Stitches

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

A similar side note that has come up recently and is a trend in multiple sheets - Bazmund and I tend to prioritise a logical, modern world over game mechanics. In other words, when you write your sheets and approach encounters, try to think about the best way to handle things IRL before moving onto magic. For example: If someone is waving a gun at you, you're hardly going to start goading them on. Similarly, despite putting 'Charming' in your sheet, if you cannot successfully put into words why your assailant shouldn't shoot you, you may end up getting shot. This is an alternate timeline version of our world and plays more like a 'what-if' narrative than a cartoon or fantasy story.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

Thank you everyone for your sheets and your patience. We've been working on reviews either via discord or through PMs, and it's only taking a little while as we both like to review each sheet and figure out the best feedback for your character.

@duskshine749@WanderingSpirit@Nate1008, how are your sheets going? Remember we're on discord or on here if you need a hand.

@Lady Selune I believe Baz PMed you with the feedback but ofc if you have any more questions feel free to ask.

@silvermist1116 working on your feedback as we speak, would you prefer it in discord or RPerguild PMs?

---

Concerning the start of the IC, we're pretty much ready to go on our side but we're waiting for enough accepted sheets. Personally I'm looking at 4-5 players, though we're still accepting applications until we reach that mark and then some depending on popularity.

Ossvien

A collab between @Stitches and @The Wyrm. (@Tae and @Hawthorne tagged for reference)

Location: Underneath the Avalon

---

Peregrin was tired.

As in, the sort of tired you’d get from travelling ceaselessly for...weeks, months, however long it has been since she left the decks of The Arcadia. Devouring anything that got in her way and living off the calories burnt from that. She was stronger and faster than your typical merperson because of the high pressure environment she grew up in, but even this was pushing her strength to its absolute limits. Nevertheless, she was under strict - and urgent - orders to keep going until she saw…

Peregrin craned her neck for the umpteenth time, noticing a cool shadow shift across the surface. A hull. Somebody’s ship. Her fingers gingerly rubbed her sash and the bottle neatly tucked and tied up inside of it. She took a deep breath and swam up to the surface, dreading that awful airyness, the lightness mixed with the sheer saturation of oxygen and how bright everything was. She squinted up at the sails and the flags as her vision slowly cleared and started to grow accustomed to the light (how she had to suffer, remaining so close to the surface just so that she could see better when she came across a ship!) and, in increments, made out the Imperial insignia. She waited until she was absolutely certain. It wasn’t as large as she expected it to be, which is what made her hesitate...but it was certainly Glasstonian in origin. Those gold trimmings and the overall cleanliness of the underside of the hull were enough to strongly imply these were not common pirates, at least. After drifting past merchant vessels, the odd pirate or two and a ship from some other country that she didn’t recognise, this one was a weary relief for her shattered spirits.

The problem now was how to approach it. She was far too small to be noticed bobbing around in the ocean, and even if she was - people like her weren’t well-received by navy vessels, given their track record. It was approaching quickly though, so she had a short space of time to figure out what to do, and ducked under to take a look again...there was one line dragging in the water.

The behemoth of a ship skirted right over her head as she kept pace for just a moment - one final burst - long enough to grab the line. Peregrin didn’t know how to get their attention though as she gasped and coughed, surfacing and trying to clear out her airways for oxygen. Out of habit, and knowing some basic knowledge about landfolk mannerisms, she began to knock on the hull as she was dragged alongside the ship. In between knocks she checked for the bottle. Still there, pristine and well-secured to her midriff.

“Belay that!” Bernor’s voice tore across the deck, bringing an instant halt to the rush of sailors bound for the line that had snapped. The line in question, a halliard for the mizzen tops, had sent on of the sails flapping in the strong breeze, the damaged portion trailing in the water alongside the Avalon. Orders had been quickly issued to have the damage modified but now everyone froze as the Captain paced toward the side.

Is that knocking? Who in the nine hells knocks on the side of a hull… He was certain he could hear the sound, a gentle almost tapping sound against the hull. He was certain his crew had not given the noise a second thought but something about it told him it was not the day to day noise of the ship.

The water rushed by below him as he came to the gunwale, the deep blue-green turning to white froth as the bow cut through it. His hair battered his face for a moment before he shoved it behind his ear and looked down the long black hull. His surprise must have shown as two Marines hurried forward, un-slinging their rifles as they did so.

“Bless my socks…” He had found himself staring into the eyes of what appeared, at first, to be a small woman. She offered a weak wave and he shook his head at the marines as they levelled their weapons. “Stand down lads, I doubt a threat would bother knocking on the hull. Send for the Witch, the Princess, and pass the word for the Doctor.” One of the marines nodded and hurried below.

“Carry away that line! Gently now!” Bernor, his authority on the ship absolute, called out to the hands that had been reaching for the line. “With me.” He snapped to another pair of marines as he hurried toward the ladder leading to the gundeck. “The helm is yours, Mr. Stormhearth.”

As the marines hauled Peregrin toward the gundeck, it was becoming increasingly apparent that the Captain’s initial impressions of her were somewhat misguided. This was no woman; at least, the writhing greyish tail and leathery skin seemed to suggest that this was more of a creature than a woman. When she was level with the deck and a multitude of strong arms hauled her aboard, she was still wheezing and sputtering. Her tail had split down the middle and there were two legs inside, as parts of it sloughed away in viscous clumps of gelatinous matter. Her eyes stared blindly at the marines, fogged over by what appeared to be cataracts over the lens, but they were gradually starting to clear as thick tears slipped down her cheeks. Her gills flapped helplessly and as she grunted and panted, row upon row of sharp teeth were revealed in her tiny maw. “Messssage from th’Arcadiaa,” she rasped, her voice high-pitched and uncomfortable to listen to. Some other vocal chords struggled in tune with her own, producing odd gurgles and squeaks when she talked. “Where’s...Cap-tinn?”

“Clear a path!” The crew parted quickly as the Captain pushed through their ranks. A few look disgusted but the majority looked excited, the break from every-day monotony was certainly welcome. “Get the men back to work.” He snapped at a nearby boatswains mate and then focused their new catch as the crew was hurried back to their duties, leaving the Captain, his marine escort, and a bosuns-mate.

“A siren. Now you don’t see that every day.” The bosuns-mate muttered, staring down at the mess that had just been made on his clean deck. The Captain, at least, didn’t seem bothered by it, not yet anyway.

The Siren spoke again and the Captain, not having heard her the first time, felt something clench in his chest. He quickly knelt next to the creature, one knee sinking into the mess she had made. The marines loomed over his shoulder, both ready to blast the uninvited catch into oblivion if she went for the captain. The rows of small teeth caused him pause for a moment but his every instinct told him that this creature was not a danger to him, not at the moment at any rate.

“I am Captain Sarstina. What news do you have of the Arcadia?”

Peregrin fumbled with her sash. Upon closer inspection, Bernor could see that the thing was shaking with exertion; she could be no threat to anyone, only just able to prop herself on her elbows. If fish could sweat, she’d be drenched. The transition from breathing water to air was a rough one so she barely spoke but instead managed to free a small bottle, sealed in wax with the Glasstonian insignia stamped onto the top of the cork. Her shaking hand pressed it into his.

Bernors eyes bulged at the sight of the bottle and he stood quickly, the siren quite forgotten. For a long moment he stared at the seal and then, without a word, hurried toward the ladder leading to his cabin. He was halfway there when Aldan Stormreaver, the Sea-Witch, burst from below decks. The two men met halfway and Bernor spoke quickly.

“We picked up a siren, how she found us I don’t know. But she had this,” He showed Aldan the bottle and the mans eyebrows rose. “I must get below and examine the contents. Can I entrust her to your care?”

Aldan nodded and stepped past his captain, approaching the shaking siren with a calm step and small smile on his lips. He had met her kind before and knew them to be dangerous when cornered but this one looked mostly dead. He knelt and gently placed a hand on her shoulder until she looked up at him.

“Hello little one. I am Aldan, you are on a warship of the Glasstonian Navy. What is your name?”

Peregrin was splayed out in a pile of her own gunk, already stinking up the deck with the unmistakable stench of fish. Her fingers wiped down the gills and the mucous helped to seal them shut. In time, they would eventually shut properly in order to help her breathe properly, but it took a few hours for the transition to fully take place. She stared at Aldan in silence, still gurgling and wheezing. “Perry-...grin. Per-ree-grin.” Her mouth worked around the name. “Picked good ship, yes. Right ship….Help-...Arcadia.”

Aldan nodded. “Yes, you did. You will be safe here. Would you like us to help wash you off?” He was very aware of the smell and suspected that, while it might be normal for her, she couldn’t as she was.

She gave a small nod and he called for a deck hose to be rigged. Curious sailors hurried to complete the order, the long canvas hose quickly secured to one of the ships pumps. Then, unable to keep from grinning, willing hands fell to working the pump and directing the spray of ocean water onto the siren. The sea waste came away easily enough and was hosed overboard until the dark skinned creature was left sitting in a puddle of water, her white robe clinging to every part of her body and leaving little to the imagination. Still, the persisting inhuman qualities about her appearance were jarring enough to bring the men back to reality, especially when those pointed teeth glinted in the half-light. Every man on deck eyed her, without trying to look as though they were until a roar from the quarterdeck sent them hurrying back to their tasks.

Aldan knelt next Peregrin again and waited until she met his gaze once more. “Would you like to rest?” He desperately wanted to question her but she would need time to become accustomed to breathing out of water and, judging from the look on her face, get some sleep. He had seen the signs of exhaustion in enough beings during his days on earth to know that she was walking with death. Peregrin made another wet gurgle as her arms gave out and she flopped face-first onto the deck, eyes half shut. Aldan hefted the creature into his arms to swiftly transport her to the infirmary. She was small and light enough to lift unassisted and as she slipped into a dark and dreamless sleep, she blearily called out for ‘Sam’ again and again.

Ossvien

Slimy Bastard

Peregrin ⋆ 85 ⋆ Female ⋆ Merfolk (Siren)

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Appearance

Height:

5’3

Weight:

50kg

Hair Color:

Black

Eye Color:

Orange

Skin Tone:

Greyish black

Brief Clothes Description:

A torn robe, stained with algae and stiff with salt water. A single red sash to hold it to her body. Nothing else.

Inquisitive ⋆ Cowardly ⋆ Simple-minded ⋆ Mischevious

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Psychology

Likes:

⋆Pretty Trinkets
⋆Land Dweller Customs
⋆Raw Flesh
⋆Open Ocean
⋆Dark Places

Dislikes:

⋆Cannonfire
⋆Pollution
⋆Cities

Fears:

⋆Abandonment
⋆Imprisonment
⋆Death

Sexuality:

Asexual

Personality:

Peregrin did not grow up in a land of honor and morals. Hers is the briny depths, the vast dark empty that awaits the fallen sailors and pirates alike. It is cold and quiet and littered with the remnants of the surface world. It should therefore come as no surprise that she holds conversation like holding an eel with your bare hands, that she’s quick to say what she means and just as quick to hold secrets. That being said, she did not grow up with no culture or interaction with people. Her kinsmen produced an intense sense of loyalty and an innocent sort of kindness, and she lives on a quid pro quo set of morals. The bigger her debt, the less likely she is to abandon the company she keeps.

To say that Peregrin is flighty can be an understatement. The hollering of the men, their vast ships and port cities, the bustle of the crowds and noises of the cannons are foreign concepts to her - familiar, but often avoided for the sanctity of hidden coves and rocky outcroppings. She keeps to herself most times but that insatiable urge to find out more cannot be quenched by injury or betrayal, as she had learnt in the past. Once you manage to garner her trust, she’ll open up a little and teach you about the reclusive siren pods within the lower depths of the ocean, and secret places scattered here and there through vague directions and landmarks.

Peregrin is a restless, fidgety sort with an endearing sort of charm that you’d typically find in beasts rather than men. She’s bright, but not in the ways that landfolk tend to value. She’s very good at finding her way around the oceans due to her transient nature and tries to find non-confrontational solutions to her problems, if she doesn’t run away from them first. Her sense of humour is alien, because her upbringing was alien compared to civilisation.

Cold ⋆ Familial ⋆ Grievious

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Background

Occupation

Stowaway/Swabbie (Yet to specialise)

Which ship are you on?

The Avalon Avenger

Living Immediate Family Members:

A “Very Large Lady” called Mother and innumerable siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Dead Immediate Family Members:

Probably just as many siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins.

Current and Past Lover(s):

Never. What stock would a siren put into romance?

History:
Deep Sea Sirens often travel in pods - large swarms of them that writhe and linger in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. They’re bottom feeders and predators that usually rise up to the surface when they feel the vibrations of cannon fire and drag cadavers down with them, using their songs to coerce the already-submerged and drowning sailors deeper into the ocean instead of struggling to the surface. They’re reclusive and migrate around the seas depending on the availability of food, which shifts depending on hotspots of piracy. Peregrin was one of many, hatched around eighty or so years ago and spending the vast majority of her life far away from the influence of landfolk and their mysterious ways. She was an adept huntress - most Deep Sea Sirens are - but usually relied on the shares of her pod to get by.

What, then, has possessed this reclusive creature and forced her slimy body towards the hull of The Avalon Avenger? And why was she clothed, when most Deep Sea Sirens completely disregarded clothing because of the disadvantage it brought to swim speed? Perhaps someone will be able to pry out the details eventually, but she’s looking for a man called ‘Samuel Cortez’ - and for reasons she cannot quite explain, she believes that tracking down the Arcadia might help her find him. In return she would provide her expertise, knowledge of the ocean and what limited knowledge she had of the Shadowmount Isles.

Siren Song ⋆ Underwater Combat ⋆ Fragility

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Combat and Magic:

Physical Strengths:

⋆Swimming
⋆Biting
⋆Clawing
⋆ Keen Vision in Dark Places

Physical Weaknesses:

⋆Frail
⋆Clumsy on Land
⋆ Susceptible to Illness
⋆Poor Eyesight in Bright Places

Magic or ability (if applicable):

Siren Song: A series of chittering noises, something akin to dolphin-song but with a semblance of musicality behind it. It carries much more potency underwater, though quiet and weaker on land. It provokes a strong urge to approach Peregrin, be as physically close to her as possible and listen to the noises. Contrary to the typical siren-song, this deep sea variant seems to function more as a hunting mechanism than invoking lust.

Ossvien

Chatted with the GMs, produced a monster. Here you go

Slimy Bastard

Peregrin ⋆ 85 ⋆ Female ⋆ Merfolk (Siren)

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Appearance

Height:

5’3

Weight:

50kg

Hair Color:

Black

Eye Color:

Orange

Skin Tone:

Greyish black

Brief Clothes Description:

A torn robe, stained with algae and stiff with salt water. A single red sash to hold it to her body. Nothing else.

Inquisitive ⋆ Cowardly ⋆ Simple-minded ⋆ Mischevious

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Psychology

Likes:

⋆Pretty Trinkets
⋆Land Dweller Customs
⋆Raw Flesh
⋆Open Ocean
⋆Dark Places

Dislikes:

⋆Cannonfire
⋆Pollution
⋆Cities

Fears:

⋆Abandonment
⋆Imprisonment
⋆Death

Sexuality:

Asexual

Personality:

Peregrin did not grow up in a land of honor and morals. Hers is the briny depths, the vast dark empty that awaits the fallen sailors and pirates alike. It is cold and quiet and littered with the remnants of the surface world. It should therefore come as no surprise that she holds conversation like holding an eel with your bare hands, that she’s quick to say what she means and just as quick to hold secrets. That being said, she did not grow up with no culture or interaction with people. Her kinsmen produced an intense sense of loyalty and an innocent sort of kindness, and she lives on a quid pro quo set of morals. The bigger her debt, the less likely she is to abandon the company she keeps.

To say that Peregrin is flighty can be an understatement. The hollering of the men, their vast ships and port cities, the bustle of the crowds and noises of the cannons are foreign concepts to her - familiar, but often avoided for the sanctity of hidden coves and rocky outcroppings. She keeps to herself most times but that insatiable urge to find out more cannot be quenched by injury or betrayal, as she had learnt in the past. Once you manage to garner her trust, she’ll open up a little and teach you about the reclusive siren pods within the lower depths of the ocean, and secret places scattered here and there through vague directions and landmarks.

Peregrin is a restless, fidgety sort with an endearing sort of charm that you’d typically find in beasts rather than men. She’s bright, but not in the ways that landfolk tend to value. She’s very good at finding her way around the oceans due to her transient nature and tries to find non-confrontational solutions to her problems, if she doesn’t run away from them first. Her sense of humour is alien, because her upbringing was alien compared to civilisation.

Cold ⋆ Familial ⋆ Grievious

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Background

Occupation

Stowaway/Swabbie (Yet to specialise)

Which ship are you on?

The Avalon Avenger

Living Immediate Family Members:

A “Very Large Lady” called Mother and innumerable siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Dead Immediate Family Members:

Probably just as many siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins.

Current and Past Lover(s):

Never. What stock would a siren put into romance?

History:
Deep Sea Sirens often travel in pods - large swarms of them that writhe and linger in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. They’re bottom feeders and predators that usually rise up to the surface when they feel the vibrations of cannon fire and drag cadavers down with them, using their songs to coerce the already-submerged and drowning sailors deeper into the ocean instead of struggling to the surface. They’re reclusive and migrate around the seas depending on the availability of food, which shifts depending on hotspots of piracy. Peregrin was one of many, hatched around eighty or so years ago and spending the vast majority of her life far away from the influence of landfolk and their mysterious ways. She was an adept huntress - most Deep Sea Sirens are - but usually relied on the shares of her pod to get by.

What, then, has possessed this reclusive creature and forced her slimy body towards the hull of The Avalon Avenger? And why was she clothed, when most Deep Sea Sirens completely disregarded clothing because of the disadvantage it brought to swim speed? Perhaps someone will be able to pry out the details eventually, but she’s looking for a man called ‘Samuel Cortez’ - and for reasons she cannot quite explain, she believes that tracking down the Arcadia might help her find him. In return she would provide her expertise, knowledge of the ocean and what limited knowledge she had of the Shadowmount Isles.

Siren Song ⋆ Underwater Combat ⋆ Fragility

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Combat and Magic:

Physical Strengths:

⋆Swimming
⋆Biting
⋆Clawing
⋆ Keen Vision in Dark Places

Physical Weaknesses:

⋆Frail
⋆Clumsy on Land
⋆ Susceptible to Illness
⋆Poor Eyesight in Bright Places

Magic or ability (if applicable):

Siren Song: A series of chittering noises, something akin to dolphin-song but with a semblance of musicality behind it. It carries much more potency underwater, though quiet and weaker on land. It provokes a strong urge to approach Peregrin, be as physically close to her as possible and listen to the noises. Contrary to the typical siren-song, this deep sea variant seems to function more as a hunting mechanism than invoking lust.

ꇙ ꒤ ꋊ ꋪ ꒤ ꋊ ꋊ ꏂ ꋪ ꇙ

When are we starting?

Edit: sorry guys, I signed up for another RP in the interim and I don't think me or Dino can continue with this. Thank you anyway for letting us apply!

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

Abigail

Abigail Harlow

Basics

Name: Abigail Harlow
Age: 15
Gender: female
Height/Weight: 5'2, 44kgs
(Former) Occupation: Student
Appearance: Depending on the season, Abigail has two skin tones - pale and sunburnt. She's short and lanky, with knobbly joints, an upturned nose and snaggly teeth. Often has a spot or two on her face. Pale blonde greasy hair which she either wears loose, covers with an equally greasy baseball cap or ties up into an unappealingly tight ponytail. She wears thrift shop fashion or sports gear. Often smells of teenage BO.

---

Biography

Abigail grew up with her grandparents in a caravan that cruised around Arizona. They were fulltimers; a beautiful nomadic subculture of trailer park inhabitants that scuttle from Solero Springs to Redville Acres, from camp to park and back again when they've outstayed their welcome. She didn't know her father and her mother was incarcerated around a decade ago for drug-related charges. They were kind yet misguided people who did the best for a little girl who found herself in an awkward situation. Abigail few up on exaggerated stories of her uncle, their eldest son - a stoic and severe war veteran-turned outdoorsy type, who her grandparents idolised but hadn't heard from in decades.

Where they could, Meemaw and Pops forced the impetuous rapscallion into whichever public school they could find. Her education was disjointed and patchy but it kept her occupied. They were the Catholic, god-fearing sort who, having failed their daughter and somehow lost all contact with their precious son, were twice as insistent to keep the demon-spawn on the straight and narrow. Abigail took to sports rather than drugs. Academia frustrated her but the rustic, eccentric and ultimately homely lifestyle of the various camper parks she frequented had imbibed her with knowledge that you'd generally expect to pick up from toothless old hermits and professional recidivists. She's bright, just not in the way you'd expect. Most of the time she doesn't elect to use her brightness, which probably explains the myriad of stories she's similarly accumulated over such a brief and tumultuous lifespan.

When the Violet Dawn first hit, Abigail was quick to pick up on the anti-mage rhetoric that her grandparents used quite liberally throughout the five year period. As strong southern Catholics, the incursion of magic was devilwork and the unwilling practitioners were souls destined to go to Hell. In her grandparents mind, and therefore in her mind, the Violet Dawn was the beginning of the rapture; the manifestation of these sinful and destructive powers were signs from God of the unworthy who deserved to be culled in Jesus' name. She lost friends and foe alike to the phenomenon but it never necessarily affected her, and she had far worse problems to deal with, so why would she care for the lives of the condemned? It wasn't as if it would happen to her, right?

---

Skills and Weaknesses

Skills:

• White Trash Encyclopedia: Well-versed in a vast array of little helpful tidbits ranging from repairs to pest control to lockpicking to varmint snares to shotgunning (sodas, of course!) to couponing. In other words, she's a bit of a jack of all trades, but only has a very minor knowledge in these things.
• Macguyver: Living in a low-income and transient lifestyle has pushed Abigail to become resourceful. Anything's a weapon or a tool if you think hard enough, and Abi's trusty roll of duct tape helps to facilitate the process.
• Jogger Junkie: Abigail's favourite sport is running. She enjoys her 8k morning jogs, her relay races, her marathons. She's fast on her feet and doesn't tire out easily.

Weaknesses:

• Child: She's fifteen. This should be self explanatory, but it means she's not very strong, not very mature, not taken seriously, not allowed to drink, smoke or drive, can't have a job and should be in school - to say the least. On top of all the human repercussions of being on this earth less than her adult counterparts, it also means her spellcraft is erratic and hard to control. She doesn't know all the spells she can cast and the ones she can cast aren't that strong yet. Magic is also more exhausting to use.
• Dumb Sombitch: Whilst gifted with a keen gut instinct and the gift of vibe-reading, Abigail's not all that smart; partially due to her age and partially due to her upbringing. She's especially vulnerable to Black magic because of this.
• Amber Alert: It's one thing if an adult goes off-grid, it's another if a child winds up missing. Even trailer park inhabitants look after their young. She's on missing posters and the news in and around the Arizona area.

Spells:

• Pick-me-up (Red): A very simple spell that regenerates flesh. At the moment it can only knit together scrapes and bumps, but may be able to work on detailed and extensive flesh wounds if given time and practice. Burns through calories to use, so it requires spare calories to cast.
• Overflow (Violet): Discharge of excess magical power, currently in small erratic blasts from the base of her palm, capable of causing burns. Difficult to control and essential to cast in order to 'burn off' excess power, which causes discomfort and pain if left uncasted for too long.
• Astral Projection (Violet): Currently completely uncontrollable and unpredictable. Sometimes, when Abigail sleeps, she can look into another History for a brief period of time. She cannot interact with the History and cannot be detected without magical means.
• Telekinesis (Green): Similarly uncontrollable and unpredictable, though easy enough to train, Abigail can (unintentionally) change the way in which gravity affects small inanimate objects. With refinement, the mass of the object and the direction of the gravitational pull on it can be manipulated. Causes headaches and even migraines after a significant period of use.
• Energy Theft (Green): Abigail can divert the flow of all electrical currents within a 6m diameter sphere into herself, effectively turning off all technology in the area. The electricity transmutes into mana, but the sudden surge of power can cause significant harm. Abigail can hold onto the spell to the limits of her physical and mental resilience against increasingly excruciating pain and, when she does lose her grip on the spell, it is vital that she releases the excess power quickly before it causes her to burn up.
• Currently Unknown

ꇙ ꒤ ꋊ ꋪ ꒤ ꋊ ꋊ ꏂ ꋪ ꇙ

OH! I almost forgot to ask, who intended on being the newest recruits to the runners and who intended on being veterans?

@LordOfTheNight

Neither, ATM. Abaegel and Buldgie are independent merchants right now and we'll join soon enough.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

Bagel's back

Abigail

Abigail Harlow

Basics

Name: Abigail Harlow
Age: 15
Gender: female
Height/Weight: 5'2, 44kgs
(Former) Occupation: Student
Appearance: Depending on the season, Abigail has two skin tones - pale and sunburnt. She's short and lanky, with knobbly joints, an upturned nose and snaggly teeth. Often has a spot or two on her face. Pale blonde greasy hair which she either wears loose, covers with an equally greasy baseball cap or ties up into an unappealingly tight ponytail. She wears thrift shop fashion or sports gear. Often smells of teenage BO.

---

Biography

Abigail grew up with her grandparents in a caravan that cruised around Arizona. They were fulltimers; a beautiful nomadic subculture of trailer park inhabitants that scuttle from Solero Springs to Redville Acres, from camp to park and back again when they've outstayed their welcome. She didn't know her father and her mother was incarcerated around a decade ago for drug-related charges. They were kind yet misguided people who did the best for a little girl who found herself in an awkward situation. Abigail few up on exaggerated stories of her uncle, their eldest son - a stoic and severe war veteran-turned outdoorsy type, who her grandparents idolised but hadn't heard from in decades.

Where they could, Meemaw and Pops forced the impetuous rapscallion into whichever public school they could find. Her education was disjointed and patchy but it kept her occupied. They were the Catholic, god-fearing sort who, having failed their daughter and somehow lost all contact with their precious son, were twice as insistent to keep the demon-spawn on the straight and narrow. Abigail took to sports rather than drugs. Academia frustrated her but the rustic, eccentric and ultimately homely lifestyle of the various camper parks she frequented had imbibed her with knowledge that you'd generally expect to pick up from toothless old hermits and professional recidivists. She's bright, just not in the way you'd expect. Most of the time she doesn't elect to use her brightness, which probably explains the myriad of stories she's similarly accumulated over such a brief and tumultuous lifespan.

When the Violet Dawn first hit, Abigail was quick to pick up on the anti-mage rhetoric that her grandparents used quite liberally throughout the five year period. As strong southern Catholics, the incursion of magic was devilwork and the unwilling practitioners were souls destined to go to Hell. In her grandparents mind, and therefore in her mind, the Violet Dawn was the beginning of the rapture; the manifestation of these sinful and destructive powers were signs from God of the unworthy who deserved to be culled in Jesus' name. She lost friends and foe alike to the phenomenon but it never necessarily affected her, and she had far worse problems to deal with, so why would she care for the lives of the condemned? It wasn't as if it would happen to her, right?

---

Skills and Weaknesses

Skills:

• White Trash Encyclopedia: Well-versed in a vast array of little helpful tidbits ranging from repairs to pest control to lockpicking to varmint snares to shotgunning (sodas, of course!) to couponing. In other words, she's a bit of a jack of all trades, but only has a very minor knowledge in these things.
• Macguyver: Living in a low-income and transient lifestyle has pushed Abigail to become resourceful. Anything's a weapon or a tool if you think hard enough, and Abi's trusty roll of duct tape helps to facilitate the process.
• Jogger Junkie: Abigail's favourite sport is running. She enjoys her 8k morning jogs, her relay races, her marathons. She's fast on her feet and doesn't tire out easily.

Weaknesses:

• Child: She's fifteen. This should be self explanatory, but it means she's not very strong, not very mature, not taken seriously, not allowed to drink, smoke or drive, can't have a job and should be in school - to say the least. On top of all the human repercussions of being on this earth less than her adult counterparts, it also means her spellcraft is erratic and hard to control. She doesn't know all the spells she can cast and the ones she can cast aren't that strong yet. Magic is also more exhausting to use.
• Dumb Sombitch: Whilst gifted with a keen gut instinct and the gift of vibe-reading, Abigail's not all that smart; partially due to her age and partially due to her upbringing. She's especially vulnerable to Black magic because of this.
• Amber Alert: It's one thing if an adult goes off-grid, it's another if a child winds up missing. Even trailer park inhabitants look after their young. She's on missing posters and the news in and around the Arizona area.

Spells:

• Pick-me-up (Red): A very simple spell that regenerates flesh. At the moment it can only knit together scrapes and bumps, but may be able to work on detailed and extensive flesh wounds if given time and practice. Burns through calories to use, so it requires spare calories to cast.
• Overflow (Violet): Discharge of excess magical power, currently in small erratic blasts from the base of her palm, capable of causing burns. Difficult to control and essential to cast in order to 'burn off' excess power, which causes discomfort and pain if left uncasted for too long.
• Astral Projection (Violet): Currently completely uncontrollable and unpredictable. Sometimes, when Abigail sleeps, she can look into another History for a brief period of time. She cannot interact with the History and cannot be detected without magical means.
• Telekinesis (Green): Similarly uncontrollable and unpredictable, though easy enough to train, Abigail can (unintentionally) change the way in which gravity affects small inanimate objects. With refinement, the mass of the object and the direction of the gravitational pull on it can be manipulated. Causes headaches and even migraines after a significant period of use.
• Energy Theft (Green): Abigail can divert the flow of all electrical currents within a 6m diameter sphere into herself, effectively turning off all technology in the area. The electricity transmutes into mana, but the sudden surge of power can cause significant harm. Abigail can hold onto the spell to the limits of her physical and mental resilience against increasingly excruciating pain and, when she does lose her grip on the spell, it is vital that she releases the excess power quickly before it causes her to burn up.
• Currently Unknown

ꇙ ꒤ ꋊ ꋪ ꒤ ꋊ ꋊ ꏂ ꋪ ꇙ

Yea me and Dino are ready to go