[hider=PROPOSAL 2] [centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/jvex3GN.png[/img][/centre] [b]Identity[/b]: [i]Lady of the Great Sullied Court, the Fyghfolk Queen, Red Fern, Red Fury, the Queen of Smoke and Sighs.[/i] [url=https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/027/280/983/4k/entei-ryu-entei-ryu-0101.jpg?1591096411]Artistic Depiction.[/url] [b]Type[/b]: [i]Scion - Fygh (pr. Fee or Fay or Fie)[/i] [b]Persona[/b]: [i]Red Fury is rather easy to anger and takes insult with equal ease - but she does not show it so easily. Sooner or later, by hook or by crook, those who earn her ire ultimately pay. Back when there were one hundred and sixty-three Fygh Courts across the world, she was the most important and most powerful. Now there is only one Court and she its sole Queen. There is therefore no space for doubt: she is the [b]most[/b] important and [b]most[/b] powerful - and all the Fygh who come before her know to know it. Is she feared? Naturally. But is she also adored? Why, who could doubt it? Feared, adored, and blindly obeyed by all Fyghfolk, such is the power of the Fyghfolk Queen.[/i] [b]Powers[/b]: [i]But beyond the obedience of her subjects, Red Fury has another great power. It is one that makes her truly worthy of her place at the top. She is the last of Fyghkind's ancient aristocracy - an aristocracy known for the great magicks and formidable powers they could once bring to bear. While all Fygh are beings of magic and so have certain powers - whether it is the nature-warping powers of dryads or the death-bringing gaze of barghests - Red Fury can manipulate and wield the magic that flows through existence with the mere power of her voice. She can feel where magic is concentrated, can whisper to it until it does her bidding, and so achieve great magickal feats the likes of which were long thought to have perished from the world. By the power of her magicks are men turned to stone, princes into frogs, princesses into ogres. By it are cities brought into eternal sleep and others lost forever in a world of illusions. By her potions are queens made to fall in love with donkeys and are hatreds planted in the small imperfections and cracks that line any true love. Poisoned apples, tightening corsets, and deadly combs are only a few of the magickal items she can bring forth into the world by the power of her words. It is not understood how her powers work - even she may not truly know - but speech is the key to her powers. If she is unable to speak, then she is near enough powerless. Her powers, like all magic, are also rather slow. It takes time to whisper poison into an apple or complete a curse to turn a man into a donkey.[/i] [b]Race[/b]: [i]Fygh exhibit great diversity. Some take on the appearance of human children while others appear barely distinct from monsters, and others yet take on plant-, animal-, or water-like features. The great majority are very small in size, though certain types tend to be fairly large - an example is the barghest, which takes on the form of an enormous shaggy black dog and is generally a portent of doom to all who see it (and often attacks and kills lone travellers). Some Fygh may have tails, wings, or more than two arms or none (if, for instance, wings replace their arms). Whether they have wings does not dictate whether a Fygh can fly - that is more often dictated by the type of Fygh it is. While Fygh may appear to be male or female, they do not reproduce or procreate physically and so these appearances are merely aesthetic. Some may exhibit human-like sapience, while others may appear like monstrous creatures that cannot be reasoned with by non-Fygh. Being creatures of pure magic the Fygh do not have a fixed lifespan - so long as they have a source of magic, they are effectively immortal. The destruction of magic is therefore lethal to Fygh. If it is possible to trap one and deny it of magic for long enough then it will inevitably perish. Another sure way to destroy a Fygh is with iron or steel implements as these are devoid of magic and immediately void whatever they touch of magic. Different Fygh will also have different weaknesses - some may not be able to cross running water, some may not be able to cross a salt perimetre, others yet may perish at the sound of their true name, and much else.[/i] [b]Myth[/b]: [i]'The Fygh are old magic - deep and dark and hidden within the stuff the world is made of. It is said we are even older than the Black God, that in the twilight of time and creation itself there we were, eyes wide and silent and knowing. Aye, we are the oldest magic, pure and distilled and alive. 'When the Black God called upon us it was not out of any great love or loyalty for him that we rallied to his banner, but out of enmity to Man. Ah, Man! That newborn race who thought to tame the wilds and flatten the earth and bore through the mountains and dictate the course of the rivers - where they would flow and where they will not, when they will flood and when they shall not. That newborn race that casually went about the business of exterminating Fygh and magic alike. Well, that race had to be made to perish. 'Divided then into our one hundred and sixty-three Courts, we could not quite agree on this course of action. Red Fern, however, then the Queen of Smoke and Sighs, knew then with an insight all others lacked that there could be no other course. There was no place for magic and the Fygh in a world in that Man continued to occupy. 'We fought one another then - on one side those 'Unsullied' who would slay themselves that Man may live and that Man may slaughter all, and the rest of us 'Sullied' who would rid the world of Man's cancer and let the wilds and all the chaotic beauties of magic loose. The Black God fell, the 'Unsullied' cheered as they cast Red Fern and us, their Sullied brethren, into the Fade... 'And we heard their cheers for a while there in that prison of ours, but then in time they cheered no more. Empty are the halls of the 'Unsullied' today. The echoes of their laughter are heard only in the halls of memory - [b]our[/b] memory. For we remember. And though they were fools, yet were they [b]our kin[/b]. The Fade grows thin now, and Red Fern - why, [b]Red Fury[/b]! - has for a long time whispered her curses and promises of vengeance into the fabric of the world. We who are Sealed - who were lambasted as 'Sullied' - stir. We rise. We come. 'The Black God is dead, but we remain - and by our hand alone will be the final abolition of Man.'[/i] [/hider]