[hider=The Druid's Son] [centre][h1][b][i][color=0B6623]Thalorian Kessler[/color][/i][/b][/h1][/centre] [hr][table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img][/img][/center][/cell][cell] [indent][hr][/indent][hr] [indent][sup] [centre][u][b]Basic Info[/b][/u][/centre] [b]Titles:[/b] The Hedgeborn (derogatory nickname among traditional magi) The Druid’s Son [b]Gender:[/b] Male [b]Age:[/b] 20 [b]Alignment:[/b] Chaotic Good [b]Affiliation:[/b] None [b]Clock Tower Rank:[/b] None [b]Command Spell[/b] Extending from his left shoulder down his arm, hand, and fingers. Designed like intertwining tree branches and Celtic glyphs. [b]Color:[/b] [color=0B6623]Forest Green[/color] [/sup][/indent][hr][indent][hr][/indent][/cell][/row][/table] [centre][h2][i][b][color=0B6623]Background[/color][/b][/i][/h2][/centre] Thalorian was born far from the Mage’s Association, but his roots run deep within it. His mother, Elisabeth Varnhegan, was the second-born daughter of a prestigious English mage family known for their structured ritual magic, a system optimized around Norse runes, elemental theory, and legacy. However, the Varnhegans had once been something older. Before politics and prestige, before efficiency became dogma, they were druids. They spoke to the land in Ogham, etched glyphs into stone circles, and lived according to the rhythm of ley lines. By Elisabeth’s time, that tradition had become little more than myth, retained in old texts but dismissed as impractical compared to modern magecraft. She learned it, memorized it, and practiced it in secret, but her true education was in dominance, control, and the rigid inheritance of magic. Eventually, Elisabeth walked away. She abandoned her name, her Crest, and the Association entirely. In the years that followed, she fell in love with a mundane man, a kind soul untouched by mage society. Their time together was short but deeply cherished. When he passed, Elisabeth chose to remain in the countryside, raising their son alone and far from the reach of her former life. It was early in Thalorian’s childhood that Elisabeth noticed something strange. Even without formal testing, she could feel it. Mana clung to him, and the forest seemed to lean toward his voice when he laughed. Though his father had no magical aptitude, Thalorian’s prana resonated with the world around him with unusual sharpness. It was not chaotic, but deliberate and vibrant. Elisabeth understood then that the Varnhegan blood had not faded. Somehow, against the odds, it had crystallized within her son, a presence more focused and more refined than anything she had seen even among trained heirs. It frightened her. She had abandoned her family to escape that legacy, and now, unknowingly, she had passed it on in a form even they might covet if they ever learned of him. Perhaps it was this fear, as much as love, that led her to teach him magic differently. Not as a tool for conquest, but as a conversation with the land. Not as an inheritance, but as a joy. She passed down the Ogham runes she had practiced in secret, showing him how to carve them into bark, how to listen for the thrum of old ley lines beneath his feet, and how to feel the changing breath of the seasons. Magic was not obedience or control. It was reverence. Play. Curiosity. It was during these early years that Thalorian met Tuthail, a fox-shaped forest spirit, old enough to remember the first druids, wary of humans, and reluctant to interfere. Drawn by Thalorian’s purity, yet cautious of Elisabeth’s bloodline, Tuthail kept his distance at first. Over time, however, the spirit grew to trust the boy and began teaching him things even Elisabeth could not: how to feel resonance beneath words, how to hear the silent songs of the land, how to exist with magic rather than over it. In time, Thalorian’s mastery of Ogham grew far beyond his mother’s. Where she had only fragments, he had time. Where she had secrecy, he had freedom. But not all things remain still forever. In the final year before the War, Elisabeth began to wither. There was no visible cause, no curse, no injury he could see. Only a slow, terrible fading. Her magic dulled. Her hands shook. Her laughter grew soft and strained. Thalorian tried everything. He blended salves and tinctures from ancient herb lore. He inscribed healing runes beneath her bed and lined their home with bounding circles tuned to harmony and rest. He performed quiet rituals, trying to draw gentle ambient mana into her from the nearby leylines, not to force healing, but to harmonize her spirit and slow the decline. Though he tried every remedy and rune he knew, her spirit seemed to slip further from the world with each passing day. And then, one night, the Command Spell burned itself into Thalorian’s arm. Panicked, he ran to her, and for the first time in years, saw true fear in her eyes. It was Elisabeth who explained the truth. She told him about the Grail War, about Servants and Masters, and about the death that inevitably followed those chosen. She begged him not to participate. She told him to surrender the Command Spell, to sever the bond before it could be sealed. She warned him that staying would mean certain death. And for a moment, he agreed. He nearly did. Until she weakened further, collapsing into his arms, and he heard, from broken lips, her whispered fear: "Don’t... throw your life away..." And for the first time, Thalorian asked what the Grail truly was. When she told him that it could grant any wish, he realized there was still hope. Not for power. Not for glory. But for her. And so, against her will, with a heavy heart and trembling conviction, Thalorian made his choice. He would claim the Grail. He would save her. Even if it cost him everything else. Though he did not fully understand how, he felt a pull. It was subtle but persistent, a resonance through the strange sigil seared onto his arm. At the same time, the forest itself grew restless. The leylines that had always hummed quietly now stirred with unfamiliar tension, their currents shifting unnaturally. Tuthail, ever watchful, confirmed it with a simple warning: "The world is calling you. It will not wait." Both spell and spirit seemed to point toward the same place. Toward Sion. And so, with little more than instinct, memory, and the silent support of an ancient spirit, Thalorian set out for where the leylines churned and fate awaited him. [centre][h2][i][b][color=0B6623]Personality[/color][/b][/i][/h2][/centre] Thalorian is a soul shaped by stillness, by soil, by old songs carried in the bones of the land. Gentle, curious, and instinctively kind, he believes magic is a conversation, not a command. It exists to protect, heal, and grow, not to dominate. He distrusts cruelty and resists the idea of controlling others, even his own Servant. He prefers collaboration, trust, and respect. Yet beneath his gentleness lies a quiet strength: those who harm life or twist nature will find in him an unyielding defender. He is slow to anger, quick to trust, and vulnerable to betrayal. His bond to people and the land runs deep, and when hurt, he withdraws like a wounded animal rather than lashing out. Though self-taught in many ways, Thalorian is intelligent and perceptive. He views the world like a puzzle made of rhythms—people, places, energy. He is most comfortable outdoors, grounded by the feeling of soil and sun, but adapts well when challenged. Cities overwhelm him at times; he finds them “loud in all the wrong ways,” but he does not fear them. Despite his talents, Thalorian often underestimates himself. Having never met another true magus, he has no real context for how rare or potent his magical aptitude truly is. He does not see himself as powerful, just in tune. He doubts, second-guesses, and sometimes holds back out of fear of harming someone or disrupting balance. He is deeply sentimental. He carries his mother’s scarf in the bottom of his pack. He plants seeds in forgotten places. He speaks to birds and trees without expecting answers, simply because it feels right. In the context of the Grail War, Thalorian is completely out of his element. The ruthlessness of other Masters may horrify him at first. The brutality of Servant battles will likely shake him. But he will adapt, not by becoming colder, but by becoming clearer. He will fight, if he must. And if he wins, it will be with conviction, cleverness, and the quiet power of someone who knows exactly what he is trying to protect. At the start of the War, his wish is simple: To save his mother. [centre][h2][i][b][color=0B6623]Magecraft Information[/color][/b][/i][/h2][/centre] [b]Elemental Affinity[/b] [list] [*]Primary: Earth [*]Secondary: Air [/list] [b]Origin[/b] Growth — His magic seeks to nurture, adapt, and restore. [b]Number of Magic Circuits[/b] B [b]Quality of Magic Circuits[/b] A [b]Magecraft[/b] Thalorian practices Ogham Runecraft, an ancient and flexible form of druidic inscription magic based around resonance with nature and ley lines. His magic focuses on the following: [list] [*]Subtle stealth through environmental blending [*]Vine and root manipulation for mobility, ensnaring, or defense [*]Minor healing through harmonizing his spirit with surrounding natural mana [*]Simple bounded field creation tied to living wood and trees [*]Detection of nearby disturbances in ley flow [*]Creation of natural sanctuaries in the forest [/list] While Ogham is highly adaptable, Thalorian requires a natural medium for carving or inscribing his runes. His style focuses more on harmony and control rather than explosive offense. [b]Familiar[/b] Name: Tuthail Type: Ancient Forest Spirit Form: Fox-like being, leafy green fur flowing like leaves in the wind. Tuthail: [list] [*]Senses leyline disturbances and changes in the land [*]Carves simple runes and channels Thalorian’s prana into them [*]Masks Thalorian’s magical presence against detection [*]Teaches fragments of ancient druidic magic (through cryptic metaphors and parables) [/list] Tuthail sustains himself primarily through ambient natural mana, drawing on trees, plants, and rivers. In urban settings, he can feed from potted plants and scattered greenery but must also rely partially on Thalorian’s prana when nature is scarce. Although not directly combative, Tuthail acts as a spiritual guide and mentor figure. Their bond was formed naturally through resonance rather than ritual binding. [b]Bounded Field Creation[/b] Thalorian grows hidden sanctuaries from forest trees rather than building artificial workshops. Effects of his bounded fields include: [list] [*]Concealing his presence from magical detection [*]Passive health restoration over time [*]Creating unease or confusion in intruders [*]Amplifying leyline attunement inside the bounded area [/list] [centre][h2][i][b][color=0B6623]Mystic Codes[/color][/b][/i][/h2][/centre] [b]Many Branches Bracers:[/b] Leather bracers carved with multiple Ogham runes, allowing Thalorian to activate minor magical effects. Grants access to runes for vine whips, root entanglements, defensive bursts, and sensory dampening. Effects are weaker compared to fully prepared runes on stones. [b]Girdle of Gort (ᚌ — Ivy Rune):[/b] A finely worked leather belt carved with the Gort rune. Grants the ability to summon vines or roots for binding and to blend into the environment for temporary camouflage. [b]Boots of Luis (ᚂ — Rowan Rune):[/b] Sturdy travel boots carved with the Luis rune. Grants the ability to perform two midair steps before landing, aiding movement and evasion. [b]Cloak of Nuin (ᚅ — Ash Tree Rune):[/b] A travel cloak etched with the Nuin rune. Slows falls drastically and allows short gliding descents from high places. [b]Spirit Whistle of Saille (ᚄ — Willow Rune):[/b] A ritual-carved bone whistle embedded with the Saille rune. Calls nearby lesser spirits (if willing), weakens illusions within a short range, and illuminates safe paths with ethereal blue wisps. [centre][h2][i][b][color=0B6623]Nonmagical Assets[/color][/b][/i][/h2][/centre] [list] [*]Handmade ritual kit — Including carved stones, chalk, dried herbs, and basic ritual implements [*]Basic survival gear — Satchel, waterskin, dried food supplies, fire-starting tools [*]Sketchbooks — Containing rune designs, leyline resonance maps, and notes on natural observations [*]Tracking and foraging expertise — Highly familiar with wilderness survival and resource gathering [*]Mother’s scarf — A cherished keepsake, worn or tucked safely away [/list] [/hider]