general. He does not explode like some or flaunt himself like the young captains. He never goes out of his way to prove his nature. Rather he creeps and slips about, staying to shadows, silent and sure. He is a very calculative and decisive creature with a tendency to look before he leaps. He does not like to act impulsively, as it could only lead to ruin. He tends to manage, watch, and manipulate those under his command in an effort to make them the best of the soldiers in the siege that he could. Some could say he is a bit controlling, and he is, but he has had to be. It may not seem that way, but there is a lot of competition among the military ranks, and Tamerlane is not exempt from them. Reluctantly pulled into the fray of such competition due to his desire to retain his position and avoid being oppressed by those attaining higher rank than him, he has been fighting and making his own way through the other ranks and getting higher and higher in status. He has learned that stealth is best where outward display is not. He can hide in shadows and vanish into thin air. He can walk through a whole room of people without them knowing he was ever there. For a young man that is descended from evil demons, he looks rather plain, but has a handsomeness all his own. He has softly pointed features and a strong facial structure. His hair is white with dark gray ends and it reaches past his shoulders. His eyes are a startling blue. He has a strong physique and great muscle structure, pale skin, and pointed ears. He appears to be between nineteen and twenty-one, but his real age is unknown. This doesn't necessarily mean he's ben around forever, only that he's been around long enough to know a thing or two, and that his appearance can be deceiving. He has the tendency to act like an old man when not being his usual self: exhausted, shaky, moody. He doesn't like being approached and never lets anyone get close, except perhaps some of his fellow soldiers now and then. He's terrible at expressing himself and his thoughts, preferring to keep quiet and leave it alone. Not many want to approach him for not understanding him, and those who try to, often leave anyway. He's pretty much given up on relationships of any kind. Keeping people at a distance is his default. The last time he really let someone in, they betrayed him and wound up dead. Not his fault, but he blames himself for it. It's just one of the many deaths he's laid on his own shoulders. He feels like every time a person close to him or under his command or commanding with him dies, he's responsible. he feels he should have done something to prevent their deaths, and wether or not it was perceivable that he could, he always finds a way to make it so. And so he's tired. Tired and stressed and under so many pressures from himself along with the ones that his career demands. He doesn't see a way out, and probably doesn't want one either.
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Yuuki Keika
Royal Scribe
Kitsune
With fire and fear at his command, not many would have voted for Yuuki to be on their side. He was just too unpredictable for anyone to understand or learn how to deal with. Though beautiful beyond compare in that special way demons are, his charming nature and appealing outward attributes were only enough for him to be recognized easily and therefore more avoided. But after having to oppose Yuuki in battle, it was decided having him working alongside them was better than having him against. Who were them? Anyone he ever came across, really. Politicians, soldiers, armies, kingdoms. Eventually he was picked up by Leoren, but it was there he decided he was tired of playing games back and forth between alliances and enemies. He became his own person, a completely neutral party, and if ever he was needed, he would join the army, but always as a different name and never a kitsune. He didn't want anyone to know of his powers. Perhaps too intelligent for his own good, this six hundred year old kitsune was lucky enough to become the Queen's own Royal Scribe after an incident revealed his true nature and landed him in trouble with the guards. Peridot, though cautious and perhaps a little paranoid as she sometimes gets, had him put through a rather riorous interogation, and after it came to everyone's attention that he was the sort that preferred to help rather than harm, he was set free. And then, in time, his knowledge and skills were made known, and Peridot had him installed as her Royal Scribe. He isn't sure why to this day, seeing as he is a demon of a sort and demons aren't to be trusted, but he serves her as his thanks and because he wants to help Leoren as he can, having grown fond of the kingdom and its people. With a tempered mind bearing knowledge collected from a thousand places over six lifetimes, he surely knows something about the world, and though he makes some very odd decisions, they usually turn out to be the right ones. Yuuki Keika has a very dubious past despite his issue with the guards that landed him here. He doesn't really talk about himself, but he loves to get to know you. He tends to speak in riddles. He can either be found in the library, the gardens, or shut up in his own room which he calls his "study". He is very intelligent, and in meetings, usually sits there quietly and won't make any remarks till the last minute. He's very good at what he does, and many question his motives. If Peridot listens to such doubts about him, it's hard to say. Yuuki strives to prove his worthiness and his usefulness. He never likes to feel a burden, but don't think he won't enjoy the finer qualities of life in a high position. He appears rather pampered on the outside, but under it all, there's a toughness that could only have been gained from the cruel, outside world. He looks young, perhaps in his late teens, early twenties. He has soft, sun kissed skin, laced with scars and mauled by badly healed wounds all down his back, stomach, chest, and thighs. He often wears long robes and cloaks and shirts to hide his horrible visage. His eyes are large but narrowed ever so slightly, with thick black lashes framing fiery red optics that burn as though with the fires he wields. He has short white hair that falls gracefully to his shoulders, smooth as silk, and sensual to the touch. The most noticeably oddity in his appearance is his ears. Pointed, white foxy things that move as he wills or turn to take in the sounds about him. They can perk up and droop and flatten as he chooses. His teeth are also slightly pointed, and his tongue rougher than most tongues to accommodate such vicious incisors.
Royal Scribe
Kitsune
With fire and fear at his command, not many would have voted for Yuuki to be on their side. He was just too unpredictable for anyone to understand or learn how to deal with. Though beautiful beyond compare in that special way demons are, his charming nature and appealing outward attributes were only enough for him to be recognized easily and therefore more avoided. But after having to oppose Yuuki in battle, it was decided having him working alongside them was better than having him against. Who were them? Anyone he ever came across, really. Politicians, soldiers, armies, kingdoms. Eventually he was picked up by Leoren, but it was there he decided he was tired of playing games back and forth between alliances and enemies. He became his own person, a completely neutral party, and if ever he was needed, he would join the army, but always as a different name and never a kitsune. He didn't want anyone to know of his powers. Perhaps too intelligent for his own good, this six hundred year old kitsune was lucky enough to become the Queen's own Royal Scribe after an incident revealed his true nature and landed him in trouble with the guards. Peridot, though cautious and perhaps a little paranoid as she sometimes gets, had him put through a rather riorous interogation, and after it came to everyone's attention that he was the sort that preferred to help rather than harm, he was set free. And then, in time, his knowledge and skills were made known, and Peridot had him installed as her Royal Scribe. He isn't sure why to this day, seeing as he is a demon of a sort and demons aren't to be trusted, but he serves her as his thanks and because he wants to help Leoren as he can, having grown fond of the kingdom and its people. With a tempered mind bearing knowledge collected from a thousand places over six lifetimes, he surely knows something about the world, and though he makes some very odd decisions, they usually turn out to be the right ones. Yuuki Keika has a very dubious past despite his issue with the guards that landed him here. He doesn't really talk about himself, but he loves to get to know you. He tends to speak in riddles. He can either be found in the library, the gardens, or shut up in his own room which he calls his "study". He is very intelligent, and in meetings, usually sits there quietly and won't make any remarks till the last minute. He's very good at what he does, and many question his motives. If Peridot listens to such doubts about him, it's hard to say. Yuuki strives to prove his worthiness and his usefulness. He never likes to feel a burden, but don't think he won't enjoy the finer qualities of life in a high position. He appears rather pampered on the outside, but under it all, there's a toughness that could only have been gained from the cruel, outside world. He looks young, perhaps in his late teens, early twenties. He has soft, sun kissed skin, laced with scars and mauled by badly healed wounds all down his back, stomach, chest, and thighs. He often wears long robes and cloaks and shirts to hide his horrible visage. His eyes are large but narrowed ever so slightly, with thick black lashes framing fiery red optics that burn as though with the fires he wields. He has short white hair that falls gracefully to his shoulders, smooth as silk, and sensual to the touch. The most noticeably oddity in his appearance is his ears. Pointed, white foxy things that move as he wills or turn to take in the sounds about him. They can perk up and droop and flatten as he chooses. His teeth are also slightly pointed, and his tongue rougher than most tongues to accommodate such vicious incisors.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7170633_orig.png)
Bongo
Turtle-duck
Bongo is a talking, levitating turtle duck with a mind of his own. He often travels with his fire ferret pal. He is undeniably adorable and really acts cute, usually without intending to. Those big green eyes and that fluffy brown face are just full of love. Even for a little turtle-duck, he's had many adventures with his friend and is much smarter than he looks from all that he's learned. Bongo enjoys swimming, sleeping, and rolling in grass. He is oddly allergic to pineapple.
Turtle-duck
Bongo is a talking, levitating turtle duck with a mind of his own. He often travels with his fire ferret pal. He is undeniably adorable and really acts cute, usually without intending to. Those big green eyes and that fluffy brown face are just full of love. Even for a little turtle-duck, he's had many adventures with his friend and is much smarter than he looks from all that he's learned. Bongo enjoys swimming, sleeping, and rolling in grass. He is oddly allergic to pineapple.
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Chrysanthemum "Cry" Bellbane
Herbalist/Healer
Dryad
Chrysanthemum, more often called by her nickname of "Cry" is a dryad of no real discerning plant species, who wanders Highwing City offering her services as an herbalist and a healer. But she is far from being an ordinary dryad. Though she respects nature and the circle of life, it is very limiting as to what that circle of life entails. Exclusively plants, that's what. She kind of views people as being outside her fabricated circle of life, and though she treats them kindly and heals their injuries, she cannot really fathom why they get injured in the first place or why she should really even care for them. She likes children because they are innocent, but everyone else she feels would be better off elsewhere. They tromp around forests and destroy nature, and it makes her mad. She thinks of them as silly, stupid creatures, far too dense to see past their own noses. As a dryad, she doesn't understand human's need for power, wealth, and stability. She is wild in nature and unsympathetic to humans' plights. She doesn't understand social circles or etiquette and grace. She's the sort of girl who runs through meadows and climbs trees and jumps into woodland pools. At least she learned that wearing clothing is proper, but never shoes. Oh no. She'll kick and scream at you if you try forcing her into shoes. She loves to be connected with the earth and all its growing things. Chrysanthemum is fairly polite, but has a very astounding amount of selfishness and carelessness about her. She simply will not bother to be bothered with anyone's issues. She goes where she wants and does as she pleases, usually uninvited, which makes her a bother and a nuisance. Or spontaneous and fun depending who you are. She tends to pop up in unexpected places, but she doesn't think of herself as unexpected at all. She also has no real concept of time when it suits her. She may promise to show up somewhere, then not appear till months later. She's so unreliable that most people won't bother dealing with her. She doesn't care. She's only antisocial and a loner from people's perspectives. All she needs is the wind and the trees and the grass and the dirt to keep her company. Chrysanthemum is very beautiful. She has light skin, with rosy cheeks, an faint freckles on her arms, back, and chest. She has bright blue eyes, plump, pink lips, and red-brown hair that's usually full of flowers. Her dainty feet are often covered in dust and mud with flecks of grass between her toes. No matter the work, her hands are never rough: so smooth they are slippery. But she has fantastic grip. She wears very light, featherweight dresses. never anything else, even when it is frightfully cold out.
Herbalist/Healer
Dryad
Chrysanthemum, more often called by her nickname of "Cry" is a dryad of no real discerning plant species, who wanders Highwing City offering her services as an herbalist and a healer. But she is far from being an ordinary dryad. Though she respects nature and the circle of life, it is very limiting as to what that circle of life entails. Exclusively plants, that's what. She kind of views people as being outside her fabricated circle of life, and though she treats them kindly and heals their injuries, she cannot really fathom why they get injured in the first place or why she should really even care for them. She likes children because they are innocent, but everyone else she feels would be better off elsewhere. They tromp around forests and destroy nature, and it makes her mad. She thinks of them as silly, stupid creatures, far too dense to see past their own noses. As a dryad, she doesn't understand human's need for power, wealth, and stability. She is wild in nature and unsympathetic to humans' plights. She doesn't understand social circles or etiquette and grace. She's the sort of girl who runs through meadows and climbs trees and jumps into woodland pools. At least she learned that wearing clothing is proper, but never shoes. Oh no. She'll kick and scream at you if you try forcing her into shoes. She loves to be connected with the earth and all its growing things. Chrysanthemum is fairly polite, but has a very astounding amount of selfishness and carelessness about her. She simply will not bother to be bothered with anyone's issues. She goes where she wants and does as she pleases, usually uninvited, which makes her a bother and a nuisance. Or spontaneous and fun depending who you are. She tends to pop up in unexpected places, but she doesn't think of herself as unexpected at all. She also has no real concept of time when it suits her. She may promise to show up somewhere, then not appear till months later. She's so unreliable that most people won't bother dealing with her. She doesn't care. She's only antisocial and a loner from people's perspectives. All she needs is the wind and the trees and the grass and the dirt to keep her company. Chrysanthemum is very beautiful. She has light skin, with rosy cheeks, an faint freckles on her arms, back, and chest. She has bright blue eyes, plump, pink lips, and red-brown hair that's usually full of flowers. Her dainty feet are often covered in dust and mud with flecks of grass between her toes. No matter the work, her hands are never rough: so smooth they are slippery. But she has fantastic grip. She wears very light, featherweight dresses. never anything else, even when it is frightfully cold out.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7120270_orig.jpg)
Lem Nemkamuerin
Bard
Vila
Pet: Raj (red panda)
"In all my wanderings and all my life, I never found a song more beautiful than words as the song a heartbeat makes. Perhaps because it is the song of life, and it's absence is the sound of death."
Lem is perhaps the oddest creature you will ever find, and not for the fact that he is a Vila, but for the fact that he is a "he", for you must understand that to common knowledge, male Vila don't exist. Yet here he is, standing in plain sight, with all his species' powers and flaws and looks and attributes, yet completely and undeniably male. For those who don't know of the existence of Vila -which considering their rarity is not so uncommon- seeing Lem is not such a shock. Most people hardly know what it all entails except perhaps his ethereal voice and incredible use of instruments and language is beyond anything most ever witness. But for those who understand what this might imply, they are usually pleasantly surprised. For Lem, quite a bit of his life was spent avoiding people. His mother warned him that there would be those who would wish to take advantage of his rarity for their profit. He never met such people, but for the first ten years of his life, lived mostly in solitude. It was during this time he picked up an instrument and learned to play. The natural gift sparked in him, and he played and learned and played more. Then he went into the world at eleven. Ran away to a bard’s school. And there he continued to play and learn and sing. He traveled the world, studying and watching people, spreading entertainment where he could. But his favored times are the small ones that seemed to matter most. He played for an old hunter as they awaited a carriage. He sang by himself once in the woods, and birds joined in. He played for a room of wounded soldiers while passing through. He cares not for large audiences and enormous crowds, only entering into so if he needs to play for the money. He prefers being by himself, though will follow the odd company or two in hopes of being inspired for a new song or story. Strange and quite hard to comprehend, Lem Nemkamuerin is one of a kind in the realm of Leoren. As a bard, he feels well placed in his profession, besides having chosen it: great singing voice, comprehension of rhyme, rhythm, and language, instrument playing talent. But there are some differences between him and his fellow house members. For one, he has terrible, often violent mood swings. Most bards are gentle, fierce, and the more infamous use honeyed words and romantic drivel to woo their way through thick and thin. But not Lem, no. He flips up and down like a saw being driven against a plank. Some say he is bipolar, which is probably true but his family never found out. He also suffers from some kind of memory loss and usually has to write things down in order to remember. He has impressive creative abilities: singing and poetry. He’s always writing, memorizing, or reciting poetry. And as for his singing… well where to begin. He is the son of Vila, father currently and perhaps forever to be, unknown. It’s obvious now where his beauty and singing talent comes from. And that brings up another point: his beauty. He has black hair, darker than night, and it falls in his face, with as much softness and delicacy to it as gossamer. His eyes are bright blue that seem to shine, as if the very ocean itself was aglow. He has pale, flawless skin, inhumanly pale to the point that it’s almost unreal. Like the Vila, he has their abilities. When angry, he can shoot fire from his hands, but this inner magic drains him considerably and he gets quite tired very fast afterwards. He can’t quite sprout wings yet, like other Vila can when angry, and many doubt he will be able to. After all, he’s not female. He can be very protective though, and seeing people hurt can throw him into a frenzy very quickly, one with fury enough to match the Vila. Though considered this beautiful, malevolent being, Lem carries a much harsher side of Vila tempers. He is quick to anger and quick to act. They are all angry, as has been mentioned a few times, but his moods and temperaments change drastically so quickly, it is hard to ever predict what he might do when. This is only a part of Lem’s entirety, for there are many secrets that he holds that have not quite been discovered.
Bard
Vila
Pet: Raj (red panda)
"In all my wanderings and all my life, I never found a song more beautiful than words as the song a heartbeat makes. Perhaps because it is the song of life, and it's absence is the sound of death."
Lem is perhaps the oddest creature you will ever find, and not for the fact that he is a Vila, but for the fact that he is a "he", for you must understand that to common knowledge, male Vila don't exist. Yet here he is, standing in plain sight, with all his species' powers and flaws and looks and attributes, yet completely and undeniably male. For those who don't know of the existence of Vila -which considering their rarity is not so uncommon- seeing Lem is not such a shock. Most people hardly know what it all entails except perhaps his ethereal voice and incredible use of instruments and language is beyond anything most ever witness. But for those who understand what this might imply, they are usually pleasantly surprised. For Lem, quite a bit of his life was spent avoiding people. His mother warned him that there would be those who would wish to take advantage of his rarity for their profit. He never met such people, but for the first ten years of his life, lived mostly in solitude. It was during this time he picked up an instrument and learned to play. The natural gift sparked in him, and he played and learned and played more. Then he went into the world at eleven. Ran away to a bard’s school. And there he continued to play and learn and sing. He traveled the world, studying and watching people, spreading entertainment where he could. But his favored times are the small ones that seemed to matter most. He played for an old hunter as they awaited a carriage. He sang by himself once in the woods, and birds joined in. He played for a room of wounded soldiers while passing through. He cares not for large audiences and enormous crowds, only entering into so if he needs to play for the money. He prefers being by himself, though will follow the odd company or two in hopes of being inspired for a new song or story. Strange and quite hard to comprehend, Lem Nemkamuerin is one of a kind in the realm of Leoren. As a bard, he feels well placed in his profession, besides having chosen it: great singing voice, comprehension of rhyme, rhythm, and language, instrument playing talent. But there are some differences between him and his fellow house members. For one, he has terrible, often violent mood swings. Most bards are gentle, fierce, and the more infamous use honeyed words and romantic drivel to woo their way through thick and thin. But not Lem, no. He flips up and down like a saw being driven against a plank. Some say he is bipolar, which is probably true but his family never found out. He also suffers from some kind of memory loss and usually has to write things down in order to remember. He has impressive creative abilities: singing and poetry. He’s always writing, memorizing, or reciting poetry. And as for his singing… well where to begin. He is the son of Vila, father currently and perhaps forever to be, unknown. It’s obvious now where his beauty and singing talent comes from. And that brings up another point: his beauty. He has black hair, darker than night, and it falls in his face, with as much softness and delicacy to it as gossamer. His eyes are bright blue that seem to shine, as if the very ocean itself was aglow. He has pale, flawless skin, inhumanly pale to the point that it’s almost unreal. Like the Vila, he has their abilities. When angry, he can shoot fire from his hands, but this inner magic drains him considerably and he gets quite tired very fast afterwards. He can’t quite sprout wings yet, like other Vila can when angry, and many doubt he will be able to. After all, he’s not female. He can be very protective though, and seeing people hurt can throw him into a frenzy very quickly, one with fury enough to match the Vila. Though considered this beautiful, malevolent being, Lem carries a much harsher side of Vila tempers. He is quick to anger and quick to act. They are all angry, as has been mentioned a few times, but his moods and temperaments change drastically so quickly, it is hard to ever predict what he might do when. This is only a part of Lem’s entirety, for there are many secrets that he holds that have not quite been discovered.
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Sinclair Voltaire
Military Dragon Tamer
Elf-Draugr Hybrid
"Being this undead thing has a benefit and a curse: I don't die easily."
While the majority of draugr have been wiped out, Sinclair has defied the world's order of things by continuing to exist. Being half elf certainly helps. And no, he will never explain how being a half-elf half-draugr works. Though suffering from a hopeless case of depressed self-esteem, Sinclair works his hardest to at least appear perfectly normal. Possessing the finer structure and beauty of his elven parent, one can almost forget he's an undead creature, or at least partially undead. Then at least he can fit in for the most part, but it seems as soon as his true identity is discovered as being one of those reanimated things, others tend to forget that he is, for the most part, alive, and they decide to shun and avoid him, as if he's going to one day flip out and eat all their brains. It's usually revealed by the minor things if he doesn't say it right out. One when looks close enough at him, they may notice the imperfections associated with the non-living: his skin is always cold and pale, eyes white as snow, his heartbeat is so quiet that it's easy to miss, he has a smell of death about him, and this inability to fully heal without the use of magic, which means he oft walks about with gaping wounds or jagged gouge marks roughly held together with wire or nails or something. The latter is very uncommon to see, but it does happen, and his higher pain tolerance is usually what garners questions and investigations as to what is wrong with him. Even if no one guesses, they still get that foreboding sense of strangeness, and therefore make a wide berth about him and avoid eye contact and the like. He is not naive of their whispering and behavior. He knows why they do it, but it isn't as though he can help it in any way. This is what he is rather than what he does or acts. It's an unchangeable dilemma, and though he despised himself for so long, he is on the road to mere acceptance. if there was a way to change what he is, he would have done it long ago. He has been alone for a long time, and now though he wanders with his dragon through the road that is life, he still longs for the company of another person. Sinclair is a dragon tamer for the military, and that is something of a story. He was in Highwing City, a really young man at the time, probably seventeen years old, looking in awe at a statue of a dragon. A man stopped next to him to gaze at the statue, and pulled the pipe he was smoking from his mouth and said, "Magnificent thing, a dragon. But you never really get to know one till you try to tame it." And though it was a very short encounter and probably a very vague thing to say, it sparked a deep curiosity in Sinclair that made him want to pursue the dangerous work of dragon taming. He had always been awed by these beasts and fascinated with their strength and power. He had always wanted to understand them, and that man's words led him to the military encampment. The men he met there were cruel and thought Sinclair was rather stupid and naive for being so young and wanting to do something so big. The current dragon tamer reluctantly took him on as an apprentice. He didn't teach Sinclair anything and just told him to watch. But Sinclair learned. He learned more and more every day as he watched the dragons. Forget the dragon tamer himself, it was the dragons that taught Sinclair how to deal with them. How to approach, how to respect, how to conquer, how to control. He learned in the way they moved and talked and fought and submitted. The dragon tamer, though able to break the dragon, did not seem to understand what Sinclair came to understand. So Sinclair picked a dragon and worked on his own when it was night and no one was about. He worked on one particularly vicious dragon that the military had decided to put down: the supposedly untamable Septentrio. But Sinclair worked with him rather than work him. Sinclair broke himself rather than the dragon, and they somehow reached a curious understanding, and through that, Sinclair learned how to master this unconquerable beast. One night, he was discovered working with the dragon. The soldiers were infuriated that he was letting a dragon loose, but the old commander saw the way Sinclair treated and worked the dragon, and so he was made a dragon tamer of his own, set in the military officially and given his own creatures to work with. Septentrio became his permanent companion, and he will serve none other than Sinclair. Probably because Sinclair is the only one who treats Septentrio with respect. He never let his ambition and his power over those he has mastered get to his head or affect his heart. He still sees their majesty, their pride, and their strength. He does not see them as beasts of burden, but more as soldiers under his command. They obey his orders because of his status rather than because they are his slave. He does not consider them conquered, for they are not objects or dumb beasts to be conquered. He understands that they are more powerful than he, and should be treated as such. He's always seen himself more inferior, and not just when it comes to dragons. His lack of self-esteem is from all the hatred he has received as partially undead. They seem to ignore the word partially and skip right to the undead. There's more to him than that if anyone had bothered to perhaps try and see it. Instead, they made that the large kicked in his life, and he's been destroyed by their cruelty. He's hardly ever motivated to do much or pursue anything, and he never likes being around people. It's a form of severe shyness that borders on the ridiculous in some cases. He does know how to act in public when demanded to. He isn't socially awkward or inept, and knows how not to make a fool of himself. Initially coming across as dark and brooding, Sinclair is very gentle, strong, and wise. You would never guess if all you did was listen to the rumors and fail to understand the man he really is.
Military Dragon Tamer
Elf-Draugr Hybrid
"Being this undead thing has a benefit and a curse: I don't die easily."
While the majority of draugr have been wiped out, Sinclair has defied the world's order of things by continuing to exist. Being half elf certainly helps. And no, he will never explain how being a half-elf half-draugr works. Though suffering from a hopeless case of depressed self-esteem, Sinclair works his hardest to at least appear perfectly normal. Possessing the finer structure and beauty of his elven parent, one can almost forget he's an undead creature, or at least partially undead. Then at least he can fit in for the most part, but it seems as soon as his true identity is discovered as being one of those reanimated things, others tend to forget that he is, for the most part, alive, and they decide to shun and avoid him, as if he's going to one day flip out and eat all their brains. It's usually revealed by the minor things if he doesn't say it right out. One when looks close enough at him, they may notice the imperfections associated with the non-living: his skin is always cold and pale, eyes white as snow, his heartbeat is so quiet that it's easy to miss, he has a smell of death about him, and this inability to fully heal without the use of magic, which means he oft walks about with gaping wounds or jagged gouge marks roughly held together with wire or nails or something. The latter is very uncommon to see, but it does happen, and his higher pain tolerance is usually what garners questions and investigations as to what is wrong with him. Even if no one guesses, they still get that foreboding sense of strangeness, and therefore make a wide berth about him and avoid eye contact and the like. He is not naive of their whispering and behavior. He knows why they do it, but it isn't as though he can help it in any way. This is what he is rather than what he does or acts. It's an unchangeable dilemma, and though he despised himself for so long, he is on the road to mere acceptance. if there was a way to change what he is, he would have done it long ago. He has been alone for a long time, and now though he wanders with his dragon through the road that is life, he still longs for the company of another person. Sinclair is a dragon tamer for the military, and that is something of a story. He was in Highwing City, a really young man at the time, probably seventeen years old, looking in awe at a statue of a dragon. A man stopped next to him to gaze at the statue, and pulled the pipe he was smoking from his mouth and said, "Magnificent thing, a dragon. But you never really get to know one till you try to tame it." And though it was a very short encounter and probably a very vague thing to say, it sparked a deep curiosity in Sinclair that made him want to pursue the dangerous work of dragon taming. He had always been awed by these beasts and fascinated with their strength and power. He had always wanted to understand them, and that man's words led him to the military encampment. The men he met there were cruel and thought Sinclair was rather stupid and naive for being so young and wanting to do something so big. The current dragon tamer reluctantly took him on as an apprentice. He didn't teach Sinclair anything and just told him to watch. But Sinclair learned. He learned more and more every day as he watched the dragons. Forget the dragon tamer himself, it was the dragons that taught Sinclair how to deal with them. How to approach, how to respect, how to conquer, how to control. He learned in the way they moved and talked and fought and submitted. The dragon tamer, though able to break the dragon, did not seem to understand what Sinclair came to understand. So Sinclair picked a dragon and worked on his own when it was night and no one was about. He worked on one particularly vicious dragon that the military had decided to put down: the supposedly untamable Septentrio. But Sinclair worked with him rather than work him. Sinclair broke himself rather than the dragon, and they somehow reached a curious understanding, and through that, Sinclair learned how to master this unconquerable beast. One night, he was discovered working with the dragon. The soldiers were infuriated that he was letting a dragon loose, but the old commander saw the way Sinclair treated and worked the dragon, and so he was made a dragon tamer of his own, set in the military officially and given his own creatures to work with. Septentrio became his permanent companion, and he will serve none other than Sinclair. Probably because Sinclair is the only one who treats Septentrio with respect. He never let his ambition and his power over those he has mastered get to his head or affect his heart. He still sees their majesty, their pride, and their strength. He does not see them as beasts of burden, but more as soldiers under his command. They obey his orders because of his status rather than because they are his slave. He does not consider them conquered, for they are not objects or dumb beasts to be conquered. He understands that they are more powerful than he, and should be treated as such. He's always seen himself more inferior, and not just when it comes to dragons. His lack of self-esteem is from all the hatred he has received as partially undead. They seem to ignore the word partially and skip right to the undead. There's more to him than that if anyone had bothered to perhaps try and see it. Instead, they made that the large kicked in his life, and he's been destroyed by their cruelty. He's hardly ever motivated to do much or pursue anything, and he never likes being around people. It's a form of severe shyness that borders on the ridiculous in some cases. He does know how to act in public when demanded to. He isn't socially awkward or inept, and knows how not to make a fool of himself. Initially coming across as dark and brooding, Sinclair is very gentle, strong, and wise. You would never guess if all you did was listen to the rumors and fail to understand the man he really is.
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Pariah Grim Hawkins
slave for sale on the black market
Water Velkar
"I find it so strange how those primal screams were always mine."
Pariah means "outcast", but even that definition does not truly denote what such a word means. Pariahs are more than outcasts, ignored and downtrodden. Pariahs are the ones no one has even heard of, for their existence has so been wiped from memory that they may as well have never been born. They are pushed past the fringes of society to feed on the scraps. In passing on the street, they have become invisible. They can scream and cry and still no one will hear them. For they are pariahs, untouchables, abominations. And such a word was given to Pariah Grim Hawkins to forever be his name. No one really know what to make of him, and he hardly knows what to make of himself. He never knew his family, had any friends, or made any sorts of acquaintances that might have helped and bettered him through his life. No, instead, he was left scrounging in streets and crawling through gutters, because that is the life left to orphans without names and faces. If anyone had really known of this particular child's significance, perhaps things would have turned out differently for him than what life offered. He's never had the option of being given silver spoons and platters. Life was thrown at him messy and raw since day one and it continues to show him just how much degradation it has left to spit out in his face. When the Raikia attacked Leoren, they slaughtered the Velkar, making sure to leave none alive. But as with every plan, there are the loopholes and the mismanaged gaps. Through one such crack slipped two young Velkar, and they ran from Leoren. They survived. Three years later, the one Velkar, a male, died. The female discovered only a week later that she was pregnant with the deceased's child. And in the middle of the fourth year, she died delivering their son: one of the last Water Velkar in existence. He was born in the home of an old werewolf healer who did her best to raise the child. But only a year later, she too was taken from the world by bandits. They would have killed the little boy, but money breeds greed, and so they sold him to a trader, and the baby found his way into the world of the black market. He was given many names as he passed from the hands of traders and masters alike, until he was old enough to make one for himself. Hawkins was the surname of the bandit who first sold him, and that was what had stuck with him the longest, so it also became his surname. Grim was the first name given to him, for his first master decided he smiled too much and was determined to change that. Pariah was the last. He first heard the word when he was nine by his second master, the day he was kicked out of the house and staked to the side of a mountain road to die. He was a pariah then, and Pariah he became. He gave it to himself, and it made him who he was. Gypsies rescued him and sold him right back into the salve trading world. Five silver coins. That's how much his pathetic life cost. He had never really realized till then just how cheap a child's life could be. Five silver coins could buy you a mind, body, heart, and soul for you to break and rend then build and mend as you please. And so on continued his unstable crawl through life as he was bought and sold. He found some strength in himself despite how trapped and desperate he always felt. A black market slave at the mercy of his masters, he longs for freedom from them, even if it means death. Being bought is his only vision of getting out of this place. While others would resort easily to violence, his nature could not handle killing another or even taking his own life. Some do view him as sadistic, as he tends to delve into morbid and horrible ramblings whenever he's in one of his moods. He never acts on his dark thoughts though. He knows better, but the temptation is always there, picking and poking at him, trying to make him give in and maybe give up. It is strongest on those nights, when the world is especially cruel, and Lady Luck turns her back on him, creating for him a world of hurt and despair. Even beyond his beginnings and history, there is something that worries him more than anything. It would be devastating if anyone found out he has a chronic, unknown illness as no one would buy him and he'd be stuck here forever. He can't bear the thought of always being a slave. Deep down at least. He surely has been broken into a slave's life and mentality, having been formed as one from so young an age, but perhaps the gods, in all their mystery, have looked down on him and seen his suffering, and so instill a part of him deep inside that can never be broken, and once freed, perhaps give him the new life and meaning he craves for. He hardly knows it himself just how strong he really is. Most of the time, he is hiding from something, having a variety of fears. Mostly your typical fears that thirteen year olds face. He hates heights and is terrified of thunder. he also hates deep water, but isn't confronted by that fear enough for it to be noticed. A more subtle, ever there fear is his paranoia that no one will adopt him if they discover two of his greatest flaws: these being his illness and his waking nightmares. His waking nightmares are vivid dreams that he cannot wake from. Even if someone were to shake him or yell or slap him, he wouldn't respond, only able to wake up when the dream allows him. He's had them since he was nine, around the same time he was left out to die in the mountains. But then there is his illness. It is a mysterious disease and rather grotesque. It's signs and symptoms include migraines, coughing blood, brittle bones, and severe tenderness, where any small prick or bump will cause excruciating pain. Most of the time, he can get away with it as the severity of the symptoms come and go. But it is considered dangerous and possibly deadly. He searches for a cur, despite every healer and physician telling him there is none. He wont give up, and that is the source of his strength. His determination and belief in himself haven't died from him fully. Yet.
slave for sale on the black market
Water Velkar
"I find it so strange how those primal screams were always mine."
Pariah means "outcast", but even that definition does not truly denote what such a word means. Pariahs are more than outcasts, ignored and downtrodden. Pariahs are the ones no one has even heard of, for their existence has so been wiped from memory that they may as well have never been born. They are pushed past the fringes of society to feed on the scraps. In passing on the street, they have become invisible. They can scream and cry and still no one will hear them. For they are pariahs, untouchables, abominations. And such a word was given to Pariah Grim Hawkins to forever be his name. No one really know what to make of him, and he hardly knows what to make of himself. He never knew his family, had any friends, or made any sorts of acquaintances that might have helped and bettered him through his life. No, instead, he was left scrounging in streets and crawling through gutters, because that is the life left to orphans without names and faces. If anyone had really known of this particular child's significance, perhaps things would have turned out differently for him than what life offered. He's never had the option of being given silver spoons and platters. Life was thrown at him messy and raw since day one and it continues to show him just how much degradation it has left to spit out in his face. When the Raikia attacked Leoren, they slaughtered the Velkar, making sure to leave none alive. But as with every plan, there are the loopholes and the mismanaged gaps. Through one such crack slipped two young Velkar, and they ran from Leoren. They survived. Three years later, the one Velkar, a male, died. The female discovered only a week later that she was pregnant with the deceased's child. And in the middle of the fourth year, she died delivering their son: one of the last Water Velkar in existence. He was born in the home of an old werewolf healer who did her best to raise the child. But only a year later, she too was taken from the world by bandits. They would have killed the little boy, but money breeds greed, and so they sold him to a trader, and the baby found his way into the world of the black market. He was given many names as he passed from the hands of traders and masters alike, until he was old enough to make one for himself. Hawkins was the surname of the bandit who first sold him, and that was what had stuck with him the longest, so it also became his surname. Grim was the first name given to him, for his first master decided he smiled too much and was determined to change that. Pariah was the last. He first heard the word when he was nine by his second master, the day he was kicked out of the house and staked to the side of a mountain road to die. He was a pariah then, and Pariah he became. He gave it to himself, and it made him who he was. Gypsies rescued him and sold him right back into the salve trading world. Five silver coins. That's how much his pathetic life cost. He had never really realized till then just how cheap a child's life could be. Five silver coins could buy you a mind, body, heart, and soul for you to break and rend then build and mend as you please. And so on continued his unstable crawl through life as he was bought and sold. He found some strength in himself despite how trapped and desperate he always felt. A black market slave at the mercy of his masters, he longs for freedom from them, even if it means death. Being bought is his only vision of getting out of this place. While others would resort easily to violence, his nature could not handle killing another or even taking his own life. Some do view him as sadistic, as he tends to delve into morbid and horrible ramblings whenever he's in one of his moods. He never acts on his dark thoughts though. He knows better, but the temptation is always there, picking and poking at him, trying to make him give in and maybe give up. It is strongest on those nights, when the world is especially cruel, and Lady Luck turns her back on him, creating for him a world of hurt and despair. Even beyond his beginnings and history, there is something that worries him more than anything. It would be devastating if anyone found out he has a chronic, unknown illness as no one would buy him and he'd be stuck here forever. He can't bear the thought of always being a slave. Deep down at least. He surely has been broken into a slave's life and mentality, having been formed as one from so young an age, but perhaps the gods, in all their mystery, have looked down on him and seen his suffering, and so instill a part of him deep inside that can never be broken, and once freed, perhaps give him the new life and meaning he craves for. He hardly knows it himself just how strong he really is. Most of the time, he is hiding from something, having a variety of fears. Mostly your typical fears that thirteen year olds face. He hates heights and is terrified of thunder. he also hates deep water, but isn't confronted by that fear enough for it to be noticed. A more subtle, ever there fear is his paranoia that no one will adopt him if they discover two of his greatest flaws: these being his illness and his waking nightmares. His waking nightmares are vivid dreams that he cannot wake from. Even if someone were to shake him or yell or slap him, he wouldn't respond, only able to wake up when the dream allows him. He's had them since he was nine, around the same time he was left out to die in the mountains. But then there is his illness. It is a mysterious disease and rather grotesque. It's signs and symptoms include migraines, coughing blood, brittle bones, and severe tenderness, where any small prick or bump will cause excruciating pain. Most of the time, he can get away with it as the severity of the symptoms come and go. But it is considered dangerous and possibly deadly. He searches for a cur, despite every healer and physician telling him there is none. He wont give up, and that is the source of his strength. His determination and belief in himself haven't died from him fully. Yet.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/251379_orig.jpg)
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Astra Maestro
Castle Gardener
Human
Astra is fascinated with gardens, but not because he really enjoys them or anything, it's because it is where he first met 'her'. Thin and a little frail. He is very gentle-hearted, but also a little slow, which makes him the object of other's cruel pleasure and considered a degradation to society.
Weak, soft-hearted, gentle, loving, feminine, insecure, unsure of self, loyal, attempts to be brave, big-hearted, naive, easily bossed around, incapable of sticking up for self, sees self as inferior, looks up to everyone, unaware of people's true intentions
Castle Gardener
Human
Astra is fascinated with gardens, but not because he really enjoys them or anything, it's because it is where he first met 'her'. Thin and a little frail. He is very gentle-hearted, but also a little slow, which makes him the object of other's cruel pleasure and considered a degradation to society.
Weak, soft-hearted, gentle, loving, feminine, insecure, unsure of self, loyal, attempts to be brave, big-hearted, naive, easily bossed around, incapable of sticking up for self, sees self as inferior, looks up to everyone, unaware of people's true intentions
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Amaretto Paladia
Lady-in-Waiting
Vampire
Lady-in-Waiting
Vampire
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Finnick Lahtahl
Bodyguard
Yokai-Kirin
Finnick is a yokai kirin, possessing extraordinary abilities including shapeshifting. Though a true spirit, he appears as a corporeal being, most commonly in the form of a human. He never tells anyone his true name, preferring they call him by his invented alias of Finnick Lahtahl.
A stoic man with a strict code of honor and an almost inability to sympathize. He can be rather dangerous and unrelenting in battle.
Bodyguard
Yokai-Kirin
Finnick is a yokai kirin, possessing extraordinary abilities including shapeshifting. Though a true spirit, he appears as a corporeal being, most commonly in the form of a human. He never tells anyone his true name, preferring they call him by his invented alias of Finnick Lahtahl.
A stoic man with a strict code of honor and an almost inability to sympathize. He can be rather dangerous and unrelenting in battle.
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Jaehaerys East
Military Archer
Impundulu
Jaehaerys was simply his name and East from whence he comes. As to who and what he is, that is mostly a mystery, as his appearance and mannerisms would say he is a man, but man, surely, he is not. He is a rare and fearsome creature known as an Impundulu. Impundulu (translated from a strange and forgotten language into "lightning bird") assumes the form of a black and white bird. It reaches the size of a human, and it can summon thunder and lightning with its wings and talons. It is a vampiric creature associated with witchcraft, often the servant or familiar of a witch or witch doctor. If under the service of a witch or witch doctor, it's main purpose is to defend its master and attack its master's enemies. Impundulus have an insatiable appetite for blood. It often appears in the form of a beautiful young man who seduces women. All that and more is what Jaehaerys is, for there is much more to him than meets the eye, and the eye is ever appeased by his charming, good looks.
The enduring ranger searching for a lost friend. Distant, athletic, domineering.
Military Archer
Impundulu
Jaehaerys was simply his name and East from whence he comes. As to who and what he is, that is mostly a mystery, as his appearance and mannerisms would say he is a man, but man, surely, he is not. He is a rare and fearsome creature known as an Impundulu. Impundulu (translated from a strange and forgotten language into "lightning bird") assumes the form of a black and white bird. It reaches the size of a human, and it can summon thunder and lightning with its wings and talons. It is a vampiric creature associated with witchcraft, often the servant or familiar of a witch or witch doctor. If under the service of a witch or witch doctor, it's main purpose is to defend its master and attack its master's enemies. Impundulus have an insatiable appetite for blood. It often appears in the form of a beautiful young man who seduces women. All that and more is what Jaehaerys is, for there is much more to him than meets the eye, and the eye is ever appeased by his charming, good looks.
The enduring ranger searching for a lost friend. Distant, athletic, domineering.
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