You’re free to make any changes to the sheet that you like, aside from mandatory sections like appearance, personality, and history. Change icons, add colors, make a new sheet template, go wild.
Starweavers can awaken at any age. You hear a voice that sounds like someone you know and trust, and maybe that’s just yourself, but you hear it all the same. It whispers “Wake up” in a language you understand and your name. That’s all the warning you get before the burden of the world settles on your shoulders in the form of a new power you might have wished for all your life or never wanted in the first place. The newfound magic comes easily to you, gently easing itself into your mind and your body like it’s always been there. Using it is as natural as breathing and you figure out your nuances and limits rapidly. You also find that you can feel other Starweavers now, that the pull of their nearby presence is like the air turned elastic, tugging you towards each other, just strong enough to notice and weak enough to ignore. Eventually, the feeling is natural, like air against your skin. You no longer find it strange, or even noteworthy, after a time.
Remember that in your history, your character will have somehow encountered the fog sometime before the disaster that struck Antarctica. The character may or may not have been a Starweaver at this time. Seeing as magic is commonplace in this world, it’s possible to pass off such an encounter as a cheap prank or someone’s spell gone briefly awry. What they’ve seen is similar to a sudden mist across their vision, blanketing the surrounding area so severely that it was hard to even see their own hands in front of them. Magic (even Starweaver magic) and tech failed in the mist, and when the character moved forward one step, they seemed to walk straight into a memory of something irreversible—-something they’ve lost or done that they would give anything to redo or return to. Anything for a second chance. When they took a second step, the vision was gone and they’re standing there walking into nothing in particular.
It’s preferable if your character has a great regret. It doesn’t need to be necessarily a huge event that continues to affect them severely and traumatizes them. It’s just something that cuts them to the core personally that, if they were given the chance, they would want to change. Maybe they’ve gotten over it in the sense that they’ve made peace with the fact the past can’t be changed, but if there was a way to turn back time (a magic that has not been created throughout all of history), they would be tempted to take it.
When the fog coated Antarctica, that regret floated to the forefront of their mind, unbidden. They can pass it off as coincidence, or they can decide there’s more to this than what it appears.
You have large freedom in creating a power for yourself, and Starweavers are not bound to the racial magic restrictions when using their unique ability. (You are otherwise still bound when using normal magic, of course.) You can only select one particular power that needs to be specific. For example, you can’t be both a mind reader and a telekinetic. The benefit of a Starweaver is that no known magic or science can easily stop a Starweaver’s ability—-it would take a concerted effort, likely involving many magical beings and devices. The quickest counter to a Starweaver can only be another Starweaver, and only if the other possesses an ability that can do anything about the former. Between power clashes, GM/co-GM will have the final call on how colliding abilities interact, though it’s open for players to call on their own without needing outside decisions.
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