Testing Hell

kixinorbit

pigeons in a trenchcoat
Original poster
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FOLKLORE MEMBER
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Posting Speed
  1. One post per day
  2. Multiple posts per week
  3. 1-3 posts per week
  4. One post per week
Online Availability
varies
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
  4. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Genres
low/high fantasy, medieval fantasy, historical fantasy, sci-fi, cyberpunk, solarpunk, grimdark, gothic-horror, supernatural themes, limited fandoms, adventure
...welcome to Hell.

Please don't post.
 
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GENERAL

Name: Luca Bellerose
Age: 29
Species: Human; minor changes
Gender: Male
Birthplace: Old Alaris - expat.
Height: 172cm | 5'6"
Weight: 67 kg | 147 lbs

PHYSICAL
Luca is affected by a form albinism that is prevalent in high-born families in his homeland. Before he began transfusions, his vision was poor and his physical constitution was relatively weak, often leaving him unwell. Since, however, his health has improved tenfold. He no longer requires the aid of glasses to see, nor does he suffer from physical weakness or debility. The Blood has given him the ability to see well, not only in daylight but also in darkness. As a result, his eyes have begun to transform into something somewhat less-than-human. Like those of most hunters and frequent consumers of blood, Luca's canines have begun to develop tell-tale points-- often a precursor to beasthood.

Largely due to his small and rather lithe build, Luca prefers tactics and speed to outright confrontation when it can be avoided. To help conceal his identity from the church, especially because of his recognizable appearance, he wears a brimmed hat that conceals much of his hair and eyes, while a high collar and scarf serve to cover the majority of his face.

PERSONAL
Distrustful of most, Luca is a fairly reclusive individual who, generally, interacts with people only when he must-- usually to purchase supplies or weapons, or when providing wares or services. He possesses a working knowledge of basic medicine and acts as a sort of apothecary to those who are willing to pay a fair price. He sells his wares through a third party on the Midnight Market, and his contact there is one of the few people within the whole of the city who he trusts enough to work with on a regular basis. On rare occasions, Luca has been moved to help those who are in dire need of aid, most of whom are so young or so destitute they cannot afford even the most meager of care. He is also proficient at crafting poisons, but they are kept exclusively for his own use. Many of the plants necessary for both medicines and poisons are difficult to come by and must be gathered outside the city or painstakingly grown in poor conditions.

Every once in a great while, he will accept a job to hunt a particular mark-- but he largely prefers to pursue his own agenda against the Church. His general disposition is rather aloof, and those who have worked with him don't often find him to be pleasant company as he can be distant, critical, and sharp-tongued. He is, however, a skilled hunter who has proven his mettle time and again.

HISTORY
Luca's family came to the city when he was seven years old. His father was a physician and his mother a botanist, and yet they had been unable to cure the condition that was causing the failing health of their children. Luca and his twin sister, Lily, were born with what families had long considered a mark of nobility. The growing advancement of medicine, however, had proven that the only thing the condition indicated was a short life, plagued by failing health and eventual blindness. Determined to find a cure for their children, Luca's parents made the journey to the city in hopes of studying the blood-healing that was rumoured to cure any illness. Upon arrival, the family was wary of the dark and imposing nature of Gran Arcturus, but were quickly welcomed into the inner heart of the city. Luca and Lily were assessed by a minister of the blood, and eventually given an initial transfusion that was to cure them of their "affliction."

The effects were almost immediate, and Luca's once-impaired vision began to clear. His sister did not see such fast-acting effects, however, and received several more treatments, which began to turn the girl into something inhuman. Despite their efforts to find a way to reverse the effects the Blood was having, it became obvious that the girl was now fully reliant on the substance. She became prone to bouts of violence, needing more and more of the Blood the Church provided. Finally, the girl transformed completely and attacked Luca, very nearly killing him. No longer human, there was little that could be done for Lily, and their father was forced to end her suffering. Afraid for their son, Luca's parents immediately broke their association with the Church, and fled to the ruined outskirts of the city. It was becoming clear that Luca was also reliant on the blood for his continued health, but for whatever reason, he was resistant to the transformation that had taken his sister.

Slowly, the family began to associate with others and, in order to support themselves, opened a small apothecary and clinic to those who were rejected by the Church. Along with their care of the less-fortunate denizens, Luca's parents also worked tirelessly to find ways of slowing the transformation of those less resistant to the Blood's corruption and Luca eagerly followed in their footsteps. Unfortunately, the family became too well-known for the aid of those opposing the church and an Enforcer was sent to dispose of the family. Having been out of the clinic during the attack, Luca escaped his untimely fate, though it has instilled an unyielding hatred for the institution that tore his family apart. His remaining years have been spent developing his skills as a hunter in hopes that he might eventually bring the corrupted church to ruination.

COMBAT
Proficiencies: Daggers, Knives, Poisons
Skills:
Preferred Weapon:

 
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PROFILE
Name: Virian Matae

Aliases: Ian; Vi

Gender: Male

Orientation: Pansexual

Race: "Moon-Blood" (Nymph/Satyr)

Age: 30

Hair colour: Blue to pale blue ombre

Eye colour: Blue with pale blue sclera

Complexion: Fair, faint freckling along nose

Height: 5'8" (177cm)

Weight: 145lbs (66kg)

Appearance: (Written description or links only)

Notable Features:
  • Blue sclera
  • Vaguely flat, goat-like nose
  • Dark-rimmed lips

Marital Status: Single

Immediate Family:
  • Mother: Acantha (Nymph)
  • Father: ??? (Satyr)
Allies:
  • Runan Bower, Vintner and Meadmaker
  • Tak Marik, Owner of Ramskin's Tavern
Enemies: None Known

Followers: None Known

Friends:
  • Esta Feylan, Former Academic Tutor
  • Amaryllis Dree; Former Magic Tutor
  • Kiel Sarinne, Childhood Friend
Heroes: The Constellations

Pets/Vassals/Slaves/etc: None


Lures:
  • Unusual and/or Poisonous Plants
  • Pleasant Conversation
  • Botanical Lore
  • Fine Wines
Savvies:
  • Healing
  • Potion and Poison-Crafting
  • Wine-Making
  • Flora Identification
  • Haggling
Ineptitudes:
  • Hand-to-Hand Combat
  • Intense Physical Labour
  • Politics
  • Physical Boundaries
  • Hunting (in any capacity)
Temperament: Phlegmatic


Profession: Healer and Herbalist and Occasional Vintner

Education:
  • Tutored and mentored by Centaurs from childhood
  • Knowledge of botany, astronomy, literature, and basic biology
  • Capable of basic mathematics, but has no head for complex problems
  • Apprenticed with a Master Vintner for a year
  • Improved magical abilities under tutelage
  • Interest in plants has fueled personal research and experimentation
Hobbies:
  • Travelling
  • Documenting Flora
  • Stargazing
Religion: Druidism/Eclectic

Located Currently: ?

Location of Birth: Eerie Hollow

Location of Death: N/A


Superstitions:
  • Cutting or removing part of a plant without first asking permission is invitation to ill-fortune
  • Refusal to heal one who is injured is also invitation to ill-fortune, though more forgivable
Virtues:
  • Generally calm and understanding
  • Respectful of others' beliefs and actions
  • Intelligent, but not boastful
Vices:
  • Morally grey
  • Indulgent of others' wants and actions
  • Willing to poison those he feels deserve it
  • Prone to daydreaming; somewhat disconnected
Likes:
  • Plants
  • Stargazing
  • Travelling
  • Tea and Wine
  • Intimacy
  • Reading and Poetry
  • Singing and Dancing
Dislikes:
  • Abuse
  • Bigots
  • Meat
  • Cold Weather
  • Excessive Violence
Affiliations:
  • Esta Faylen; Centaurs
  • Amaryllis Dree; Nymphs
  • Tak Marik; Ramskin's Tavern
Addictions: Mild addiction to Moonwort, which induces lucid dreams

Handicaps: Lacks physical strength

Medical Conditions: None

Abilities/Powers:
  • Able to heal wounds through use of life magic; limitations apply
  • Resilient to most plant-based poisons
  • Able to craft potions, poultices, and poisons with great skill
  • Makes a mighty fine wine




ETCETERA
Bio in Brief:
Born in Eerie Hollow, it is no great wonder that Virian is unsure of his father's identity, though he is wholly unbothered by such. While he holds no animosity toward those who engage in wild debauchery, he knew early on that such a life was not for him. Instead, Virian sought out the Centaurs in hope of obtaining an education, which he gratefully received. During his time spent with the law-abiding populace of The Wilds, he discovered that such a stringent life wasn't quite suited for him, either. Instead, Virian has taken to travelling and making his own way as he wanders through life.

Notes:
Virian is a dreamer and a wanderer. He is, often, so "respectful" of the beliefs and actions of others, that he willingly turns a blind eye to many poor behaviours, believing that everyone has a reason for their actions and beliefs.


Credits!
Art:
Joey Granger

Many thanks to Elle Joyner of Iwaku for her assistance with coding!
 
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FPNFfzX.png

PROFILE
Name: Virian Matae

Aliases: Ian; Vi

Gender: Male

Orientation: Pansexual

Race: "Moon-Blood" (Nymph/Satyr)

Age: 30

Hair colour: Blue to pale blue ombre

Eye colour: Blue with dark blue sclera

Complexion: Fair, faint freckling along nose

Height: 5'8" (177cm)

Weight: 145lbs (66kg)

Appearance: While Virian sports several attributes of a satyr such as horns, cloven hooves, and large, furred ears, he also received many traits from his nymph heritage. A slim and somewhat willowy physique, coupled with a distinct hair and eye colour, make it easily apparent that Virian is of mixed blood.

Notable Features:
  • Blue sclera
  • Vaguely flat, goat-like nose
  • Dark-rimmed lips

Marital Status: Single

Immediate Family:
  • Mother: Acantha (Nymph)
  • Father: ??? (Satyr)
Allies:
  • Runan Bower, Vintner and Meadmaker
  • Tak Marik, Owner of Ramskin's Tavern
Enemies: None Known

Followers: None Known

Friends:
  • Esta Feylan, Former Academic Tutor
  • Amaryllis Dree; Former Magic Tutor
  • Kiel Sarinne, Childhood Friend
Heroes: The Constellations

Pets/Vassals/Slaves/etc: None


Lures:
  • Unusual and/or Poisonous Plants
  • Pleasant Conversation
  • Botanical Lore
  • Fine Wines
Savvies:
  • Healing
  • Potion and Poison-Crafting
  • Wine-Making
  • Flora Identification
  • Haggling
Ineptitudes:
  • Hand-to-Hand Combat
  • Intense Physical Labour
  • Politics
  • Physical Boundaries
  • Hunting (in any capacity)
Temperament: Phlegmatic


Profession: Healer and Herbalist and Occasional Vintner

Education:
  • Tutored and mentored by Centaurs from childhood
  • Knowledge of botany, astronomy, literature, and basic biology
  • Capable of basic mathematics, but has no head for complex problems
  • Apprenticed with a Master Vintner for a year
  • Improved magical abilities under tutelage
  • Interest in plants has fueled personal research and experimentation
Hobbies:
  • Travelling
  • Documenting Flora
  • Stargazing
Religion: Druidism/Eclectic

Located Currently: ?

Location of Birth: Eerie Hollow

Location of Death: N/A


Superstitions:
  • Cutting or removing part of a plant without first asking permission is invitation to ill-fortune
  • Refusal to heal one who is injured is also invitation to ill-fortune, though more forgivable
Virtues:
  • Generally calm and understanding
  • Respectful of others' beliefs and actions
  • Intelligent, but not boastful
  • Pleasant, despite his oddities
Vices:
  • Somewhat morally grey
  • Indulgent of others' wants and actions
  • Willing to poison those he feels deserve it
  • Prone to daydreaming; somewhat disconnected
Likes:
  • Plants
  • Stargazing
  • Travelling
  • Tea and Wine
  • Intimacy
  • Reading and Poetry
  • Singing and Dancing
Dislikes:
  • Abuse
  • Bigots
  • Meat
  • Cold Weather
  • Excessive Violence
Affiliations:
  • Esta Faylen; Centaurs
  • Amaryllis Dree; Nymphs
  • Tak Marik; Ramskin's Tavern
Addictions: Mild addiction to Moonwort, which induces lucid dreams

Handicaps: Lacks physical strength

Medical Conditions: None

Abilities/Powers:
  • Able to heal wounds through use of life magic; limitations apply
  • Resilient to most plant-based poisons
  • Able to craft potions, poultices, and poisons with great skill
  • Makes a mighty fine wine




ETCETERA
Bio in Brief:
Born in Eerie Hollow, it is no great wonder that Virian is unsure of his father's identity, though he is wholly unbothered by such. While he holds no animosity toward those who engage in wild debauchery, he knew early on that such a life was not for him. Instead, Virian sought out the Centaurs in hope of obtaining an education, which he gratefully received. During his time spent with the law-abiding populace of The Wilds, he discovered that such a stringent life wasn't quite suited for him, either. Instead, Virian has taken to travelling and making his own way as he wanders through life.

Notes:
Virian is a dreamer and a wanderer. He is, often, so "respectful" of the beliefs and actions of others, that he willingly turns a blind eye to many poor behaviours, believing that everyone has a reason for their actions and beliefs.


Credits!
Art:
Joey Granger
Music: Anthony Greninger
Many thanks to Elle Joyner of Iwaku for coding help!
 
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Why here?

That had been the thought bouncing around inside Virian's head as he trekked through the sandy, scrub-strewn terrain. Of course, there was a strange sort of beauty in the fact that life could thrive, even in such conditions. The ground was composed of naught but sand and rock yet plants still grew, resilient and strong. Animals, too, called this region home, adapted for life in the harsh desert scrubland. But why had it been such a draw for the most technologically advanced denizens of Perspice? Surely the Djinn possessed the resources to live anywhere they desired, and yet this had been their selection. It wasn't a judgment of their choice-- merely a curiosity.

The city of Jannah proper was truly a sight to behold, however, and Virian found himself wishing he had more time to spend exploring it. More than anything, he wanted to spend a night or two laying back and gazing up at the night sky. Without the canopy of trees and ruins of structures from ages past to obscure it, the sky here seemed so impossibly vast. It was breathtaking, and it almost seemed possible that he could fall into that starry field, if only he stayed a bit longer... But he was already late as it was. Feeling that "stargazing" likely wouldn't be well-received as an excuse for missing the departure, he hurried on.

Generally, hurrying wasn't something Virian Matae was accomplished at. He much preferred to take his time with whatever he did, as he found that to be the more enjoyable method of accomplishment and experience. Nevertheless, he'd made good time on his journey south and, if he wasn't too far off in his estimations, he should very nearly be at the camp.

Steady, balanced steps continued to carry him quickly over the rocky terrain, and soon he came into sight of tents and wagons situated in a sandy clearing. There were numerous people moving about, loading crates and other unknown items into three large wagons. Sturdy-looking oxen were harnessed at the front of each, and they stood snorting and tossing their heads. He could hear a male voice calling out names as the recruits clustered in groups, each moving toward one of the large transports.


We'll be travelling by caravan, Virian mused to himself. How exciting. He smiled as he reached the camp in earnest, his eyes flitting between the groups of people. There was an impressive mix of races present, and he hoped he would get the opportunity to become acquainted. Though he wasn't entirely sure what was expected of drafted "adventurers," he hoped there would be plenty of room for conversation. After all, what was an adventure without stories and music?

First, however, he needed to find out which group he belonged with. People were climbing into wagons now, and it was apparent that Virian had arrived a bit too late to catch his assignment. He picked his way over to a Djinn who appeared to be overseeing the loading of the wagons. "Excuse me," he said, looking up at the man. "Would you happen to have heard where Raye Galtu was assigned? I'm afraid I arrived a bit late and—"

The Djinn cut him off with a clipped sound and jabbed a finger toward the first wagon in the train.

"Thank you." Virian nodded at the man and flicked a long, furred ear. "I'm not actually Raye Galtu, but he was unable to make the journey." Seeming wholly uninterested in further explanation from the newcomer, the Djinn murmured something about the tents and moved away. "Take care, then," Virian said with a small wave.

Unfazed by the abrupt end to the conversation, he made his way over to the first wagon. Only two people were seated inside, both of whom had auburn hair. For the briefest moment, the curious healer thought they might be siblings. Unshouldering the large, leather pack he carried, Virian hefted it into the wagon, then hopped lightly up behind. Only then did he notice the centaur leaning in through the window. Had they not planned on centaurs adventuring with them? Petite though the woman was, it was apparent she couldn't ride comfortably in the selected method of transport. Curious.

"Hello," he greeted, grabbing his pack and sliding it over to one of the seats near the open window. Regarding the others with a vague smile, he sat down and curled his tail neatly around his ankles. "I'm glad I made it in time for departure. Had I been any later, I'm afraid I would've missed the wagon entirely." His voice had a calm, lilting quality—which greatly detracted from his confession of concern. He may well have been commenting on the weather.

"It's wonderful to meet all of you," he continued, "my name is Virian Matae, herbalist and healer by trade. I'm pleased to be travelling with you."




Virian Matae
⸻ ✶ ✶ ✶ ⸻

Location: Wagon One
Currently: Interested

Mentions:
@Holmishire
@Mr. Calcium
@TheRatslayer

⸻ ✶ ✶ ✶ ⸻


 
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TEXT

GOES

HERE[/COLOR]



Suri El-Mahdy
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WIP



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Suri Renarre El-Mahdy
Astrophysics, PhD, 2727
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Department of Astronomy
Galactic Academy of Maths and Sciences





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Suri Renarre El-Mahdy
Astrophysics, PhD, 2727
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Department of Astronomy
Galactic Academy of Maths and Sciences



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Crew Member
Full name: Suri Renarre El-Mahady
Alias/Nicknames: Su
Gender: Female
Species/Race/Breed: Human/Auroun
Birth Date: June 20th
Age:29

Last Known Residence:
Crew Position: Astrophysicist
Allegiance/Alignment/Clan(s):
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Visual Identification
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 143 lbs
Build: Athletic, Sturdy, Curvy
Eye Color: Pink
Hair Color: White; Pink Accents
Skin Tone/Color: Medium; Freckles; Auroun "Fawn" Spots
Scars/Tattoos/Piercings: Double Ear Piercings
Description: Suri

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Social
Sexuality/Preference: Pansexual
Allies:
Enemies:
Likes: Music, The Stars,
Dislikes:
Hobbies: Kickboxing, Reading, Fishkeeping
Personality: [give a written description]

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Equipment
Weapons: N/A
Combat Attire: Gym Clothes
Accessories/Miscellaneous: Necklace with a piece of rose quartz from Earth-- a gift from her mother.

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Fighting Style
[General/Preferred Style]: Kickboxing
[Weapon of Choice]: Her Body
[Special Abilities/Affinities]: Good Endurance; Resilient

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Psionic Path
Path of The Fist
☆ [ability 1]: [ability description]
☆ [ability 2]: [ability description]

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Personal
Relationship Status: Single
Family: Sahana El-Mahdy
Known Languages: Galactic Standard, Human Standard, Some Auroun Standard
Personal History/Background: [3+ paragraphs backstory. Feel free to write more than the expected amount.]

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Credits
Art: Joey Granger
Music: Garrett Bevins

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⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
General Information

Name: Lauchlan Harcourt
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Orientation: Pansexual
Profession: Ranger: Guide and Bodyguard for Hire

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Physical/Physiological

Height: 6'3" (192 cm)
Weight: 219 lbs (99 kg)
Eye Color: Blue-Grey
Hair Color: Black
Magic/Other: None; Phoenix Gene Carrier

Appearance: Tall and broad-shouldered, Lauchlan's body is shaped from years of physical labour and combat, giving him a rather intimidating appearance. He generally sports apparel suggestive of his profession as a ranger, preferring durable leather and heavy linen and wool. Once, he may have been considered handsome, though innumerable scars now mar his body and face. While some are cleanly sealed lines, many of the older marks are jagged and stand livid against his skin, the marks of an inexperienced healer and rough stitching.

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Personal Information

Likes: Being Outside, Honesty, Cold Weather, Quiet Conversation, Reading, Exploring, Tracking, Fishing, Music

Dislikes: Hot Weather, Cities, Large Crowds, Loud People/Situations, Manipulative People, Willful Ignorance, Overly-Talkative People

Personality: Somewhat reserved, Lauchlan prefers his own company-- at least until he gets to know someone and even then he can be sore-pressed to linger around more than a handful of people. While he may come across as aloof or removed, it's more shyness than stoicism. (He'd never openly admit it, but he does possess the ability to be witty.) He dislikes loud, large groups and can get irritable when forced into situations that entail such. Apart from occasional irritation, he shows little in the way to suggest that he is affected by much of anything and is often the one to do the job no one else will take. He is a rather resolute being and refuses to let obstacles hinder him, always getting up one time more than he's knocked down. Not surprisingly, he can be a stubborn individual, particularly when it comes to putting others before himself.

Biography: Born to a single, ailing mother in the far north, Lauchlan and his twin sister, Lorelei, became well-versed in caring for themselves at a young age. Twins were viewed as an ill-omen within their village, though their mother rejected the belief. Still, the other villagers refused to aid a family they deemed ill-fated and unlucky. With little outside help, the siblings took up the responsibility for their household. By the time he was seven, Lauchlan had taught himself to track and fish by watching others from the small village, while Lorelei did her best to care for their sickly mother. When Lauchlan wasn't learning to hunt and fish, he did whatever he could around the village in exchange for bread and various small goods to help them get by. Despite her failing health, their mother did what she could to provide education for her children, teaching them to read from the small selection of books they possessed.

When they were ten, their mother passed away, leaving the siblings to the mercy of the villagers. There had always been talk about them, children of an unmarried mother from a strange land. Now they were left in the village with no one to shield them, and the premature death of their mother only served to reinforce the belief of ill-fortune. Thinking they were acting to protect their home from further misfortune, the villagers attacked the siblings. While Lorelei did not survive the assault, Lauchlan survived mortal wounds. Realizing the child possessed the Phoenix Gene, the villagers knew that, no matter what they did, the boy could not be killed. Fearing that there was no other way to escape misfortune, they drove Lauchlan away.

The passing years saw Lauchlan struggling to survive in an unforgiving wilderness as he slowly made his way south. Life was initially difficult, though he became proficient in skills that would make his nomadic life more endurable. Wary of staying in towns for too long, Lauchlan travelled constantly, selling and trading small game and furs when needed. As a teenager, he chanced life in one of the larger cities, drawn into illegal pit-fighting as a temporary source of income. It took little time for him to realize that wasn't his ideal career, though he did desire to continue learning the sword.

Agreeing to work for a retired soldier, Lauchlan spent the next three years helping the man construct a small homestead outside the city, teaching the man's children to track and hunt. Being near a family was inexplicably difficult for Lauchlan, however, and left soon after the project's completion, opting to use his skills as a guide and bodyguard.

His work took him throughout the country, never settling in one place for any extended period of time. He does revisit cities somewhat often, as they often provide the most work, which helps keep his mind occupied.
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Credits

Art: Alexandr Malexr
Music: Brunuhville

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General Information

Name:
Raelyn Auclair
Age: 22
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 155lbs
Eye Color: Blue-Green
Hair Color: Platinum Blond

Personal Information

Likes: Reading, Philosophy, The Palace Gardens, Sword Training

Dislikes: Large Parties, Excessive Noise, Cruelty, (secretly) The Church

Personality: Generally soft-spoken but eager to please, Raelyn can be engaging when he feels comfortable with a person. He tends to suffer from subservience and a deep-seated desire to gain his father's approval, which often puts him at odds with his own beliefs. Despite his seeming timidity, he is proficient with the sword, though he is sore-pressed to fight outside of sparring or sport. He greatly dislikes large social events and will go to great lengths to escape or outright avoid them. Unbeknownst to his father (or the rest of the kingdom), Raelyn dislikes the Church, particularly since his father's assault on the heathen religions.

Biography: The first child and only son of King Augustus Auclair, Raelyn was weighted with high expectations from birth. Unfortunately, an inherent aversion to violence and somewhat timid nature left him wanting for more "princely" traits. More interested in reading than fighting, the prince has long suffered his father's disappointment and ire, which only served to make the young man more timorous and doubtful of his own station.

As such, Raelyn was largely omitted from royal engagements and was, more or less, brought out at parties to be shown around then returned to his study. With the rising conflict in the kingdom, however, shutting a member of the royal family away became a less viable solution to an unsatisfactory situation. Taking the opportunity to have Raelyn prove himself as an asset to the kingdom and a man capable of ruling, the King ordered his relocation to the northwestern corner of the kingdom, charged with bringing the subjects back under control of the crown.


⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Credits
Art: Imeran
Music: Anthony Greninger

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✵Bastien d'Este Sauveterre

Age
301
Age Turned
20
Nationality
French

Ability
Miasma
Transformation
Eurasian Eagle Owl

Languages
French (F), German (F), English (F), Italian (C)

✵APPEARANCE

Tall and lean, Bastien presents himself with good carriage though he has a, generally, relaxed demeanor. Dark hair is offset by light blue eyes and pale skin. Customary of his kind, his ears are slightly tipped and his canines are elongated and end in small points. He is long limbed and somewhat broad-shouldered, though he has a generally slim appearance, which is usually draped in loose-fitting apparel. He will oblige by expectations of high society for parties and outings, but he otherwise prefers comfort to fashion.

✵PERSONALITY

Calm and collected, Bastien is known for his even-temper and mild manner. He is soft-spoken and polite, but not unfriendly or overly aloof. He is a romantic at heart—a reader of poetry and a lover of music, and he often spends long hours shut up in the library reading or writing. Another fair portion of his time is spent cultivating the night garden in the inner courtyard of the estate, where he can usually be found humming or reciting poetry to the plants. Despite his quiet and rather placid nature, Bastien isn't reclusive and willingly attends parties and gatherings—though his presence may not be an extended one.


An effort is expended to get along with all members of the family, though there are certain members who take more of his patience than others. Because of his good temperament, Bastien is often left playing peacemaker between feuding family members, which he isn't fond of but views as one of his responsibilities. On the rare occasion his wrath is incurred, he is a force to be reckoned with-- though he is seldom moved to true anger. He also has a rather dry sense of humour that can be easy to miss and is occasionally exercised at the expense of others.

Bastien is a willing teacher for those who wish to learn, including the serving staff of the Estate. Some of the family tend to look down on his behaviour, but Bastien pays them little mind. His beginnings as a servant of the household are not forgotten, and he holds the serving staff in high regard. He also retains his work ethic and is willing to do whatever job needs done. He can also be quite meticulous, which many find to be rather dull.

Some vampires tend towards indulgence, but Bastien is not one of them. He predominantly feeds from willing servants or takes to hunting in the forests around the Estate. Once in a rare while he will feed from an unwilling human, though he seeks out those who have been deemed the dregs of society, as taught to him by Salvadore.

Bastien has great respect for Salvadore, even if he doesn't fully agree with all of his choices concerning family.

Apart from his hobbies, Bastien doesn't speak extensively of himself, though his lowly background is often made public knowledge by Colette—though he hardly seems to mind this. Then again, he can be difficult to read as he has a tendency to internalize his emotions, always striving to present a composed demeanor.
✵BIOGRAPHY

One of the first vampires created by Salvadore at the Sauveterre Estate, Bastien was taken in as a servant at a young age. The sole survivor of his family's brush with the plague, Bastien was left to scratch out a living as a beggar in a small village in southern France. After some nights of observation, Salvadore selected the boy as a potential servant for his household, and Bastien went willingly to the Sauveterre Estate. Elated to have a greater purpose, Bastien became a diligent worker and a keen student of the other servants. His efforts to do his work well also carried over to the basic education he received from the servants as well. His voracious appetite for literature and learning did not go unnoticed by Salvadore, nor did his emerging looks, and he took the boy on as a ward, tutoring him in the liberal arts.


While Bastien was not afraid of the unusual condition that seemed to plague Salvadore, he was curious as to why his teacher was so averse to sunlight and demonstrated a set of rather peculiar behaviours. The other servants had explained that it was rude to plague the man with questions, but Bastien, unable to resist, approached Salvadore with his queries. After careful consideration, Salvadore decided to impart the strange and frightening truth to the young man: how he must never be exposed to the light of day, how he must subsist on the blood of the living, and of the abilities granted to him in his new "life." It had occurred to Salvadore that the young man was an ideal candidate for continuing the bloodline, but he had not yet pursued this endeavor. When Bastien showed intrigue and not fear toward vampirism, however, he was given the choice to join the bloodline. Bastien consented, but waited until his twentieth year to undergo the transformation.

Soon after his turning, Bastien traveled throughout France, Germany, and Britian with Salvadore as he learned to control his new abilities and adapt to his new style of life. Salvadore wished for his protégé to "experience" the wider world, and they took much delight in visiting castles, estates, universities, and even monasteries and cathedrals. Bastien worked tirelessly to learn the languages and general customs of the different countries, though Salvadore also insisted that he learn to present himself in what he called "high society." Bastien was taught the dances popular in each region and how to mingle with other socialites; he learned to effectively manipulate words and gestures to win favour with others, and he learned exactly how much power wealth and beauty held over others.

This was true even for Salvadore.

On one of their outings to Paris, Salvadore became utterly smitten with a young woman who eventually accompanied them back to the Estate. While Salvadore did not ignore Bastien after the new addition to the bloodline, their outings did become less frequent. Not wishing to invoke the jealousy and ire of the new vampire, Colette, Bastien eventually took to traveling by himself, wanting to see new places and, mostly, to collect books to expand the Estate's library.

With the growing influence of theatre and the arts in the later 1500s, Bastien's interest in theatre lead to the acquisition of several establishments in Paris and London. By this time, several more family members had joined the bloodline, and further holdings and wealth had accumulated. Bastien's efforts to expand the library had also resulted in a new construction to house all the books—a sign that, despite his divided attention, Salvadore still cared deeply for Bastien and wished to help him pursue his intellectual interests. Of course, the library was an asset to the Estate as a whole, and many of the residents took to utilizing it as education became more and more valued. And, as Salvadore had less time to spend with individual family members, Bastien took up the mantle of teacher, particularly glad to educate the servants of the household.

In addition to his compiling of books, Bastien also cleared a section of the inner courtyard for a night garden, which he has carefully cultivated for the last six decades. His appetite for gardening isn't as rapacious as that for reading, but he is always happy to find a new variety of night flower that can be implemented into the garden.

Bastien resides predominantly at the Sauveterre Estate and has his own apartments there, though he is known to take occasional trips to Germany.

✵SKILLS AND SHORTCOMINGS

Bastion prides himself on his intellect—namely his prolific knowledge of the arts. He is an adept writer and calligrapher and often pens correspondence for the family. He is a patient teacher so long as he has a willing student, and he has fair skill with horticulture. He can sing, albeit not as well as some, and he can occasionally be convinced to write poetry or songs.


While he knows the basics of combat and swordplay, he does not often exercise this ability and would be sore-pressed to win a duel or fight against a practiced opponent. He possesses the slightly increased strength of all vampires, but he exhibits no extensive physical prowess.

Continued practice in his state of transformation have made him an adept flyer and he often uses his transformation for travel.

Bastien's unique ability allows him to conjure a dark, mist-like substance which he can manipulate. While he cannot use it to interact with inanimate objects, the presence of this sort of miasma can affect living beings. Mostly, it is used as a sort of cover which makes it seem as though Bastien can simply dissipate into thin air. This does not render him completely invisible, though it does make him very difficult to detect in darkness or shadow. It can also be used to restrain or bind others for a short duration, constricting them and making movement very difficult. Restraining another is difficult and exerts considerable strain on Bastien, leaving him in need of rest and blood after its use.
✵MISCELLANEOUS

WIP

 


✵Vali Audgrim

Age
31
Height
189cm
Weight
98kg

Affiliation
None; Former Warrior of the King

Weapons
Longsword and Longbow
Abilities
Increased Strength & Prolonged Endurance




✵APPEARANCE

Tall and broad, Vali possesses a warrior's physique, shaped over years of training. Grey eyes and blond hair accompany a light complexion and strong features. Unlike many warrior men, Vali wears little facial hair, mostly due to the fact it doesn't grow in quickly or well. In the past, when he was still in the service of the King, he wore his hair in tight braids and was somewhat meticulous about his appearance. Now, however, his long hair tends to hang free and coarse. Instead of his warrior's armour, he wears mainly leather and furs, supplemented with salvaged or crudely-made armour that has been put together piecemeal. Any remnant of the man who once served the King is now hidden under dirt and furs and scars.

✵PERSONALITY

Cynical and aloof would be fair descriptions of Vali's general demeanor. There is, of course, much more to him that his outward manner, but most have neither the opportunity nor the desire to get close enough to him to experience his better side. So thoroughly disenchanted with the Kingdom he once served, Vali refuses to aid their cause—but neither does he want to aid the tribes. His refusal to assist has led him to spend most of his time alone, ranging the mountains and wilderness, which has done little for his social niceties. Deep down, he wants the fighting to end, but feels helpless to do anything about it, which tends to make him bitter.

✵BIOGRAPHY

Vali was, by and large, graced with the pleasant childhood of one born into a small village. While his father had died in a battle only two months before his birth, Vali never went without. His mother, along with his aunt and uncle, provided for him and taught him. He sparred and hunted with other village children, and, not surprisingly, aspired to one day be an imperial warrior like his father had been. Though his uncle tried to sway him toward becoming his apprentice, crafting fine bows and tools, Vali's ambition could be assuaged by no other profession.

Years of hard training and dogged perseverance saw him to his goal, and he steadily climbed in skill and rank. He pushed himself as hard as he could, trained long after others had stopped, and shouldered his way ever forward, unyielding in his determination to be of service to the King.

His effort and skill did not go unnoticed, and Vali eventually found himself the leader of a small warband. The engaged in routine scouting missions, marking out the movements and locations of the Tribes along the southern reaches of the Spine. As time passed, however, the King began ordering them further and further north and into the territory of the Tribes. Their orders turned from scouting and keeping the Tribes at bay to full-on assault.

Vali had dismissed the orders as necessity, that they needed to prevent the Tribes from taking hold—to drive them further and further north... Though part of him disliked the idea. It was true that the Tribes held barbaric practices, but it was also true that they had been driven from their lands. He did not question his orders. With the King's increasing concern and temper, no one questioned him, but Vali found himself dwelling on the rising conflict.

Finally, the King ordered a full-on attack on the Tribes. Vali's band was sent far into the heart of the mountains to lay claim to Tribal lands. As expected, they were met with equal hostility and a bloody battle ensued. And that's when it happened. There were only a handful of warriors from either side when it appeared, and the demon tore through the fighters without discretion. Everyone fought against the monster, but only Vali survived the attack. In the instant he struck the fatal blow, the creature's claws rent his armour apart, leaving him gravely wounded and touched by curse.

Even now, the memories of what occurred following his injury are difficult for him to recall. Two people had come to his aid, had saved him and somehow removed the curse from him. Even then, some traces of the curse remained—though he could hardly now call them a curse. As a result of being touched by the demon, he found he possessed heightened strength and endurance, though he had lost the will to fight. The demon had been drawn to the conflict—and he knew there would be more of them. He'd seen what the violence yielded, and he was so repulsed for ever having been a part of it.

No one had come looking for survivors, and Vali had never returned to the King. Instead, he distanced himself from the conflict in the only way that he knew how.

Now, he survives isolated in the Svala wilds. He tracks demons when he can, but his efforts have been largely in vain, and he becomes more disillusioned with each passing day.

✵SKILLS AND SHORTCOMINGS

· Skilled warrior; most proficient with longsword and bow

· Adaptable huntsman and survivalist

· Heightened physical strength and endurance

· Knowledgeable of Svala's terrain and locations



· Reluctant and stubborn; not given to compromise

· Blunt and somewhat severe; can be harsh in his words

· Sees only the bad in the Kingdom and Tribes

· Has a largely pessimistic worldview

✵MISCELLANEOUS

While Vali kept no pieces of his armor after the attack, he did retain his longsword, which he still carries. The longbow he uses is of his own make.


 
[fieldbox="Wren Donaghue, #B69F6A, solid, 10, Book Antiqua"]Location: Mirefield > Main Street Markets
Mood: Curious, Hungry
Status: Roughed Up
Mentions: @

For being touted as a truly neutral city, it seemed that someone had neglected to inform many of Mirefield's denizens of its neutrality. Not that Wren's first experiences in the city were wholly unexpected, and this only left room for improvement. Perhaps.

His journey here had been a long and rather meandering one, not without begging rides or playing the stowaway, but he had been initially relieved to reach a place far enough east that it was no longer strictly territory of the Republic. Of course, he wasn't so blindly positive as to think he would be well-received dressed as he was, but he'd come out of everything one piece, which was better than nothing. He couldn't say the same for two of the men who'd taken issue with him-- particularly the one who'd busted his lip-- but that was neither here nor there, and he had since discarded the stolen Republic Air Navy coat. Nothing short of a small miracle, however, would convince him to part with the old and battered Republic military rifle he currently clutched against his chest.

The gun was about as beat up as Wren was himself, but it still worked and it had saved his life on more than one occasion. The rifle had traveled with him for the last eight months, all the way from Lindon. It was something familiar and reliable in a world of chaos and insecurity, and it was the closest thing he currently had to a friend.

Disgruntled people notwithstanding, there were some upsides to cities. Talk seemed to circulate quickly here, and more than one Wren caught snippets of conversation indicating that there were airships hiring crew. One in particular seemed to be looking for hired help, though for what purpose, Wren wasn't entirely sure. And, honestly, it didn't matter. He couldn't remember why he'd come to this city in the first place, and a job at least held the promise of food. Or money, then food. That was really the motivating factor here.

When was the last time he'd eaten, anyway? Had it been the bread? Was that what had made those people in the pub so upset?

He considered for a moment, then readjusted the rifle under his recently-acquired and rather dingy-looking grey wool coat and slipped further the side of the busy street, his peeling leather boots thudding dully on the stone.

For the last few minutes, he had been following a trio of men through the crowds of people, trying to discern whether or not they were the people he was looking for. He'd gone to the place the hiring airship was supposedly docked, but all he found near the elevator in question were the retreating backs of the three men.

The old man who'd directed him to the airshipyard had said he wouldn't be able to miss them—that they looked "like airship captains" and "wore Insurgency jackets." To Wren, that described about half the people in the city. True, two of them did wear coats emblazoned with the Insurgency insignia, but the taller of the two looked more like a sort of living boulder than an airship captain. There was also a third man with them, though he did not appear to be part of the jacketed crew.

Stumbling briefly as one of his ill-fitting boots caught on a loose cobblestone, Wren managed to recover himself without much incident. He was losing ground on the others in the crowd, however, and decided he would investigate a bit more closely.

Bringing himself up to stride, he picked his way through the crowd until he fell in line beside the other men, simply watching them as they walked.

It was likely an odd or even alarming sight to have a man in grubby, over-large clothes and covered in cuts and bruises approach gripping a gun, but Wren made no indication of hostility. With no further explanation, he simply walked and listened to Matthias as though he'd been politely invited.

[/fieldbox]
 
--WIP--

Cress Relaryn
General Information

Full Name:
Cress Relaryn, Captain​

Nickname(s):
[what do people usually call them, besides their actual name?]​

Gender:
Male​

Age:
32​

Race:
Human​

Sexuality:
Bisexual​

Allegiance:
Queendom of Donnwick​

Appearance:
Standing at 6'2" and only slightly taller than the average man, Cress could be considered physcially standard as far as soldiers go. His body has been shaped and hardened through years of combat and training, leaving him broad-shouldered and generally well-muscled. He does, however, exude a presence that can be rather intense. Numerous scars mar the man's face, which is set in a near-perpetual scowl. Cartilage in his ears is notched from past wounds, and his tan skin is further weathered from sun and exposure. Though only in his early thirties, his dark, unruly hair is already streaked with grey and deep lines are etched around his eyes and brow. He has an unfortunate, though unintentional, tendency to stare people down, giving his pale eyes a piercing quality.

The rest of his body is roughly as scarred as his face, though he has a particularly noticeable set of scars along the left side of his chest where the skin is deeply welted and discoloured. Usually, Cress is clothed in dark fabric, over which he often wears a combination of leather and partial plate. The slim leather pauldrons he wears are covered with a thick, dark fur-- a holdover from his time spent in the Siane mountains.

Cress tends to carry himself with a rigid posture, and his general body language is terse and defensive.​

Personal Attributes

Personality:
Cress is a man who carries his mountains instead of climbing them. He is an undeniably anxious individual, though he suppresses the emotion under a blanket of irritability. This often makes him snappish and difficult to approach, though he is, at heart, a kind individual. A constant source of stress stems from his irrepressible drive to protect people, which leaves him feeling personally responsible for others. Each loss is a weight on his shoulders and elicits a sense of failure on his part, leading to a degree of self-loathing, though he tries not to let it show.

In battle, Cress is an unrelenting constant-- his primary goal to defend his comrades at all costs, heedless of the injuries he may incur in the process. Unyielding in the face of danger, the man would stubbornly face down a veritable stampede of monsters if it meant he could protect a single life. Off the field, he struggles to relax, feeling that he could be using his time to help provide damage control or further hone his abilities. He is no stranger to manual labour and constantly looks for work that needs to be done. As such, he tends to run himself ragged, both on the field and off.

Despite his high-strung demeanour, Cress is an open-minded man, caring little about social mores. In the rare event he unwinds enough to have a drink, he can be peaceable and almost pleasant. Underneath it all, a shadow of his younger self remains, yearning for placidity, though it is almost always outweighed by his sense of responsibility and feelings of self-imposed guilt.​

Backstory:
Cress was born the eldest son to house Relaryn, a lesser noble family responsible for overseeing trade in the town of Erith. Nestled in the wooded foothills between Fort Siane and Garas Harbour, the town served a valuable source of lumber for the port city, especially in light of the needed repairs and fortifications. Due to the close proximity of Fort Siane, Erith was afforded some protection from attacks, though casualties were inevitable, and the town, like most, was declining.

With more and more workers lost to attacks, the lumber production began to wane and with it much-needed revenue. Concerned for the wellbeing of the town, the Relaryn family extended invitation to refugees in Garas Harbour, offering work and lodging. While some accepted, many refused to leave the city, preferring to take their chances with criminals rather than monsters. Desperate to help increase trade while waiting for the town to recover, Cress and his brother abandoned their studies, rolled up their sleeves, and started as woodcutters. Though greeted with ridicule from many other noble families, the Relaryns also began distributing what they could of their own resources to the help bolster the town and people.

Responding to the plea for aid, Fort Siane began sending more routine patrols near the town of Erith, greatly reducing attacks from bandits and warding away monsters. With the Relaryn family supporting struggling families where they could, the slow influx of new workers and families, and the decrease in attacks, Erith was becoming stable once more.

Then it came. Like a great avalanche of mindless fury, an enraged giant descended on the heart of the town. Everything that had been so painstakingly rebuilt was decimated in splinters and flames. With the survivors trapped and unable to flee into dangerous mountain terrain, several of the woodcutters attempted to draw the creature away from what remained of the town. While they did manage to draw the beast a small distance, it took only moments for the giant to tear through their numbers, completely unhindered by their futile efforts to fight.

And yet, Cress survived. Power, previously untapped, had surged to life within him— shielding him from the brunt of the attack. The others, however, were not spared the monster’s fury. Beside himself, Cress refused to stand down against the monster, desperately trying to protect the body of his slain brother. Fate, it seemed, had not forsaken the Relaryns completely-- as a squadron of Hellhounds arrived in time to save the boy from his own obstinance. Cress was ushered to safety with the other survivors, clutching a woodcutter’s axe and coursing with magic.

Following the attack, Cress enlisted as a soldier at Fort Siane. After a year of martial training and working to develop his magical prowess, he received a nomination for the Hellhounds. Serving for nearly nine years, he attained the rank of Captain and a reputation for being steadfast, if not stubborn. Two years ago, Cress received a placement in the Rose Company, where he has been serving since.​

Strengths:
➣ Skilled Combatant - A practised soldier, Cress may not be exceptionally strong or fast, but his skill combined with his dogged persistence make him a force to be reckoned with.

➣ Iron Will - Cress is a man possessed of a determined stubbornness to rival any; he will push himself to the point of collapse before he will give in.

➣ Caring Comrade - Though terse and snappish, Cress cares about his brothers and sisters in arms in great capacity, which gives him reason to fight no matter the odds.​

Weaknesses:
➣ Self-Sacrificing - Cress almost exclusively puts others' needs before his own, often forcing himself to the point of extreme fatigue and exhaustion.

➣ Past Injury - Though he pretends it's of no consequence, Cress was injured quite badly in an encounter with a Cerberus. Vitalis magic worked wonders, but the old wound still causes its share of issues and can be debilitating if he's struck in the chest or side.

➣ Survivors' Guilt - Cress is constantly at war with his conscience as he feels personally responsible for lives lost, even when contradicted by rationality. Despite his efforts, this often takes a toll on his psyche.​

Magic & Equipment

Magic:
➣ School - Defensive

Though it lacks the mystique of many other schools of magic, Cress wields defensive magic with impassioned fervor. Allowing him to reinforce implements he carries, his favoured sword and shield have the words etched into their metal. He can strengthen other weapons and shields, though it takes more concentration to focus his magic on implements not bearing the incantation. Most often, his magic is focused on his shield, from which can extend a semi-transparent barrier up to five feet on either side. Depending on how much focus is being given, the barrier can repel intense physical attacks as well as providing fair magical resistance. It cannot, however, stand up to an onslaught of offensive spells.

By far his most powerful ability, and the one that requires the most will and focus, is an extension of his shield barrier. Manifesting as a pair of bird-like wings, the barrier extends upwards of twelve feet from each of his arms, allowing him to shield or even fully encompass others in a protective dome. Each "wing" correlates to the moment of his arms, and he must be able to physically maintain a position of defense. Use of this ability is extremely taxing, both physically and mentally, and requires a continuous chant of the incantation to maintain it.​

Weapon of Choice:
Sword and Shield​

Gear:
➣ Leather/Plate Armor
➣ Sword and Kite Shield [Inscribed]
➣ Pack with basic supplies
- limited rations
- small willowbark pouch
- straight razor
- limited bandages
- small assortment of coins​
➣ Dagger
➣ Whetstone​
 
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General Information

Full name: Cairn Brackenridge
Alias/Nicknames: None
Gender: Male
Race: Human (Harpy Lineage)
Age: 35

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Visual Identification


Height: 6'3"
Weight: 175 lbs
Build: Lanky
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Blonde

Description: Despite his mixed lineage, Cairn is human in appearance, though some might argue that his ancestry is painfully apparent, citing his severe face and nightmarish teeth. (Or severe teeth and nightmarish face—depending on who you're talking to.) Tall and lanky, Cairn is often deemed more creepy than imposing, and his propensity to lurk about in his Collector's attire doesn't really do him any favours in that regard.

Blonde hair and blue eyes do little to soften his sharp features and, perhaps, the kindest word to describe the man would be "hawkish." The near-perpetual shadows under his eyes and gaunt cheeks seem to indicate poor health, but that's simply how Cairn looks. Add to that his wicked-seeming teeth and many don't feel inclined to linger for conversation.

Personality: Cairn often comes across as the type who can't be arsed to care—which is a generally accurate impression. He has little patience for liars and braggarts, and even less for petty arguments and squabbling. Averse to intrigue and drama, Cairn does not mince words and quickly tires of those he does not perceive as genuine. That's not to say he doesn't appreciate intelligence or wit, but only when it's not inciting tedium.

Underneath his surly and often-gloomy demeanour, Cairn has a relatively kind heart. Whenever possible, he avoids harming the innocent and, unlike many, does not revel in violence. Unbeknownst to his fellow Collectors, Cairn often revisits those who were forced to relinquish the bodies of loved ones, using an illusion of the deceased. He does this not to torment the living, but to assure them their lost one is at peace.

He has no close personal connections, but not because of ill-intent. He simply hasn't met many people he cares to forge a close relationship with, and it isn't something he prioritizes. Though he is far from a romantic, Cairn collects old poems, stories, and songs about the world before the cataclysm, though he's never felt inclined to share that information with anyone.

Background: Like many denizens of Ironstead, Cairn was born witness to hunger, hardship, and loss. The hardship and loss of others, however, meant that Cairn rarely went hungry. Not only did the dying dregs of society provide sustenance for a young scavenger, but because of his constant association with death and apparent indifference to how society viewed him, he was given a chance opportunity as a Collector.

Unflinching in the face of rancid corpses, and equipped with abilities that let him quickly desiccate bodies, Cairn was afforded work collecting and disposing of the city's dead. The work, though gruesome and thankless, afforded him a small home in the slums, which was more than what many had.

Cairn's unfortunate habit to second-guess the High Chancellor's word about the surface world, and his occasional outspokenness against the rampant, oft-encouraged violence and the conditions of the slums has recently landed the man in a bit of a predicament. While not being outright forced, Cairn was "volunteered" to visit the surface on an expedition. He was, of course, offered a reward, but rumours are beginning to circulate that those who have gone up have yet to return...


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Magic and Abilities

► Decompose: Cairn is capable of breaking down objects by touch; he can cause stone to crumble, wood to rot, flesh to decay, etc. He must be touching whatever he wishes to decompose and can only affect where his hands are touching his target unless his magic is greatly bolstered. Excessive use of this ability leaves him physically exhausted.

► Eat the Dead: To strengthen and maintain his abilities, Cairn must consume meat. More specifically, decaying meat. The more rancid and rotting, the more potent his abilities. Greater ability is given if and when he is able to consume directly from a corpse or carcass.

► Glamour: Once Cairn has consumed the flesh of something (or someone), he is able to create an illusory duplicate, either as a glamour on himself or as a separate entity that he can control. This illusion lasts as long as he is still digesting whatever he's eaten.

► Purge: In the event Cairn ingests something too toxic, he is able to localize the toxin in his stomach and eliminate it from his system via emesis. While it has worked on poisons both ingested and introduced via weapon (and has been potentially life-saving), it's not exactly a pleasant experience and he hasn't intentionally used it often.


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Skills and Weaponry

Physical: While Cairn carries virtually nothing of value while working, he and other Collectors are sometimes targeted by thieves or the occasional enraged mourner. As such, Cairn is proficient in self-defense and basic hand-to-hand combat. While not a warrior, lugging corpses is heavy work and Cairn is in decent physical condition.

As a precaution, he keeps a pair of plain daggers with him, preferring not to use his magic on the living. Should worst come to worst, Cairn is capable of inflicting fair damage with his teeth, particularly if he's just eaten something sketchy.

Physiological: Harpy ancestry imbued Cairn with his unusual ability to eat rancid meat without taking ill. He can eat and drink almost anything with few negative side effects. Specialized enzymes in his saliva help to further break down questionable intake, though that does little to eliminate the smell of rot. To counter this, Cairn frequently chews sprigs of herbs or spice bark. (Which also helps get the taste out of his mouth.)

In addition to an iron stomach, genetics also gifted Cairn highly acute vision, even in low light conditions.

Other: Overall, Cairn is fairly quick-witted and intelligent, though he would rather leave detailed strategy to others. When needed he can be resourceful and resilient.

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Credits


Art: Ried Moody
Music: Lucas King


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  • Name: Caerau Cromwell
    Age: 32
    Height: 6'1"
    Weight: 170 lbs
    Eye Color: Hazel
    Hair Color: Black


    Description: His build is the standard physique of a knight, shaped through training and combat. Though he has an olive tone to his skin, he's usually a bit sunburnt from being on the training field, leaving him with darkened skin on his face and arms. Dark, messy hair compliments hazel eyes, though he doesn't put much effort into his appearance-- apart from ensuring clean attire. He also makes little to no effort to appear as though he is a part of the royal family-- when not in armour, he can generally be found in a leather gambeson or plain tunics.

    Personality: On the field, Caerau is somewhat stern, though level-headed. A fair strategist and steadfast commander, he dedicates much of his time to training. If he is desired when not engaged in training or out on a hunt or mission, he must be dredged from the castle library. When forced to engage in social affairs, particularly those of a "royal" nature, he often exudes an air of terse irritability. Not overly chatty or interested in gossip, he finds court exhausting-- particularly if his brother or father is present. That does not, however, still a dry wit and sharp tongue.


    Family:
    ►Edgar Cromwell: Father; Ruling King of the Southern Kingdoms
    ►Turstin Cromwell: Half-Brother; Crown Prince of the Southern Kingdoms
    ►Glynnis Cromwell: Mother; Deceased
    ►Marien Cromwell: Stepmother; Ruling Queen of the Southern Kingdoms


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  • Name:
    Kinna
    Species: Rosewing Griffin
    Age: 13
    Height: 5'6" (At Withers)
    Weight: 200 lbs


    Personality: Curious and highly inquisitive when not in training, Kinna is often considered to be rather more pleasant than her rider. She is well-trained, though she has a mischevious streak and is accustomed to special treatment, as she's treated more like a pet than a mount. She can often be found following Caerau around the castle and grounds, delighted to be with her companion-- and wholly oblivious to what people might say about a griffin in the castle. Despite being pampered, she's a loyal companion and the closest friend Caerau possesses.

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    Credits

    Art: Jennifer Miller and Izabela Kaszuba

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  • Name: Turstin Cromwell
    Age:
    25
    Height: 5'11"
    Weight: 175 lbs
    Eye Color: Hazel
    Hair Color: Dark brown


    Description: WIP.

    Personality: WIP

    Family:
    ►Edgar Cromwell: Father; Ruling King of the Southern Kingdoms
    ►Caerau Cromwell: Half-Brother
    ►Marien Cromwell: Mother; Ruling Queen of the Southern Kingdoms


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  • Name: King Edgar Cromwell
    Age:
    59
    Height: 6'0"
    Weight: 185 lbs
    Eye Color: Hazel
    Hair Color: Black


    Description: WIP.

    Personality: WIP

    Family:
    ►Turstin Cromwell: Son; Crown Prince of the Southern Kingdoms
    ►Caerau Cromwell: "Illegitimate" Son
    ►Marien Cromwell: Wife; Ruling Queen of the Southern Kingdoms


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  • Name: Queen Marien Cromwell
    Age:
    45
    Height: 5'6"
    Weight: 140 lbs
    Eye Color: Green
    Hair Color: Dark Brown


    Description: WIP

    Personality: WIP

    Family:
    ►Turstin Cromwell: Son; Crown Prince of the Southern Kingdoms
    ►Caerau Cromwell: "Illegitimate" Step-Son
    ►Edgar Cromwell: Husband; Ruling King of the Southern Kingdoms


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WIP





  • |NAME|

    Kholas Abalyshevska

    |AGE|

    33

    |RACE|

    Goblin [Hobgoblin]

    |ALLEGIANCE|

    Vraenor

    |POSITION|

    Master Alchemist

    |DESCRIPTION|

    Even with hobgoblin heritage setting him at just over five feet in height, Kholas is comparably small to most other denizens of Vraenor. Like most of his kin, his complexion is green-toned with dark markings and vast, bat-like ears protrude from the sides of his head. His large ears are adorned with precious metals and stones, an indication that he indeed harbours the goblin affinity for beautiful things. Though in possession of a serpentine nose, the rest of his features are sharp and angular (much like his teeth), giving way to dark, silken fur around the corners of his jaw. Much to the unease of many, Kholas wears his clawlike nails long, though they are kept meticulously clean. Possessing a lithe and lightweight frame, he highly favours dexterity over strength. Generally well-groomed, Kholas is fond of darker, heavily-saturated coloured garments, which are often accented with small "souvenirs" from his work. A large, carved wooden skull can generally be found lashed to his right shoulder, the ruby inside serving as a magical reservoir.

    |PERSONALITY|

    Thorough and meticulous in his work, many would describe Kholas as obsessive. He keeps erratic hours and frequently works feverishly to the point of collapse, then vanishes into the depths of his chambers, only to emerge days later, oblivious to his absence. His desire to understand the deeper workings of magic and its effects on the living body is unrivalled by any of his other attributes. His research and work in his field is unparalleled, perhaps because he is the only one so enamoured with the idea of manipulating life and death via magical suspension. Though he is known amongst his colleagues for being sardonic and sharp-tongued, he has carved a grudging respect from many for his innovative, if perhaps questionably ethical, research. It is well-known that he possesses a deep and rather affecting fascination with death and dying, though no one is quite sure why.


    |BRIEF HISTORY|

    Born to a large, lower class family in Netherium, Kholas had to fight tooth and claw for everything from food to education. Determined and possessing and irrepressible drive to understand the workings of magic, the young goblin carved a way for himself-- through whatever or whoever stood in the way of his pursuit of knowledge. Tenacity and a sharp mind saw him through acceptance into the Arcanum and rapid ascent into the ranks of esteemed research in alchemy. Cross-training with both Galgur alchemists and Stilldus doctors, Kholas began pioneering work in what he believed could be a veritable panacea for physical ills.

    Relentless research became a way of life while he attended the Arcanum. With the completion of an unorthodox, but ground-breaking dissertation on magical preservation, Kholas was granted a more permanent home within the Arcanum and provided with the supplies and subjects to continue his research. While he devotes much of his time to his research and the vast possibilities it promises, Kholas has begun exploring other avenues of magic as well. Hungry for the magical knowledge of other cultures, he is quite keen on the reclamation of the land and the opportunities such an endeavor holds.

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    |ART|

    Nicholas Kole

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  • |STRENGTHS|


    • Intelligent - Kholas is learned in more than just magic and is quick to grasp new concepts and skills; he reads and learns quickly and is able to analyze and infer much, even about new data and information, with seemingly little effort.

    • Magic - Wielding a unique blend of alchemy and magic, he makes a formidable ally-- able to preserve even those on the brink of death; his magic can also be turned on others as an offensive or defensive means. His specialization in alchemy and dabblings in medicine and dark magic offer up an array of poisons, venoms, and necrotic and/or other debilitating inflictions.

    • Innovative - Refusing to be limited by convention, Kholas often paves his own way and has accomplished what many insisted was impossible; his resourceful nature is helpful not only in the arcane, but in more practical matters as well.

    • Goblin-Kin - Like others of his race, his large eyes and ears provide excellent low-light vision and highly acute hearing; he is also surprisingly dexterous.


    |WEAKNESSES|


    • Physical Strength - While fit and trim enough for his own means, Kholas lacks the physical strength necessary for most combat; what he can't do from the shadows or behind those stronger than himself leaves him exposed and vulnerable.

    • Obsessive - Kholas frequently becomes so engrossed in his research, he will work to the point of physical exhaustion; his mind possesses more stamina than his body and he routinely overexerts himself with a relentless fervour.

    • Unyielding - He is wholly unwilling to let anything or anyone stand in the way of his life's work; as such, he tends to have poor personal relationships outside of a small handful of colleagues who can tolerate both his intensity and his sardonic demeanour.

    • Morally Questionable - Perhaps it accompanies his somewhat macabre fascinations, but Kholas has little moral concern and has few reservations in his work-- or any of his other endeavours.


  • |WEAPONS|


    • Poisons - with an extensive background in alchemy, Kholas is capabale of (and willing to) craft highly potent poisons and potions.

    • Magic - while most proficient in alchemy, Kholas has a few spells in his repertoire that can cause extensive, if not lethal, necrotic afflictions.

    • Push Dagger - being somewhat small and lacking gratuitous strength, Kholas opts for a weapon that enables him to strike quickly and a higher degree of strength than a traditional dagger might. Though he is generally disinclined to attack with a weapon unless heavily provoked, he is certainly not opposed to violence of aggression. Rather, he has a tase for more indirect methods that keep him further from harm's immediate reach. As a precautionary measure, the textured blade is routinely wiped with poisons.

    • Morality - morally grey, Kholas has few reservations about removing obstacles in his path.


    |GEAR|


    • Alchemy Kit - when snugly nestled in the depths of the Arcanum, Kholas has any number of supplies at his disposal. With more frequent travels, however, he has managed to condense his essentials into a wooden kit. Should one inquire as to the kit's contents, Kholas is delighted to talk at length about the various supplies.


    • Preservation Device - this self-invented contraption has no formal name and is constantly in a state of reinvention; it is a scaled-down model of a large, mechanical pump that Kholas built at the Arcanum. Like it's predecessor, this smaller, portable model is used for pushing alchemical components and fluids into a subject's body, usually via an intravenous tube.

      Both devices (large and small) must be carefully set up, attuned, adjusted, then cranked by hand to operate the mechanism. At any given time, Kholas is working to improve his methods, constantly changing parts out on the device and updating a log of failures and successes.

  • Coming Soon...
 
Last edited:
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Reactions: Lillian Gray




  • |NAME|

    Kholas Abalyshevska

    |AGE|

    33

    |RACE|

    Goblin [Hobgoblin]

    |ALLEGIANCE|

    Vraenor

    |POSITION|

    Master Alchemist

    |DESCRIPTION|

    Even with hobgoblin heritage setting him at just over five feet in height, Kholas is comparably small to most other denizens of Vraenor. Like most of his kin, his complexion is green-toned with dark markings and vast, bat-like ears protrude from the sides of his head. His large ears are adorned with precious metals and stones, an indication that he indeed harbours the goblin affinity for beautiful things. Though in possession of a serpentine nose, the rest of his features are sharp and angular (much like his teeth), giving way to dark, silken fur around the corners of his jaw. Much to the unease of many, Kholas wears his clawlike nails long, though they are kept meticulously clean. Possessing a lithe and lightweight frame, he highly favours dexterity over strength. Generally well-groomed, Kholas is fond of darker, heavily-saturated coloured garments, which are often accented with small "souvenirs" from his work. A large, carved wooden skull can generally be found lashed to his right shoulder, the ruby inside serving as a magical reservoir.

    |PERSONALITY|

    Thorough and meticulous in his work, many would describe Kholas as obsessive. He keeps erratic hours and frequently works feverishly to the point of collapse, then vanishes into the depths of his chambers, only to emerge days later, oblivious to his absence. His desire to understand the deeper workings of magic and its effects on the living body is unrivalled by any of his other attributes. His research and work in his field are unparalleled, perhaps because he is the only one so enamoured with the idea of manipulating life and death via magical suspension. Though he is known amongst his colleagues for being sardonic and sharp-tongued, he has carved a grudging respect from many for his innovative, if perhaps questionably ethical, research. It is well-known that he possesses a deep and rather affecting fascination with death and dying, though no one is quite sure why.


    |BRIEF HISTORY|

    Born to a large, lower class family in Netherium, Kholas had to fight tooth and claw for everything from food to education. Determined and possessing an irrepressible drive to understand the workings of magic, the young goblin carved a way for himself-- through whatever or whomever stood in the way of his pursuit of knowledge. Tenacity and a sharp mind saw him through acceptance into the Arcanum and rapid ascent into the ranks of esteemed research in alchemy. Cross-training with both Galgur alchemists and Stiildus doctors, Kholas began pioneering work in what he believed could be a veritable panacea for physical ills.

    Relentless research became a way of life while he attended the Arcanum. With the completion of an unorthodox, but ground-breaking dissertation on magical preservation, Kholas was granted a more permanent home within the Arcanum and provided with the supplies and subjects to continue his research. While he devotes much of his time to his research and the vast possibilities it promises, Kholas has begun exploring other avenues of magic as well. Hungry for the magical knowledge of other cultures, he is quite keen on the reclamation of the land and the opportunities such an endeavor holds.

    ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

    |ART|

    Nicholas Kole

    ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻


  • |STRENGTHS|


    • Intelligent - Kholas is learned in more than just magic and is quick to grasp new concepts and skills; he reads and learns quickly and is able to analyze and infer much, even about new data and information, with seemingly little effort.

    • Magic - Wielding a unique blend of alchemy and magic, he makes a formidable ally-- able to preserve even those on the brink of death; his magic can also be turned on others as an offensive or defensive means. His specialization in alchemy and dabblings in medicine and dark magic offer up an array of poisons, venoms, and necrotic and/or other debilitating inflictions.

    • Innovative - Refusing to be limited by convention, Kholas often paves his own way and has accomplished what many insisted was impossible; his resourceful nature is helpful not only in the arcane, but in more practical matters as well.

    • Goblin-Kin - Like others of his race, his large eyes and ears provide excellent low-light vision and highly acute hearing; he is also surprisingly dexterous.


    |WEAKNESSES|


    • Physical Strength - While fit and trim enough for his own means, Kholas lacks the physical strength necessary for most combat; what he can't do from the shadows or behind those stronger than himself leaves him exposed and vulnerable.

    • Obsessive - Kholas frequently becomes so engrossed in his research, he will work to the point of physical exhaustion; his mind possesses more stamina than his body and he routinely overexerts himself with a relentless fervour.

    • Unyielding - He is wholly unwilling to let anything or anyone stand in the way of his life's work; as such, he tends to have poor personal relationships outside of a small handful of colleagues who can tolerate both his intensity and his sardonic demeanour.

    • Addict - Due to years of self-testing alchemy, potions, and various magics on himself, Kholas has become dependant on a form of sedative to achieve any degree of real rest; he generally works for several days straight, then must collapse into an alchemy-induced sleep for prolonged periods. If he fails to rest, he becomes disoriented and utterly depleted.


  • |WEAPONS|


    • Poisons - with an extensive background in alchemy, Kholas is capabale of (and willing to) craft highly potent poisons and potions.

    • Magic - while most proficient in alchemy, Kholas has a few spells in his repertoire that can cause extensive, if not lethal, necrotic afflictions.

    • Push Dagger - being somewhat small and lacking gratuitous strength, Kholas opts for a weapon that enables him to strike quickly and with a higher degree of strength than a traditional dagger might. Though he is generally disinclined to attack with a weapon unless heavily provoked, he is certainly not opposed to violence or aggression. Rather, he has a taste for more indirect methods that keep him further from harm's immediate reach. As a precautionary measure, the textured blade is routinely wiped down with poisons.

    • Morality - morally grey, Kholas has few reservations about removing obstacles in his path.


    |GEAR|


    • Alchemy Kit - when snugly nestled in the depths of the Arcanum, Kholas has any number of supplies at his disposal. With more frequent travels, however, he has managed to condense his essentials into a wooden kit. Should one inquire as to the kit's contents, Kholas is delighted to talk at length about the various supplies.


    • Preservation Device - this self-invented contraption has no formal name and is constantly in a state of reinvention; it is a scaled-down model of a large, mechanical pump that Kholas built at the Arcanum. Like its predecessor, this smaller, portable model is used for pushing alchemical components and fluids into a subject's body, usually via an intravenous tube.

      Both devices (large and small) must be carefully set up, attuned, adjusted, then cranked by hand to operate the mechanism. At any given time, Kholas is working to improve his methods, constantly changing parts out on the device and updating a log of failures and successes.

  • Coming Soon...
 


5 Lekthas, 3rd Quarter of the Crone, 192 TE

I understand that a letter of this nature seems an unusual method of communicating this, but in the present circumstances, it is a necessary precaution: I cannot risk direct communication at this time. We are reaching a critical situation and action must be taken. As you read this, I am quietly assembling a group of scholars, mages, and soldiers who support the cause, and I must ask that this be kept secret, at least for now.
I regret to inform you that the rumours are true: the Heart of Aetheria is dying.

We are now beginning to see the effects of our actions those years ago, and the situation is dire. Reports from coastal cities are steadily increasing, bringing messages of failing crops and emaciated cattle. Hunters are taking less prey and rates of wildlife predation have increased far beyond what is common in a dormancy cycle. Thus far, these reports have been kept quiet. The Empire has sent meagre relief efforts to the affected areas, though it is quickly becoming far more than it can handle and relief efforts are being halted. The Emperor has decided the plight of these areas must be due to rebel sabotage and does not merit attention or aide.

Fatalities are on the rise as magical instability increases- something I’m sure you have already seen. Where possible, these deaths are also being attributed to rebel attacks and, otherwise, ignored. They are refusing to see what is plainly before their eyes, and Aetheria and all her people are going to pay the price.

As you know, fifty-one years ago, the Empire forcibly removed the guard stones from the Tree. In those fifty-one years, the Tree has been unable to enter dormancy and revitalize itself. The argument was that no dormancy meant limitless prosperity-- but our research indicates that without dormancy cycles, the Tree can neither regulate magic nor support prosperity in the land.

Without dormancy cycles, I am confident the Tree will die.

No matter how many times he is confronted with evidence, the Emperor refuses to listen. I worry he is so blinded by the threat of revolution and repercussions of what it would mean if our research if true (which it is), he refuses to see the truth. The more we press him to take action, the more obstinate he becomes.

Two weeks ago, our most outspoken scholar, Magister Avelissa, was sent to Portwatch to “observe the conditions there,” and we have not heard from her since… I now fear the worst.

The crystalline guard stones removed from the tree have been destroyed, save for the sample specimens that remain in our study. I plan to take these pieces, journey through the Forest of the Ancients, and return them to the Tree. Experiments with the crystals and bark samples taken from the Tree have given us reason to believe that even the smallest piece of crystal may act as a catalyst and restore what we so foolishly removed.

This will not be an easy undertaking-- especially when the Empire discovers what I am doing, as I have no doubt they will. However, it is a risk I am willing to take-- and a risk that is necessary if we are to preserve the Aetheria we know and love. Should the Heart of Aetheria be lost, so too shall we.

Please send return word using the same enchantment by which this message was concealed. If you are interested in furthering your support, I will then contact you with the date, time, and location of our first gathering to discuss options and concerns, and determine how best we may proceed.

For dissolution, harmony, and a free Aetheria!

- Kiernan


6-3-1, 193 TE

If you think we're giving up because of a little public execution, you are sorely mistaken. To those who wish to actually make a contribution to the world that enables your existence, be at the Randy Gander in the Taithros outskirts by sundown on 21/3/1. Request a room with Chasma-- and don't be a transparent fuckass. If you're followed, you're shit out of luck. Bring ideas, a pack, and a can-do attitude. No one else is going to save our asses.


 
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