Ti

Vradia: Tales of the Chosen Few

Zahrat al-Kuthban

Zahrat al-Kuthban

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Basic Information

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Basic

Age:

24

Race:

Human

Real Name:

Yasmin Kashif

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Further Information

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Details

Appearance:

Eyes: Golden coloured, with a subtle blue glow when she uses her gifts.
Hair: Long straight black hair, often worn in a loose braid or wrapped for travel.
Height: 5’7” (170 cm)
Weight: ~130 lbs (59 kg)
Build: Slender and Athletic. Wiry muscle and calloused hands hint at survival training.

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Class(es) (two max):

Mage (Arcane Archer & Enchanter)

Weapon of Choice:

Composite desert bow (arcane-enchanted), and a curved jambiya dagger for close combat or ceremonial uses.

Alignment:

Neutral Good - She follows her own moral compass, though she has to navigate the laws of an Empire that fears her kind (Mage).

Likes:

• Desert jasmine blooming after rainfall.
• Watching the stars and heavens twinkle above the dunes.
• Expensive jewellery, and fine satins and silks.
• Socialising around the shisha.
• Unravelling magical or historic puzzles.
• Debates carried long into the night under desert stars

Dislikes:

• Dogmatic Imperial Laws.
• People who romanticise the desert without surviving it.
• Loud and boisterous people.
• Dislikes environmental neglect.
• Being underestimated.
• Intellectual laziness; those who accept half-truths for comfort.

Backstory:

Yasmin grew up in Dolg, the oasis city in the Sands of Regnad. She was the daughter of a clever silk merchant and a mother who worked discreetly with smuggled artefacts of magical origin in the region’s bustling black markets. Trade flowed through the desert routes from lands far and wide across the great expanse of sand and sea, with caravans bringing exotic spices, silks, materials, and items. Her childhood was spent minding hidden rooms and facilitating hushed bargains, where words and truths were traded like cloth, and prized relics could be worth their weight in gold. or even blood.

Though her family was well respected in society, their fortunes shifted when Yasmin was fifteen, as her mother was arrested under imperial edicts restricting “rogue arcana.” Her father, broken by debt and scandal, sent Yasmin to live with his brother, her uncle, Khamid Kashif. He was a reclusive desert scholar, locally known as a “dust-collector” due to his preoccupation with old and ancient parchments and relics that were widely considered worthless to the common folk. Khamid’s modest cliffside home concealed a hidden archive of arcane residue samples, coded maps, and scrawled parchments.

Under Khamid’s care, Yasmin learned to see what others missed: the lingering scars left behind by spellwork, the hidden messages in caravan ledgers, and what was left unsaid in the trades of information among Dolg’s shaded alleys. She learned how to read a secret, and how to bury one. She had to cross-reference old records, write coded treatises for trusted contacts, and catalogue samples almost obsessively. Travelling with her uncle into the great expanse meant she had to pick up survival skills; and while she still read dry tomes, she also dedicated time to hone her skill with the bow, and secretly, to learn how to use her magical gifts.

Her uncle taught her that magic, like water, must flow freely or stagnate into poison. He spoke of augmenting natural processes rather than replacing them; instead of defying the laws of the world, she should use her gifts to bend and direct them. Even as the Empire’s laws on magic grew lighter, their enforcement grew tighter, and those who openly displayed their magic vanished.

One dawn, Yasmin awoke to find Khamid gone, his research scattered and half-burned. A ciphered map lay clutched in her hand, as if to give her further instruction. Tales grew of disturbances in the north; of a disease plaguing the lands, growing unchecked, and bearing an eerie similarity to what her uncle had made passing references to in his work.

Yasmin decided to leave her old life behind as she set out to follow in her uncle’s footsteps. She walked the sands now as Zahrat al-Kuthban, the Flower of the Dunes. As a whisper in the desert wind, she used her connections to trade secrets for secrets, watched the Empire from the shadows it built, in hope of untangling the cipher and the truth of her uncle’s disappearance.

Personal Characteristics:

Traits: Observant, fiercely intelligent, quietly defiant. Speaks with measured wit when words matter.
Ideals: Knowledge must flow, but truth must be protected from those who would twist it.
Bonds: Her mentor’s lost research; the hidden truths buried in the dunes; her homeland’s survival.
Flaws: Keeps secrets even when trust is needed; will cross lines if she deems the sacrifice worth it; carries guilt over failing to protect her mother.

Allies:

• Street informants in Dolg.
• Caravan Guards who owe her favours.
• One mysterious trader who appears to have access to deep connections.

Enemies:

• Imperial Mage-Hunters & Church Templars
• A former Regnad noble she humiliated in a duel years ago.
• Anyone who uses their influence to dominate others.

Organizations

She is unofficially linked to her mentor’s hidden circle, which will be revealed as the story progresses. She maintains ties to her family’s businesses and their hired staff.

Extra Information:

Carries a small enchanted brass beetle given to her by her mentor; it occasionally clicks or vibrates.
Has a trained Saker Falcon companion named Azir He has pale sandy feathers flecked with darker brown, and eyes ringed in gold. Fierce in a hunt but calm at her side.

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Skills and Abilities:

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Skills

Abilities:

• Arcane Arrow - Enchants her arrows with elemental or binding effects. Has a visual blue trail when used.
• Veil of Sand - Temporarily cloaks her in a shimmering distortion field, making her harder to detect.
• Hunter’s Mark (Magical) - Imbues a mark on her target, allowing her or her falcon to track it across long distances. Also amplifies her accuracy in combat against that target.

Drawback to Abilities:

• Arcane Arrow becomes unstable if overused in quick succession, causing it to backfire or misfire.
• Veil of Sand is not true concealment; it can fail in urban or wet areas where distortions stand out. Ie: a distortion against a clean checked pattern would not conceal the user.
• Hunter’s Mark drains focus over time and can lead to fatigue if maintained too long.

Skills:

• Cipherwork & Arcane Forensics - Trained to decrypt magical journals, symbols, and maps. In the field, she can analyse spell residue, arcane scars, or unusual traces, and knows how to conceal or falsify such evidence.
• Desert Information Trade - In Dolg, secrets are currency. Yasmin has ties to whisper networks, black market contacts, and smuggler codes. She knows how to ask without asking, and how not to leave a trace.
• Covert Observation - Skilled spy and scout, she is able to track targets in city or desert. She memorises layouts and movements, positioning herself to observe unseen.

Howdy!

Meow.

Primality: Act 1

Unfortunately, I will have to take the opportunity to step down. I wish you all the best.

Primality: Act 1

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John was already jogging around the campus in the early hours. The morning run had become a routine, as he found the sedentary lifestyle here frustrating, leaving him unsettled and filled with pent-up energy. Sweat gently poured from his brow as he weaved between the buildings, always finding some unusually placed gulley or alley to traverse. That was another thing he had to grow used to, the fact that everything just seemed unusually cramped in these parts, with buildings in the town pushed together tightly like sheep at the feeder, as if, if they were built further apart, they’d be excluded from the area.

He was winding back toward the campus when he saw a figure ahead of him. Unmistakable red hair. It was Mary, who was the closest to him among the students, relative country bumpkins, both of them. Admittedly, he was still deciding whether he was sweet on her, or if it was just the fact that she reminded him of home. Not that he had any immediate interest in romance, given the upheaval of everything that had led him here. He raised his hand in a wave toward her. She appeared to glance back, but, given that her hands were full of a couple of cups of hot coffee, he could easily forgive her for not waving back. He recalled that she was in a dorm with a boy named Avery. It was good that they seemed to be getting along.

John walked into the cafeteria, already bearing witness to Linda’s disapproving scowl. “You can’t eat in here stinkin’ like that,” she gestured toward his running gear with her oversized ladle. He grinned widely and waved his hand. “Jes’ grabbin’ me some breakfast, ma’am. Won’t be underfoot long.” Linda shook her head as she turned away, and he went over to help himself to the buffet. He grabbed two hot plates and began to load them up with scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, hash browns, and beans. He remembered Emil was European, though he tried to think about what Europeans tended to eat. They eat a lot of cheese, don’t they? He grabbed a few slices of processed cheese, or what seemed to pass for cheese in these parts, and put them on the edge of his plate. He took a jug of orange juice and carried the ensemble out of the dining area.

“Brought ya some breakfast, hope yer hungry.” It seemed to be good timing when Emil called out that he’d already brought over a plate for him, presenting him with the cholesterol-laden breakfast. At the suggestion of the hot plate, John said, “Ain’t no harm in havin’ one.”

John settled down and opened the window in his room as he heard the telltale scratches against it. Appearing through the opened window was a ginger Maine Coon, who licked its lips as it moved over to the saucer filled with breakfast bits from John’s own plate. John moved his hand to scratch the cat’s neck. “Mornin’, Benny. Gotcha somethin’ to fill that belly.”

He headed toward the communal washrooms to prepare for the day, but the place was already flooded. Must have been Conner again. He waved to Hugo as they passed, removed his sweaty clothes, and walked into the shower to rinse off the grime. Soon, he was back in the room, dressing smartly in his uniform. That was definitely something about this place, it was fancy and sophisticated, with these trimmed garments that were probably worth more than his entire wardrobe, including his Sunday best. He made a mental note to take good care of his uniform as he dressed sharply and set off toward the Opening Ceremony.

Primality: Act 1

@Scribe of Thoth Hopefully Avery is a coffee fiend and isn't all "Why is someone leaving this gross stuff in the dorm every morning???"

@AWildSquirtle

I want the latter now.

Primality: Act 1

John Summers

J O H N S U M M E R S

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^{W I N D ( A I R ) ◼ 2 1 S T J U N E ( 1 8 ) ◼ M A L E}

_{"Sometimes you just have to hold on and ride it out."}

A P P E A R A N C E:

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Tall at an impressive 6'5", John Summers has often been accused of having his head in the clouds. With his broad shoulders and a life rooted in the farm country, he carries the rugged appeal of someone who’s spent his days covered in muck and sweat, and yet somehow manages to look good doing it. His sun-bleached, tousled blonde hair falls messily across his forehead, giving him a windswept look, as if he’s managed to dodge every hairbrush in sight.

His deep green eyes, softened by an easy expression, make him approachable despite his blunt manner. His tanned skin, slightly weathered from long hours working under the sun, carries faint freckles, and his calloused hands reflect years of hard, honest labour.

John’s movements are deliberate and purposeful, shaped by a lifetime of manual work in the fields.

B I O G R A P H Y:

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Born into a family of farmers in the rural countryside, John grew up with dirt under his nails and hard work from the moment he could walk. His mother, a rancher with a fierce heart and stronger arms than most men, taught him the value of resilience. His father, a simple man, believed in the value of straightforward truths and honest labour. Summers were spent in golden fields, hay-scented afternoons, and evenings lying on bales while staring up at the starlit night. Life was good: it was simple, predictable, and hard work felt rewarding. As the oldest sibling, he often had to look after his younger brothers and sisters, showing them the ropes.

School was focused on the practicalities needed for farming. Maths centred on accounting, buying, and selling, while science was focused on agriculture and improving crop and product yields. Sport was mandatory, and several families competed actively in the local area. Rivals were made and broken on the playing fields, with general good competition and sportsmanship, though a few disputes were settled with a punch or two when things got rough. John’s sport had always been track, where he could give a solid sprint at a push, in moments when it felt like he was being carried by the wind.

Tornadoes were an infrequent occurrence in these parts, and when warnings came, everything had to be locked down, and the family retreated into the storm shelter. It was in these moments of almost solitude that the family bonded through fear and card games, looking out for and caring for one another.

This simple life came to a stop when a sudden and unexplainable gust knocked down a row of market stalls, scattering goods and people alike. These phenomena began to grow more frequent and stronger around John, as he started to feel what seemed like the raw power of a tornado surging within him, an untamed and wild force. It had started with dreams, vivid visions of being high above the world, the fury of the air around him, as if he were the storm itself: powerful and immovable, flying over the landscape. People began to talk, and when men in suits arrived in an expensive car to the local village and started asking questions, trouble followed. His family attempted to hide him, but someone had spoken, and he had to face the truth.

He was identified as a ‘Primalist’ and was invited to the Merryweather Institute. They strongly warned that, unless he was taught to control this unknown power, he would end up hurting everyone around him. Faced with the difficult decision, he chose to go with the men to enrol, encouraged by his mother’s steady hand and his father’s quiet support.

He would learn to harness this raging tornado inside of him, and one day, be able to return home.

P E R S O N A L I T Y:

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John is simple and straightforward when it comes to his interactions. He can be blunt in his mannerisms, which stem from a background where people are simply honest with each other, with little duplicity involved, except when people attempt to save face. This bluntness is tempered by kindness rooted in empathy, as he grew up in a community where neighbours often helped each other out. He believes actions speak louder than words and often lets his deeds do the talking instead of relying on speech. He is practical and usually one of the first to roll up his sleeves and get things done, working well with his hands.

John doesn’t waste time on false politeness or pleasantries, and he pays little attention to what is being said, being more committed to his values to guide him on topics. He can be a loyal and dependable friend to those he deems worthy of considering as such.

He is not immune to the occasional reckless streak, and his horsing around in the fields has translated into him growing bolder and wilder with his newfound strength and primal powers. John can forget that others are not like him, overextending his natural endurance and strength in pursuit of his abilities, seeking greater heights. Though, he has learned quickly that even the strongest winds can’t hold you up forever.

Since coming to the academy, he has unofficially adopted a pet cat which is frequently seen around the grounds of the dorm area.

A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:

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John has hands-on practical experience as a farmhand, ranging from agriculture and animal husbandry to tasks such as riding horses. This also includes repair and maintenance of buildings and equipment. He is familiar with operating heavy machinery, such as tractors and forklifts. Years of physical labour have made him tough, with quick reflexes.

When it comes to his primal powers, he has started to understand wind manipulation, from gentle breezes to strong gusts. He hopes to harness these wind powers for short bursts of flight or gliding through the air.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Open to friendships, rivalries, slow-burn relationships, or impromptu. He is most likely to connect with people who value honesty and loyalty. His bluntness could upset sensitive personalities and characters. His general, predictable routine can erupt spontaneously to liven up the atmosphere.

Primality: Act 1

@Aeolian
Hehe I can totally see Paige sarcastically calling Hugo, "Daahhling."

@Chrys

Now imagining Asterion from Baldur's Gate 3 saying it.

There was that habit in school where people sometimes called others by their surname, so everyone going around simply referring to him as Darling.

Primality: Act 1

True, but American movies always has 18-year-olds underage drinking.
Over here, it is legal.

Primality: Act 1

I was thinking, probably raise mine to 18 too. Legality around drinking/etc, and themes like that could put people on edge if under 18.

Primality: Act 1

You may want to look at the character tab, @Expendable as Sara Jane and Sarah Jean the blonde blue eyed electricity/lightning girls could get confusing pretty quickly!