[color=2F5B31][CENTER][img]https://i.ibb.co/5k6dbVN/Sansean-name-shaded2.png[/img][/CENTER]
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[img]https://i.ibb.co/d5Pjr72/image-2022-08-04-042740696.png[/img][color=2E2C2C][sup]_______________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][hider=// INFO][indent][sub][b]P E R S O N A L   D E T A I L S[/b][/SUB]

[sup]
[b]Full Name[/b][COLOR=white] - Sansean (saun-shin) Ilietor[/COLOR]
[b]Age[/b][COLOR=white] - 30[/COLOR]
[B]Gender[/B][COLOR=white] - Female[/COLOR]
[b]Vocation[/b][COLOR=white] - Caster[/COLOR]
[b]Nationality[/b][COLOR=white] - Scila, though now she's something of a drifter now[/COLOR]
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[hider=// PERSONALITY][indent][SUB][b]P E R S O N A L I T Y[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=2F5B31][b]Acerbic[/b]
[COLOR=white]Sansean isn't exactly the friendliest woman out there. All of the diplomatic language that she once used has been firmly kicked in the face, beaten to the ground, and kicked again. She's now firmly entrenched into a woman that's at once totally blunt and extremely sharp-tongued, with no time for peoples' nonsense.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=2F5B31][b]Prideful[/b]
[COLOR=white]She may not be proud of what she did, but she is proud of why she was able to do it. Sansean is [i]extremely[/i] intelligent. And she knows it. With a knack for structure and an ability to retain memory and information second to none, her intelligence and knowledge is a point of incredibly pride for her, and she has no time or patience for people who tell her they know better than she does.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=2F5B31][b]Impatient[/b]
[COLOR=white]"On time" is not good enough for Sansean. A leftover of her time as a figure of significant authority, she is used to telling people what to do and having them do it. She's never [i]quite[/i] recovered after losing that ability to command immediately, and thus she has great difficulties with tolerated delays, accidental or otherwise.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
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[hider=// GIFT][indent][SUB][b]G I F T[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=2F5B31][b]Atonement[/b]
[COLOR=white]Sansean will remember what she did in Algaeon to her dying day, however far ahead that may be. She feels its burden weighing on her shoulders at every hour, and she knows that nothing she can do will ever purge that darkness. But that doesn't mean she won't try. Upon touching another being, she can [i]burn[/i] away her Embersoul, suffering a great deal of pain and drawing closer to turning to ash. In exchange, though, she can impart the power of regeneration that the Embersoul grants her upon another. There's a harsh exchange rate, surely; the energy to repair someone else's wound or sickness is four to five times the energy it would take her to repair herself. In life, inconvenient. In battle, extremely dangerous. Still, this most unexpected power to give her own life to another is something no other hunter can boast. This is not [i]her[/i] Gift. It is [i]theirs.[/i][/COLOR][/COLOR]
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[hider=// EQUIPMENT][indent][SUB][b]E Q U I P M E N T[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=2F5B31][b]The Aschmat Grimoire[/b]
[COLOR=white]
A spellbook created many years ago by an incredibly powerful aeromancer, a remnant of Aschmat leaked into the book that remained by his side for his entire life, imbuing it with sentience, sapience, and a semblance of life. It can't walk, it can't speak out loud, it can't manipulate the world in any way. What it [i]can[/i] do is magically levitate beside its wielder, psychically speak to whomever it chooses (usually Sansean at the moment), and choose whether or not to cast what spells remain within its stained pages.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
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[/cell][cell][b]Physical Description[/b]
[color=white][indent]A tall woman of nearly six feet and rail-thin, Sansean doesn't so much [i]stand[/i] as she [i]looms[/i], her narrow and pale-gold eyes holding undisguised judgement for anybody that they play over. Deep green hair frames a delicate face, long strands of it falling down to her waist in front. Her mouth is forever twisted into a frown, though whether sad or irritated, it's difficult to tell. Her body, in defiance of her Hunter strength, looks soft and weak, with little discernable musculature. She stays back in fights most of the time, and until she became a Hunter she was an academic and researcher more than anything else.

Her clothing is long and baggy, usually done up in some variety of green and capped with a deep brown robe of dense fabric. Though of course she never grows cold, the rain will always be uncomfortable, and it's convenient to be able to pass as a normal human being. In addition, it serves to mask the long strings of elaborate magical formulae tattooed all across on her upper back, shoulders, and and upper arms.
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[b]Character Conceptualization[/b]
[color=white][indent]As far as cities without bias go, Scilis is not one of them

The level of anti-Midnosian and Ldranti sentiment is...unsurprising. And understandably so, really; a countrywide slavery is still fresh in their collective psyche, and the festering open wound has only been bandaged by the Void Eclipse. Not clotted, not scarred, and [i]certainly[/i] not healed. And the Scilis that Sansean was born was barely even bandaged. The Great War was still raging under the sun when she took her first breath. It was some months before the lights abruptly went out and the tenuous peace was struck.

As Sansean grew, she was surrounded with this fierce and independent hatred. It mattered very little that she had no context whatever for it; it was impressed into her young brain the same by her parents, who had fought in the rebellion themselves. She grew up with the firm belief that Midnos and Ldrant were just [i]waiting[/i] for the sun to rise to continue their conquest. Around this time—perhaps twelve years after the Eclipseshe took a deep interest in the natural world. With the Hearths surrounding Scilis built by this time, it was safe enough for her to poke around the strange ways life had started to adapt without a sun to guide it. As she aged, this grew into a more scholarly interest in how things ticked, how they were structured. And as her nascent pyromancy began to develop a touch more, she began to research that too; the structure of magic, and all the ways it could be bent without breaking.

Her parents took note of this eventually, and instead of dissuading it, they asked an old friend of theirs whether or not he could make use of it. At seventeen years old, her intelligence, scholarly nature, and deep interest in how and why the world around her functioned earned her a spot at a place that would define her for the rest of her life:

The Locke Institute at Algaeon.

It was an unprecedented opportunity for her. A whole world had opened up for her and she embraced it with a fervent and delighted energy, growing her understanding and skill every day she studied there. She grew through the ranks rapidly, her meticulous eye and unmatched ability to retain and synthesize information quickly catching the attention of Locke himself. And just as valued was her clinical eye and loose relationship with value and conscience. Loose enough that she barely batted an eye at the horrors of the Pit and the crushing darkness of the ember farm.

More time passed. More pyromancer children came and went. She moved up more and more until she essentially became Locke's right hand, a firsthand observer of the conditioning and a confidante of all of his strange secrets.

Which was why she raised an eyebrow when he began a project that he didn't tell her anything about. It was completely blank to her; the only context she was given was "I'll have less time. I can't tell you why." And, a good assistant, she didn't pry. Years later until he finally unveiled the project: a new Hunter procedure. It was almost finished. But even looking at the formulae and procedure, she could see a few tiny errors here and there. He handed it off to her for finalization. She toiled on it for several weeks until she finalized her edits, creating a copy for her own records, then handing it off to Locke. And when the first melter came off the proverbial production line, she beamed with a fearsome smile.

A few weeks later, though...something began to bother her. A strange, niggling feeling in her chest whenever she saw one of the children go under the hunter's knife. And another week or so later, she realized what it was.

It was her conscience.

From that point on, she played...damage control. Not around Locke; she was careful to keep her previous persona up as best as possible whenever she was with him. But whenever he was gone—and she [i]knew[/i]—he wouldnd't return and she was safe—she would sneak in to the poor children that Locke was grooming for their deaths or undeaths. She would talk with them. Give them little bits of real food. Stroke their hair, if they let her. But as more and more fell and became melters, she was certain: she couldn't stay. She just couldn't. She went to her small room-cum-office and, with the help of a particularly compliant child who had been conditioned and, as a side effect of her stay in the pit had lost her tongue and couldn't spill a secret, she tattooed every word, ever number, every symbol of her revised Lockesian Embersoul formula across her body before taking all of her notes and and, with a brief pulse of pyromancy, setting them ablaze. Then, with nothing left to her name but her deep brown robe to hide the horror on her body, she ran off into the night.

For the next year, she wandered, an itinerant healer. Her knowledge of anatomy and the human body allowed her to be a very efficient medic. To her, it was a form of repentance: all the poor children she had sent to the gallows weighed heavily on her mind, and every life she couldn't save only brought that crushing weight down harder. No matter what she did, she couldn't purge the memories of those children [i]screaming[/i] as forever-pain overwhelmed them for the rest of their short lives. It was a constant terrible companion that she bore quietly and painfully. And so she eventually came to a conclusion of what she needed to do to repent all those that had become hunters because of her, and she traveled to Kethiline.

As she was recovering from the procedure, a new Gift for healing and a new and burning pain fresh within her, she discovered a strange book on the library shelf. And when she opened it, it sprang into the air next to her and...began to talk. Aschmat, it introduced it—himself, or at least his old grimoire that now had a kind of life. It had been cooped up in the library for over a century, it told her. And she would give her all the power that she asked of it—if it deemed it a good idea, of course—as long as she took it away from here.

Now her lifestyle as a wandering healer has been restored, this time far more powerful with the addition of her Gift. And with ever life saved and ever burn from the Embersoul within her blood, every town saved from destruction from the fire and lightning she and the Aschmat Grimoire scoured the Void with, she felt herself drawing ever closer. Perhaps she would never truly be able to redeem herself for all the pain she caused. Perhaps it would swing ever closer, but the asymptotic graph of forgiveness of sins would never truly be crossed.

But that didn't mean she wouldn't keep trying.

For as long as she needed to.[/indent][/color]
[b]Other Information[/b]
[color=white][indent]TBD
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