________________________________________ Caspian Fontaine
Male | 20 | Demi | Water _______________________________________________“It’s not about going first. It’s about the overall flow.”________________________________________ - Likes -
- Nature Watching
- Listening to the world's sounds
- Chocolate
- Tea
- Dislikes -
- The heavy scent of iron after a battle
- Miasma
- Overly sweet scents
- Coffee
- Habits -
- Staring off into the middle distance
- Running his thumb against his focus
- Tapping his fingers against the pommel of his sword
- Nervous laughter
- Other -
- His focus is a metal encased enhydro gemstone. He keeps it on his person both as a reminder of his mother who had gifted it to him, as well as to help stave off the negative birth defects that came about from Miasma.
- He has gotten rather good at mending his own clothes, having had to fix several nicks and cuts from fights that he has been in.
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“However, life can be as fickle as the weather. Constantly changing,never stagnating. It won’t always stay sunny, but snowfall doesn’t last forever either. And whenever happiness meets its end, it always carries the smell of blood.”
Appearance
Caspian's personal style is revolved around two things, practicality and comfort. Sporting mostly cottons, he prefers to wear dark clothing that is both form fitting and flexible. He considers this 'spywear' almost essential for his day to day activities when he goes out on the field. However while at base he typically throws on an oversized jacket, or even looser clothing like Haoris and robes, as his own form of comfort. These are where he implements his splashes of color, sporting bright reds, blues, and yellows to achieve a good color blocked look; though he prefers to wear black tanks underneath them as opposed to sleeved shirts.
Having hardly ever cut his hair, it's full length goes down towards his mid back. While out it's either in a messy bun or stylized ponytail, but at camp it's always loose unless he is training. His golden hair helps to frame his almost delicate face with what some have called 'slut strands', locks of hair purposefully let loose on the sides. Every feature cements a preconceived notion that he is a soft and frail boy, from his almond shaped blue eyes to his button nose accentuated by a permanent blush streak that runs across its bridge. Some from his previous cell had known him as a 'pretty boy'. Though Caspian would be lying if he said he hadn't tried to use his looks before to get a few free things while out.
Personality
Caspian tries to be as friendly natured as possible. Giving praise where its deserved and most importantly needed. He understands that the war has taken much from everyone, and sympathizes with their grief and feelings, but cant help but think back to the days of when he was younger. The calmer times before he saw the full brunt of the war, or at the very least could grasp the entirety of it. In search for those times long gone, he tries to put on a joyous demeanor and lift the spirits of those around him. Wishing to offer the briefest of reprieves in these trying times. It is because of this that he has been designated as the defacto welcome party for his cell. A warm and friendly face to help those who are new to the area feel more at home and at ease as they settle down into their new lives.
He is always willing to lend an ear to those that need it. Whether it be to help search for a solution or simply allow them to vent out their feelings so that the weight can be shared amongst themselves as opposed to the singular person. He, however, isn't quick to share his problems. Feeling he might become more of a burden if he was to do so. So Caspian keeps his personal problems to himself, including the use of a focus. The cell leader is aware of his situation, along with a handleful of others higher up, but Caspian prefers not to talk about it. The rebels have enough to concern themselves with without him adding his chances of dissonance into the mix. So far as anyones concerned, his focus is merely his last connection to his family, and one he isnt willing to part with.
Bio
Caspian Fontaine is the son and legacy of Cascade, a rebel spy who used her family's magic to keep the opposing side at bay. He was born in the year 511, a by-product of war and the experiments it brought forth. The only home he'd known for several years was the base his mother worked at. A large building with ornate fixtures that made one forget about the world outside. He'd spent a majority of time in the interior garden, playing by the Koi ponds and hassling the fish. Once he'd turned five, a boken was placed inside his hands. He was made to practice his swordsmanship, at first only doing 50 downwards swings a day, then 100, and so on. He wasn't expected to fight just yet, but everyone had to learn to defend themselves at a young age.
When he was ten he was gifted his first real sword. A matching pair of a Katana and Wakizashi. The Katana was far too big for him, but he was told he'd grow into it. Until then he used his short sword as his active one, practicing his swings and styles with the new weight of real metal. He'd began helping out more around the camp, doing small smuggling jobs, or things only small kids could pull off without suspicion. He'd kept his sword hidden on him at all times, always ready to fight if the task called for it. The years went by and his eighteenth birthday had finally come, the awakening ceremony would take place for a handful of children who had come of age.
When his turn had come, he walked up towards the crystal that sat atop a pedestal and placed his hands upon it. Regardless of the outcome he was ready to fight in the war, but the rebels needed more magic and they were losing mages fast. There's a small glow, dim at first, before it blew into a radiant light bright enough to give him a blue hue. His hands lingered for a moment in amazement before he'd finally moved them off, staring at them blankly as he walked away. He was a mage, and a water one that could continue his family's legacy within the war. New training started immediately, learning how to manipulate the water around him, finding sources in the most hopeless of places, and making due with what he had at hand.
He quickly learned to carry several waterskins on him, allowing him to have a channel for his magic in the event water was scarce. Several times his powers fluctuated during training. Moments where he'd meant only to summon a wisp of water and yet arcs flew out. Fortunately for them his ability to scry was unhindered by all of this, allowing him to accept his role as a rebel spy within the ranks. His mother had begun to pay special attention towards him while he was training now. She said it was to ensure his progression was good, and he hadn't suspected otherwise until later. He was tasked with heading towards another rebel cell, away from his family so that he may provide similar services to a cell without a Fontaine.
As a final parting gift, his mother handed him her focus. It wasn't until later he heard about what had happened to her. She succumbed to dissonance, unable to find an appropriate foci once more, her magic got the best of her. He'd never known until then, but the war had taken more from them than he'd realized. The Miasma unleashed during his conception affected his mother and his birth. She required a focus even though she was a primary affinity wielder. Now that he had awakened, now that he knew more, he realized that attention wasn't to check his progress, it was to check for any dissonance that may have occurred. His magic was fundamentally altered, stronger than it should be for his age and skill, but forcing him to use a focus or risk dissonance.
This loss helped to steel him for the times that were to come. Using his powers both defensively to alert the base of intruders or dangers, or when the need arises, offensively to fight off those that escaped his sight. It was during one such altercation that he earned the title of Raging Sea. A silly nickname a few of the rebels gave him when, by pure chance, he swung his sword at a group of enemies and instead of a practiced arc, came a gushing wave that swept them back as it knocked them down. The rebels were able to escape with their lives, and he was stuck with a new name. |
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