Feyblue

Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld

Alrighty, character done!

Ulreik of Ardenfeld

D&D Character Sheet

Who I Am

The strong, silent type. Given his (former) profession, it would only make sense that Ulreik is someone who prefers actions to words, as what he lacks in rhetoric and wit, he has in work ethic. That said, it's not like he holds any sort of pride over his work, as he is completely modest with what he does. After all, why would someone be proud of digging graves? It is an honest job, if macabre, but it's not like he's anyone special for doing it.

Believing that he is cursed due to his tragic upbringing, Ulreik prefers to keep others at a distance. It is why he ended up tending graves in the first place. After all, he believes it's better if he hung around the dead over the living. It's because of this that Ulreik has made little friends aside from his fellows from Ardenfeld. In place of interacting with others, however, Ulreik has dedicated much of his focus to improving himself and getting things done. A determination developed by someone who spends too much time alone.

My Story

Even before the attack, Ulreik's life was already filled with tragedy. His mother had died during childbirth, leaving himself and his father on their lonely little farm on a hill. It didn't help that every time it was the day of Ulreik's birth, something bad would happen in the small ranch of theirs. When he turned two, their cattle had gotten sick and were nearly all killed off. When he was four, a terrible famine struck their farm just before the month of harvest. At seven, their barn had been struck by lightning. It was coincidences like these that caused Ulreik's father to call him a cursed child, regretting that he was ever born.

On his ninth birthday, Ulreik's father had sent him to Ardenfeld, a town only a few paces away from the farm, to run some errands. In truth, he had only sent the boy out so his presence wouldn't cause another travesty to happen. Of course, this was the same day of the attack. During the siege of the lowly hamlet, Ulreik had blacked out in the chaos. When he had finally come to, he was surrounded by the other surviving children of his age, mere minutes after the highwaymen had sacked the village.

Believing himself to be truly cursed, Ulreik broke away from the other children as soon as he was able to, running back to his home. It, too, was ablaze. Their crops had been stomped out, their animals dead or taken, and their barn all but destroyed. Ulreik had found his father's body, already bled out, nestled atop the small mound that was his mother's grave. It was such a sight that had finally broken the idea to the boy's mind that he was actually cursed.

When the older survivors had found Ulreik, he was clutching a shovel almost as large as he was, standing in front of two makeshift graves.

Ulreik's time at the Landeil orphanage was as expected. The more superstitious folk shared the same beliefs as the boy's father, believing Ulreik to be a child that would only bring tragedy and death. Many of the other children in the orphanage saw this and used this as enough of a reason to pick on the poor boy. Much like his father's abuse, this bullying was merely another form of penance that Ulreik believed he deserved. Of course, this didn't mean he wouldn't fight back.

At the age of thirteen, Ulreik was kicked out, having gotten into far too many physical altercations with the other children. With nowhere else to go, Ulreik had gone back to the only place he had known, back to his father's ranch. When he returned, Ulreik was surprised to see that it had turned to a new graveyard. What was once a place where life is cultivated had now turned into a land where the dead would have their final rest. Ulreik would soon find the place where his mother and father were buried, now a part of a mass grave dedicated to those who lost their lives during that fateful day in Ardenfeld.

Believing that the dead should at least have some form of memorial other than merely being buried together, Ulreik had made his way to the groundskeeper's abode, finding it empty but unlocked. Procuring some tools and a pair of planks, the boy would fashion a makeshift memorial, listing the date of the attack as well as a few harrowing words.

"We have not forgotten."

When the graveyard's groundskeeper, a wizened halfling, had returned, he would see the boy resting near the mass grave, tired boh from his work as well as his journey from Sarinan. The halfling dragged the boy back to his home, waiting for him to awaken. When Ulreik had come to, the halfling first scolded the boy for using tools not belonging to him before complimenting him on his handiwork. Introducing himself as Osmund, he gave the young Ulreik an offer soon after finding out that he had no place to go: help him tend the graves in exchange for room, board, and maybe a wage if he does a good enough job.

And so, Ulreik began his work as a gravedigger, tending to the very same lands his father had done years before. He would learn many things from Osmund, from boarding up a grave template to properly sawing out a casket. He also learned other skills from the halfling's past life as well. Osmund was not a stranger to death even before he became a grave tender, having served in the Pallaviel military as a scout. Keeping his larger build in mind, Osmund drilled Ulreik in many of the basic sword techniques taught to fresh recruits. Ironically, it was a place of death that Ulreik would truly find the most growth for himself.

Many years would pass, and soon, Ulreik's nineteenth birthday would come closer and closer. Having spent much of his coffers on a set of hand-me-down armor, a battery shield, and an old sword, Ulreik would prepare himself to face his curse head-on.

Going Forward

Beyond potentially getting revenge on the bandits who had slain his father, Ulreik truly desires to overcome his supposed curse. He wishes to rise above it, and to not let it control his life any longer. That being said, he's not quite sure how to go about it. There is always following Osmund's steps and joining up at Pallaviel, himself... But they wouldn't want a cursed recruit, now would they? Maybe he could also become a scout, staying on the outskirts of the battle rather than in the heart of it? Or perhaps he should just be a simple sellsword, dedicated to no cause but his own, so that his curse would not drag down anyone else...

In other words, Ulreik has not completely thought this through. At the very least, he'd like somewhere where he could belong, somewhere where his curse wouldn't trouble the lives of others. The dead make good company for this, but aren't quite the best when it comes to striking conversations with. That being said, he does not wish to merely abandon his past. If he ends up working as a gravedigger again, then so be it. He will continue to carry the memories of all those who have fallen. After all, he has not forgotten.

@Cu Chulainn

And another one who I think would have great potential interactions with Aethra, what with both of 'em being "cursed" in one way or another. XD I especially like how the imagery in their backstories is exactly reversed -- the destroyed home Aethra thought of as a graveyard ended up teeming with life, whereas his lively home became a literal graveyard.

Looking forward to seeing how he plays out! :3

Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld

I finally finished my sheet!

Tor

Torek "Tor" Mahlamarsh

D&D Character Sheet

Who I Am

Tor has never quite gotten a handle of controlling or even understanding his own emotions. While definitely not as bad as he used to be, he constantly struggles with stress, frustration and self-doubt. Even in his better moods, there's always something slightly forced, like he's trying very hard to enjoy himself, both for his own sake and for others. He wants to be happy, he feels he's at a point in his life where he should be capable of being happy, but there's always this lingering feeling that, even when things are good, they could very easily go wrong. Even when he's genuinely enjoying himself, he never seems relaxed, always a little jittery, never able to sit still for too long, and sometimes bordering on hyperactive. It can... a lot at times, but it's better than alternative, because when Tor hits a low mood, he really hits a low mood, with full on emotional break-downs, swearing, verbally lashing out at others, and occassionally punching a wall. He has gotten better at recognising when he's getting to this state, and will remove himself from others if he feels he's about crack. He really doesn't want people to see him like that. He wants to get to a point in his life where he can strong, if not for himself than at least for those he cares about. He wants to the kind of person who is control during a crisis, who can rally others together and solve a problem. However, even after all these years, that goal still seems as far away from him as ever, and he is constantly chastising himself to improve.

My Story

Born to a half-orc mother and a human father, Tor has always struggled with anxiety. In his early years, this merely manifested in him being a little quieter and shyer than the other kids, though he was always vaguely aware of this nervousness that seemed to follow him wherever he went. This, he realised only later, was likely a product of his homelife: his father was a soldier, and thus rarely around. Any time he returned home, he was distant and Tor felt intimidated in his presence. Tor's mother, on the other hand, was loving, if a bit overprotective. Being one of the only half-orcs in Ardenfeld, she didn't leave the house that much or socialise with any of the other townsfolk. She was also reluctant to let Tor play with the other children. In her mind, he was a frail child, so much scrawnier than he should have been, even when she did relent, she often was very strict about how long he should be out and what he should and should not to. She did loosen up a little once Tor reached his preteens, but the damage was done: Tor never quite felt safe outside the walls of his house, never felt entirely comfortable. While it was great he got to spend more time with other children and exploring the world, and certainly did start to come out of his shell, he was never able to just relax. His nervousness started to express itself in different ways, from bursts to hyperactivity to frustration to, as he reached thirteen, full-blown anger, and he could shift between all of these states pretty much on a dime. One minute he'd be enjoying himself with his friends, the next time the smallest thing would set him off. He'd get upset, storm off, and neither he nor the other kids could grasp why that happened. He felt confused, unable to understand himself and that further fueled his anger.

Then the destruction of Ardenfeld happened, and the already shaky foundations that his life was built upon came crumbling down. Tor's father was not home to protect his family, his mother died fighting off the bandits in an attempt to protect her son, and Tor and the other surviving children were taken to the Landeil Family Orphanage in Sarinan. Despite numerous attempts to get in contact with him, Tor's father never responded or showed, which either meant he had been killed in battle or, what Tor more suspected was the case, he wasn't willing to take on the responsibility of actually being a parent to his son. This... was not good. Tor was not long to be fourteen years age, meaning he wouldn't be at the orphanage long before he was too old to be considered 'adoptable' and would be thrown out onto the streets to fend himself. This was the point that Tor's stress-fueled rage went from him getting a little huffy and verbally lashing out to actually aggressive. If anyone made slightest action towards him or the other Ardenfeld orphans that could be construed in a negative way, he would punch, kick, bite and even full on wrestle with them. By the time he became fourteen, the orphanage was pretty happy to see the back of him.

He spent about a year and a half on the streets, and during the whole time, as stole and fought to survive, his anger only grew, until one day, when he took it too far and brutally attacked someone he was trying to steal from. While the person didn't die, it was enough to get Tor locked away in a cell for a couple of days, with talk of him possibly being moved to prison in Pallaviel. While Tor felt guilty for what he did, his anger remained him all while he was locked up. He was angry at his father for not being their to protect them, he was angry at his mother for not running away with him, angry at the bandits who destroyed his life, angry at the orphanage, angry at the city, angry at his fellow orphans because they weren't here going through all this with him... and eventually, just angry with himself. When anger finally died, he just felt so tired. He fell asleep...

... and when he woke up, someone else was watching him from outside the cell. A wood elf man in strange clothes, wearing some sort of emblem that Tor didn't recognise. The man introduced himself as Ilanis, and said he had come to collect Tor. Tired and having no fight left in him, Tor assumed he was there to transport to Pallaviel, and just went with him. However, it didn't take him long to realise that this was not the case. Ilanis didn't cuff him, despite the guards warning him to do so, and lead him far away from civilisation towards the mountains. Turns out, Ilanis was a group of small, obscure monastic group the Order of the Still Pool, dedicated to the goddess Eldath. Some of the higher members of this order, like Ilanis, had visions of those who's lives had been troubled or broken by violence, and would seek them out in order to help them undergo spiritual healing. That's where Tor stayed for the next few years, training his body and soul, learning how to recognise when he was becoming stressed or overwhelmed and picking up techniques in order to calm himself again, such a meditation and prayer. He also discovered a love of cooking while here, which worked as a way to get his mind off things, though sometimes came with its own frustations. He also got some combat training, though he was repeatedly told that, as a follower of Eldath, he was only use his skills in defense of himself or others, never to attack first and always strive to find peaceful solutions to problems. Tor tried his best to follow these teachings, and while his aggression was never as bad as it once was, he still struggled a lot with frustration and keeping his cool in a crisis. He wondered if he would ever be at the level of spiritual peace the Still Pool promised him, and as the tenth anniversary of Ardenfeld's destruction drew closer, he decided he wanted to leave the temple, at least for a little, to figure out where he wanted to from here. Ilanis and the other high-ranking members of the order were hesitant, but realised that, while they didn't feel Tor was ready to leave them, he needed some time to sort some things out. He's been on the road ever since.

Going Forward

While in the angrier moments of his youth Tor may have entertained thoughts of tracking down the bandits that destroyed his village, these days he just wants to be a good person, and to live up to the ideals of Eldath and the Still Pool. In particular, with the tenth anniversary just round the corner, he wants to be there for the other Ardenfeld orphans. As he is one of the older kids who survived the bandits' destruction of his home, he feels a responsibility to them, like a big brother or something. He feels he needs to be the strong, stabilising influence in their lives during this distressing time. Plus, he still feels a bit guilty for how he acted during that one year they were at the orphanage together... while he may have seen himself as protecting them from the orphanage staff and other kids, he feels now he may have only been adding to the stress. He just wants to reconnect with his friends again and prove to them (and himself) that he can be strong, that he won't fall apart again. And maybe, just maybe, if he can recognise that strength within himself, he might finally be able to see where he wants to go with his life.

@XxFellsingxX

Oooh. I really like this character concept. I feel like it'd definitely have some interesting interactions with my own if we end up both accepted. Feels like they'd have plenty of common ground, but also both have boatloads of emotional issues to keep them from quite meeting each other in the middle. Both have a lot of pent-up anxiety and self-worth issues, and hide themselves away from other people "for their own protection."

...Plus, y'know, she's extremely uncomfortable around any kind of clergy on the one hand, but he has the power to make tasty treats on the other. Could definitely see him having to win her over with food. XD

Either way, looking forward to seeing how he plays out. He seems rough around the edges, but still a cinnamon roll. :3

Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld

Also I'm sure fire magic definitely wont trigger ptsd in any of our party members. Not at all..

@Bartimaeus

TFW the magic you're best at is both the source of and powered by your mental trauma

Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld

<Snipped quote by Feyblue>

Pfft... XD

I mean if you don't have a problem with it, I'll go ahead. Just didn't want you to feel I was stepping on your toes

@XxFellsingxX

Yeah, go ahead. I don't mind having characters with such broad similarities as "focused on fire magic." Besides, if we both end up in the thing it could help give our characters stuff to talk about if they're similar.

Though, I think Genasi might be a bit unusual for the setup Gowi has planned what with all of us being peasant kiddos and stuff? So rather than worrying about me, you may want to ask her? Idk.

Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld

I was planning on making my character a fire genasi, but I fear there might be too much overlap with Feyblue's cool tiefling so I might choose something else ^^;

@XxFellsingxX

Okay, but hear me out. A party where everyone is either on fire, a cat, or a cat that is also on fire.

Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld

Aethra, Witch of the Argent Vale

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D&D Character Sheet

Who I Am

Though she is known as something of a cryptid to the locals still inhabiting the area around the ruins of Ardenfeld, the so-called "Witch of the Argent Vale" really... doesn't live up to the hype. Spoken of in hushed tones, she is reputed to be a horned demoness who preys upon those who go too close to the old village, searing them to the bone with hellfire. In some tellings, she is a vengeful spirit -- a village maiden who gave herself over to the dark powers to survive the disaster, now driven mad with agony by the very flame she bears within her. In others, she is simply a fiend called forth by death and destruction that needs to be cut down. Still others claim she's nothing but an old wives' tale, while others claim to have caught glimpses of her with their own eyes; a fleeting horned shadow in a black cloak seen watching from afar, her eyes burning like embers amidst the shadows of the forest.

Despite these fanciful stories and poetic descriptions, however, the truth of the matter is significantly more mundane. Aethra is simply a sheltered, reclusive individual who, seeing how feared she is, withdraws from any and all human contact. And, sure, perhaps she might have used her powers to create eerie, flickering fires to scare off people who got too close to her camp, but she never actually attacked anyone!

In any case, she is painfully shy, and though she hides it well, dislikes being looked at and doesn't really know how to talk to anyone with two legs. She doesn't become a blushing, stammering mess when forced to interact with others, mind you -- but even if she keeps her composure, she seldom says more than a couple words unless they're practically forced out of her. This may give the impression that rather than being shy, she's simply without feeling, or actively hateful of others. But though she never forgets an insult -- a scornful glance, or a derisive remark about her horns -- she does not hate people for acting this way. Rather, interacting with them simply makes her sad, and so she'd just rather not bother. Needless to say, this also makes her somewhat neurotic about her appearance, to the point that she usually wraps her forked tail around one of her legs and hides it under her skirt, and keeps her head down in dark places to avoid having the fiery glow of her eyes seen. Only her horns are too large to adequately hide, but even then, she does the best she can, draping a hood over her head at all times to hide the point where they actually connect to her scalp. Maybe she hopes they'll be taken for some form of decoration or garish accessory, rather than an intrinsic part of her person?

She's much more comfortable with animals, however -- especially when she thinks she's alone -- and can often be seen conversing quite cheerfully with various creatures she encounters, using the magic taught her by the spirits to communicate with and befriend anything she thinks won't judge her too harshly for being different. While her unnatural heritage does sometimes thwart these attempts too, most animals don't think twice about her horns, tail, or gleaming eyes -- after all, in this sense, she's quite similar to them.

Despite her cold exterior, she's also quite childish, displaying no small measure of awe or even fear in the face of very simple things. Big cities are utterly foreign to her, having lived first as a country girl, then as a hermit. Fanciful baubles and trinkets catch her eye quite readily, and she has a tendency to fiddle with almost any unusual or interesting thing she encounters, displaying an almost magpie-like attraction to shiny objects. And, thanks to her deprived upbringing, her standoffish attitude can oftentimes be defeated with the help of tasty food, especially sweets. Wild berries, roasted fish, and the occasional morsel of meat are all well and good, but given her insatiable curiosity and voracious appetite, she just can't resist.

My Story

Born as a peasant girl, the girl now christened with the fanciful appellation "Aethra" originally bore the much simpler name of "Mary." Her father was one of the village of Ardenfeld's foremost hunters, and was a gruff-but-gentle man who doted upon his daughter extensively. Her mother, on the other hand, was a wanderer from elsewhere -- a gypsy of sorts of unknown heritage who had ended up in Ardenfeld on her travels and cared for her father when he was, coincidentally, injured during a boar hunt. Ultimately, she decided to settle down there and marry him, and though her origins were originally regarded with some measure of suspicion at first, the other villagers quickly stopped caring. The family didn't have any outlandish customs, nor did the foreign lady have any particularly alarming physical traits. They got along well with the community and all did their part, and so quickly became just as ordinary a sight as anyone else.

Her parents loved her very much, and she would often help her mother around the house with chores or errands. She learned to cook, the basics of mending clothing, and other common household skills -- as well as a few small tricks her father taught her, such as how to carve and play a reed flute. They would wile away the hours sitting on their back step, with Mary clumsily tooting away on a small, shabby instrument of her own creation, and her mother singing along from inside. The memories are bright and warm, like a flame -- but they have since flickered and faded as the years drag on, until only embers of those warm, happy days remain. Aethra remembers little of that time now, for her peaceful childhood ended when she was only eight years old -- and after that, she tried her hardest to forget.

Her father's voice, telling them to run.

His hand, clutching an old sword.

His back as he rushed out of the house.

Her mother's grip on her hand.

A stifled cry as that grip went slack.

The fire, all around her.

The pain, the heat, the choking smoke -- and then suddenly, nothing at all.

Someone had pulled her from the flames and carried her to where the other children were hiding. Miraculously, she was mostly unharmed. Her skin was burned in places, leaving scars upon her back that persist to this day -- but she survived. Initially, this was seen as simple good fortune; but when a fire mysteriously broke out in her room at the orphanage, too -- from which she also emerged almost entirely unscathed -- people began to grow worried.

It was around this point when the dreams began. Nightmares, visions of fire and death and bloodshed -- landscapes left barren and lifeless by war. Whether it was the trauma of the attack or some kind of vision of things to come hardly mattered to her at the time, however -- because the more immediate concern was that the flames in her dreams persisted when she awoke. Opening her eyes to find fire in the palm of her hand would set her screaming, only for it to disappear when people came rushing in to check on her. She thought she was losing her mind... and others thought she was possessed. These fears only became more founded when one morning, after a particularly bad nightmare, she awoke to find that her hair had become white like an old woman's, her ears pointed, her teeth sharp, her eyes like blazing embers, and, worst of all -- horns and a forked tail had grown upon her during the night. She panicked, and this in turn once more drew people to come running to her room -- only this time, the evidence didn't just go away.

She was locked in her room, priests were called to conduct an exorcism, and Mary, not unfamiliar with what happened to monsters in fairy tales and already quite aware that she was feared by those around her, was certain that she was going to be killed. In her panic, she broke out of her room and made a run for her life. Though several people caught sight of a horned girl fleeing the city, the search parties that followed lost her trail in the deep woods, as she instinctively began to follow old hunting paths that led her back to her old home.

Arriving amidst the ruins of Ardenfeld, she found an unexpected sight. The fallen houses, the charred landscape, and the ravaged ruins that had haunted her dreams had long since given way to verdant greenery. Vines, flowers, trees, and shrubs had completely overtaken the former town, leaving nary a trace of the hell she remembered from her nightmares. There was a certain tragic beauty to it -- one that burned itself into her memories even more strongly than the trauma of that fateful night.

She wandered aimlessly through the ruins for longer than she can really remember. For a while, she occupied herself with searching for familiar places or items -- old, burnt dolls pulls from the wreckage of her house, a broken reed flute found trampled in the village lane, or a book of fairy tales she couldn't read that the headman's wife had once read aloud to the village children during the harvest festival. She gathered all these mementos in one place, and then, not knowing what else to do with them, with her tiny hands she set about burying them as a kind of memorial to what once had been.

The final trinket she found, however, she couldn't bring herself to bury. It was the broken-off handle of a shattered sword -- an heirloom that had never been meant to see combat. It must have failed its user in his hour of direst need, or surely -- surely, he would have been able to save them all. If only the blade hadn't broken, her father never would have lost his noble fight. Yet, even though he must surely have been defeated without a weapon, she couldn't find any signs of his body. Perhaps it had just burned to ash along with the others, but maybe... just maybe. Hope rekindled itself in her heart, not because she truly believed it to be possible, but quite simply because she needed something to believe in. So, she held on to this ruined keepsake, promising that she wouldn't bury it until she was certain her father was dead.

It was in this state, however, that someone -- or rather, something -- found her. On the first night, it came as a great wolf, from which the young girl hid in terror. Since it could not find her, it left -- but returned upon the second night in the guise of an owl, circling high overhead to search her out. When it found her hiding place, it left, and then returned upon the third night as a white deer -- a doe, but bearing horns like a stag. It came to her hiding place and asked of her...

"Why do you linger here, mortal? This land has already been lost to your kind, and none here yet live."

She, unsure of how to respond, answered only that she had nowhere else to go.

"Why do you not go among the living? Among your own people?"

She shook her head and said that she could not go back, for she was not welcome among them.

"And why is that?"

Because she was a monster. A bringer of fire and destruction -- and so, she only belonged in a place like this, where there was nothing left for her to destroy.

"Tell me, Little Flame, what do you see around you?"

A graveyard.

"Nay. I prithee look again, for you will find not a graveyard, but a garden. The end of your people need not be the end of this place. For the birds will build their nests among your fallen homes, and their songs shall be a lullaby to those who sleep beneath the soil. Look, Little Flame. Look and see. Even atop these graves you have dug, flowers will one day bloom."

It was beautiful, yes... but she wasn't any less lonely for knowing that. And, if that was truly the case, then she had no place here, either -- for she would only serve to destroy what nature hoped to build.

"Then, what if there were another like yourself here? Another with no place and no purpose, save to wait for and tend to what comes after the flames?"

If there was such a person, then she wouldn't want to hurt them. It would be better for her to stay alone.

"Ah, but that person needs you more than you know, Little Flame. There is a place not far from here where few tread -- a blighted, sorrowful land where the trees can no more grow, where the grass withers and fails, and from which all creatures shy away. That place was once her home, as this was once yours. And if you were to burn the rot away, then that place, too, might become a beautiful garden. I'm sure that she, and all those who once shared that home with her, would be happy."

It beggared belief that the strange power she had been granted might be used for such a purpose... but ultimately, she accepted. If that person showed herself, and could accept her as she was, then maybe she could do some good for someone who shared a similar sorrow to her own.

And so, on the fourth night, the one who came to visit her was not a wolf, or an owl, or a deer -- but rather, an old woman with a kindly smile, who introduced herself as Mithra. The girl said that she had been named Mary, but all those who knew her by that name probably hated her by now. And so, the woman gave her a new name: Aethra. A little flame, but one which could offer much to the world by burning brightly, be it in the seclusion of the wilderness or for all mankind to see. It was a name weighted with expectation, but made light by hope and joy -- for finally, there was someone who would walk with her and talk with her, and tell her that she wasn't mad and that neither the world nor her place in it had yet come to an end.

In the years that followed, she learned much under Mithra's tutelage. They lived together amidst the wild, with Aethra tending to the chores that were appointed her by her new mentor, and Mithra teaching the young Tiefling to control the flames within her, and to suppress them if need be. She learned that her powers could be used to heal and to create life in addition to simply destroying it... but also that there was a place for destruction, just as there was a place for new life to take the place of the old. Within an ever-snowy northern forest of rotted, whitened trees, hidden in a secluded valley unknown to mortal men, she worked tirelessly to perfect her craft, so that she could at last fulfill her promise to Mithra, and create for her a garden amidst this wasteland.

But there was another promise that weighed heavily upon her mind -- and as the time came to fulfill it, Mithra ordered her not to break her word, reluctant though she was to leave. And so, her two tasks became one. She would go back to the home she had left behind once more, and tend to the garden there. She would make good on her promise to speak once more with her old friends, even if they hated her or didn't recognize her after all the changes she had gone through. She would travel the world outside the Argent Vale once more, and once she had learned everything she could learn from seeing all the hopeful beginnings and fiery ends that life had to offer... she would return to Mithra, and share the fruits of her knowledge, creating a beautiful garden amidst that lifeless valley.

And yet, throughout all of this, still she is haunted by the dreams of all that she has seen -- and all that may wait for her in the world beyond. Something dark and terrible looms upon the edge of her awareness, and all that Mithra has taught her may not be enough to prepare her for it. If that day comes where her flame fails her as her father's sword failed him, or where the essence of life she strives to uphold slips from her grasp as her mother's hand slipped from hers... what will she do then?

Going Forward

At the moment, Aethra would say that she simply wants to make her mentor and surrogate grandmother Mithra proud of her, and to fulfill her promises. However, that's not entirely true. In part, her real goal upon this journey is to try to prove, both to herself and to those who once called her a monster, that her power really can be used to do great things, and that she's not the bringer of destruction she once feared she was. In seeking this, she'll also have to contend with the difficulty involved in changing people's perceptions of her, and her own wavering confidence in her own abilities as she wonders what, precisely, even is the right way for someone like her to live.

Secretly, she also perhaps holds out hope that her father might have survived the attack and still be alive somewhere... and that maybe, just maybe, some of her old friends who might still remember her from her childhood as Mary won't hate her when they see what she has become. Finally, she's also curious as to why she was cursed with the flame she bears to begin with, and from whence her daemonic heritage springs -- hoping that, perhaps, if she understands the roots of her own nature, that may bring her closer to triumphing over it, and over people's perceptions of her as a result of it.

But even leaving aside her plethora of emotional issues, the fact remains that Aethra is horribly sheltered and ignorant as to the workings of civilization and society as a whole, and she has a lot to learn before she is ready to truly save -- or destroy -- anything. Where her path and her reunion with the other survivors can take her, who can say? And what further trials fate has in store for her, only time will tell...

__________________________________________________________________
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Sorry this ended up so long. I got carried away trying to tie a lot of the imagery and stuff in her background together and be all poetic and shit. I'm well aware that it's just overly elaborate high-concept bullshit, and that mechanically speaking, it doesn't entirely line up -- like, yes, she has Produce Flame as a Druid Cantrip, but I had her creating small fires in her backstory even before that and acted like it's a racial ability because it was more dramatic that way. Regardless, I can provide cliffnotes if needed, but I figured I'd leave it as is for initially submitting it since I was kind of proud of the result.

Also on a lighter note, I am officially the first non-cat in this party. Except not really because I'll probably turn into a cat once I get Wild Shape. All cat party anybody?

TL;DR, sorry for being so edgy, and looking forward to RPing with y'all. XD

Dungeons & Dragons: Itiner -- 5E

0w0 what's this?

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten (CLOSED)

_{Tags: @webboysurf}

---

...He really was too nice.

Oyuki fidgeted and nodded along with his little explanation, for a moment distracted out of her overwhelming worry by how unexpected it was to receive such kindness unasked. Most of the villagers had little to do with her outside of problems with the local youkai or commissions for her sewing work, after all -- and for the most part, she had just as little to do with them. If there was a problem, she'd address it herself sooner than troubling anyone else for their assistance, and of course, her duties preparing for the festival were no different. It had always been this way. Since she was being relied upon to prepare the shrine for the festivities and to ensure everything went smoothly, she would just have to make more time to ensure that she could fulfill those expectations -- even if it meant beginning her work days or weeks in advance. It was always hard, and tiring, and sometimes even frustrating to the point that she was glad when it was over. And yet, seeing the warmth on the faces of the visitors to her shrine, even if she didn't have a place among them, always made her feel like it had been worth her while.

...And yet now, that same warmth was being directed at her. "With all of the work you do for the village," he had said. He had noticed. He acknowledged her effort, and was glad because of it. Before she knew it, a small smile had reached her lips, though it was hidden as she lowered her head in a gracious bow, hiding her partially-reddened face beneath the brim of her hood.

"You have my sincerest gratitude. It's... very thoughtful of you to go so far out of your way for my sake -- particularly when you no doubt have many pressing duties of your own. The chilly season hasn't quite gone away, after all, and I'm sure there are many who want for your services."

She managed to give her thanks, but faltered for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Her usual answer would likely have been to try to refuse something she couldn't easily repay, but after seeing the fall he had taken and hearing his concern, there was no way she could say no to his gift in good conscience. But she also felt a bit... hesitant to just reach out and take it from him, even as he offered it to her. There was something about the warmth in his smile that set her heart on edge. It was an unfamiliar sort of feeling that thawed the icy dread that had clutched at her, and yet that warmth brought with it its own weight. The emotion she felt in that moment was one she could neither put a name to nor immediately comprehend how to deal with. It wasn't... unpleasant, but... at the same time, she felt ashamed of herself for receiving such generosity and not being able to immediately give back more. He was just so...

...But, before she could continue this line of thought, the mysterious emotion she felt vanished and gave way to a much plainer variety of shame. Even a blind woman could have spotted the moment when Kenichi caught on to her unease, and the kind, warm atmosphere gave way to one of bashful awkwardness. She had hurt him. All because she'd been too preoccupied to address him properly, all because of all the times, this had to happen right here and right now. Her heart sank as she quickly shook her head, raising her hands and trying to explain -- but when she did, it took several moments for any words to come out. What would she say? Would he believe her? No, before that, even if she trusted him, this wasn't something she should tell anyone! The panic that it might cause if the messenger's words were to get out... She needed to see Takamori first! But then what? It wouldn't do to tell a lie -- the spirits held no respect for those who dealt dishonestly. So, instead, she fell back on what information she could share -- and upon the action which came most naturally to her inadequate self.

So, stammering over her words, she hastily apologized, her hooded head bobbing up and down in a sequence of hasty bows as she tried to salvage this miserable situation without alienating one of the few people in the village she dared to regard as a dear friend.

"Ah -- erm, no, that's not... That is... This is a bad time, but not because of anything you've done, so please don't apologize! It's just... an unfortunate coincidence, that we happened to meet at such a time. I have business with the elder and was just planning on going out, and I hadn't expected to get any visitors -- least of all yourself, Masaki-sensei, and... I just... I felt you deserved a better reception than I can currently give you. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry. You went so far out of your way, and I can't even show you the decency of receiving you right now..."

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten (CLOSED)

_{Tags: @webboysurf}

---

The dark-haired woman breathed a faint sigh of relief as Kenichi managed to haul himself to his feet. He seemed to be alright, despite what looked to have been a rather nasty fall. Lending her shoulder and a hand, she allowed herself to serve as a makeshift support until he was fully upright and balanced again, then gingerly handed over his crutch once he had the space and the footing to properly make use of it.

Hearing his answer, she breathed a faint, somewhat disappointed sigh. A cat, was it? There were quite a few bakeneko who liked to frolic around the hillside near the shrine, enticed by the food offerings she frequently left for them. Unfortunately, they didn't always respect good manners when there wasn't someone around who could keep them in line, and ever since her mentor had passed away, they'd grown quite ornery and sometimes even downright mean. While the agreement between the townsfolk and the youkai of the valley still stood - or at least, still should have stood - they tended to play some rather cruel jokes on villagers when nobody else was watching.

"I'm terribly sorry. I'll properly scold them for you," She lowered her head, giving a series of brisk, rather embarrassed bows. After all, if she was more like a proper shrine maiden, proper enough to earn their respect, then surely he wouldn't have been inconvenienced or hurt in such a manner.

Seeing as he already seemed quite exhausted from the climb up the stairs from the village, she didn't have the heart to refuse him. But at the same time, she also couldn't give any hint of the missive she'd recieved. If there was anyone's discretion that she could trust absolutely, it was the doctor's, but nevertheless it wouldn't do to go sowing panic until she knew more about what was happening. She'd let him rest for a few minutes, then make some excuse and go see elder Takamori. Surely, he would know what the meaning of this message was, and what needed to be done.

So, putting on an only slightly forced smile, she nodded and motioned through the gates for him to follow. "Of course, it's no trouble at all. Though, I'm afraid that I don't have any tea or hospitality prepared for you at the moment. I wasn't expecting visitors this early... If I might ask, what brings you all the way up here, Masaki-sensei?"

Inwardly, she shriveled up a bit. She really hoped she wasn't being too icy or unwelcoming, but with such a heavy burden weighing on her mind, she couldn't quite keep her anxiety from slipping into her voice and demeanor. Normally, she'd have been glad to have a guest - or at least, to have Masaki-sensei visit. He was a tremendously kind person, and no matter how often she tried to repay him, she still felt like she owed him for his gentleness and generosity. That being the case, she needed to show a better face here! It wouldn't do at all to slight him when he was going out of his way to visit her. Ah, if only she'd had a little more time, or if it wasn't today, or...

And so, another small worry was added to Oyuki's growing collection.

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten (CLOSED)

_{Tags: @webboysurf}

---

In a daze, the befuddled Shrine Maiden read the message before her at least three times before it finally sank in that, no, she hadn't mistaken any of the words. Yet even so, try though she might to comprehend it, she couldn't wrap her head fully around the enormity of what she held in her hands. How could the order which her preceptor had so esteemed and protected be shattered? Had there been some kind of mistake on her part? Because she had failed in her duties, then, was everything going to fall apart? No, no, no. It couldn't be. If it had been her doing, then why would Inari-sama warn her in such a manner? Rather, if she was the one at fault, the spirits wouldn't have come to her seeking aid, but rather surely would have punished her directly for her impudence. Even if she had somehow gravely insulted them, they surely wouldn't have gone back on their word and abandoned their compact with the entire village. Which meant that maybe... there was yet something she could do. Miorochi-sama would wake soon, and then perhaps whatever impurities had crept in and breached the contract could yet be excised, and the harmony of Heiseina mended. But what? What was she supposed to do in this sort of situation? She hadn't been trained for this.

She took a deep breath. It didn't matter. The spirits had placed this responsibility in her hands; that meant she had to see it through. Firstly, she'd start with what she did know, and work from there. An important spirit was currently at her shrine, and judging by its fidgeting and shifting towards the gate from whence it had come, wanted to be gone quickly. She couldn't let it leave empty-handed; that would be shirking her duty. So, reaching into the voluminous folds of her long white sleeve, she withdrew a small strip of dried meat, one of many such small treats she carried with her at all times in case she encountered one of the smaller, wilder youkai on her walks. It wasn't much, but it was the best offering she happened to have on hand at the moment, and a meager gift was better than giving nothing at all. Kneeling down upon the cobblestones, she placed it before the fox, bowing deeply.

"You have my utmost gratitude for bringing me this warning. I will -- The village of Heiseina will do everything in our power to mend that which was broken, and protect the sanctity of this place and this shrine from whatever may come. Please watch over us, as you always have."

She did not dare to raise her head while uttering this prayer, for she knew that everything she said now would be heard not only by Miorochi-sama, the god of the shrine, but also ultimately by inari-sama, the great god of providence and fortune who had sent this messenger to her. She chose her words and her manner of speaking, then, as if she was addressing both in person. To even speak to them this directly already verged on overstepping her mortal authority, but even so, when one was granted a boon, one was expected to return their gratitude.

After she finished speaking, however, she was left at a momentary impasse. Namely... when would it be proper to raise her head? She didn't hear the fox moving at all, and couldn't tell whether or not it had accepted her gift. She had expected to hear paws upon the cobblestones, or some kind of signal... but what she actually heard was a loud meowing, followed by a muffled exclamation from down the stairs and the sound of something - or rather, someone - tumbling to the ground. Opening her eyes and raising her head, she found that the fox had disappeared without a trace, taking the meat she'd offered with it. Well, at least her return gift had been accepted... No, but now wasn't the time for that! Someone had just fallen on the stairs, and it sounded like they were hurt. Quickly rising and stuffing the scroll into her sleeve, she rushed under the cracked and faded red torii gate and looked down from the top of the stairs to find her unexpected visitor, lying against the stones just a few steps shy of the top of the hill. As she met his gaze from under her hood, recognition flashed across her face, followed by an intense worry slipping into her bright blue eyes.

"E-eh? Masaki-sensei? Oh, dear...!" Hastily descending the stairs, she knelt down, first retrieving his crutch, then extending a small, pale hand to help him up and speaking a flurry of questions, evidently looking him over for any scrapes, cuts, or bruises. "Are you alright? Did you hit your head? Please, allow me to help you stand."