Blizz

New Here!

<Snipped quote by Blizz>

Ohhh whaddup. Glad to see you in this space.

@Chellizard

Yeah lmao I’ve been here like a decade

New Here!

I didn't expect to see you here. Hi lol

Redacted indeed. I played Stareater over there if you remembered that one.

Camp Athens - Closed

Marlen Ross Child of Apollo * Camp Entrance

The conversation around the bonfire didn’t really go anyway. Perhaps Marlen had simply ran their mouth too much, or made an ass of themselves by admitting how little they knew. Or maybe the unsolicited ukulele was the nail. Either way, the vibe seemed to shift mere moments after River left. Some people just couldn't keep up a conversation, or handle the slightest nudge beyond their comfort zone, and that was okay. Some people just couldn't handle food seasoned with more than table salt, either. Marlen lingered in that spot for a moment, and began to notice something... Where the heck was everyone? There were more people bouncing around this way and that earlier, not so many now. They weren't all going home, and apparently there was something happening at midnight that kept people awake that long, so clearly something was afoot.

Marlen like it when something was afoot. They also liked finding out what.

So they stood up and tossed the ukulele into the bonfire. When the fires engulfed it, it vanished from sight. Not burned, not ruined, not turned into ash, just gone. They noted a person or two heading off in yonder direction, so that was where they headed next. The warmth of the fire trailed away and replace with the cold again. Things seemed quiet, for a place like this. Marlen half expected people to be scampering around every square inch, but it appeared people were just flocking into groups as people tended to do. Marlen didn't know most or even any of them, really. People were... Well, people.

As far as they could tell, the bar was where people were, right now. Marlen wasn't a big alcohol enjoyer, but, hey, it was a big night. So they slid up to a corner of the bar and caught a scruffy-looking dude handling shots and bottles. As one did, behind the counter. This place was pretty damn packed, actually. It seemed that the vast majority of these demigod kids were gonna enter the new year on their asses with a glass held high for the moon. After all, what better way to christen a new chapter of one's life than to wake up on the first of January, with a raging hangover and a spontaneous regret for all those resolutions?

Marlen took a seat next to someone who wasn't sat down.

"Hey, bar-man," They greeted. "What's a fella gotta do around here to get some water around here?"

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

---

_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Jiro Tadashi N/A Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese ► Possessions Phone Earbuds Journal with a pen clipped to the front Old knife Multitool Flip lighter Cord bracelet Pouch filled with roasted cashews One-handed longsword, from Connie Metal water bottle - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Connie: She was one of the first people Rohan got to know when he showed up, and the first to learn that his magic came from a humanity-eating curse. They get along well, and he once made her a longbow that doesn't actually do anything magical, but is pretty damn sturdy. Finley: Rohan has had his fair share of tricks played on him by old things already. He sees Finley as someone who's had centuries to perfect the arts of shenanigans and fuckery, and never rules out the possibility that they're saying nothing when they're saying a lot. They're reason number one for why he carries a sword around with him wherever he goes. Nicholas: Slightly easier company to get along with than his brother, given the lack of mindbending magic. Nicky makes a decent cup of high-caffeine bean juice, and their interests align. Though, for his own safety, Rohan doesn't let the guy go into the woods with him, so they don't talk that much. Bartholomew: Rohan's been inside the Neverish once or twice, mainly during Winter, and he always has his Mountain Scepter in arm's reach just in case one of those jackasses tries to fuck him. He seems okay, for a hedonistic immortal. The guy makes coffee good enough for Rohan to see past it. Callaghan: Rohan isn't a fan of the flirty people around the school. It's not what he's here for and it's not who he is. Cal, being that and someone who turns into a fire-breathing monster, means Rohan keeps the guy at arm's length. The fire thing, he could work around. After all, he's not completely made of wood yet, but it's just obnoxious being around horny people so much. ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

---

_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Jiro Tadashi N/A Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese ► Possessions Phone Earbuds Journal with a pen clipped to the front Old knife Multitool Flip lighter Cord bracelet Pouch filled with roasted cashews One-handed longsword, from Connie Metal water bottle - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Connie: She was one of the first people Rohan got to know when he showed up, and the first to learn that his magic came from a humanity-eating curse. They get along well, and he once made her a longbow that doesn't actually do anything magical, but is pretty damn sturdy. Finley: Rohan has had his fair share of tricks played on him by old things already. He sees Finley as someone who's had centuries to perfect the arts of shenanigans and fuckery, and never rules out the possibility that they're saying nothing when they're saying a lot. They're reason number one for why he carries a sword around with him wherever he goes. Nicholas: Slightly easier company to get along with than his brother, given the lack of mindbending magic. Nicky makes a decent cup of high-caffeine bean juice, and their interests align. Though, for his own safety, Rohan doesn't let the guy go into the woods with him, so they don't talk that much. Bartholomew: Rohan's been inside the Neverish once or twice, mainly during Winter, and he always has his Mountain Scepter in arm's reach just in case one of those jackasses tries to fuck him. He seems okay, for a hedonistic immortal. The guy makes coffee good enough for Rohan to see past it. ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

The Season of the Enlightened

Location: The Haven

---

Morris heard his name and stopped, turning around and catching Prudence behind him. A young woman who had few friends in a place where people went because they lacked friends in society. Ironic, in a way. To no one’s surprise, certainly not his own, she seemed bored. That wasn’t terribly uncommon among this place’s tenants, given that they were underground, and learning clandestine tricks could only entertain for so long.

”Ms. Havesford,” He greeted her. ”He’s much more well-behaved now than the last time he had a task. But if you wish, I won’t tell you otherwise.”

He then held up the thin stack of envelopes he had. ”I’ve come back from a trip above, gathering the mail for the day. Not so adventurous, unless you intend to sneak these into chambers when none can see.” She was a bit of an elusive thing, as far as he always knew. Turning invisible and personally seeing to a lot of business for Lady Rosemarie. ”Afterwards, I have work for an incomplete project to finish. Unfortunately, I don’t believe I have much to trouble you with.”

He preferred to do his work privately, away from where others could snoop and watch him weave marrow like cloth and mold bone like clay. Some occasionally expressed interest in how Morris did it, especially those with more industrious abilities, but he didn’t like to share those details.

---

Location: St. Eustace's School

---

”Oh, he’ll behave himself from now on,” Silas croaked. He wasn’t often responsible for drilling some discipline into the students, in fact, the most he typically did as a combat instructor was assist in some way. He was more focused on reaching out and connecting with students than whipping them into shape. Not like Aoko, who was far more adept at training them.

”The boy has a cruel streak, and I am not one to beat the trouble out of someone so young as him. But in my experience, one has to be burnt before they burn others.” Silas was used to people punching down. It happened to him before when he was a kid. ”He’s much too used to having more power than others and getting away with taking advantage. He’ll learn, and do be assured, miss Aoko, I will use as much force as is necessary and no more. I would never endanger them.”

Being made of stronger stuff than most, Silas felt himself better equipped to handle a bully than someone with normal skin and bones.

”As for me, I am well enough. I believe Lord Ingram is getting on with things right about now… I do look forward to the newest students.”

Camp Athens - Closed

Azariah Willow Child of Hecate * Camp Entrance

Well, she seemed like fun.

Azariah gladly accepted the mead that was pushed towards him. He filled a shot glass with it. Looking at the label, he wondered… Wasn’t mead a Nordic thing, not a Greek thing? Well, with this many people congregating her, supposedly from all over the world, it was no doubt inevitable. It tasted great.

”That is wonderful. Thank you very much,” He said, wearing a grin that was much too sly to fit this situation, matched with eyes that were much too dark. He had something uncanny about him, the way he seemed to be right at home around so many interesting people. All people he never met.

“I’m Lily, what’s your name?”

”Azariah,” He answered, sliding the mead back in her direction. ”I’ve only been here a short while. Probably as long as you. I’ve met only two of these people, tonight. But they’re amusing.”

And, speak of the Devil, there was one of them.

Chariselle showed up again, immediately clocking him. That didn’t surprise him much. He could look like almost anything, and he definitely looked like a lot of things earlier. A bit of mischief here and there never hurt anyone.

”Drinks of all kind, so it seems,” he mused.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

It’s the Lorax,
He speaks for the trees
I don’t have a witty rhyme,
But he’s Japanese

Rohan

---

_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Note/Link Note/Link ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

Blizz's Vault of Stuff

Rohan

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_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

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C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Jiro Tadashi N/A Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese ► Possessions Phone Earbuds Journal with a pen clipped to the front Old knife Multitool Flip lighter Cord bracelet Pouch filled with roasted cashews One-handed longsword, from Connie Metal water bottle - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Note/Link Note/Link ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

Ladies and gentlemen, homosexuals of all ages, it shall be my goal in life to make people regret letting me in here.