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◊ ŋąɱɛ ◊

Ylfa Hrafnsdóttir
Epithet: Brunhildr, the Valkyrie

◊ Aɠҽ ◊

34

◊ ❝ The Crown names me Brunhildr. My kin still call me Ylfa. The she-wolf mage. ❞ ◊

◊ Cσɳƚιɳҽɳƚ σϝ Oɾιɠιɳ ◊

The Antarctik, Yrskald

◊ Pɾαƈƚιƈҽԃ Mαɠιƈ: Lιɠԋƚ ◊

Ylfa’s magic centers around the manifestations of frost runes around her body enhancing her physical prowess. At a moment’s notice she can activate specific marks to push past the limitations of the human body. Strength, endurance and even speed enhanced to superhuman level.

It’s not without consequence, as these enhancements do not account for fatique and strain. Tendons tear, bones potentially break and nerves snap if Ylfa pushes hard enough. It’s not invincibility, it’s breaking human limitations without accounting for the natural restraint that prevents bodily damage.

Ylfa’s runes are not cumulative powers. Each one forces a single bodily system beyond its limits. Even brief use risks injury; prolonged use guarantees it.

Beyond that she’s dabbled in general frost magic, using it to trip or surprise opponents in combat. A frozen spike here, a touch of cold there, the sudden lurge of a pillar jutting from the ground just enough to push someone off balance.

◊ Rҽʅαƚισɳʂԋιρ ɯιƚԋ Rσყαʅƚყ ◊

She respects the monarch personally and believes in the necessity of order in a land where famine and raiders can erase villages overnight. But she sees clearly what the Crown does to unregistered mages, and she knows she survives only because she serves. Their protection is a leash wrapped in velvet. She does not pretend otherwise.

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◊ ƈɧıƖɖɧơơɖ ◊

Ylfa Hrafnsdóttir was born into a raven-banner house sworn to the Antarctic throne generations ago. Her father was a war-captain and omen-reader both, a quiet man who taught her how to read wind on snow and intent in a rival’s eyes. Their clan lived along frozen fjords. Where longships were hauled onto ice and wolves were both threat and teacher.

Her magic surfaced early, during a winter raid. She struck a raider with a wood axe and the wound froze solid before blood could fall. The Crown’s riders arrived within a week. She was taken politely, firmly, permanently. Her mother kissed her brow and told her to be strong enough to survive kings.

The day she was branded Brunhildr, her birth name was not spoken aloud again in the hall.

◊ ℘ɛཞʂơŋąƖıɬყ ◊

Ylfa is controlled before she is kind. Years of discipline have sanded down impulsiveness into something sharp and deliberate. She speaks little, watches much, and remembers everything. Around strangers she is iron. Courteous, distant, immovable.

Around soldiers she is practical, even protective, because she knows exactly what war takes from them. Beneath that restraint lives a restless doubt. She believes in duty, but she cannot ignore the children hunted for the same gift she bears openly. She carries a quiet guilt like an old scar. She tells herself that if someone must hold the axe for the Crown, it is better that it be someone who still questions.

In rare private moments she laughs dryly, enjoys strong drink, and listens to skalds recite old sagas of warriors who chose their own fate. Those stories linger.

◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ʄཞıɛŋɖʂɧı℘: 2 ◊

◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ཞơɱąŋƈɛ: 1 ◊

Friendship is possible but slow. She trusts those who survive battle beside her or who speak plainly without fear. Court intrigue bores her; loyalty proven in cold and blood matters more.

Romance is nearly impossible while she wears the Brunhildr mantle. She believes attachments are liabilities the Crown would exploit or destroy. She allows herself affection only in thoughts she never speaks.

◊ Aρρҽαɾαɳƈҽ ◊

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_{The Kunlun Crown have always favoured men for Mages and Warriors alike. When Aerwyn was conscripted, her resentment towards the Crown was palpable. Ripped from her family, thrown into the Mage quarters and treated differently to her male counterparts, Aerwyn felt like she had a lot to prove. She resented the Crown and its royal agenda. Her Mentor, Lucan, was who altered her view. He forced her to look through a different lens, challenged her pre-instilled belief system, flicked the chip from her shoulder… Tireless training reprogrammed Aerwyn’s anti-royalist mind. She came to love the structure, the routine, the order of it all. Yet still, the embers of pro-Mage movements glow in the pits of her stomach.}

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<sub>Kunlun is a Continent of hard-nosed, powerful, bred-to-kill warriors and Wyvern riders. Men outnumber the women by 3/1 with the birth rate for baby girls plummeting further still in recent years. Consequently, the men of Kunlun protect and serve their women as if they were fragile, precious Arcadian jewels. Females in Kunlun are wrapped in cotton wool whilst their men fight for them, hunt for them and serve the Continent.

“She should be domesticated. She should be an adept seamstress. She should crave motherhood. She should prepare herself to be a wife.” Aerwyn grew up hearing nothing but propaganda for the life that was being paved for her. A sheltered life of domestication, all in preparation for motherhood and marriage.

But Aerwyn was a wayward child. Nothing made her sicker than the idea of being shut away in a home full of her children and a Wyvern-riding husband. She sneered at those that dreamt of nothing but homemaking and sewing. She loved the outdoors. Adventures. Climbing. Fighting. Aerwyn ran rings around her 5 older brothers and quickly became known in Kunlun as somewhat of an oddity. Aerwyn’s parents despaired for their daughter’s fate.

Not only was she kicking the shins of neighbours sons and climbing the rocky fissures of the Arcadian mountains instead of learning to bake a good loaf of bread… But she’d also been touched by the hands of Magic. Simultaneously shunned and suffocated for her power, Aerwyn had no choice but to teach herself to control her abilities. She watched young Mages manifesting magic and succumbing to the overwhelm of it all. She saw weakness. Ignorance. Aerwyn vowed to herself that she would not end up with the same fate. She spent much of her rebellious childhood alone in the Mountaines, honing her power. Though she had no real comparison nor metric to measure her abilities, Aerwyn knew her power was vast and uncommon. She adapted quickly, teaching herself the basics of Light wielding during a thunderstorm one night. She channelled the power of lightning, manipulating the forks of light across the skyline.

Her conscription came on her 18th Birthday. The Kunlun Royal Guard dragged her from her bed as she slept, kicking and screaming. She was the only female Initiate Mage. The training was merciless and even with her Mountainside practice, nothing could’ve prepared her for the rigorous testing Initiates underwent. But, in spite of all those that doubted her, Aerwyn thrived in the Mage Quarters. She studied tirelessly, practiced until she burnt herself out, read every Tome she could get her hands on…



Aerwyn’s inner fire has been moulded by Lucan over the years. Though she has learned the art of internalising that fire, it still lives within her. She is passionate. She is bold. She is outspoken. But her appointment as Royal Mage taught her to channel that energy into her duties and her magic. A Royal Mage is collected and composed. Aerwyn has the reputation of a more animated Mage than most. She is moralistic and opinionated with a feisty demeanour.

Perceptive and astute, Aerwyn prides herself on her intuition. Her signature gaze has a revealing quality, uncovering secrets and withheld personality traits. She listens to her gut, which has rarely lead her astray, and leads with her heart. Ironically, the maternal qualities her parents so desperately tried to induce within her have emerged tenfold as a Royal Mage. She is kind. Fair. Her moral compass is well-centred and not easily swayed.

All the qualities that ostracised her as a young girl are her strengths as a Royal Mage.</sub>

◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ʄཞıɛŋɖʂɧı℘: 3 ◊

◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ཞơɱąŋƈɛ: 4 ◊

◊ _{Her commitment to the Crown and the duties of a Royal Mage make Aerwyn a tough nut to crack, initially. She will feign indifference to friendship and romance but, in her heart, Aerwyn craves to see and be seen. A life of service is lonely and she doesn’t see why she should spend her life alone when the Kunlun way is for her to do the exact opposite. But she wants it on her terms.} ◊




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Lucan is a premier healer, his abilities renowned across the Continents. Where mundane medicine fails, his magic does not. Mending common injuries, energizing the tired, fixing ruptured organs, identifying ailments and poisons, purifying toxins, curing maladies or combating diseases, all is possible if given enough time. Light magic meets its limit when faced with regenerating lost tissue and dealing with terminal illness – dark magic does not.

Lucan is also a haemomancer who has accumulated a wealth of knowledge through years of sanctioned research of utmost secrecy. He has bid foes to reveal the truth, used blood to track, scry, or corrupt, made elixirs to prolong the king's life, explored powers granted by ritual sacrifice, and has even dabbled in soul magic the once.

With years of experience at his back, Lucan is versatile, competent in everything from warding, to clairvoyance, illusions, and more. He relies on precision over power, preferring to plan, prepare, and study when he can afford it. Given hours or days, he can draft great rituals (light or dark) using geometric symbols and arcane patterns. In combat, he casts protective shields, bindings of silver light, stuns or paralyzes foes, and fells them with long-range beams. Close quarters is a definite weakness, and he is far from his prime as a mage, his reflexes slower, his endurance poorer.


Once, his faith in the monarchs was unquestioning, his servitude the only thing which ensured his survival and promised a measure of peace. That promise was a lie, and his life has hung on the precipice for years, but Lucan doesn't fault them for that. No, what truly shook him and which he cannot overlook is that royals are not infalible. They're not incorruptible. They can stray and make mistakes just like any common man. They are the existence with the utmost power in the realm, magic or not. And that makes them more dangerous than anyone – even a mage. The older generation (him included) has strayed too far, but perhaps, the younger heirs – royal and magical – hold greater promise...

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Born into a family of physicians, Lucan was a boy easily given to learning, fascinated as he was by the world and its workings. His future was bright, for he would have surely become a great doctor or scholar even without any supernatural prowess. Alas, magic threw his life into dissaray. He remembers its first manifestation with clarity; he was tasked with collecting the patient's bandages for cleaning. Lucan doesn't know what led him to touch the ailing woman. Compassion? Instinct? The reason lays forgotten to time, but the consequences do not. His palm shone, and the wounded woman was healed. Only – he hadn't known to regulate his power then, so she had been left with a burn.

His parents presented him to the Royal Guard at once. Unfortunately, royal decree called for mages only after they turned 18 years of age, so Lucan was returned to his family. They feared him, because magic was unknown – unexplainable, unreasonable, ungodly. So, he was kept on the periphery, told not to interfere, to keep his 'abomination' under control. Gone was the opportunity to succeed the family trade, though no one could accuse him of not trying. He stole into his father's study, begged his mother to let him assist, hounded his siblings for knowledge they took for granted.

All the while, he questioned: How was magic different? Why? What were its mechanisms, its functions, its limitations? He theorized, experimented, and practiced no matter how often it ended with him locked in the cellar. By the time he was recruited as an initiate, Lucan had refined control of his magic, and a burgeoning understanding he was eager to develop under proper guidance. Competition was fierce and their master a combative sort who disregarded casualties in the name of training. Luck, skill, persistence – none of his peers were lacking. Yet, in the end it was him who was chosen as a Royal Mage, and to this day and age, he can only guess why.

He has served since the former king's reign, and believed he would serve the next one till death. However, His Majesty Estienne was stricken by a terrible illness, one beyond even Lucan's skills. If only he'd had more time...

Alas.

"Find a way," the queen told him, and when he said there was none with light magic, he was given permission to turn to dark. There were scarce old tomes in the kingdom's possession, but enough to find a quick if temporary solution. With the power of blood, they kept the king alive for a few more years, but it was only a matter of time. The prince and princess were deemed too young (though the former was on the cusp of majority), so they sought alternatives. His and the queen's scheme was a most dark one – they transferred King Estienne's soul into his younger brother's body.

This was 4 years ago, and since then, King "Ingram" has ruled. However, the cost was steep; Kunlan was beset by waves of monstrous forces, what little crops they had were blighted for two years, and the king has been practically driven mad by guilt. While the queen searches for ways to fix her husband, Lucan is assessing the younger royals to see who is worthy of his loyalty...



Observant, analytical, and curious to a fault, it was his thirst for knowledge and the quest for understanding which led him off the honest path. Or perhaps he has always been deceptive, even to himself, and the fragile guise of academic interest was but a veil hiding an underlying desire for power and control. Even he's not sure. Regardless of the truth, Lucan has accepted darkness as a part of who he is. Disillusioned yet determined, he has come to nurture the quiet conviction that even if past wrongs can't be righted, punishment awaits the wicked. And if it falls to him to deliver it, then so be it.

Lucan's inner doubts are concealed beneath a facade of geniality and grace. He is approachable, sympathetic, yet holds high expectations – of others and of himself. He is insightful, clever, and creative, open to sharing his ideas when appropriate. He believes mages could be far better utilized, but has grown numb to their losses. While he's not the type to overtly rebel, he is perfectly capable and willing to influence, manipulate, and nudge things towards preferred outcomes. Behind the scenes, Lucan will do it all; anything for the sake of the kingdom.


He's amicable enough, can be charming even, but does not find it easy to trust others. It's not even the fear of being revealed as a dark magic user which drives his secrecy, but the ill fate of a mage's life in general, and especially the weight of burdens he carries as a royal mage. However, he is comfortable in the role of a mentor, and often approaches relationships from the position of a wise guide.

As for romance, I'd personally put it at 0. He's 60 years old, so I really, really doubt there are any suitable candidates available. That, and my style of writing emphasizes plot, where any arising organic romance isn't central. But hey, let's never say never. ◊




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Title: High Artificer
Eli has been trained in a wide array of light magic to prepare him for his role as High Artificer. Offhand, he’s amassed an arsenal of low-effort spells largely geared toward convenience. A little telekinesis here to reach a book on a high shelf, a little fire there to keep his tea hot, a hardlight umbrella to keep off the rain - all products of an endless stream of intense, but short-lived interests. He took a particular interest in protective spells, and has mastered various wards, barriers, and other tricks to block, redirect, and confuse enemies.

More impressive and demanding feats of magic are well within Eli’s skill to work, but not without preparation. Extensive reference to Elowen’s vast library of arcane texts, complex magitechnical diagrams, and lengthy incantations are all in a day’s work for Eli when the Crown calls for it.

However, Eli's crowning achievement so far is shape-changing. With the help of a (rather impressive, if he does say so himself) magical artifact of his own design, Eli can turn himself into a bird. It's of great use for low-profile reconnaissance when necessary, and is also great fun. He's currently working on expanding his repertoire to other forms, but hasn't perfected anything else yet.

◊ Rҽʅαƚισɳʂԋιρ ɯιƚԋ Rσყαʅƚყ: ◊

As a junior member of the Elowen royal family himself, Eli is very amicable with royalty, both in his homeland and in general. His views and attitudes on most topics, including magic and mages, trend closely with those of Elowen’s ruling class, and what little he does challenge them is done in the spirit of recreational debate rather than true dissent.

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Eliseo Benedicto di’Augustino Rhaveus, first of his name, was born the only child of Princess Gianna, daughter of King Francesco Romano Elowen VII. With several brothers who themselves had several sons, Princess Gianna’s place in the line of succession was low, but she took point in her father's heart, and it showed. Her marriage to a foreign merchant of middling renown was notable only for what it was not: it was not especially politically useful, and many much more impressive suitors were left jilted by it. But she loved him, and King Francesco loved her, so that was all that mattered.

Eli’s life was much the same. His mother doted on him with uncommon devotion, and he led a life untouched by discomfort or want. Notably, when he showed signs of bearing magic as a young child, almost nothing changed. The King could never refuse Princess Gianna, and as such, he could never refuse Eli; whatever scandal or whispers came of a mage being born to the royal line, Princess Gianna, with the King’s help, ensured it never reached Eli’s ears.

Of course, as Eli grew, he eventually caught on. Nobody could keep the sidelong glances or hushed whispers from him forever, although nobody dared such impoliteness in the King or Princess’ company. But Eli was largely indifferent to it; if anything, he got a little kick out of the stir he could cause when he entered a room. He was perhaps the only mage on the planet who felt entirely secure in his position.

Life continued apace when he entered his apprenticeship with the High Artificer. On paper, he was treated like any other candidate, moving residence to the High Artificer’s quarters and competing with a handful of other young mages for the position. But in reality, his room in the Artificer’s Quarters was very rarely slept in, and the High Artificer himself spent an unusual amount of time in private study with him. When the time came for the High Artificer to choose his successor, nobody was surprised when he named Eliseo Rhaveus; realistically, there was no way it was ever going to be anyone else.

Fortunately for the Crown, Eli’s ascension to the seat of High Artificer wasn’t solely a construct of nepotism. He had taken to magic like a duck to water, was a diligent student, and became a skilled mage in his own right. In his short career thus far, he’s been performing well. Of course, that won’t stop the whispers, nor will it placate any losing candidates who feel that they’ve been cheated.

In a word, bored. Eli has led a life bereft of adversity, and when nothing is very difficult to achieve, accomplishments feel… routine. The constant game of social standing is routine. The smiles are fake, the people are fake, the compliments underhanded, day after day after day. Studying magic presented a welcome change of pace, but the novelty soon wore off. The position of High Artificer was new, for a while, but a year in, Eli is starting to fall into the familiar ruts of routine. He’s starting to think he’d kill for something new.

But as tired as he is of the grind of royal life, Eli is still a product of his upbringing. He has no trouble telling people what to do - in fact, it’s the bulk of his social interaction. He treats everyone he meets either as a servant to be dictated to or as a superior to impress, very rarely as equals. He has very little tolerance for discomfort and is accustomed to getting everything he wants. He falls into Elowen noble double-speak purely out of habit, but enjoys the chance to be blunt when he can get away with it.

The aristocrats of Elowen are a shallow and superficial people who collect acquaintances like flowers; to be cultivated, displayed, and compared to others. Growing up in such a world, Eli has no shortage of contacts to fill up his dinner table, but nobody (save his mother) to whom he would truly bear his soul. He's not opposed to a true, intimate friendship, but he hasn't the first idea how to go about cultivating one, either.

Like most everything else in Elowen’s upper crust, romance is more an amusement than a true-hearted pursuit. Right now, it's an amusement Eli isn't particularly concerned with, and it would take a special woman indeed to tear his gaze away from his arcane tomes.





Eli has never lifted anything heavier than a book in his life, and it shows. Average in height with a lean and narrow frame, he’d pose a daunting physical threat to a spider, but not much else. His dark brown skin is deepened further by long hours spent lounging in the sun, and his tousled black-brown hair largely does what it wants, punctuated by a single pale lock on his forehead. His tallow-coloured eyes are usually rimmed with round, golden spectacles, and his aristocratic features school nicely into his signature look of distracted contemplation.

When it comes to clothes (and everything else) Eli insists on the very finest. Fortunately, the textiles of the Planes are second to none, and money is no object. At rest, he favours cool, loose fitting shirts and trim trousers. For work, at the moment, he’s on a kick of robes: his unimposing frame is often swallowed up by layers upon layers of deceptively light and breathable silks, as bright in colour and richly decorated as the vast fields of wildflowers that he calls home. Hidden in every fold and woven into the very fabric are a vast array of arcane enchantments for every possible purpose, from powerful wards of personal protection to spells of mere convenience. Some even swear to have seen the patterns on his clothes move.

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Soraya is considered to be the shining light of Kalahari, and her magic reflects that. She frequently entertains the king and his guests with brilliant displays of flashy light magic. She creates several constructs of light to both entertain and to defend herself. Her true expertise, however, lies in her healing magic. She is extraordinary in healing injuries and restoring the body to perfect health.
Zoraid's battle magic often manifests in him creating seven weapons that float around him. Each one moves at his will and he strikes to kill. He often uses them when eliminating monsters. Outside of his combat magic, however, Zoraid doesn't seem to use magic much aside from lazily beckoning a book or quill to him for convenience. The runes on his ankles, however, speak to his usage of dark magics.
Individually, each twin has their moments. But it is when they work together that their power truly shines beyond the boundaries of magic. Both work to amplify the other, and in the rare moments they cast together, they prove why they share the title of Royal Mage.

On the surface, the pair work well with His Majesty. Soraya is considered the favorite of the king, and their relationship is amicable. She does not hesitate to fulfil his orders to the best of her abilities. It is rumored that the king is infatuated with her, though there is no substantial evidence. On the other hand, Zoraid has a more practical relationship born of a mutual understanding. That said, he is resentful of the king, his love for his sister often used by him to get Zoraid to delve into darker magics when necessary.

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"Take care of each other."

The words were spoken to the two siblings by someone, perhaps their mother or father. It was a daunting task to leave two children to fend for themselves, but they had neither family nor willing neighbors who could afford to feed two more mouths. And with only the other to survive, they did whatever it took. Considering they were children, it was mostly petty theft to stifle the rumbling in their stomachs.

Alleviation came in the form of the Royal Mage snatching the pair after they were caught stealing from a bakery. A pair of street urchins taken in by the Royal Mage was nothing to bat an eye at. Less so when it turned out that they, too, possessed the ability to use magic. He gave them names, naming one Soraya and the other Zoraid, and put them to work. They were not the only children there, but they were the only ones who could use magic. They got most of the attention as a result, though it wasn't until they were left to fend for themselves that their special ability manifested: for whatever reason, each sibling was able to strengthen the other. It was neither a spell or blessing, but something innate.

This in turn sparked a change. For one, the two could be considered a threat. They were young, yes, but their synergy and magic meant that they could end up becoming great. Neither twin rested on their laurels, however, deciding that if they were going to be replaced, then they would need to act. And so they dedicated themselves to their craft, and a particular potion caught their interest--one that would ensure their future place in the world.

Soraya is a charming young woman. Humble and soft-spoken, her smile arrives easily and is capable of softening sharp edges in a room. She has a pure heart and cares deeply about those who are dear to her. While on the shy side, she is eager to please and tries to be friendly. She is imaginative and creative, delighting in using her magic to entertain. That said, it's sometimes difficult to tell what she's really thinking, as she has a habit of hiding how she truly feels.

Zoraid comes off as the charismatic and confident twin, yet his lovely smile never truly reaches his eyes. He chooses his words carefully and is quick to judge others. He is very blunt as a result of his background, and he is always cautious of others. He has little trust for anyone on the best of days. The tiny flicker of warmth that remains in his heart is meant only for the sister he sacrificed everything for, and he will not think twice before using anyone to ensure his sister's safety and health.

◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ʄཞıɛŋɖʂɧı℘: 5 & 3 ◊
◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ཞơɱąŋƈɛ: 5 & 1 ◊

Soraya's desire for friendship and romance comes as a surprise to no one. A friendly girl whose light magic matches her personality is definitely the type to dream of love and romance. Unsurprisingly, Zoraid trusts few, with his idea of 'friendship' being something she can benefit from. Romance, on the other hand, has never crossed her mind.


The twins are fraternal while sharing a number of similarities. Both have blonde hair and blue eyes, though Soraya's skin is fairer than her brother's. Soraya is always seen dressed elegantly and surrounded by opulence provided by the king. Zoraid, on the other hand, tends to wear clothing that is unquestioningly fine, but he ensures his choices don't draw too much attention to himself. He's tall with an athletic build, his hair slightly tousled at all times.

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Name: Caliban

Aɠҽ: 35



Continent of Origin: The Deserts - Sahara

Practiced Magic: Dark

Relationship with Royalty: Caliban's relationship is strained at best. While he isn't fond of being bird locked in a cage, he is still treated right at least by the queen despite his disfigurement. The king however, he walks the daggers edge. Loathing the man because of because of his code of conduct. His loyalty is to the people under his monarch's lands not to the monarch himself or at least that's what he tries to tell himself.

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Distracted:
Caliban wasn't born into a noble house, no great craftsman or warrior family. It was nothing, born to a woman of pleasure. The elder brother to a twin sister loathed and detested by their mother who in turn would toss him out for trying to protect his sister from the life she would inevitably fall into.

Falling into a life of crime as a thief to fight for survival, emerging as a prominent sneak thief. Through the years growing stronger and quicker. Though one fateful day went near fatal as his partner in crime betrayed him. Losing two fingers and an eye in the altercation. Never revealing except to those he intimately trusts will he tell how it happened only hardening his internal resolve

Later in his teenage years magic surfaced when he went to steal his sister away only to find her in the middle of child birth going awry quickly. His sister died in the birth of her child and had sent him into a fury . In his grief and rage his latent magic surfaced and thus his entrance into the royal court was pushed.

During his early years in the court the reigning king saw him only as a tool which he grew to loathe. The queen was a helpful individual. Teaching him to read and write to help be more effective in his duties



Caliban considers himself a man of the people, taking no last name. Being of common birth himself, he prefers being around those of lower birth, even at times getting drunk with them . Feeling that he can be his true self with them, letting down the rigid rules of the monarchy. Even going as far as gambling with them or giving from his coinage to those who need it.

Despite being a dark magic wielder he isn't malicious or power hungry. Using it as a means to an end to protect those under his charge. He'd rather deal with the draw back of dark magic for the safety of others in his realm.

His major flaw is that once his trust is shattered, he'll assume more out of animal droppings. A betrayer of trust is a violation against all those who walk on two legs. Seeking attention or the answers he needs elsewhere.

Friendship Possibility : 4

Romance Possibility: 2

Rankings Explained :

Caliban is a good man and is quick to make a friend. Believing that a good friend is the currency of one's measure. Despite his yearning for a partner he's come to terms with that his disfigured appearance drives away any potential interest and is wary of romance.

Appearance

Beast of the Depths

◊ Aɠҽ: 34 ◊

◊ ❝ Beware the rumbling, for it heralds something much worse then a simple landslide❞ ◊

◊ Cσɳƚιɳҽɳƚ σϝ Oɾιɠιɳ: ȶɦɛ ʍօʊռȶǟɨռɛֆ - ǟʀƈǟɖɨǟ ◊

◊ ƈɧıƖɖɧơơɖ ◊

◊ ℘ɛཞʂơŋąƖıɬყ ◊