Henry was raised to be the ideal Sinnenodel mage, and he would like to think he’s very close to achieving it. Cold and ruthless, there are no lengths to which he won’t go—or levels he won’t stoop to—to accomplish his goals, be they simply following orders or tipping the scales of fate in his favour. It cannot be overstated that his interests begin and end with himself, and to that end, he is zealously ambitious—a passion that currently manifests in the enthusiastic service of his Lady. Make no mistake, though; his loyalty does not stem from love, or gratitude, tradition, or any supposedly higher calling. No, Henry’s fierce loyalty stems squarely from his own desire to succeed, and there can be no success higher in this world than earning the favour of the Empress herself.

Having learned from a young age that mortal emotions are nothing but an obstacle in his path, he’s learned to suppress them, smother them somewhere safe and out of the way to be dealt with later - or preferably, never. However, that isn’t to say that he doesn’t entertain the occasional human urge. Quite the contrary; Henry has come to see the game of words and daggers the Sinnenodels play as quite the pastime indeed, and finds great entertainment in all the myriad ways he can pull the strings of his social fabric. He likes to have fun; it just so happens that his idea of fun is invoking the misfortune of others.

Above all, though, it bears repeating that Henry’s sole purpose is his own self interest. He will do, take, and endure absolutely anything to secure his own future, and Fate help anything—or anyone—that stands in his way.

No matter one’s status, it is impossible to completely escape the clutches of war; Henry Starag was no exception. Born in the year 507, Henry was a toddler when Lycans attacked his childhood home, forcing his father Aaron, his mother Eloise, and their cadre of allies to pull out every possible stop to defend themselves. If not for his father’s Lycan breakthrough and Max Alderman’s sheer magical might, Henry’s life would have been a short one.

But the only thing that ended that night was Henry’s direct involvement in the war; on an agreement that it was best to keep him safe, three-year-old Henry was sent to none other than Sybil Sinnenodel’s household, where he’d be protected from any and every possible threat excepting the Empress herself. There, safely tucked away in the heart of Sinnenodel territory and far from the war, Henry grew to forget most of that night, and lived in relative normalcy.

Instead, Henry grew up under the harsh and exacting tutelage of Sybil Sinnenodel and her household, and there was molded into the very finest example of what a Sinnenodel mage - and a Starag, for that matter - should be. But it wasn’t just the Empress’ creative methods or the competence of the mages under her employ that were responsible for Henry’s success. On the contrary; even as a child, Henry proved the perfect receptacle for their teaching, driven to excel and eager to use any method, no matter how underhanded, to do so. By personality alone, there was nothing of his father in him. Where Aaron was kind, Henry was cunning; where Aaron was gentle, Henry was ruthless; where Aaron was duty-bound, Henry was motivated only by the prospect of his own achievement. Not that there was anyone around to recognize the difference - Aaron was long since a changed man by the time Henry's personality started to show.

Growing up largely apart from his parents, who were usually busy with the war, Henry enjoyed every luxury and endured every hardship a proper Sinnenodel mage was expected to, as if there was no war at all - more or less. From a young age he learned to keep his ‘human’ side carefully concealed, to tolerate Sybil’s frequent invasions into his psyche, and even to keep his very thoughts in check, lest he attract his Mistress’ ire. As he grew and learned more about his family, the Sinnenodels, and his place between the two, Henry came to recognize the gravity of the same lofty Starag lineage that inspired such zealous awe in his father. However, Henry wasn’t struck by admiration; rather, he was taken by the sheer scale of the achievements he’d have to someday outpace in order to finally step out from under their shadow.

And his ancestors weren’t his only competition, either. Aside from his own father and the other handful of accomplished mages who joined him in the war, Henry had Lena. Lena, the insufferable pile of perfect looks and feminine curves and infuriating talent. Lena, the ice mage he’d been engaged to marry since before either of them could walk, who had been his chief competitor for Sybil’s good graces throughout their entire shared upbringing. Lena, who matched Henry for every accomplishment without fail, who he hated and loved, who was probably the closest thing to an equal he had in the world’s entire population of mages. Lena, who he’d strangle if he could and whose company he resented so much and yearned for so dearly the second she was gone.

Yeah, that bitch.

Let it never be said that Henry Starag didn’t enjoy a good challenge, because if ever there was one, Lena was it. However, as of late, Henry has gotten an edge. New intel has come in on some potential to stir up Dawn Rising, the foremost band of terrorists currently acting the thorn in the Empress’ side, and it just so happens, it’s finally time for Henry to show his Lady what he’s capable of. True, he has very big shoes to fill, and very long shadows to overtake if he wants to truly make a name for himself beyond his father’s reputation. Fortunately, single-handedly toppling Dawn Rising from the inside should prove an excellent start.

Roan is famously easy to get along with. Easygoing to a fault, Roan has always been perfectly happy to go with the flow, preferring to follow the leader rather than striking out himself. He’s very forgiving of slights against him, preferring to err on the side of grace, and usually assumes (for better or for worse) that people don’t mean to be as harsh as they sometimes come across. But everyone has their limits, and if someone does manage to get on his bad side, he can grow immature, stubborn, and snarky. Of course, getting Roan to the point of spitting back is a feat in itself; in his personal life as well as in battle, Roan would much rather flee than fight.

Growing up with two bickering older sisters taught Roan to be an effective mediator, and since tension drives him crazy, he will often be found trying to help people work out their differences - whether his efforts are welcome or not. Averse to conflict and discomforted by seriousness, Roan does his best to keep the mood light, usually trying to diffuse tense situations with a joke or a change of subject. His discomfort with silence, especially, is even more notable these days; the longer people are around him, the more they will notice that his constant attempts at levity may be less of a personality quirk and more of a protective measure.

This is most evident in his relatively new aversion to being alone, a discomfort so encompassing it’s probably better described as a fear. So Roan does his best to keep people around, keep them talking, and keep them smiling - after all, too much time alone with his thoughts is bad news when there’s so much in his head he’d rather not think about.

Hailing from an orbital Eve territory, Roan’s upbringing was pleasant enough. Born to a single mother with two older sisters, it’s true that they weren’t the model of the nuclear family, and without a second income, they also struggled financially for a while until his oldest sister started working. But they were happy; Roan’s house was always full, be it with the people who lived there or friends and loved ones who stopped in. Even after his oldest sister married and started a family of her own, she was always over with her husband and children, filling the house with the happy noise Roan grew so fond of. It was a happy childhood, the memories of which Roan still treasures to this day.

But he couldn’t stay a child forever, and that fact was underscored the year he turned eighteen, when his Awakening crystal lit up and changed his life forever. Truth be told, while he was sad to leave home, Roan was a little excited at the prospect of serving a vampire; it was a chance to step out of the modest means he was so accustomed to, to make something of himself he probably couldn’t have as a mundane man.

He considered himself pretty lucky, too. He ended up with a vampiress named Bellamira Deale, part of some distant branch of the Eve family on the low end of the social hierarchy - still plenty rich, but largely uninvolved with the political machine. On top of that, she was decently kind to him. A bit of a diva, she liked things a certain way, of course, but she took a particular interest in Roan, doting on him like an exotic pet and grooming him to become a show mage. She was a great fan of his talent for music, hiring magic tutors to teach him how to enhance his natural ability with Sound magic, and she loved showing him off to friends at parties. It wasn’t always the most comfortable thing to be poked and prodded by rich vampires and looked at like more of a toy than a person - especially when they got a little more handsy - but Roan counted his blessings, and he was more or less content.

He spent two reasonably good years with Bellamira, but the novelty wore off when she decided that it was time for the ‘training wheels’ to come off and to induct him into service as a proper show mage. See, in her eyes, becoming a “proper” show mage meant changes; she told him they were simple ‘enhancements’, meant to play on his existing features, highlight his best qualities and minimize the bad ones, and that he’d be happier for them. But it wasn’t until he finally awoke from a whole host of surgical and magical procedures that Roan realized just how dramatic of a change Bellamira wanted to make. He couldn’t deny that he looked “better”, in a way; his features were smoother, his flaws tucked away, his assets exaggerated, just as she said. But it went way beyond ‘enhancement’; his eyes were green instead of hazel, he had an entirely different nose, and all the other features he was used to - even the flaws he never expected to miss - were gone. He looked more like a sculpture freshly carved than a real person, lacking the story of his life he didn’t realize was written in his features until they were gone. He barely recognized himself in the mirror.

It was jarring, but for a while, Roan tried to convince himself that he was okay with it. After all, Bellamira was pleased, he was turning more heads than ever, and he seemed to be on his way to a promising ‘career’ as a show mage; he should have been happy, right? Moon only knew most mages weren’t nearly that lucky, especially these days. But something still didn’t sit right with him. Deny or distract all he wanted, the changes still ate away at him. He no longer had his mother’s nose or his sister’s eyes. His home wasn’t full of life or laughter, just schedules and meetings and glorified busywork to keep the mages looking busy. He barely recognized himself anymore, inside or out, and he didn’t realize until it was too late how much he’d miss those faint echoes of his mom and sisters in the mirror.

When he could no longer bear the feeling of separation, he went to his mistress, all but begging her to turn him back, or at least to let him dial back the changes to something more subtle. But to his surprise, Bellamira, who had always been more or less amicable with him, was not pleased. She denied him fervently, insulted by his brazen rejection of her ‘gift’ to him, and made it clear who made the decisions in her house and who he really belonged to. Crestfallen and hurt, Roan accepted her decision, but fell into a numbing sadness.

Apparently Bellamira noticed how her decision was weighing on him, and surprisingly, attempted to make things right. But a vampire’s interpretation of making amends was much different than a mage’s. She approached him late one morning, where he was moping in his room, and tried to comfort him - he didn’t need to be sad anymore, because now he didn’t need to compare himself to anybody. He could ‘be his own person’, free from the burden of some petty family resemblance weighing down on him, because she’d seen to it that everyone in his ‘old family’ was gone.

Roan doesn’t remember much about what happened next.

It must have been dramatic, though, because the result was an open curtain, a pile of ash on his floor, and him running for his life.

The next few weeks were a blur, but at some point he joined up with a small local rebellion cell that had merged into a distant limb of Dawn Rising, less than ten people in number. He spent about a year with his small band of comrades, conducting small-scale operations that ultimately didn’t accomplish much more than soothing Roan’s burning need to do something, anything to make sure what happened to him never happened to anyone ever again.

Now, his cell finally has the chance to carry out a mission that will actually make a difference in the lives of those under the Empire's thumb...

Quinn maintains the veneer of a well-mannered and eager mage, superficially acting with great formality and poise toward others and his work. A closer examination reveals him for what he really is; a fidgety and impatient boy who throws himself into whatever orders he's given to prevent himself from going stir-crazy for want of an objective. He was never the type to stop and smell the roses, especially when there are still so many roses left to sniff; dwelling on something leaves room for distraction and distraction leads to subpar results.

Quinn is constantly chasing praise, a desire to please ingrained in him from a lifetime of vampiric servitude. Despite this, he's easily flustered by the reward he so seeks, and often excuses himself to his next venture promptly after a job well done to spare himself further embarrassment. The one instance where he slows his pace is when he's fed upon, where the induced euphoria overrides his innate drive to go, go, go and he permits himself a moment of blissful indulgence. The rumor that he 'gets off to it' is markedly false, though an onlooker might have a hard time believing it if they caught him in the act.

As such, he holds no lofty goals of rebellion or fervent desire to cast off his chains. Quinn is a rebel because the alternative is death, and were a system of equitable service to be reinstated, he would throw himself at the mercy of a new vampire in an instant. He holds a wistful view of the old regime, half-remembered from his childhood, and while Princess Ryner would be worthy of his loyalty in spite of her treachery to the crown, the mage-led farce that has cropped up in her wake is little more than a means to an end for the boy that he can only hope will make the right choice in the end.

Quinn was born the second of three children to Bartolomeo Marivaldi's treasured Contarini line of mages. The Count exclusively used the Contarini family to sire new vampires in memory of a mage he'd engaged in a brief (by vampiric standards) love affair with some centuries past and, given no female had been born this generation to either Quinn's mother or his aunt, all of the children were appraised critically for their use as breeding stock, to ensure any daughters that were subsequently born would both resemble Bartolomeo's lost fling and produce mages of excellent pedigree besides.

The children quickly became embroiled in an unofficial competition of sorts to impress the Count, though Quinn's standing in the 'race' was tenuous from the first; he was an unruly child, albeit harmlessly inattentive rather than truly difficult, and neglected his studies often. Coupled with his status as a middle child, Quinn was written off by his family and master and more or less ignored comparative to his siblings and cousin, and any attempts to act out for attention were quickly stifled by harsh punishments. He received a lucky break around age thirteen when his previously favored cousin presented a mild case of nearsightedness - such a pesky trait to breed out of a bloodline once introduced - and Quinn, having grown less rambunctious as he aged, received a taste of his family's favor as he was evidently promoted from last place.

Now exposed properly to what he was missing, Quinn spent the rest of his teens chasing a spot as an ideal mage of the household, crafting himself as best he can into something that would enter him into his lord's good graces. By the time of his Awakening, he was a strong contender, but Quinn was soon stymied through no fault of his own this time - he presented a weak affinity. Worse, experimentation suggested that his affinity wasn't either of the ones that his family usually harnessed. Once again, he'd been demoted in his family's graces, with all eyes now moving to his little brother in anticipation of his upcoming Awakening. He received a pittance of curiosity when he managed to make objects levitate, sending the household into a brief frenzy as they ruled out earth and metal magic based on the variety of things he could repeat the trick on. They briefly toyed with the idea that he was some kind of unforeseen anomaly that harnessed telekinesis and perhaps even further mental magic naturally, especially since Quinn seemed to function without a focus, though the family eventually settled on the opinion that he was a gravity mage that had simply managed to avoid any dissonant symptoms through sheer luck up until then.

And from then on, Quinn was a gravity mage. Bartolomeo found the affinity useful in manual labor and certainly considered the boy to have the requisite physical qualities he valued in a mage, namely resembling Quinn's ancestor, but the weak affinity was troublesome and diluting the magic of his favored line simply would not do. That was until the Count sampled Quinn's blood for the first time. It was exquisite, quite possibly the best he'd ever tasted. From then on, Bartolomeo regarded him as a prized piece of his collection, and sought to hone the boy as best he could, even with his flawed magic - he'd progenate a useful secondary line, perhaps exclusively for feeding. Quinn, surprisingly, took to arcane magic swimmingly despite his earlier difficulties with scholarly activities, and he was shaping up to be quite the show mage in short order. Of course, he mostly served as the dessert course whenever the Count threw his lavish parties, but Quinn found pleasure in the act all the same. He was happy to serve, happy to be recognized.

After nearly two years of faithful service, Bartolomeo's interest in Quinn as anything more than a bloodbag had waned and, as an act of good faith, passed the boy over to his son, Alfonso, who had recently come of age. Where Bartolomeo had considered Quinn a rich and luxurious delicacy, meant to be savored only on special occasions so as to make said rare indulgences all the better, Alfonso, a careless hedonist at heart, had yet to develop the patience born of centuries of unlife, and satiated himself on Quinn almost exclusively and in far greater quantities than necessary for sustenance. The boy was still happy to be of service, though every further repeal of prior mage treatment laws seemed only to embolden his new master to reach new heights of indulgence, and mitigating anemic symptoms quickly became part of his daily life.

The issue came to a head during the Revel of 530, where Quinn was the object of enough 'revelry' to wake up in the hospital days later, recovering from near-exsanguination and the mental scars of half-remembered indignities inflicted upon him during the event. To his master's consternation and Quinn's guilty relief, the life-saving blood transfusion he'd been given had soured his precious blood for the time being, leaving his liege to subsist on lower-quality meals while he recovered. Alfonso was not pleased, taking out his frustration on the boy as if the incident had been his fault. It seemed the vampire had learned nothing from the experience either, and once Quinn's blood had returned to its natural flavor, he resumed his excessive feeding regimen.

When Alfonso began making plans to freeze Quinn's sperm 'just in case', the boy realized there was a distinct possibility he may be drained entirely. Before, his master had to at least keep him alive to retain access to his cherished blood, but now it seemed he wanted to supplement his prized bottle of wine with an extra six pack before it ran dry.

Alfonso, careless as he was, parked Quinn in the front seat of an expensive car and sent him off to the storage facility alone one morning. Somewhere between leaving the estate and arriving at his destination, something snapped in his head. His neck hadn't been free of bruises in months. He spent most of his time after his master's dinner fighting off lightheadedness. His body felt like it would vibrate out of his skin every time he paused at a stop light but he was still so, so tired. So Quinn simply pulled over, stepped out of the car, and walked away.

The vehicle accelerated off the road and into a tree at 9.8 meters per second² and a quick color-changing spell had a vaguely Quinn-looking boy innocently boarding a bus. He was an idiot, not thinking straight from blood loss, clearly. He had no destination and only one option - treasonous upstarts who would try to thrust freedom on him when he only desired safety. The regret was immediate, but the die had been cast all the same.

Ruthlessly charismatic and charismatically ruthless, Count Chadwick Astorio is the last person one would believe had defected to the rebellion. A true Astorio at heart, he believes a vampire's status should rest solely on their personal combat prowess and cares little for the petty politicking of his peers. A vampire is a hunter, the apex predator of the night; coddled weaklings who hide behind blackmail and backroom deals are an embarrassment to their kind, and those that entrust their own defense solely to mages are masters of nothing - naive fools that would find themselves woefully unprepared should their prized pets ever call their bluff. After all, the only thing an immortal stands to truly lose is their life.

Chad carries himself with a cocky nonchalance outside the realm of combat, unconcerned as he is with mundane matters beyond the battlefield. However, one should be careful not to underestimate him as an inelegant brute like many among his bloodline; despite this seeming indifference, he possesses an antagonistic cunning, using it to goad and unsettle his foes rather than charm the cameras or his peers. Every witty remark, every cutting jab, all are merely invitations to cross blades with him, where status and resources melt away and only one warrior remains in the end. That isn't to say he isn't resourceful; Chad prefers to keep a number of mages on hand of a more subtle variety, solely for digging into his potential opponents and uncovering their weaknesses. If he had his way, every duel he fought would be won before he ever drew his sword. In the midst of conflict, he's a marginally different beast; an edge of intensity and aggression comes out, though the graceful confidence remains. A victory isn't as sweet if one doesn't look good while achieving it, of course.

Beyond this simple utility and their status as a superior food source, Chadwick sees mages little differently than the rest of their mortal ilk. They are certainly the most powerful warriors of humanity, a feat worthy of respect, but a foe who can be bested simply by waiting a few decades is hardly what Chad considers capable of rivaling a vampire. Nevertheless, he considers his own mages an interesting diversion to pass the time. None in his house would suffer a weak-willed mage, but short-lived as their physical prime is, they present a sort of challenge to see what heights he can cultivate in them. And of course, a challenge to inspire new heights in his own skills, as Chad takes them as healthy competition to keep his skills honed.

The first century or so of Chadwick's life was fairly typical of an Astorio fledgeling, and thus, unremarkable. He trained, he fought, he conquered. His older brother held much of his sire's attention and subsequently familial responsibilities, and thus Chad was left much to his own devices outside of his family's training regimen. Free from the imposition of courtly politics and territorial management, he whiled away the first century of his life in idle leisure - or what passes for it in an Astorio household, violent as they are - taking up sport dueling as a means to entertain himself. He grew tired of sparring with the same few opponents, and rather than wait the agonizing years it would take to raise a new generation of mages to vary the selection a little, Chad opted to throw himself to the wider world in search of a challenge.

Though Chad did not seek it, the act earned instant approval from his sire. Raising a strong contender in the arenas would doubtlessly improve his own standing, and thus he excused Chadwick from most of his remaining household duties so long as his career continued, to allow the young vampire time to solely focus on honing himself. And hone himself he did; Chad gained public renown in his twelfth decade when he achieved an upset victory against Count Damien Eve, a vampire over a century his senior with skills to match, in a risky maneuver that cost Chad an arm and Damien his heart. Now thrust into a spotlight, it was then that he first began to play the game. The fame didn't particularly interest him, nor did the machinations of his peers that he was now privy to with his newfound connections, but he didn't ignore the whispers in his ears as he pretended to.

There was no point in souring a business deal for someone he marginally disliked, no reason to sabotage his rivals if he only stood to gain things he never wanted in the first place. Petty fun, perhaps, but there were easier ways to achieve that. Still, information was a weapon, and it always paid to be armed. So Chadwick flitted about the edges of high society, occupying his time at classy events by incensing some limp-dick count or chickenshit duke in hopes they'd come to blows, all the while keeping an ear out for anything of use. His competitors had weaknesses and all it took was someone to slip one of their pesky little habits - a minor tidbit of information compared to the grandiosity of Count So-And-So's big move on Count What's-His-Name's holdings in the metallurgy industry, and thus easily thrown out by the rubes who didn't understand Chad's game.

Dismantling an opponent before they ever stepped into the ring became his pastime, riling them up beforehand until their frustration led them to make the mistakes he expected. The act was almost more fun than the duel itself, and Chad expanded his brand into the TCL just to get more of it. As expected of an Astorio household, Chad expected nothing less than ruthless combat efficiency in his mages, and providing them an outlet to show it off was met with minimal protest. There he coached his little pets for three whole generations, dissecting the opposition and passing his conclusions to his mages for them to exploit at their leisure.

Unfortunately, the onset of the war put an end to his fun, as his brother requested Chad's presence in a grander game. His territory had become a key engagement zone against Dawn Rising early on, and the count found the strategems devised centuries ago in some doddering Astorio's theorizing that he had based his initial defense on didn't hold up to the reality of modern mage-on-mage warfare, and so he called on Chadwick for reinforcements. As he took to the field, the flaws in his brother's command quickly became apparent. Outdated tactics were a flaw that could be easily corrected, major information leaks and saboteurs were not. Chad's brother had never been one to be lax on his mages, but he'd cracked down especially hard after one of them had expressed some minor interest in Ryner's revolutionary drivel. And as beaten dogs often do, his pets grew vicious. Fear kept them in line for now, but defections were not uncommon and as much fun as it was to gorge himself on the first few traitors, Chad felt his time was better spent attacking the enemy ship rather than plugging holes in his own.

So, when one of his brother's especially bold mages plotted an assassination, Chad pretended to be none the wiser. After his brother had been reduced to ash and the offending mage found herself suddenly missing a good chunk of her ribcage, Chad tossed her body aside and assumed fealty over his brother's holdings. There was a short period of cleaning house - he considered himself much better at maintaining morale than his late brother, but one can't make an omelet without cracking a few skulls, or whatever the mortal idiom was - but afterward Chad found himself in command of an effective piece of the Council's war machine.

Naturally, it was all a farce to remain in the midst of the action, but Chad would have his fun while the combat lasted. It was for this reason that the foundation of the Dreaming Court in 524 gave him pause. In the Sinnenodels he saw the death of warfare, that the conflict and all future conflicts would be reduced to the petty scheming of mind mages to undermine each other and end the opposition without a single sword ever being swung. Lord Pieron's departure from the conflict after Ryner's defeat seemed only to confirm Chad's misgivings - if his progenitor had lost his interest in the war, it would only be a matter of time until his lesser children followed. Chad wouldn't suffer the death of his newfound hobby just so Sybil could throw a few mages more firmly under the yoke and, in a spectacularly unprecedented move, Count Chadwick Astorio emancipated his mages and defected to Dawn Rising.

The next few years were spent in violent revelry, with Chad sating his bloodlust while he could as the war wound down. After the loss of Benjamin Eve, he flirted with the idea of returning to the fold, but with things miraculously looking up for the rebels despite their leadership falling to a girl barely half a century old, he's content to wait and observe for now.

Caspian Fontaine is the son and legacy of Cascade, a rebel spy who used her family's magic to keep the opposing side at bay. He was born in the year 511, a by-product of war and the experiments it brought forth. The only home he'd known for several years was the base his mother worked at. A large building with ornate fixtures that made one forget about the world outside. He'd spent a majority of time in the interior garden, playing by the Koi ponds and hassling the fish. Once he'd turned five, a boken was placed inside his hands. He was made to practice his swordsmanship, at first only doing 50 downwards swings a day, then 100, and so on. He wasn't expected to fight just yet, but everyone had to learn to defend themselves at a young age.

When he was ten he was gifted his first real sword. A matching pair of a Katana and Wakizashi. The Katana was far too big for him, but he was told he'd grow into it. Until then he used his short sword as his active one, practicing his swings and styles with the new weight of real metal. He'd began helping out more around the camp, doing small smuggling jobs, or things only small kids could pull off without suspicion. He'd kept his sword hidden on him at all times, always ready to fight if the task called for it. The years went by and his eighteenth birthday had finally come, the awakening ceremony would take place for a handful of children who had come of age.

When his turn had come, he walked up towards the crystal that sat atop a pedestal and placed his hands upon it. Regardless of the outcome he was ready to fight in the war, but the rebels needed more magic and they were losing mages fast. There's a small glow, dim at first, before it blew into a radiant light bright enough to give him a blue hue. His hands lingered for a moment in amazement before he'd finally moved them off, staring at them blankly as he walked away. He was a mage, and a water one that could continue his family's legacy within the war. New training started immediately, learning how to manipulate the water around him, finding sources in the most hopeless of places, and making due with what he had at hand.

He quickly learned to carry several waterskins on him, allowing him to have a channel for his magic in the event water was scarce. Several times his powers fluctuated during training. Moments where he'd meant only to summon a wisp of water and yet arcs flew out. Fortunately for them his ability to scry was unhindered by all of this, allowing him to accept his role as a rebel spy within the ranks. His mother had begun to pay special attention towards him while he was training now. She said it was to ensure his progression was good, and he hadn't suspected otherwise until later. He was tasked with heading towards another rebel cell, away from his family so that he may provide similar services to a cell without a Fontaine.

As a final parting gift, his mother handed him her focus. It wasn't until later he heard about what had happened to her. She succumbed to dissonance, unable to find an appropriate foci once more, her magic got the best of her. He'd never known until then, but the war had taken more from them than he'd realized. The Miasma unleashed during his conception affected his mother and his birth. She required a focus even though she was a primary affinity wielder. Now that he had awakened, now that he knew more, he realized that attention wasn't to check his progress, it was to check for any dissonance that may have occurred. His magic was fundamentally altered, stronger than it should be for his age and skill, but forcing him to use a focus or risk dissonance.

This loss helped to steel him for the times that were to come. Using his powers both defensively to alert the base of intruders or dangers, or when the need arises, offensively to fight off those that escaped his sight. It was during one such altercation that he earned the title of Raging Sea. A silly nickname a few of the rebels gave him when, by pure chance, he swung his sword at a group of enemies and instead of a practiced arc, came a gushing wave that swept them back as it knocked them down. The rebels were able to escape with their lives, and he was stuck with a new name.