SilverPaw

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 6:00 pm -> 7:00 pm Location: Office -> Castle Dining Room Mention(s): Interaction(s): @princess Edin

After concluding his conversation with Anastasia, Wulfric briefly retreated to his office. There, he checked that the documents he’d retrieved from the Guild were still in order. He then considered which guards to have escort Anastasia, and which to have watching over her covertly.

This was easy enough to decide, as he knew most of their guards, and knew which ones he could trust to protect his sister.

The greater issue was Delronzo himself. Wulfric had no idea how the man would play this. One possibility was that he would simply act as if he was innocent, and convince Anastasia that he had done nothing amiss based on the trust he’d managed to gain from her. This could be problematic, but Wulfric felt he could deal with it.

If he tried harming her by mundane means – trying to kidnap her, for example – then the guards he’d set on her should be able to handle it.

But what if he used magic again? If he erased her memories? His guards’ memories? With how easily he’d disappeared the evidence from last night, it wasn’t difficult to imagine he still kept it concealed with a magical illusion or some such.

Even more harrowing were the possibilities he’d mentioned to Anastasia. Besides the usual manipulation, maybe he’d even use magical compulsion to make her talk, or deepen her trust or – who knew what else, really? There were simply too many unknowns. Since Wulfric didn’t have the means to counter magic, he largely only had to hope Delronzo didn’t think it necessary to use it.

It also occurred to him that Anastasia was meeting him in person. This was an opportunity to capture him, and bring him in for questioning–

If your friend was being accused of something, wouldn’t you want to at least talk to them yourself before just throwing them to the wolves?

Wulfric sighed, and a skewed smirk formed. Don’t you know I’m one of those proverbial wolves?

Even so…he couldn’t bring himself to break her trust like that. He supposed it was similar for Callum. Even knowing they were in the wrong to trust Delronzo, to disregard how very likely it was that he was the culprit…Even when he thought torture of a suspect like that was just fine, he knew actually doing it would hurt them.

So, he would try any and all other methods he could think of first. Finding material evidence, gathering rumours, questioning the host without torture, convincing his siblings that Delronzo wasn’t trustworthy…

A part of him even seriously considered using magic. But he didn’t know enough about it, and doing it himself as inexperienced as he was would be too much of a risk.

What a shame he didn’t have a group of magical experts on hand.

Even if he lacked that, he still had resources a plenty. Besides ensuring Anastasia’s safety – this was absolutely the priority – he could have a few agents sent alongside to watch Marek, trail him, and investigate his establishments or hideouts.

In fact…yes…Alongside the guards, he would send some others.

It took some time for Wulfric to organize all this, from selecting the people, to speaking to them, to ensuring they’d all know what to do.

However, by the time he went to check the Dining Room, his father was still there. Taking his time enjoying that damn cake, of course.

“Father,” he greeted politely as he made his entrance.

Avalia

Time: Morning Location: Port Vanarosa Mention(s): Tanithil @Lava Alckon Interaction(s): Captain Drosis @Blizz, Amisra @Tae Equipment Two short swords, two (concealed) daggers, two pistols, 400 amas.

Arlen grinned, clasping his hands together excitedly. “Both!” he exclaimed, clapping once. “Just imagine! Drinks in bed,” he sighed wistfully. “We could be like those super rich guys, all fancy silk, wine glasses in hand…then just get it on when we wanted!” He giggled. “We’d be the envy of all ‘round,” he smirked. Arlen nodded faux-sagely as Amisra agreed Tanithil might feel left out. “Yess, this would be perfect to rope Tani in. Then he’d finally see what’s fun in two is funner in three~” he winked at her.

When Amisra ran her finger down his arm, Arlen’s smirk turned noticeably sultry. When her hand completed its trail, he took a hold of it, and lightly brushed his fingers against hers. He shivered when he felt her breath against his ear, and let go. He leaned in to rub his cheek against hers in a friendly nuzzle. Then, he let her back off, still smiling.

Sometimes, their teasing did get awfully close to crossing the line, which was when Arlen had to remind himself they were strictly friends. It would be weird for them to become involved…probably.

He had no problem admitting it; he enjoyed playing around.

How that’d end up with someone he literally lived with, though? He wasn’t sure, but from what he’d heard, many folks preferred something serious in that kind of a situation. Amisra seemed like the type who would. Probably with Tanithil.

But those two were pretty damn oblivious about it. It was as if they were playing a convoluted, decades-long game of chicken. It was quite entertaining, actually; like his very own drama show. And as long as it was all in good fun, why not?

Arlen was distracted from the semi-serious line of thought by Amisra’s next suggestions. “Drinks sound good.” He sighed at the mention of their captain. “That man can be a real spoilsport, huh?” It wasn’t a serious complaint, though. He knew work needed doing, and they’d have a week in this place anyhow.

“Let’s go see what he wants,” he motioned in the direction of the tavern, clearly intending to go along with her. He didn’t think it needed saying, but obviously he’d help her out if it was something he could assist with.

They traversed the busy streets towards The Seagull. Vanarosa place was always so lively. It felt like second home; second to the one he’d had with the crew, of course. It was standard practice to rob strangers, and try not to be robbed by them, but that was just how it was here.

The tavern their captain favoured was a fairly humble building. Medium sized, with a slanted roof, built from uneven slats of wood. The white and blue paint was chipped. The sign – a painted seagull, of course – was faded till it was barely recognizable anymore. There actually were crowds of those food-stealing bastard birds flocking around, usually.

It wouldn’t look like anything special to strangers, but Arlen was fond of it too. It was a great place to unwind.

It was easy to find their captain once they entered, what with his presence, and the group of their mates he was surrounded by. Arlen casually strolled to the table, taking one of the vacant chairs from another table with him. For good measure, he helped himself to an unattended drink too.

If someone just left it there like that, they clearly didn’t want it anymore.

He sat himself with the group. “You wanted Amisra for something?” he asked, clearly curious about what Drosis would assign her with.

TLDR

Flirts with Amisra some more. Accompanies her to The Seagull, asks the captain what he'd like with her. Intends to help Amisra out if he can.

Avalia

Time: Morning Location: Port Vanarosa Mention(s): Tanithil @Lava Alckon, Ismael @Th3King0fChaos Interaction(s): Captain Drosis @Blizz, Amisra @Tae Equipment Two short swords, two (concealed) daggers, two pistols, 400 amas.

Ever since their crew had been left in charge of a human, Arlen was both thrilled and fascinated. A grand mission, a new adventure, unknown dangers! It was exhilarating.

Since a week ago, a fresh sparkle had entered his ruby eyes. He was even more high-energy than usual, pestering his captain, his crewmates, but especially their shiny new resident human.

They were supposed to prepare, protect, and hide him until he was fit enough to help them overthrow Zanithel.

Thankfully, their human Ismael seemed up to the task.

When the elf had first seen him, he was admittedly surprised.

He had had no idea that humans could grow so tall!

They tested him, and Ismael proved his size wasn’t just for looks. In physical combat, the human held up well against himself and even Amisra. Often, he and the dark elven princess teamed up. They kept Ismael in shape, and brushed up his skills. At least for Arlen, though, he felt he was able to learn from the human, too. Some of it was useful, like combat techniques. Some of it was for pure curiosity’s sake, like trivia about Earth.

Discovering that Ismael had been a soldier, and knew how to handle firearms was a treat. Though he was very possessive of his darlings, Arlen conceded to lending him one of his pistols for a few days, just so the man could get comfortable with the flintlock mechanism. Because apparently, on Earth that was practically considered antique.

Once or twice, he had dropped on the man’s magic lessons with Tanithil. It was intriguing to witness the mythical elemental magic first hand. That, and Tani was genuinely a good teacher. Seeing him in his element was always exciting.

Today, they were finally mooring Saltrunner at one of Port Vanarosa’s many docks.

As soon as they did, they assembled to receive their orders. Perched on a railing, legs swinging, Arlen pouted at his assignment. Sure, smuggling was right up his ally. But the inescapable inventorying part of it? Urgh.

Still, he gave a cheeky two-finger salute, touching his index and middle fingers to his forehead, then flicking them off. “Gotcha, cap’n~” he affirmed, and pushed himself off onto the deck, getting to work.

He already had his eyes on a few mates he knew would help him out with sorting the cargo and money in exchange for a little something.

When Amisra found him, he was at the treasure hold; a small office kept under lock and key, guarded, and with some other security measures to boot.

“Aw, miss me already? Knew ya couldn’t make it without me,” he joked, grinning when she made her appearance. He smirked at her flirtations; Amisra always obliged going along with him, just for the fun of it. “Wouldn’t be this sweltering if ya weren’t so hot, honey,” he countered.

At the offer for help, Arlen faux swooned. “My savior!” He gasped, laying a palm on his sternum. He swayed as if short of breath, but caught himself on a nearby table, and made eyes at Amisra. “Oooh, my,” he fanned himself. “Thy sin be temptation; my heart’s all a-flutter,” he fluttered his eyelashes as if to demonstrate.

But he quit the act as he couldn’t restrain the laughter anymore, and broke out in a light cackle at the silliness.

“Seriously, though, yeah,” he said when he’d calmed down. “I’ve got a few on the rest o’ the cargo.” He’d set them to catalogue and compile for sell-off their other spoils, such as silk, alcohol, and smoking goods. “But go through these with me?” he gestured at a couple of small wooden boxes where the more expensive (stolen) trinkets had been stashed.

He’d already counted up the gold; that was easy enough as the captain had excellent organizations. Various necklaces, pendants, rings, timetellers, memory glasses, and such always took longer to examine though. Couldn’t get a good price if you didn’t have an estimation of their value, after all.

When they were done, and had each picked the items they’d drop off in town, Arlen turned to Amisra with a renewed smirk. “So-o,” he prompted. “Drink…or bed, was it?” he gave her an appreciative look up and down. “Ya know I’m always up for some one-on-one time,” he purred. “Bu-ut, I think Tani’s gunna get lonely if we’re away too long, eh?” as he emphasized the other dark elf’s name, mischief shone in his gaze.

TLDR

Per the captain's orders, Arlen deals with the money and cargo. When Amisra joins him, he flirts back, accepts her help, then suggests they go to town too, teasing her about Tanithil.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 6:00 pm Location: Castle Dining Room Mention(s): Interaction(s): @princess Edin, Anastasia

Wulfric restrained an eyeroll when his father missed the point. “Advertising is all fine and well but he needn’t have asked my brother to help with his work,” he grumbled quietly. But it was with the tone of one who knew this wouldn’t be convincing. In fact, none of the reasons he listed were the main one; namely that he had a ‘bad feeling’ about Ezra. He trusted his own instincts – and Wystan’s – but that was the kind of thing which was far too easily dismissed.

He narrowed his eyes as Edin went on to insult Leo. “He is still a lord and the future duke of Stravinsky,” his voice was clipped as he said this, though he kept his tone polite. How easily the king dismissed a nobleman due to an overblown sense of rivalry with their neighbouring country. And in favour of that baker, no less.

Un-fucking-believable.

Or, it would be, if this weren’t Edin.

“Ezra has no business insulting him,” he stated matter-of-factly. And neither do you. But of course, his father continued listing Leo’s perceived faults.

Wulfric returned his attention to the food in front of him. Yet, a mere moment later, he was drawn to meet his father’s gaze.

"The apple never falls far from the tree, Wulfric…Trust me," the old man smirked.

To hell with that.

It had felt like a taunt, but there was no way Edin had the self-awareness prerequisite to turn that phrase on him with malicious intent.

The prince kept his expression neutral, unchanging. He directed a stare on his plate, lowering his lashes before the flare of indignation, offense, hatred could be seen in his eyes. With careful body language alone, he made a show of contrite acceptance.

Still, annoyance crossed his expression at the remark about his sister. “Men stare at her all the time,” he said, as if that was any excuse whatsoever.

Then maybe their eyes should rot off.

Aggressively, Wulfric stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork. The delicate skin broke apart, and the tines sunk into the meat with a soft plop. Once in his mouth, he chewed it till it was mush, then consumed the thing in one go.

With a huff, he expelled all extraneous emotions. Yes, father was upsetting. No, that was nothing new. What point in letting it get under his skin?

When Edin played the age card, he almost sighed. Yes, yes, you are nearly a senior citizen. Congratulations. Too bad old age hasn't granted you the wisdom you claim.

Outwardly, he affected an apologetic demeanour. “As you say, father…I should have known you would never make an oversight. Please forgive my impudence,” he made his tone low and compelling. Still, he knew it’d be better to wait before making serious conversation with Edin regarding the party.

Thus, he excused himself from the table, and approached Anastasia. She’d drawn closer to Ezra’s gifts and cakes. Wulfric laid a gently restraining hand on her shoulder. “Careful until it’s all inspected,” he murmured. He eyed the servants who’d been tasked with ensuring the items were safe to handle.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Damon Howard

---

---

“It's not your fault, Mr. Eckehart,” Damon offered him a faint smile. He wasn’t as antsy as Freya, but was ready to meet Rulania. He tracked along, marveling at the sights. As impressive as the building was – like a castle, museum, and great garden at once – his attention was more so on the people.

Like those automatons, whose movements were so fluid he couldn’t nearly believe someone or something had just produced them in front of his eyes.

Once the great doors were opened to them, the source of the Song was finally revealed. There were several elders surrounding the young royals.

What a beautiful pair of siblings.

Rulania stopped singing as she gasped upon seeing them. The Song was notably missing something afterwards but even so…It was ridiculously impressive that so many people had put in so much effort to be able to match someone known as the ‘True Voice’. Not only did Damon admire the sheer dedication to their craft, he was also awed by their performance.

The duo conversed shortly, but Damon still noted how different their speech patterns were. How curious.

But then, before he could really question it, there was a bundle of over excited princess right in front of him.

“Hello…Princess Rulania…Prince Ralek.” He waved at each of them in greeting. He did in fact remember Eckehart having mentioned Rulania’s brother by name. Now that he knew these people here wouldn’t be bothered or think it rude regardless how they were greeted, he forewent mimicking Eckehart and didn’t bow. Still, he had included the titles…just in case.

“Damon,” he introduced himself after the two girls had. He extended an arm for a handshake, but was receptive to hugs too. “Pleased to meet you too,” he smiled, bemused. “Did you see us like we’re here, now? How we are in our world? Or both?” he wondered curiously.

He hoped Rulania hadn’t formed any firm expectations of them. However, she did simply appear very eager and pleased to meet them. Though Damon very much wanted a sure way back home, he didn’t mind befriending her, either.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 6:00 pm Location: Castle Dining Room Mention(s): @Potter Ezra Interaction(s): @princess Alibeth, Edin, Anastasia

The prince observed Ezra with mild curiosity. The baker’s act was quite good, but Wulfric had already noticed small discrepancies in it when they’d first met. There was also the fact that the man had gone on to drastically change his appearance for some reason.

Somewhat surprisingly, the man left of his own accord. That in itself was almost enough for him to wish that he’d kept the peasant around for observation for a while longer. Almost.

Wulfric supposed the baker would attempt to ingratiate himself to his father and sister while he wasn’t around.

In fact, based on their reactions, he’d already managed to do as much – to an extent.

At his sister’s comment, he turned to her with a serious countenance. “Seeming is not the same as being, Anastasia,” he stated, giving her an intent look.

To his father, he directed a confused frown. He didn’t like the idea that Ezra was considered as an option for their personal cook. But even stranger was that his father – the man who was only ever capable of appreciating people for what they provided him – was so quick to show regard for this baker.

He had even called him by his name, twice. Without getting it wrong. So, he’d genuinely remembered Ezra as someone noteworthy.

“I apologize father, I wasn’t aware that you were quite so fond of him.” A slightly odd tone entered his voice at that inadvertent yet subtle emphasis. Edin could be so fucking easy; he didn’t even realize how many of those who earned his like were playing him. And this, the man who had been so afraid of his heir showing genuine regard to someone, he had even–

Wulfric reigned that line of thought in, making no show of his minor distraction, and returned to the matter at hand.

No, he hadn’t realized the baker had nearly won over his father. And now Edin was in a poor mood. How bothersome.

This was an opportunity to sway him from the idea of hiring him, however. At the very least, if there was an attempt to be made, the man needed to be investigated. Though, Wulfric would certainly prefer it if he simply kept to his own bakery.

“His skills notwithstanding, I find his character dubious,” he decided to address his concerns. “The previous evening, he made a whole show of advertising his establishment, even using my siblings for it,” he summarized.

What else? Wulfric had been wary of him at the range…Ah. “From what I’ve observed, he had likely said something rude to Lord Smithwood before their archery match.” He was glad he’d remembered having seen something off there. It had mostly been an assumption on his part, but he did know Leo well enough to have surmised as much from body language alone. Admittedly, Wulfric didn’t consider this an especially valid reason, but his father might.

“I also do not like how fixated he is on my sister.” Now this, this did bother him. He was sure Edin would dismiss it out of hand, but it had to be said.

“Besides, he is entirely unknown. His background, his business…I merely advise for him to be comprehensively screened in the event you are considering hiring him,” he concluded by voicing support of his mother’s sentiments.

He went to his dinner then, but kept an eye on the servants who were to examine those desserts that had been brought in. When they began, Wulfric subtly turned to watch them. He was curious if they’d find something. If by some chance there happened to be any tampering with the food, that would be most convincing. However, Ezra hadn’t appeared worried at all that his goods would be tested.

So, the baker was perhaps going for some other angle…He would have to be watched.

Too, he waited for his father to eat enough for his mood to be restored. Once Edin put behind his sourness at his pet baker leaving, Wulfric would try to guide the conversation back to Guild matters.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 6:00 pm Location: Castle Dining Room Mention(s): Interaction(s): @princess Alibeth, Edin, Anastasia; @Potter Ezra

Despite Anastasia's words, it was clear that she was in no way ‘okay’. Something must have happened between when he had last seen her and now. But what?

However, Wulfric let the matter rest, and sat down. “My day has been…eventful, to say the least.” By his tone, there didn’t seem to be anything troubling him, though several concerning matters had occurred throughout the day. It was also true that it had been a packed schedule till now.

“Things are going quite well at the Guild, father,” Wulfric answered Edin. He kept up the pleasant politeness as he was wont to do when interacting with his father. Even those who knew of his dislike for the king (such as his mother) would see nothing amiss in his expression or demeanour. He had years and years of experience tolerating idiots and imbeciles on a daily basis, after all…his father the prime culprit among them.

He chuckled at his father’s words, as if in affectionate agreement. “Of course; the Guild knows perfectly well who holds true power. Why; we are at the heart of economy, not just Caesonia’s, but the world’s. It is precisely because of the connections you have established and empowered that we enjoy this position,” he flattered, taking a page out of Calbert’s book.

And why not? The man was good at what he did. Wulfric did not enjoy feeding the old man’s ego trips, but there was something he wanted.

The prince raised a wine glass in a pre-dinner toast. “As you say, father…To a strong and thriving kindgom.” He hid a smirk behind the glass as he took a sip. His finely crafted smile didn’t falter even at the utter nonsense that he should follow his father’s example. The idea that he wasn’t yet ready was even more ridiculous. “Of course, I will.” He would succeed; he’d ensure it.

He turned to mother when she expressed concern for his youngest brother. “He should have guards with him,” Wulfric noted, eyes narrowing minutely.

He ignored his father’s habitual denigration of Callum. Besides, the arrival of unexpected guests caused an interruption. “You,” Wulfric made no effort whatsoever to conceal his displeasure as he turned a look of frosty disdain upon Ezra.

Not only had he formed an instinctual dislike for the man upon their first meeting, this fool was once again ogling Anastasia. He had also disrupted the angle Wulfric had begun to establish with Edin as to the direction he’d wanted to lead their conversation in.

Ezra and his helpers had brought both food and gifts. Thankfully, there were plenty of their family's loyal servants nearby. Wulfric motioned for one of theirs to come closer, and ordered for the gifts to be thoroughly inspected and the confectionary to be taste-tested. It wasn’t only because he happened to mistrust the baker; it was the standard procedure. After all, the prince – having once been poisoned in his childhood due to his own carelessness – was cautious enough to even have his family’s daily meals regularly inspected.

“Father,” he turned to the man with a note of concern in his voice. While he was genuinely wary, he modulated his response so as to appear both respectable and reasonable. “I realize you esteem this man enough to have invited him. It is certainly very thoughtful of you to have prepared such a surprise for us, and these creations of his seem fitting enough to grace our tables.” Not that he intended to have any, as he had no fondness for sweets.

“But is there truly a need to keep him at hand while we dine? I admit, I have not formed a particularly good impression of him last night,” he complained mildly. Wulfric was well aware food was quite the weakness of his father’s. But at the very least, Edin usually respected his opinion enough to take it into account. Hopefully, the man’s food and gifts would be inspected, he and his employees thanked for their work, and then, Ezra would be promptly dismissed.

However, the prince had the unhappy suspicion that he would be forced to endure this impudent baker’s presence far longer than the peasant deserved.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Business & dinner fit Time: 5:00 pm -> 6:00 pm Location: Merchant Guild -> Castle Dining Room Mention(s): Interaction(s): @princess Alibeth, Edin, Anastasia

After Charlotte had departed, Wulfric had not remained at the café much longer, perhaps half an hour at most. He soon took his leave as well, making a short return to the castle. After changing his outfit into something more appropriate for business, he headed to the Merchant Guild.

It was a neat building, one which displayed the might of capital of the Merchant’s Association. Nothing compared to his family’s assets, yet that did not in any way mean they could be dismissed out of hand. The prince had recognized the importance of money at a young age. Because of that, he’d made efforts to make allies within the Guild. Occasionally even with those rare individuals and companies who were unaffiliated with it.

It was because of these connections that Delronzo’s name – and that of his company, the Black Rose – had been immediately recognizable to him once he’d heard of them. Black Rose had become quite renown in the past half a year. It had enjoyed great success, and had managed to expand admirably. Of course, he’d heard of it; a few months prior, in fact. He’d not thought much of it then, beyond the company being a potential target of investment.

However…Now, there was not only the clear possibility, but a very high likelihood that Marek had fueled Black Rose’s success via illegitimate means. Was his company simply a front? Or was it all the same to the man, as long as he made a profit? Either was plausible, and given he was so well-established already, it would be a hassle to deal with regardless.

No matter. If that’s what it took, he would simply dismantle the company itself, ruthlessly and systematically. Limit the man’s options until he had nowhere to run, nothing and no one to hide behind. Crush him as the menace that he was.

But first things first.

He wanted intel, and the Guild was simply his first chosen avenue of gathering it. Regardless of whether Black Rose was its member, the Guild no doubt had information on it. Besides, it would certainly also have documents detailing who was renting each warehouse, including that ill-fated one. Thus, he could obtain concrete evidence for who was making use of the location at the time when the incident occurred at it.

As for why he was doing this himself? Well, some things simply required a more personal touch.

Wulfric entered the premises, greeting various acquaintances as he went. It was nearing evening, but many people were here on some sort of business before dinner.

“Oh, Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you today,” a graying man with a friendly constitution greeted him; Mr. Lesueur, one of the attendants at the reception, though he often worked a shift in the archive rooms. The older man adjusted his glasses as he looked up from his work with a smile. “Did you wish to meet with the leader? I do believe he is in a meeting…”

The prince returned the smile with a polite one of his own. “I would not bother him unannounced,” he waved a dismissive hand. “I may return for a meeting tomorrow, or in the following days. For today,” he leaned a closer, and passed over a note. “I should like to know if the company and individual listed are known members here,” he confided.

Lesueur seemed intrigued. Wulfric knew that if he revealed just enough, this man could spread the right kinds of rumours. But for this moment, he’d let him wonder just why he was asking for what he was. If he let the other man’s curiosity build, the impact once he fed him his suspicions – that Black Rose was dealing with drugs, and possibly had other operations underground – would be that much greater.

“I require information as to who is currently renting each of our warehouses,” he stated. To start off, this would be enough; later in the investigation process, he’d also ask for similar information for the past few months, with a focus on Black Rose’s known activities in Sorian.

Though he knew very well where to go, Wulfric was led to the relevant offices by the Guild’s employees. He obtained several copies of documents proving that Black Rose was the company using that particular warehouse at present. Of course, there were specific dates noted since when and until when it was contracted to them. Similarly, he obtained copies for the other warehouses Marek’s company was currently renting.

“This is…quite unusual, Your Highness,” Lesueur noted. The man had taken it upon himself to be one of the employees to accompany him. They’d retreated to one of the antechambers now. By the look on the man’s face, he was eager for more details. The other personnel, who were doing a final checkup of the gathered documents, were likely listening in too.

“It is an unusual circumstance. I’m afraid there is strong suspicion of drug trade…We gathered some witness accounts from here, yesterday evening,” he tapped the document indicating the warehouse the party had been held at. ‘Witness accounts’ was stretching it a bit, but he couldn’t possibly spread rumours that nobles and royalty had been inebriated and drugged. Even if such rumours may or may not be in circulation already.

“Khm…This Black Rose company is not one of ours, however,” Lesueur noted with an awkward reluctance. The Guild’s record had been checked already, and it had been confirmed that Delronzo’s company was not affiliated; meaning the man was an independent merchant.

The prince gave a nod, as he believed he knew what the man’s concern was. “I realize the Guild wouldn’t involve itself in any illegal business.” It was in their interest to keep any such deals on their side nonexistent – or in rare cases, hidden. As this matter pertained to an independent merchant, the Guild wouldn’t be as keen to crack down on the man as they would if it had been one of theirs involved.

However, there would be some interest in doing precisely that, and Wulfric would capitalize on it. “Independent or not, there may be drug dealing activities…That is a matter which disturbs the honest trading practices we so strive to upkeep.” In other words, it wasn’t profitable for the legitimate businesses to have illegitimate rivals.

“I’m happy you trusted me with this, Your Highness…but the scope of this–” The older man was clearly nervous. Wulfric raised a hand, signifying there was no need to say any more.

“I am aware. Yet, I trust that you will relay this on as is appropriate, Mr. Lesueur.”

After receiving assurances and farewells, and having the documents he’d come for compiled, Wulfric headed for the castle.

He was found by his mother in front of his office, who was seeking him for dinner. “Evening, mother…I have just had these compiled,” he showed her the documents he’d gathered. “If the investigation teams have already been assembled, I would recommend passing this on to them – the both of them.” He wanted to show the Alidasht that their side was willing to cooperate, after all. Wulfric then briefly stepped into his study to safely deposit the evidence.

“Shall we?” once he exited, he extended an arm to his mother, offering to escort her to the dining room.

As they entered, Wulfric’s gaze was first drawn to his sister. She did not look well. Had something happened to her? What had her guards been doing?

But then, he let his gaze settle on Edin.

“Good evening, father,” he offered a short though respectable bow. “Please excuse me for the delay; my visit to the Guild ran longer than I had expected.” His father would know that he was referring to the Merchant Guild; it shouldn’t be surprising to Edin that he’d been there. He’d frequented the place ever since he’d come of age, after all.

Technically, Wulfric was also not late, as it was a minute or so to six. However, he hadn’t managed to change, so he was still wearing his previous outfit. Thankfully, he’d chosen one which he believed just as suitable for dinner as it was for business.

“Good evening, sister,” he then greeted Anastasia, tone on the warm side of polite. Yet, he couldn’t help the minor concerned frown. However, since he was still escorting Alibeth, he first approached the seat he knew she wished to take, and politely seated her.

When he passed Anastasia on the way to his own seat, he touched his sister’s shoulder. “Are you unwell?” he asked her quietly. It wouldn’t do her any good to miss dinner, but perhaps she would prefer to eat later, or in private.

Avalia

Arlen Vanwye

Arlen Vanwye ⋆ 122 ⋆ Male ⋆ Light elf

Height:

5'6 (167 cm)

Build:

Wiry

Hair Color:

Black

Hair Length:

Mid-back

Eye Color:

Crimson

Skin Tone:

Pale

Distinguishing features:

⊛ His ruby eyes.
⊛ A petite, slender figure.
⊛ A pretty face.
⊛ Delicate bone structure.
⊛ Some old scars (whip marks on his back, knife wounds on his chest).
⊛ A healed cut under his right eye.

---

Likes: ⊛ Adventure. ⊛ Freedom. ⊛ Indulging his curiosity. ⊛ Good food, nice clothing, shiny trinkets. ⊛ The sky and the sea. ⊛ Sweets. ⊛ High places. ⊛ Music and songs. Fears: ⊛ Maiming. ⊛ Torture. ⊛ Being broken. ⊛ Starvation. ⊛ Capture.		Dislikes: ⊛ Being afraid, acting like a coward. ⊛ Falling for someone’s act. ⊛ Small, enclosed spaces. ⊛ Being on his own for too long. ⊛ Nihilism, pessimism. ⊛ Opening up; sharing personal, unhappy stories. ⊛ Avalia's tyranic oppressors and their willing lackeys. Habits/Quirks: ⊛ Barely ever sits properly. ⊛ Likes to get on top of various furniture. ⊛ Seeks out good vantage points. ⊛ Sticky fingers. ⊛ Sleeps lightly, with his weapons close by. ⊛ Sometimes hums under his breath. ⊛ Moves quietly without even thinking about it.

---

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Personality:

Brash | Lighthearted | Capricious | Adaptable | Self-indulgent | Sharp-tongued | Roguish

Arlen is lively and active, and wants to get the most out of life. He seems happy-go-lucky, and full of a youthful, brazen confidence. But he is rather adept at judging situations, and getting out of them before they turn awry. Danger does have an appeal to him, and he is a bit of a thrill-seeker. Still, he has a persistent survival instinct, and when that kicks in, there needs to be a very good reason for him to stick around. He has a penchant for nice things, and prefers to get something out of the work he does. He’s got the backs of those who have his, and does what he can for the resistance, but isn’t altruistic per se.

He is open, amicable, and affectionate, and can easily chat up strangers. He likes casual, friendly, or even flirty banter and touches, and enjoys a good laugh. He can be playful, mischievous, and teasing; sometimes provocative. However, Arlen is by no means trusting, despite the outward friendliness. He is socially cunning, learning what makes people tick. He may prod others to test them and their reactions. He is mercurial, and gets moody, at times childishly sulking. But he rarely stays upset for long. Anger in the form of hate or vengefulness gets channeled into the desire to kill, though.

Arlen can be patient, but often isn’t. He seems to get jittery with nothing to do. If pressed, he can remain eerily still and silent. It’s a bad time for him though, and he needs his outlets. His formal education is limited, and his knowledge more so practical than theoretic. But he is clever and quick to pick up on things. He is curious, but not dedicated to learning. Certainly crafty; not scholarly. Arlen’s reflexes and instincts are one point, but he also tends to be too quick to act out on his ideas. He likes to think he is charming, and strives to be. But he’s kind of a brat, too. He will persuade, manipulate, or even deceive if that’s what it takes. He struggles with trauma, and has some related issues, but it’s not usually apparent – which is by design.

Occupation:

Acrobat (former)
Thief (former)
Pirate (current)

Living Immediate Family Members:

A few relatives he hasn't met

Dead Immediate Family Members:

Gwyn Vanwye - older sister
Sulien Vanwye - father
Nuria Vanwye - mother
Aurelian & Iselin Vanwye - paternal grandparents
Armand & Genevieve Dalmas - maternal grandparents

Current Companions:

The Saltrunner's crew

Current and Past Lover(s):

Several dalliances

Current Equipment:

A pair of short swords.
A pair of daggers, concealed.
A pair of pistols.
Coin pouch.

History:

Early life

0 - 11 years

Arlen was born on the outskirts of the Sun Elf Kingdom to an elf couple who had had only one other child so far; his older sister Gwyn. They lived in a charming cottage within a small but tight-knight community. His parents were entertainers – musicians – and they performed at various festivals, events, and establishments. It wasn’t rare that they were hired by the middle district venues, and likely could have made a living there. But they always said nature was their muse. They also seemed to appreciate the serenity of a quieter, more sparsely populated location.

Arlen has fond memories of running into the nearby forest, trying to jump from tree to tree like the squirrels, taking a dip in the streams, or following the brooks to their sources. His favourite spot was a waterfall running over a steep cliffside into a crystalline lake. How many times he’d climbed up there only to make a leaping run into the water…Usually joined by his sister, who looked after him with fond exasperation.

As much as they enjoyed the local forest, the city had a special draw for both siblings. There was always so much going on! So many fascinating sights, people, and activities. Arlen marveled over it all. But what inspired his passion was the time he caught a circus performance. The acrobatic spectacles he’d witnessed had him decide then and there that was the thing he wanted to do for life. His parents certainly weren’t opposed, and supported him in his endeavors.

Much as they had done for Gwyn when she had decided to become a soldier.

No one thought much of his sister’s life path.

The war and its aftermath

12 - 23 years

But then, the dark elves declared a war on all of Avalia.

Tensions were rising, and it was as if terror had embedded itself into the mind of the general populace.

Arlen was afraid for Gwyn, and so were their parents. She was a young trainee, yet that wasn’t a position without its dangers. Thankfully, their paternal grandparents promised to look out for her, and came out of their peaceful retirement to return to serve in the army. Meanwhile, their parents remained at home with Arlen.

The war ended within five years with the dark elves victorious. When the Sun Elf Kingdom had fallen, they had to dismiss their military force. Gwyn had come home alive and hale, if distraught. Their grandfather had perished. Their grandmother has been hospitalized, heavily injured. In the end, she hadn’t made it either. The time they’d stood on her deathbed, her body failing and mind feverish, was the only one Arlen remembers having seen his father weep.

Both during and after the war, work was scarcer. Their parents still strived to connect people with music, but far less had the means to pay for it. The countless dead were only one cost of the war. The economy had suffered a blow. Natural resources were lost, reduced, or tainted.

The outskirts were struck the hardest. Swathes of forest had been cut through, so many fields burned and razed to the ground. Because they’d been in the way. Their local hospital was overfull, their communities broken apart or gone entirely. Hunting, agriculture, and various odd jobs altogether were barely enough for them to scrape by.

The worst of it all was the paranoia. In their village, where once upon a time, they could count on each other with their lives and more, there was now a miasma of suspicion. The rumours that their government had let them down, had been bribed by the dark elves, only deepened the mistrust. One elf – a local barkeep – had even volunteered to serve as an advisor to the new government.

Dark elven terrors became commonplace. Traitors were being hunted down, many publicly and brutally executed. People deemed suspicious were being taken in, some never to be seen again. Other returned, broken. Supplies were pillaged, or simply forcefully collected as a tribute. People were being stolen; kidnapped at a moment’s inattention. There were countless acts of casual violence inflicted.

One fateful day, his sister Gwyn was targeted. Accused of treason, she was taken. She’d apparently been witnessed attending odd meetings. She and some others – a group of would-be rebels – were apprehended.

Knowing his sister, it was not unimaginable that she’d genuinely had her heart set on resistance. But to learn of it like this? Due to some strangers’ condemnation? And then, his family and he were questioned, their house searched. Supposedly, there’d been enough evidence against her to remove her. Meanwhile, his family was let go, knowing they would be watched.

Had his sister truly been a rebel? Had she not said anything to protect them? Had she been falsely accused? Who had it been to betray her? Was it one of their neighbours? A supposed friend? Was it all dark elven fabrication, a tactic to break them down and subjugate them?

None of it mattered, really.

One day, his sister was simply gone. Disappeared, forever. His sister, so resilient, ardent, and brave; a soul so heroic she’d no doubt have tales written of her had she lived to pursue her ideals.

His sister, dead.

The journey

24 - 80 years

Neither he nor his parents could possibly stand to remain in their old home, then. So, they set out, making their living as traveling performers. Their earnings were paltry, and Gwyn’s absence was palpable, but it was better than remaining back there, in that house, in that village. There was the pervasive sense that if only they’d left sooner–

But even their grief and guilt were allayed with time. As a family unit, they could support and trust each other. They worked together often; his parents with their music, he with his gymnastics. His parents now warier of the world’s dangers, Arlen was intensively taught combat as a means of self-defense.

They spent years traveling, from city to city, from village to village. There were some areas where they preferred spending longer periods of time in, such as the River Fairy Kingdom (known as “Riverbloom” after the war). On one memorable occasion, they’d even been to Aldrakh. There was little good will between orcs and light elves, but it just so happened that the orcs had a large feast, and were in a good enough mood to ‘invite’ some stray guests. After the initial fear, it was admittedly fun, but Arlen was still glad that they’d not been held up there for too long.

They did return to their homeland once in a while, though never to the village they’d used to live in. It was nostalgic in some ways, but also painful. Thus, their visits to the Sun Elf Kingdom (now named “Illuminata”) were never lengthy.

However, traveling the world also gave them the perspective of how the tyranny they’d experienced back home was now present everywhere. Senseless suffering and violence were all too common, no matter where they went. Even as years passed, their new overlords didn’t give the impression that they’d ever come off their power high. The abuses of power would keep happening.

Nothing would change – unless it was changed.

They decided as a family to work towards the rebel cause, if less overtly than Gwyn might have done. They gathered intelligence where they could, and passed it onto whichever rebel group or individual had a use for it. Of course, they encrypted their intel, used disguises, had secret meeting locations, and so on and so forth. All the while they still acted as legitimate performers.

Despite all these precautions, misfortune struck. Their caravan was attacked on a secluded path by a group of bandits. Arlen had been in the back of the carriage, and had only heard some sort of commotion at first. Then, his mother managed to rush in, urging him into a hidden compartment.

Her last words to him were: “Please…You must live. Keep the light with you, always.”

She was killed while pretending she was trying to gather up hidden documents to escape with.

Paralyzed with shock, fear coursing through his very bones, Arlen remained compactly concealed in the cache, barely breathing. His mother’s blood slowly pooled over the wooden slating of the floor. The red life liquid slowly spread and oozed, staining the wood. Through a tiny opening, it dripped drop by drop into his hiding place. All he could do was watch wide-eyed, not daring to make a single sound.

Objectively, the attack did not last long.

But to Arlen, it felt like an eternity.

He was still trembling long after the attackers had departed. A few hours of silence later, he finally emerged.

His mother’s corpse was the first one he’d happened upon. It was right there, next to where he’d been hiding, after all. Tears silently streaming down his cheeks, he stroked her face. It was already cool.

The mercenary who’d killed her was collapsed next to her, slain. As if by instinct, Arlen rifled through the dead man’s clothes, searching for anything useful. For any identified marks of the group who’d attacked them.

Then, he headed outside. He was so dizzy, so sick…He stumbled out of the carriage and threw up.

He went to his father’s body next. Got a last, one-sided hug from him too.

There were a few other dead assailants around the carriage. The ones his parents managed to fend off. He collected some things from them too.

Then, he broke up the now useless carriage with a looted axe. He built a pyre, and held a small, unofficial ceremony for his parents. He sat by the fire till their bodies were consumed. Voice halting and rough, breaking up with each sentence, he sang them their favorite songs. And lastly, a very long, traditional olden elvish elegy for the departing souls.

After the ashes had cooled, he gathered up the remaining bone fragments, and wrapped them up caringly. When he could, he’d bring them back to their homeland and bury them there. It was the best he could do for them.

He took whatever supplies and weapons he could, and went on his way.

He’d left the killed bandits where they’d been. He didn’t care if they rotted.

For the next several decades, Arlen traveled mostly by his lonesome. Whatever companions he found were fleeting, temporary acquaintances.

His first mission – to bury his parents’ remains within the Sun Elf Kingdom – was done within the month.

The second mission – to find those remaining mercenaries, and finish them – took years.

It was a great relief when he had accomplished both.

Afterwards, he ran as wild as one might expect from an adolescent let loose. He partied, he gambled, he flirted and got around, he tried all sorts of substances. It was a way of coping with his loss, trying to keep a positive outlook on life.

He turned his acrobatic talents to thievery, because illegitimate work simply paid more, and was easier to come by. That, and he saw no reason to limit himself to so-called honest work.

However, one time he got too careless, too cocksure. Or maybe he was just unlucky.

On one of his grand schemes, he was discovered, captured, and thrown into prison.

From captive to pirate

81 - 122 years

At first, Arlen was left bored and idle in a regular prison, waiting out his sentence. He had nothing better to do, so he might have been snarky with some of the guards.

The day approached when he thought he’d be freed. However, he was taken for a ‘transfer’. Having a terrible feeling about it, he attempted an escape. But it only ended with him getting beat within an inch of his life, tied up, drugged, and thrown into a crate for good measure.

The journey was rough, and he was left there for hours, half-conscious at best.

When he came to, exhausted, he found himself within Roshmi’s Black Market.

He was packed into a cage with many others, where they merely awaited their turn to be auctioned off. Arlen had hope that someone from the outside would buy him, because he figured that’d make fleeing easier.

However, he’d had no such luck. He was purchased by the owner of ‘Forbidden Delights’, a brothel more expensive than the Love Rooms, but also offering special services and goods. In his three years there, he truly learned the meaning of lying, and putting on an act.

His mind sharpened, though he unfortunately grew thinner and frailer – they didn’t want him in a good enough shape to do anything damaging. He was kept inside ‘his’ room most of the time, where he attended various customers. He also had jobs as an escort within the Market. The latter he actively sought out, because it was an opportunity for him to learn the mazelike layout of the underground tunnels.

It was this single-minded determination to escape which kept him (mostly) sane and functional. The desire to get out burned away everything else. The lingering pain of the death of his family was thoroughly erased. He’d also ceased to care what happened to him (or anyone else) within the Black Market. As long as he managed to free himself, it would all be fine. And so, he planned, gathered information, and made whatever preparations he could.

He was waiting for the ‘right’ opportunity, but circumstances forced his hand. One day, a certain noble dark elven man came looking for him, having heard of him from acquaintances. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, but when Arlen was introduced to this man…The way the dark elf looked at him chilled his blood. And that after having met his share of thoroughly vile people.

“His eyes are all I want,” the noble said coldly. He’d been looked at as an object, even a collectible before, but this…There was no humanity, no desire, no nothing in that soulless gaze. A mild curiosity, perhaps, but mostly the certainty that his order would be abided. The self-assurance that because the dark elf wanted it, he would obtain it. A conceited possessiveness, as if it was his natural right to take what he saw as his.

Terror took a hold of him, utterly and completely.

Shocked as he was, his mind somehow still followed the conversation well enough to realize that a successful bargain was reached. He turned a surprised look on his ‘owner’.

Oh.

How naïve.

Even everything that had already happened to him, he had still believed that some form of bodily integrity and safety would be granted to him.

As if a slaver would.

The noble man had hid held down. One of his attendants approached him with a scalpel, the blade was right there by his eye–

In a singular, intense moment of rejection, a powerful blast of light magic escaped him, blinding and even injuring all around him. No one expected it, least of all Arlen. He did, however, immediately recognize the chance for what it was, and ran.

It was desperation which fueled him, but cunning which guided him. He’d already engraved all he’d learned of Roshmi’s Black Market into his mind; all the routes he’d seen, the patrols he’d learned of, the hiding locations. Everything he knew, he used; whatever he didn’t, he improvised.

It was due to cleverness and luck both that he succeeded. He had a very tight time frame to run away further once he made it into the Roshmi City proper. While official patrols might not bother with a runaway slave, no doubt some excuse would be found to pursue him regardless.

He lay low where he could for the next few days. The news that a certain establishment within the Black Market had been destroyed by a ‘highly offended’ noble reached him. Arlen had a very good laugh over that. Even more hilarious was when official wanted posters with a listed bounty for him started making their appearance.

It was that which made him realize that in a twisted way, he did have power over his would-be maimer. Arlen was perfectly happy to leave him in the dust as he made his escape. Let the dark elf obsess over him if he would; he had finally regained his freedom, and he’d let nothing get in the way of it.

Within the year, he had himself smuggled to Port Vanarosa. There, he enjoyed an honestly dishonest life for a while. Eventually, he happened to meet Captain Drosis, who was looking for fresh recruits. Arlen was at the point of his life where he was both looking for something more fulfilling than petty thievery, and a decent group to do it with.

Trustworthiness was the issue, and the captain and he had a discussion in which they were both clearly gauging the other. In the end, they came to a mutual agreement; Arlen was deemed good enough to be accepted, and similarly, he thought it worth the risk to give a try to working under the captain.

Granted, he’d nearly ditched upon learning the man had dark elves as part of his crew. However, he did believe Drosis wasn’t working for Avalia’s resident oppressors in any capacity. Besides, just as he’d learned that not only dark elves worked for their new tyrant, he was able to recognize that not all dark elves supported Zanithel’s reign.

Since then, the 34 years he’s been part of the Saltrunner were enough to build both trust and comradery between him and the rest of the crew. He now genuinely respects and even admires his captain. Especially ever since he’s found out the man was actively works for the resistance; for Arlen, knowing that he was once again a rebel was practically like returning to his roots. He’s also developed a fairly good friendship and healthy rivalry with both Tanithil and Amisra. Though they’re still bound to clash, it’s not generally a cause for bad blood between them.

The below questions will ask you to name the number of years of experience with certain stats and to describe your athletic behavior. The GMs will present your character’s stats based on the information you provide below. Please try to keep this realistic. We will call you out if it sounds implausible. We may reach out to you for additional questions if need be.

Fitness Level:

⊛ Very active. He has a daily routine of exercises to keep himself limber, and performs feats of acrobatics for fun. That and a plethora of physical tasks associated with his profession keep him in shape.

Physical strengths:

⊛ Agility. Arlen has been an acrobat a good portion of his life. From his illegal pursuits, he knows how to scale buildings, lose a trail in a city, maneuver on the confines of a ship, and more. He’s quick on his feet, and very evasive. His balance is exceptional, and he’s quite dexterous too.
⊛ Speed. He’s often had to run away from law enforcement. To do that successfully, swiftness is essential.
⊛ Stealth. Because magic is not his forte, Arlen has learned all the conventional methods of stealth first. How to move quietly, how to blend in with a crowd, how to track someone unnoticed…
⊛ Strength. To perform the feats Arlen does, a well-developed body is required. It may be a specialized athletic strength, but it is strength nonetheless.

Physical weaknesses:

⊛ Raw power. There are simply limits to what someone of his size and build can do. Arlen is lean, not bulked with muscle, and thus exerting tremendous force – such as in lifting, carrying, or pushing against very heavy objects (or people) – is challenging at best, impossible at worst.
⊛ Endurance. There have been periods in Arlen’s life where he has subsisted on an incredibly poor diet; his years in prison especially. Though he’s recovered since then, the past malnutrition has left its marks. In longer engagements, he needs to take tactical breathers here and there, even if they’re short.
⊛ Durability. He’s been in his share of scuffles, and has developed a decent level of pain tolerance. However, he just isn’t all that tough, and prefers to avoid hits and injuries regardless.
⊛ Magic. He’s had a late start for one, since it wasn’t a skill prioritized in his education. He also simply seems to have less affinity for it.

Years of Experience:
Weapons:

⊛ Bladed weaponry: At a young age, bladed melee weapons were what his parents first introduced him to. He’s stuck to that throughout his whole life so far, whether it be in the form of a knife, dagger, or a sword. 100 years.
⊛ Short swords/daggers: Dual wilding specifically has been his preference for 44 years.
⊛ Pistols: He’s come across his two darlings some 20 years ago, when he helped his crew liberate some war supplies that were being shipped to a dark elf enforcement camp. He fell in love at first sight, and simply had to have them for himself. Ever since obtaining them, he’s been practicing his marksmanship, and even though he’s self-taught, he’s become a good shot.

Hand-to-Hand combat:

Hand-to-hand isn’t Arlen's primary means of fighting, but he has some practice with it. He knows how to evade, deflect, redirect, and use an opponent’s strength against them. 25 years.

Magic:

⊛ Offensive Photokinesis: By far his best and most used magic. He uses it in conjunction with physical combat, though more so as a supplement. 36 years.
⊛ Illusions & Invisibility: After some dedicated effort, he has finally become capable of performing short-term invisibility. He doesn’t have the finesse for illusions yet. 8 years.
⊛ Shielding: He tends to shield magically only when needed. This cost-efficiency means he’s taken longer to develop his skill. But he can employ shields practically on reflex when he has to. They’re quite sturdy, though not sizable. 22 years.

Best Abilities:

Bladed melee, Offensive photokinesis, Marksmanship

Arlen’s Stats

---

Physical Stats

Strength: ⬤⬤⬤◯◯

Ground Speed:⬤⬤⬤⬤◯

Stamina: ⬤⬤◯◯◯

Dexterity: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

Durability: ⬤◯◯◯◯

---

Combat Stats

Hand-to-Hand Combat: ⬤⬤⬤⬤◯

Melee Weapon Combat: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

Firearm (Pistol) Weapon Combat: ⬤⬤⬤◯◯

---

Magic Stats

Offensive Photokinesis: ⬤⬤⬤⬤◯

Illusions & Invisibility: ⬤⬤◯◯◯

Shielding: ⬤⬤⬤◯◯

---

Avalia

Arlen Vanwye

Arlen Vanwye ⋆ 122 ⋆ Male ⋆ Light elf

Height:

5'6 (167 cm)

Build:

Wiry

Hair Color:

Black

Hair Length:

Mid-back

Eye Color:

Crimson

Skin Tone:

Pale

Distinguishing features:

⊛ His ruby eyes.
⊛ A petite, slender figure.
⊛ A pretty face.
⊛ Delicate bone structure.
⊛ Some old scars (whip marks on his back, knife wounds on his chest).
⊛ A healed cut under his right eye.

---

Likes: ⊛ Adventure. ⊛ Freedom. ⊛ Indulging his curiosity. ⊛ Good food, nice clothing, shiny trinkets. ⊛ The sky and the sea. ⊛ Sweets. ⊛ High places. ⊛ Music and songs. Fears: ⊛ Maiming. ⊛ Torture. ⊛ Being broken. ⊛ Starvation. ⊛ Capture.		Dislikes: ⊛ Being afraid, acting like a coward. ⊛ Falling for someone’s act. ⊛ Small, enclosed spaces. ⊛ Being on his own for too long. ⊛ Nihilism, pessimism. ⊛ Opening up; sharing personal, unhappy stories. ⊛ Avalia's tyranic oppressors and their willing lackeys. Habits/Quirks: ⊛ Barely ever sits properly. ⊛ Likes to get on top of various furniture. ⊛ Seeks out good vantage points. ⊛ Sticky fingers. ⊛ Sleeps lightly, with his weapons close by. ⊛ Sometimes hums under his breath. ⊛ Moves quietly without even thinking about it.

---

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Personality:

Brash | Lighthearted | Capricious | Adaptable | Self-indulgent | Sharp-tongued | Roguish

Arlen is lively and active, and wants to get the most out of life. He seems happy-go-lucky, and full of a youthful, brazen confidence. But he is rather adept at judging situations, and getting out of them before they turn awry. Danger does have an appeal to him, and he is a bit of a thrill-seeker. Still, he has a persistent survival instinct, and when that kicks in, there needs to be a very good reason for him to stick around. He has a penchant for nice things, and prefers to get something out of the work he does. He’s got the backs of those who have his, and does what he can for the resistance, but isn’t altruistic per se.

He is open, amicable, and affectionate, and can easily chat up strangers. He likes casual, friendly, or even flirty banter and touches, and enjoys a good laugh. He can be playful, mischievous, and teasing; sometimes provocative. However, Arlen is by no means trusting, despite the outward friendliness. He is socially cunning, learning what makes people tick. He may prod others to test them and their reactions. He is mercurial, and gets moody, at times childishly sulking. But he rarely stays upset for long. Anger in the form of hate or vengefulness gets channeled into the desire to kill, though.

Arlen can be patient, but often isn’t. He seems to get jittery with nothing to do. If pressed, he can remain eerily still and silent. It’s a bad time for him though, and he needs his outlets. His formal education is limited, and his knowledge more so practical than theoretic. But he is clever and quick to pick up on things. He is curious, but not dedicated to learning. Certainly crafty; not scholarly. Arlen’s reflexes and instincts are one point, but he also tends to be too quick to act out on his ideas. He likes to think he is charming, and strives to be. But he’s kind of a brat, too. He will persuade, manipulate, or even deceive if that’s what it takes. He struggles with trauma, and has some related issues, but it’s not usually apparent – which is by design.

Occupation:

Acrobat (former)
Thief (former)
Pirate (current)

Living Immediate Family Members:

A few relatives he hasn't met

Dead Immediate Family Members:

Gwyn Vanwye - older sister
Sulien Vanwye - father
Nuria Vanwye - mother
Aurelian & Iselin Vanwye - paternal grandparents
Armand & Genevieve Dalmas - maternal grandparents

Current Companions:

The Saltrunner's crew

Current and Past Lover(s):

Several dalliances

Current Equipment:

A pair of short swords.
A pair of daggers, concealed.
A pair of pistols.
Coin pouch.

History:

Early life

0 - 11 years

Arlen was born on the outskirts of the Sun Elf Kingdom to an elf couple who had had only one other child so far; his older sister Gwyn. They lived in a charming cottage within a small but tight-knight community. His parents were entertainers – musicians – and they performed at various festivals, events, and establishments. It wasn’t rare that they were hired by the middle district venues, and likely could have made a living there. But they always said nature was their muse. They also seemed to appreciate the serenity of a quieter, more sparsely populated location.

Arlen has fond memories of running into the nearby forest, trying to jump from tree to tree like the squirrels, taking a dip in the streams, or following the brooks to their sources. His favourite spot was a waterfall running over a steep cliffside into a crystalline lake. How many times he’d climbed up there only to make a leaping run into the water…Usually joined by his sister, who looked after him with fond exasperation.

As much as they enjoyed the local forest, the city had a special draw for both siblings. There was always so much going on! So many fascinating sights, people, and activities. Arlen marveled over it all. But what inspired his passion was the time he caught a circus performance. The acrobatic spectacles he’d witnessed had him decide then and there that was the thing he wanted to do for life. His parents certainly weren’t opposed, and supported him in his endeavors.

Much as they had done for Gwyn when she had decided to become a soldier.

No one thought much of his sister’s life path.

The war and its aftermath

12 - 23 years

But then, the dark elves declared a war on all of Avalia.

Tensions were rising, and it was as if terror had embedded itself into the mind of the general populace.

Arlen was afraid for Gwyn, and so were their parents. She was a young trainee, yet that wasn’t a position without its dangers. Thankfully, their paternal grandparents promised to look out for her, and came out of their peaceful retirement to return to serve in the army. Meanwhile, their parents remained at home with Arlen.

The war ended within five years with the dark elves victorious. When the Sun Elf Kingdom had fallen, they had to dismiss their military force. Gwyn had come home alive and hale, if distraught. Their grandfather had perished. Their grandmother has been hospitalized, heavily injured. In the end, she hadn’t made it either. The time they’d stood on her deathbed, her body failing and mind feverish, was the only one Arlen remembers having seen his father weep.

Both during and after the war, work was scarcer. Their parents still strived to connect people with music, but far less had the means to pay for it. The countless dead were only one cost of the war. The economy had suffered a blow. Natural resources were lost, reduced, or tainted.

The outskirts were struck the hardest. Swathes of forest had been cut through, so many fields burned and razed to the ground. Because they’d been in the way. Their local hospital was overfull, their communities broken apart or gone entirely. Hunting, agriculture, and various odd jobs altogether were barely enough for them to scrape by.

The worst of it all was the paranoia. In their village, where once upon a time, they could count on each other with their lives and more, there was now a miasma of suspicion. The rumours that their government had let them down, had been bribed by the dark elves, only deepened the mistrust. One elf – a local barkeep – had even volunteered to serve as an advisor to the new government.

Dark elven terrors became commonplace. Traitors were being hunted down, many publicly and brutally executed. People deemed suspicious were being taken in, some never to be seen again. Other returned, broken. Supplies were pillaged, or simply forcefully collected as a tribute. People were being stolen; kidnapped at a moment’s inattention. There were countless acts of casual violence inflicted.

One fateful day, his sister Gwyn was targeted. Accused of treason, she was taken. She’d apparently been witnessed attending odd meetings. She and some others – a group of would-be rebels – were apprehended.

Knowing his sister, it was not unimaginable that she’d genuinely had her heart set on resistance. But to learn of it like this? Due to some strangers’ condemnation? And then, his family and he were questioned, their house searched. Supposedly, there’d been enough evidence against her to remove her. Meanwhile, his family was let go, knowing they would be watched.

Had his sister truly been a rebel? Had she not said anything to protect them? Had she been falsely accused? Who had it been to betray her? Was it one of their neighbours? A supposed friend? Was it all dark elven fabrication, a tactic to break them down and subjugate them?

None of it mattered, really.

One day, his sister was simply gone. Disappeared, forever. His sister, so resilient, ardent, and brave; a soul so heroic she’d no doubt have tales written of her had she lived to pursue her ideals.

His sister, dead.

The journey

24 - 80 years

Neither he nor his parents could possibly stand to remain in their old home, then. So, they set out, making their living as traveling performers. Their earnings were paltry, and Gwyn’s absence was palpable, but it was better than remaining back there, in that house, in that village. There was the pervasive sense that if only they’d left sooner–

But even their grief and guilt were allayed with time. As a family unit, they could support and trust each other. They worked together often; his parents with their music, he with his gymnastics. His parents now warier of the world’s dangers, Arlen was intensively taught combat as a means of self-defense.

They spent years traveling, from city to city, from village to village. There were some areas where they preferred spending longer periods of time in, such as the River Fairy Kingdom (known as “Riverbloom” after the war). On one memorable occasion, they’d even been to Aldrakh. There was little good will between orcs and light elves, but it just so happened that the orcs had a large feast, and were in a good enough mood to ‘invite’ some stray guests. After the initial fear, it was admittedly fun, but Arlen was still glad that they’d not been held up there for too long.

They did return to their homeland once in a while, though never to the village they’d used to live in. It was nostalgic in some ways, but also painful. Thus, their visits to the Sun Elf Kingdom (now named “Illuminata”) were never lengthy.

However, traveling the world also gave them the perspective of how the tyranny they’d experienced back home was now present everywhere. Senseless suffering and violence were all too common, no matter where they went. Even as years passed, their new overlords didn’t give the impression that they’d ever come off their power high. The abuses of power would keep happening.

Nothing would change – unless it was changed.

They decided as a family to work towards the rebel cause, if less overtly than Gwyn might have done. They gathered intelligence where they could, and passed it onto whichever rebel group or individual had a use for it. Of course, they encrypted their intel, used disguises, had secret meeting locations, and so on and so forth. All the while they still acted as legitimate performers.

Despite all these precautions, misfortune struck. Their caravan was attacked on a secluded path by a group of bandits. Arlen had been in the back of the carriage, and had only heard some sort of commotion at first. Then, his mother managed to rush in, urging him into a hidden compartment.

Her last words to him were: “Please…You must live. Keep the light with you, always.”

She was killed while pretending she was trying to gather up hidden documents to escape with.

Paralyzed with shock, fear coursing through his very bones, Arlen remained compactly concealed in the cache, barely breathing. His mother’s blood slowly pooled over the wooden slating of the floor. The red life liquid slowly spread and oozed, staining the wood. Through a tiny opening, it dripped drop by drop into his hiding place. All he could do was watch wide-eyed, not daring to make a single sound.

Objectively, the attack did not last long.

But to Arlen, it felt like an eternity.

He was still trembling long after the attackers had departed. A few hours of silence later, he finally emerged.

His mother’s corpse was the first one he’d happened upon. It was right there, next to where he’d been hiding, after all. Tears silently streaming down his cheeks, he stroked her face. It was already cool.

The mercenary who’d killed her was collapsed next to her, slain. As if by instinct, Arlen rifled through the dead man’s clothes, searching for anything useful. For any identified marks of the group who’d attacked them.

Then, he headed outside. He was so dizzy, so sick…He stumbled out of the carriage and threw up.

He went to his father’s body next. Got a last, one-sided hug from him too.

There were a few other dead assailants around the carriage. The ones his parents managed to fend off. He collected some things from them too.

Then, he broke up the now useless carriage with a looted axe. He built a pyre, and held a small, unofficial ceremony for his parents. He sat by the fire till their bodies were consumed. Voice halting and rough, breaking up with each sentence, he sang them their favorite songs. And lastly, a very long, traditional olden elvish elegy for the departing souls.

After the ashes had cooled, he gathered up the remaining bone fragments, and wrapped them up caringly. When he could, he’d bring them back to their homeland and bury them there. It was the best he could do for them.

He took whatever supplies and weapons he could, and went on his way.

He’d left the killed bandits where they’d been. He didn’t care if they rotted.

For the next several decades, Arlen traveled mostly by his lonesome. Whatever companions he found were fleeting, temporary acquaintances.

His first mission – to bury his parents’ remains within the Sun Elf Kingdom – was done within the month.

The second mission – to find those remaining mercenaries, and finish them – took years.

It was a great relief when he had accomplished both.

Afterwards, he ran as wild as one might expect from an adolescent let loose. He partied, he gambled, he flirted and got around, he tried all sorts of substances. It was a way of coping with his loss, trying to keep a positive outlook on life.

He turned his acrobatic talents to thievery, because illegitimate work simply paid more, and was easier to come by. That, and he saw no reason to limit himself to so-called honest work.

However, one time he got too careless, too cocksure. Or maybe he was just unlucky.

On one of his grand schemes, he was discovered, captured, and thrown into prison.

From captive to pirate

81 - 122 years

At first, Arlen was left bored and idle in a regular prison, waiting out his sentence. He had nothing better to do, so he might have been snarky with some of the guards.

The day approached when he thought he’d be freed. However, he was taken for a ‘transfer’. Having a terrible feeling about it, he attempted an escape. But it only ended with him getting beat within an inch of his life, tied up, drugged, and thrown into a crate for good measure.

The journey was rough, and he was left there for hours, half-conscious at best.

When he came to, exhausted, he found himself within Roshmi’s Black Market.

He was packed into a cage with many others, where they merely awaited their turn to be auctioned off. Arlen had hope that someone from the outside would buy him, because he figured that’d make fleeing easier.

However, he’d had no such luck. He was purchased by the owner of ‘Forbidden Delights’, a brothel more expensive than the Love Rooms, but also offering special services and goods. In his three years there, he truly learned the meaning of lying, and putting on an act.

His mind sharpened, though he unfortunately grew thinner and frailer – they didn’t want him in a good enough shape to do anything damaging. He was kept inside ‘his’ room most of the time, where he attended various customers. He also had jobs as an escort within the Market. The latter he actively sought out, because it was an opportunity for him to learn the mazelike layout of the underground tunnels.

It was this single-minded determination to escape which kept him (mostly) sane and functional. The desire to get out burned away everything else. The lingering pain of the death of his family was thoroughly erased. He’d also ceased to care what happened to him (or anyone else) within the Black Market. As long as he managed to free himself, it would all be fine. And so, he planned, gathered information, and made whatever preparations he could.

He was waiting for the ‘right’ opportunity, but circumstances forced his hand. One day, a certain noble dark elven man came looking for him, having heard of him from acquaintances. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, but when Arlen was introduced to this man…The way the dark elf looked at him chilled his blood. And that after having met his share of thoroughly vile people.

“His eyes are all I want,” the noble said coldly. He’d been looked at as an object, even a collectible before, but this…There was no humanity, no desire, no nothing in that soulless gaze. A mild curiosity, perhaps, but mostly the certainty that his order would be abided. The self-assurance that because the dark elf wanted it, he would obtain it. A conceited possessiveness, as if it was his natural right to take what he saw as his.

Terror took a hold of him, utterly and completely.

Shocked as he was, his mind somehow still followed the conversation well enough to realize that a successful bargain was reached. He turned a surprised look on his ‘owner’.

Oh.

How naïve.

Even everything that had already happened to him, he had still believed that some form of bodily integrity and safety would be granted to him.

As if a slaver would.

The noble man had hid held down. One of his attendants approached him with a scalpel, the blade was right there by his eye–

In a singular, intense moment of rejection, a powerful blast of light magic escaped him, blinding and even injuring all around him. No one expected it, least of all Arlen. He did, however, immediately recognize the chance for what it was, and ran.

It was desperation which fueled him, but cunning which guided him. He’d already engraved all he’d learned of Roshmi’s Black Market into his mind; all the routes he’d seen, the patrols he’d learned of, the hiding locations. Everything he knew, he used; whatever he didn’t, he improvised.

It was due to cleverness and luck both that he succeeded. He had a very tight time frame to run away further once he made it into the Roshmi City proper. While official patrols might not bother with a runaway slave, no doubt some excuse would be found to pursue him regardless.

He lay low where he could for the next few days. The news that a certain establishment within the Black Market had been destroyed by a ‘highly offended’ noble reached him. Arlen had a very good laugh over that. Even more hilarious was when official wanted posters with a listed bounty for him started making their appearance.

It was that which made him realize that in a twisted way, he did have power over his would-be maimer. Arlen was perfectly happy to leave him in the dust as he made his escape. Let the dark elf obsess over him if he would; he had finally regained his freedom, and he’d let nothing get in the way of it.

Within the year, he had himself smuggled to Port Vanarosa. There, he enjoyed an honestly dishonest life for a while. Eventually, he happened to meet Captain Drosis, who was looking for fresh recruits. Arlen was at the point of his life where he was both looking for something more fulfilling than petty thievery, and a decent group to do it with.

Trustworthiness was the issue, and the captain and he had a discussion in which they were both clearly gauging the other. In the end, they came to a mutual agreement; Arlen was deemed good enough to be accepted, and similarly, he thought it worth the risk to give a try to working under the captain.

Granted, he’d nearly ditched upon learning the man had dark elves as part of his crew. However, he did believe Drosis wasn’t working for Avalia’s resident oppressors in any capacity. Besides, just as he’d learned that not only dark elves worked for their new tyrant, he was able to recognize that not all dark elves supported Zanithel’s reign.

Since then, the 34 years he’s been part of the Saltrunner were enough to build both trust and comradery between him and the rest of the crew. He now genuinely respects and even admires his captain. Especially ever since he’s found out the man was actively works for the resistance; for Arlen, knowing that he was once again a rebel was practically like returning to his roots. He’s also developed a fairly good friendship and healthy rivalry with both Tanithil and Amisra. Though they’re still bound to clash, it’s not generally a cause for bad blood between them.

The below questions will ask you to name the number of years of experience with certain stats and to describe your athletic behavior. The GMs will present your character’s stats based on the information you provide below. Please try to keep this realistic. We will call you out if it sounds implausible. We may reach out to you for additional questions if need be.

Fitness Level:

⊛ Very active. He has a daily routine of exercises to keep himself limber, and performs feats of acrobatics for fun. That and a plethora of physical tasks associated with his profession keep him in shape.

Physical strengths:

⊛ Agility. Arlen has been an acrobat a good portion of his life. From his illegal pursuits, he knows how to scale buildings, lose a trail in a city, maneuver on the confines of a ship, and more. He’s quick on his feet, and very evasive. His balance is exceptional, and he’s quite dexterous too.
⊛ Speed. He’s often had to run away from law enforcement. To do that successfully, swiftness is essential.
⊛ Stealth. Because magic is not his forte, Arlen has learned all the conventional methods of stealth first. How to move quietly, how to blend in with a crowd, how to track someone unnoticed…
⊛ Strength. To perform the feats Arlen does, a well-developed body is required. It may be a specialized athletic strength, but it is strength nonetheless.

Physical weaknesses:

⊛ Raw power. There are simply limits to what someone of his size and build can do. Arlen is lean, not bulked with muscle, and thus exerting tremendous force – such as in lifting, carrying, or pushing against very heavy objects (or people) – is challenging at best, impossible at worst.
⊛ Endurance. There have been periods in Arlen’s life where he has subsisted on an incredibly poor diet; his years in prison especially. Though he’s recovered since then, the past malnutrition has left its marks. In longer engagements, he needs to take tactical breathers here and there, even if they’re short.
⊛ Durability. He’s been in his share of scuffles, and has developed a decent level of pain tolerance. However, he just isn’t all that tough, and prefers to avoid hits and injuries regardless.
⊛ Magic. He’s had a late start for one, since it wasn’t a skill prioritized in his education. He also simply seems to have less affinity for it.

Years of Experience:
Weapons:

⊛ Bladed weaponry: At a young age, bladed melee weapons were what his parents first introduced him to. He’s stuck to that throughout his whole life so far, whether it be in the form of a knife, dagger, or a sword. 100 years.
⊛ Short swords/daggers: Dual wilding specifically has been his preference for 44 years.
⊛ Pistols: He’s come across his two darlings some 20 years ago, when he helped his crew liberate some war supplies that were being shipped to a dark elf enforcement camp. He fell in love at first sight, and simply had to have them for himself. Ever since obtaining them, he’s been practicing his marksmanship, and even though he’s self-taught, he’s become a good shot.

Hand-to-Hand combat:

Hand-to-hand isn’t Arlen's primary means of fighting, but he has some practice with it. He knows how to evade, deflect, redirect, and use an opponent’s strength against them. 25 years.

Magic:

⊛ Offensive Photokinesis: By far his best and most used magic. He uses it in conjunction with physical combat, though more so as a supplement. 36 years.
⊛ Illusions & Invisibility: After some dedicated effort, he has finally become capable of performing short-term invisibility. He doesn’t have the finesse for illusions yet. 8 years.
⊛ Shielding: He tends to shield magically only when needed. This cost-efficiency means he’s taken longer to develop his skill. But he can employ shields practically on reflex when he has to. They’re quite sturdy, though not sizable. 22 years.

Best Abilities:

Bladed melee, Offensive photokinesis, Marksmanship