Today is of the Cycle Of The Seventh Moon.
Current Season & Month:  , Year: 543 A.R. (ref)

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Others of the Lands.

Villainess Noble
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AKA: No Picnic, The TonDen
Age: 11
Race: Magickal Construct
Occupation: Wanderer
Alignment: True Neutral

Picnic is a nightmarish creature somewhat resembling a giant insectoid centaur. It stands nearly twelve feet from spiked hoof to the top of its featureless "head". The great bladed "wings" which sprout from it's "shoulders" extend even higher. Four reverse-jointed legs support a body with two pairs of arms; one set massive and equipped with three-pronged claws for lifting and crushing, one set nearly human-sized with six-fingered hands capable of fine motor work. A blank oval sits atop shoulders, much like an immense Umanoid head, but the hows and wherefores of Picnic's brain and senses are a mystery. Picnic's skin can be translucent and lit from within by blue-hued light, or black and opaque as a starless night.  

  • Picnic's monstrous appearance inspires terror in even the bravest of souls, restricting it to dwell only in uninhabited lands.
  • While it has a great store of arcane knowledge remaining after severing its connection to its former master, the Picnic spends most of its time observing and contemplating the worlde around it. It rarely reaches a conclusion in a timely enough manner to act in response to outside stimuli or situations.
  • Though it is magick-sensitive, Picnic does not know how to spellcast on its own. 
  • While physically strong, Picnic is very susceptible to magicks. It is a construct of Blue Ash and the White Drow magicks holding it together can easily be unravelled by a knowledgeable spellweaver.  
  • Picnic can be controlled by other sentient beings. When another person has direct contact between their flesh and the Picnic's carapace, if they call out a simple command accompanied by strong thoughts of action, the action will be carried out by the Picnic, whether it wishes to or not.
  • Picnic has immense physical strength, speed, and a dominating presence.
  • Its carapace consists of a crystalline armor that is difficult to pierce or damage.
  • Picnic can establish an empathic connection between itself and any creature it touches directly. 

The TonDen was created as a golem of the Blue Ash by a White Drow necromancer. It was constructed and then rendered down to nothing as she willed for many years. With each revolution it's form and feeling changed. Eventually the quasi-intelligent construct became aware of its own existence, though it was still a slave to the master who continued to treat it as a mindless tool. 
A chance violent encounter with another sorceress resulted in The TonDen becoming the collateral of a bet between the two witches, and it was through this contest that the TonDen gained its freedom. What this strange monster will do with its newfound autonomy remains to be written.
After much careful deliberation, The TonDen has named itself Picnic. When doing battle, it wishes to be known as No Picnic.

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Duilliath of the Aescbourne


Age:  Youthful Appearance, True Age - indeterminate

Race:  Greater Aos Sidhe/Aescbourne Sidhe

Occupation: Traveler, Seanake, Story teller, Vagabond, Sorceror. Once Upon a Time:  Hero

Alignment: Neutral


Duilliath, like most members of the Aos Sidhe, has a native form that is generally human or elf-like, but to a greater degree of height and striking appearance. The Aescbourne known as Duilliath, as one of the Children of the Aesc, is very tall, long of limb, and whipcord lean. his dark ruddy brown hair, the color of mahogany, is worn long, usually braided or at least gathered to prevent it from obscuring his vision.

He has pleasant, angular features, with high cheekbones and an expressive mouth usually set in a wry or sardonic smile. His skin is smooth, with a hint of fine lines about his eyes. His gaze is considered 'unsettling', partly for the color of his eyes, but also for the thousand meter stare he has, as he observes and analyzes the multitude of layers he sees. His eyes, unusually for one of the Sidhe, are very dark, chips of obsidian that appear to make his eye seem pupilless. The dark orbs, when they are fixed on another, can be very discomfiting.

He typically dresses for the road, in serviceable riding or walking clothes, dark brown or grey trews with a dove-grey or manila linen shirt; a diagonal sash in grey, green, heather and blue in the tartan of his Kith fastened by a Sidhe-silver claiomh brooch crosses his chest from left to right and a cross-chest sword belt or dark leather crosses from right to left.

He wears a variety of rings, but about his neck is the twisted Sidhe-silver of a torc. At his breast, a deep green prism of uncertain manufacture is occasionally visible.

He carries a variety of weapons as the situation demands: a few knives, a short sword, a horsebow made of composited strips of bone and aesc wood, and a long, broad-bladed spear.

He is often seen in the company of a variety of animals, including a black and white cat or crow.


Duiliath's greatest weaknesses are borne from the long tedium of his existence, surivor's guilt, the inability to let go and simply Fade like his Kith-kin, and his Pride. Physically, as with the touch of all things Sidhe and Fae, the presence of iron can cause him pain and injury - his reaction can be anything from a minor irritation to a fatal or near-fatal poisoning. For this reason, many of his tools, buckles and fasteners are bronze or other metals that lack iron.


He wields elemental magics and is considered a Masterclass Creator and Coercer, with which he can summon and channel energies to change Reality around him. That can include the physical state of the world or the behavior and motivation of its denizens. In practicing his elemental magery, he has in the past relied upon various foci, incuding some living elemental beings - living in the sense that they have 'existence' and inscrutable motivations. His own blood is a potent fuel for sorcery, and he may use it intentionally to enhance one of his spells.


Duilliath Suilleach, known as The Fool, The Traveler, the Seanake, among other things, was born to the Eold Wood Kith of the Aescbourne Sidhe. One of the last of that slow-replenishing race to achieve existence, he has been witness to the rise of factions that eventually erupted into fighting forces that eventually damaged or destroyed the ancient Cities: Roniah, Goriah, Muriah and Finiah.

The conflict that devastated the Aescbourne and their kin had been fought across cneturies, across many worlds and used many client races. It ended in a Pyrrhic victory, one that left the few Aescbourne remaining in possession of the field, but there was little enough to sustain them there. The conflict had ruined everything and what litte was left, save Duilliath himself and his Hearth in the Eld, remained.

It should be revealed that this is not his first trip to Worlde Arcane, in those elder days he had distinguished himself as a Sorceror, Warrior and Rogue. Then, as now, he had come seeking a refuge, but in those days, he had found that refuge with his formerly lost lover, Raivynn. That was a long time ago, now, and that past was closed - but the Worlde Arcane remained a refuge that he had long held in regard.

Immediately preceding his most recent return, the forces of the Other were gaining the upper hand, so desperate was the situation that the Sidhe and his allies broke that other world, casting many away into the formless dark, but trapping others in the dying realm or in nearby realms.

Duilliath stepped through the rift he had summoned to fuel the Sealing of the World of Blood and Ash, unsure if he would be torn apart to fuel his own Spell... and arrived, much the worse for wear, at the Menhir in the Rosewood.

Duilliath Suilleach Seanake, Fool and the Traveler Who Lost a Kingdom

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Pioloss - Master Assassin / Dhampir


Physical Description.


Tall and rangy, Pioloss’s features are more often than not hidden beneath the deep hood of the muted, earthen coloured robe that he is never found without. On the rare occasion that his hood does come down (which is near exclusively when he is hunting and freedom of movement and vision becomes a necessity) his features are sharp and angular with intense grey eyes. Not given to smiling at all, his face looks like old leather due to a lifetime spent outside in the elements, though he is notably pale due to his primarily nocturnal schedule. The smell of garlic follows him wherever he goes, and as well as his dual silver daggers, Pioloss always has a number of sharpened hardwood stakes secreted within easy reach beneath his robe. 




Pioloss is an accomplished Pyromancer, though he requires the use of a Tinker Dwarf made flint and steel contraption to generate the initial flame which he can then manipulate in a number of ways.




Pioloss grew up on a small, isolated farm about two days’ walk from Seven oaks with his parents and twin sister Daria. 

But he was orphaned whilst in his early teens when a passing Traveller turned up at their door, begging sanctuary from the raging storm outside. But the moment she came inside Pioloss noticed the feral glow from her crimson irised eyes, the way her jaws yawned open impossibly wide and the scythe-like teeth contained within. What followed then was a scene of such absolute horror that it would be burned into Pioloss’s mind from that moment on, changing the once bright, inquisitive youth irreparably, and forging him into a man driven only by hate, sarcasm, and the burning need for revenge. 

Barely escaping with his life and leaving the mangled, empty bodies of his family behind him, Pioloss never stopped moving after that night. He came close to death several times at first, before through trial, error, and sheer unbending determination, he began to learn how to survive a life on the road, though it is worth noting not always through completely honourable means. 

Years later he began to hear rumours, snatched whispers from dark corners in seedy taverns of flame eyed monsters with dagger teeth that fed off of the blood of others - and of the men and women who hunted them. 

Before long Pioloss found just one such Hunter, and begged him to take him in, to train him and teach him all that he knew of Hunting and killing the foul creatures that had orphaned him. Pioloss was an eager student, who in time even came to surpass his master. But no matter how many Vampires met the true death by his hand, it still wasn't enough. It never would be until he could once again find the one who had taken his family from him and send her screaming into oblivion.

Eventually Pioloss set out once more on his own, having always felt more comfortable by himself than with others. But all too soon the frustrations borne from years of fruitless searching began to catch up to him. Pioloss began to drink. Alot. Too much. He was still careful, always making sure to drink early during the day so as to be alert and ready when again the nighttime came. But the constant abuse of alcohol still took its toll, dulling his senses and slowing his reactions, slowly at first, but always and insidiously there, lessening him with each and every tankard. So when finally he caught that fateful glimpse of a too familiar face, a pale face that hadn't aged a day since the night it was burned into his memory, Pioloss wasn't ready. After a brief but intense battle, mercifully he managed to escape with his life, or so he thought... 

For unbeknownst to him at the time, Pioloss had already fallen victim to the very same incurable, terrible affliction of those that he had hunted for so long...




Survivalist - Long years alone on the road have made Pioloss proficient in living off of the land in hostile environments.


Pyromancer - Pioloss is able to manipulate existing fire, though the ability exhausts him if used for more than brief increments. It also severely affects his vision for a time after any use at all.


Master Assassin - long years spent Hunting the undead, whose senses and abilities far outstripped his own, has taught Pioloss the importance of the element of surprise. His reflexes have also been honed to a razor sharp point and he can be just as deadly in a brawl as he is from the shadows.


Vampiric strength and speed - Having succumb to the same condition that he has spent his life trying to eradicate, Pioloss is able to move much faster than an ordinary Uman and is twice as strong. But using these vampiric abilities only hastens the change within him that he is so desperate to avoid and further exacerbates his overwhelming need for Uman blood.




Anti social - Years spent alone have made it difficult for Pioloss to pick up on certain social cues and he can often find the dynamics between groups of people to be confusing. This can cause others to view him as being abrupt or sarcastic when such was not his intent.


Weakness to fire/ sunlight - Pioloss’s condition renders him extremely vulnerable to fire, making his Pyromancy all but useless except for in the most desperate of situations. 

For the moment he is able to exist in the daytime, though bright, sustained sunlight will weaken him considerably and he can feel the effects growing stronger with every passing day.


Alcoholic (recovering?) - what started as a couple of ales to take the edge off after a hard night spent Hunting the Undead eventually turned into a crippling need. Since being turned alcohol no longer affects Pioloss, but still the craving still remains, or is it something else which he now craves?


Blood Craving - Pioloss’s every waking moment is dominated by his constant, ever increasing need to feed on Uman blood. It severely limits his effectiveness in battle, causing him to become distracted to the point that he is completely unaware of anything else other than the sight and smell of the blood from the moment it is first drawn. 

So far he has managed to control the need, but Pioloss knows that it will only take one time, one single slip up, and his transformation into one of the Undead will be complete, condemning him to a life of eternal darkness...

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Samarsoe and Nankefe

Sister Predators of the RoseWood




Status: LPCs (Local PCs, linked to a specific location)

Race: Harpies

Age: Unknown & Inconsequential

Alignment: Chaotic Evil


The twin sister harpies of the RoseWood, Samarsoe and Nankefe, are as old as the forest itself. Or at least, that’s what they believe and know. As far as they are concerned, they are part of its mysteries and secretive ways, daughters of its darkness. They live in a small nest-like hut, pup in the canoy of the woods, preying upon those who lost their way. Dark owls at night serve as their spies, informing them off the wayward folk seeking their path in the forest. The twins lure their prey to them with a sweet, melodious, charming song, eager to devour their flesh.

Both sisters look like hideous hags, with giant vulture-like wings. They are dressed in rags and will attack with their claws and their crude wooden clubs. Samarsoe has green hair, wings, and toenails, while Nankefe has dark purple wings and hair, and orange toenails. Beyond that, the twins are almost inseparable, and act in unison.

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Baoun The Cat - ur Cat - or something like it

Description and Background:  Baoun is companion to Duilliath, currently, and appears to be an otherwise unremarkable black and white cat.

"Now, wait just a minute.  Who are you calling unremarkable?"


"As if you were equipped to judge Me!  Stand aside, I'll do my own introduction."

"I am as like to a c-a-t as you are to a pigeon. I look like a cat, and that's the chief difference.  My path is my own, but I share it with those that I choose.  Right now, I chose that rascal, fool and wanderer, Duilliath, to attach to.  He feeds me, occasionally, and I have to admit, he has excellent taste in traveling companions."

Baoun looks like a cat, often acts like a cat, but as evidenced in some recent encounters, has perceptions and powers well in excess of said felines. As to what his true nature is, one would have to ask him (and he won't say) or Duilliath (who simply smiles), or possibly his true nature is suspected by the Real Reason he has attached himself to the Sidhe on this round of his journeys... his lovely and respectful blonde companion with the oh-so-tricky fingers that Baoun enjoys behind his ears.  

If you want to know more about Baoun, you'd best ask.  He may, or may not, decide to tell you. 

Duilliath Suilleach Seanake, Fool and the Traveler Who Lost a Kingdom

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DAETH wip (update7)


The Bearer of the Mark

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Death Angel - Cosmic Joke - Abomination - Hawtboi of Worlde Arcane

The Brand
Daeth Brand(image)1


[NAME]  DAETH  -  Son of Daemos*, the God of Death and a Celestial Being 

[ALIASES] Commonly referred to as the, “Death Angel"or “Angel of Death” 

Has also been called: “The Abomination of Death”, “A Cosmic Joke”, “Helspawn”, An Affront to the Gods” and “The Fool” - not necessarily in that order

[RACE] demigod/godling (sometimes considered a death angel)

[AGE] ageless (looks perpetually in his prime)

[ALIGNMENT] True Chaotic Neutral



  • Find a way to remove the Brand [status: main; ongoing
  • Kill daemons at any opportunity or while "information gathering" in one of the many demonic realms [status: side; ongoing]


  • Reaped souls for his Father, the God of Death [status: retired
  • Hero, maybe [status: unknown]

the God of Death, like all gods, has gone by many names over the ages. When Daeth was born, he was Daemos.  In the modern day, he is called Arkhamos


Daeth is quite a vision; he's unquestionably handsome, possessing a dark beauty and physical allure that can often be overwhelming.  There's something plainly sensual about his features, from the curve of his lips to the pleasing taper of his waist, that's hard to convey but is present, nonetheless.  He’s tall with shoulders that span generously, and has a lean, defined musculature that might have been carved by the careful hands of a master sculptor. A strong jaw, lush mouth, and  straight, dark hair round out the full picture, along with his most striking asset: the bright violet color of his eyes, the shade of which is so pure, intense, and unusual enough to be distracting. 

And ever present is The Brand seared into his neck.  Although was  branded in what seems like a lifetime ago, the mark always looks a little raw and fresh, as if it had just been bleeding…

Notable Scars & Marks

There’s many scars that litter Daeth’s body, both seen and unseen, with the ones that mark his hands, chest, and back being the most noteworthy to date. 

Pestilence: The largest of these is the vaguely cross-shaped scar that bisects his chest horizontally and his stomach vertically.  It doesn’t resemble any normal kind of wound, however; it has the uneven edges of a chemical burn or acid spill, as if it was the parting gift of a Pestilant lover....
War: Often hidden by fingerless gloves, the somewhat faded circular scars on the palms and backs of each hand allude strongly to Daeth having once been crucified.  You wouldn’t be far off, but it’s not a story that Daeth will casually relay.
Wings: Finally, the oldest and most vicious marks are the gruesome twin scars that follow the hard line of each shoulder blade.   The scars are gnarled and the tissue is visibly damaged and tough; the scars are jagged, with raised edges indicative of flesh having been torn and scarred, over and over again.  The scars are the result of his wings manifesting (midnight dark feathers, streamlined like a hawk's), each appearing in an eruption of torn flesh and blood-flecked feathers.





  • Going "Full Death" is basically when Daeth fully embraces his lineage as the Son of Death.  The true depth of the power he's able to tap and wield isn't' actually known; it's safe to say that it's immense. Despite this  Daeth rarely, if ever, fully utilizes its full potential.  The reason is simple: It always, inevitably, draws the attention of either his Father or any one of the Gods from the Pantheon of Deities that oversee the Worlde Arcane.  And depending on their ever mercurial, shifting moods, Daeth is more likely than not to face any number of  awesome and (un)godly repercussions.
  • Daeth is the Bearer of the Mark, which is, by the simplest of definitions, the brand of a powerful daemon council called The Five. The Mark or The Brand is a symbol that is cauterized into the long column of Daeth’s neck, and, despite receiving it in what seems like many lifetimes ago, always bears a somewhat raw appearance, like it was just freshly made. 
    • Whenever something daemonic in nature wanders into Daeth’s vicinity, the brand will grow painful and begin to bleed.The Brand isn’t just a stigma that marks Daeth as a sacrifice to the council, however; it is also a clarion call to every kind of daemonic entity.  The pull of The Mark is utterly irresistible to them.  Daeth is always hunted, day and night.  When The Brand begins to bleed, the amount of blood can range anywhere from a small trickle to a warm, gushing flow.  This, along with the degree of pain that's felt, scales in relation to the level of Demonic power or energy in the area.
  • The clash of Daeth’s heritage comes into conflict often, though perhaps it is none more apparent than in his relationship to and with death.  The control and power that Daeth wields over death in his case is both a gift and punishment, all at once.  While he’s able to exert control over death itself with a high degree of finesse, he’s also made to constantly feel the slow decay of death in everything around him.  And for anyone who dies near him, be it by his own hand or by some other fate, Daeth will essentially die by proxy and experience their death as his own.  From their last thoughts, the emotions they feel, to the physical sensation of death itself, Daeth shares in every single part of the process...
    • ...The moment of true a moment of pure bliss
      • There is a moment - one blissful moment - that Daeth experiences, that's more powerful to him than any type of physical release: the moment of true death.  The feeling is like nothing else he’s ever felt, though it might be likened to the relief of having a dislocated joint realigned; the satiated relief experienced when you take that first sip of cold, clear water after having been parched and overheated for hours; the warm contentment of having your hunger sated; and the bone-deep relaxation of sinking down into your bed after a long day of hard labor, all rolled together with the physical release of the best orgasm you've ever had--back-to-back. 
        • Given that, it's not difficult to imagine why  Daeth used to seek it out, over and over and over again.  In the past, he compulsively sought out the feeling like an addict looking for a fix as they forever chase the unattainable heights of that "first high".  In the past, Daeth didn't care how he got his fix; he killed indiscriminately and in ever-increasing numbers, death moving through him with such intensity that he'd be in a state of whiteout bliss for days on end.


  • Ambivalence:  Given how long he’s lived and all he’s seen and experienced over the course of his inexplicably long life, Daeth has an air of casual detachment and sometimes outright  indifference, when it comes to others.  It’s less of a, “I don’t care,”  and  more of a, “Why bother?” sort of thing. 
  • The Fool:  Speaking of which, Daeth always comes across as not really taking things seriously - even in the heat of battle. (He once openly flirted with someone with whom he’d once shared a psychic link, in the middle of trading blows with a giant that was rampaging through the streets of Seven Oaks.) He does take things seriously, of just takes him a while to get to that point.  Still, this perceived carelessness can come across as foolish, arrogant, and lead to people not taking Daeth seriously at all.
  • A Lonely Path:  Let's state it plainly: Daeth is a godling, albeit not a fully fledged one.  On the surface, he looks like any other (exceptionally good-looking) male you might pass on the street.  He is not. The longer spent in his company, the more apparent it becomes that he is far more than the Uman he resembles - far more.   From his beauty to his prowess, Daeth is a creature through and through.  And while he’s experienced love, loss, and hardship the same as anyone else,  he can never truly relate to the mortals with whom he interacts. There will always be a degree of separation between himself and others.  Consequently, there’s always a level of isolation between Daeth and others, even those he’s grown closest to.

═ ✽ ═


  • Daeth is a beautiful creature, looking as if he’d been sculpted from an artiste's deepest fantasy.  He'll use his looks to his advantage if need be, even if it's just to find a warm bed upon which to lay his head at night. 
  • Daeth is strong and he is fast, possessed of a sleek grace and smooth agility that is nothing like that of a stalking predator, or even that of an Elf prowling through  their forest home.  It is something else entirely,  though Daeth is unconscious of it in the manner of all beings who possess such kind of innate fluidity, usually are.  His is an easy and aqueous grace - almost careless - and one can verily feel the energy that thrums just beneath the surface of his skin, as if his veins ran a current.  Still, despite his often lackadaisical bearing, one gets the sense that Daeth is wound tight, almost like a short rein is kept on an extraordinary (and like as not) dark power, seething just beneath the surface...

    ...power that’s just barely contained by skin, flesh, and bone.

  • Daeth is the son of the God of Death; he is powerful, no matter which way one looks at it.  He can interact with death in ways that even the most accomplished of necromancers can only hope to dream of.  
  • For all that Daeth is ever surrounded by a carefully interwoven tapestry of pain, violence, and death, due to the celestial part of his nature there remains something profound within the steady thrum of his heart. This thready pulse speaks only of tranquility, harmony, and fulfillment, and though this sense of peace is distant and oblique at best, it occasionally shines through the inherent darkness of his nature...



You won’t find many, if any, outright weapons on Daeth's person.  It's not due to any lack of proficiency with them;  he simply doesn’t reach for them in most fights.  Instead, he generally prefers to close the distance and use his fists.  Still, it would be foolish to underestimate him. With just bare fists, Daeth hits hard enough to cause fractures, break bones, and knock out teeth.  He's likely to send a regular person flying or knock them back several feet; he's punched through lesser beings, more than once. No, it's not pretty.  He's no glass jaw, either. If you manage to get the drop and sucker punch him, hopefully Daeth rolls with it.  Otherwise, at least for the average person, a broken hand will be the least of your problems. For an average person, punching Daeth would be akin to punching a wall; you're more likely to break your hand or sprain some fingers, than you are to knock him back onto his heels.

All said, strong entities and magical attacks can damage him.  Blades and other weaponry can hurt him, after a time; enhanced weapons might cut him down on the first strike.  It's up to you if you want to take that chance.  Personally, I wouldn't.

Those who have fought, seen, or heard tales of the Death Angel know that he's always been known to wield a fearsome, "double-bladed" scythe named Succubus.  Succubus is a "double-bladed" scythe in a non-traditional manner.  She instantaneously shifts between two different styles of scythe blades as Daeth wields her, allowing him to switch between the two styles of blades on the fly.

The Legendary Scythe: Succubus
  If you see Daeth wielding his legendary double-bladed scythe, things are deadly serious and immense danger is afoot.  For the most serious of threats, Daeth will summon his awe-inspiring and devastating weapon. Succubus is a living weapon of terrifying power that was spawned into existence when the original Succubus of Legend, Mother to all greater and lesser succubi thereafter, cleaved herself to Daeth.  She is and has always been an impatient and ravenous creature, ruled by her avarice and lust. She craved the Son of Death, wanting only his touch and no one else.  Therefore, too impatient to wait for him in between his numerous campaigns to reap souls for his father, Succubus formed herself into a mighty living weapon; one worthy of being wielded by the Son of Death himself. Succubus comports only to him and his touch alone, and Daeth wields her with thoughtless ease and agility. Others who’ve tried to use the weapon, however, have found the scythe to be almost ridiculously heavy, unwieldy, and nigh unusable.  

Of course, there's also her thirst, an insatiable bloodlust that, if Daeth allows it, lets Succubus bleed his opponents dry in seconds or minutes, from even the smallest of wounds.  Even if he doesn't allow her to drink, you might find that a cut from Succubus bleeds easily, far too much, and the flow difficult to stem...


  • Succubus is a "double-bladed" scythe in a non-traditional manner.  She instantaneously shifts between two different styles of scythe blades as Daeth wields her, allowing him to switch between the two styles of blades on fly, which he utilizes to devastating effect. 
    • She can shift to look like a traditional scythe (see portrait) with a large, wickedly curved blade that delivers cruel and catastrophic horizontal strikes that are powerful enough to cleave a house-sized Daemon Apostle in half. 
    • Often she looks like a war or battle scythewith a curved blade that resembles a halberd with a wickedly sharp, crescent moon blade.  This is the most versatile blade of the two, allowing Daeth to poke, prod, parry, slash, and harass his foes in a blur of motion.  While the majority of his fights utilize the battle scythe style, he almost always ends it with Succubus shifted into her "reaper" scythe blade. 
    • In both forms, Daeth can send out what's been called a, "dark wave of death".  It looks like a half-moon of some sort of black, seething energy that can instantly kill, decay, decompose, or necrotize the things that are unfortunate enough to be touched by it.
  • Succubus is a living weapon and her is appetite for blood is insatiable.  Her bloodlust is clearly telegraphed when she's being held, which can easily overcome an unexpectant, unguarded, or simply weak mind and drive them into a killing frenzy as they lust for more and more blood. 
    • This thirst for blood also allows Succubus to bleed an opponent dry through even just a single cut from one of her blades.  If Daeth allows it, Succubus can drain an opponent in seconds or minutes (depending on the size and nature of the foe) and will keep doing so for opponent after opponent, for as long as he lets her. 
  • Wounds from Succubus don't easily heal, and are sometimes curiously resistant to healing potions and magick, as if death itself is fighting the healing processes
  • "Minor" injuries from Succubus are also not without their danger. A wound may potentially necrotize, rot spreading through your body as your flesh starts to decompose, the decay spreading outwards from the site of the wound. 
Battle/War Scythe Style

war battlescythe

Traditional Reaper Scythe Style

Death Scythe

Other Tools of the Trade
  • Fisticuffs:  Daeth has a pair of mean-looking knuckle dusters he utilizes when fighting with fists, one made of cold iron and the other of pure silver.  Each is covered in various runes and sigils meant that serve various purposes, from anti-demonic runes to sigils that allow him to physically hit non-corporeal entities.
  • Dagger & Sickle:  If the fight calls for it, Daeth will employ either the long silver dagger he keeps in his boot or the folding hand sickle he wears hidden at his waist, for the task.   These  he’ll occasionally imbue with certain elemental properties as the situation warrants.
  • Kingship Bands: Finally, the two golden Kingship bands around his biceps have something to do with magick and labyrinths, or maybe the magick of the labyrinth; it’s not something Daeth is willing to divulge.  They allow him to utilize a very primordial, like as not forgotten type of olde  magick that excels at trapping and leading...even he doesn't really know the full extent of what they can do.  Just...just don’t try to remove the bands and there won’t be any issues.




In the beginning, the Bastard Child of Death

It began when the God of Death raped a celestial being.  The product could have been no less than an abomination; a joke of the god's themselves.  The product of that violent coupling was the birth of the Death Angel, Daeth.

Early Life: The Death Angel, Love, Loss & Banishment
Unwanted yet filled with an undeniable power, Daemos, the God of Death (he who goes by many names, including the Dying God and Arkhamos) regarded his son with both hate and apathy.  He called him an Abomination, made him witness terrible things and commit heinous acts.  He taught Daeth how to be cruel, though death itself is not necessarily cruel or evil.  Daemos simply could not admit that this bastard, this abomination who had both the blood of death and the blood a celestial running through his veins, was his progeny.   

Still, Daeth remained his only heir, and so the God of Death sought to shape his son into a tool that could be used to reap him countless souls.

Thusly, the Laughing Killer was born.

Long Daeth fulfilled this role willingly, feeding his Father sacrifices aplenty.  It is whispered in the UnderNeath (and places even lower still), that Daeth had reaped so many souls that his victims' blood flowed like an endless river into Daemos' greedy maw. 

As time passed, Daeth grew arrogant of his power, and, thinking that he might rival the gods themselves, tried to overthrow his own father and assume the role as the God of Death.  Daemos, furious and more shaken by his son's power than he would ever admit, banished Daeth from his realm and sent him to dwell with the mortals.

It was during the first millennia of his banishment that Daeth learned to love.  And it was also when Daeth learned what loss truly meant: His Father, nursing both a wounded pride and battered ego, brutally stole the life of Daeth's lover. Afterwards, the God of Death turned his back on his son forever.  For longer than he can accurately remember, Daeth simply existed.  He walked the worlde of the Above-dwellers, reaping souls and leaving only death in his wake, uncaring of the destruction he wrought.  He was callously indifferent, detached and like as not half-insane without any way to relate to the worlde in which he existed.

Answering the Call for Second Chances 

That's when one day, completely out of the blue, he heard the cry of a dying spirit from across the worlde. He doesn't know why he heard that one cry out of all the others, but something drew him to the dying soul that called out to him as if it had always been calling out to him.  Call it curiosity, ennui, or fate – it didn't matter in the end.  That one act of saving that one soul, changed everything for Daeth.

Daeth fell in love with that soul.  Sometimes it feels like he was always meant to love them; sometimes it feels like he will always love them, no matter what. 

The Five, His Sister, & the Fight For Her Soul

Eventually, Daeth caught the attention of a powerful daemon council called, The Weavers of Fate or The Five.  They wanted Daeth to join their ranks and their desire set in motion a series of events that would lead to the destabilization and loss of everything good in, Daeth's life. They trapped and twisted the mind of the one thing in the worlde that would lure him across lands, through deserts, and into the heart of a Maelstrom to retrieve: his own sister.  And in a cruel turn, they pitted his sister against him, until he had no choice but to fight her or stand aside while she fell to corruption and darkness. 

The beginning of the end...

His sister, who was so pure compared to him.  His sister, who had never known the taint of the kind of death or darkness from which he was born.  She'd only ever known the light and love of their mother, and because of that Daeth had spent much of his life protecting her from that which would dim the light of her Grace.

She never knew the wounds he bore for her, the suffering he endured in her stead; many of the scars etched into his flesh tell ugly tales of terrible violence.  Daeth protected his baby sister from it all, and did so without complaint.  Whether he was seeking some form of absolution, acting on misplaced guilt, or acting out of the abstract, yet innate feeling of familial love and duty, Daeth didn't know or care. 

He simply protected her; until he couldn't.

The Five used his sister as bait to draw him in.  Then, her mind twisted, they used his sister as a weapon against him.  Of the two siblings, the purity of his sister's Grace always made her the more powerful one, even if just barely.  They sent his sister against him, and, though he was loathe to do so, Daeth fought her.

The battle was something out of legend, something that could scarcely be contained on the physical plane.  The few witnesses to their battle have long left the mortal coil, leaving only Daeth, his sister, and the shadowy avenues of their memories.  Daeth fought his sister for hours, days - time slowed down and sped up as they bent the fabric of reality with their blows.  Ultimately, Daeth couldn't bring himself to truly injure his sister and wouldn't let  Succubus taste her blood and drain her Grace.

Defeat, The Sacrifice & The Brand

Daeth was gradually worn down by their battle and pushed far past the point of exhaustion.  She fought to kill, to wound, to spill (his) blood; there was no hesitation.  He wouldn't do the same.  Finally, his sister, who had scored his flesh with a thousand and more cuts in his reticence, delivered the killing blow. 

As he lay bleeding and broken, the Five took him from the Worlde and secreted him away to a nexus between dimensions.  It was here that The Five tortured and tormented the Death Angel to break both his body and spirit in order to offer him Ascension into their ranks.  All he needed to do was offer up his Love and his friends as sacrifices, and their deaths would be the catalyst that began the Ascension Ritual.

It didn’t go as planned.  

As perhaps the last truly selfless thing he’s done, Daeth instead offered himself as the sacrifice in place of those he loved.  He received The Brand, forever marking him as a sacrifice to The Five, and to be forever hunted by all of daemonkind.

Loss & The Path of Vengeance

Daeth lost everything.  He lost his Love, the child they had unofficially taken in and raised, and part of himself went with them.  And that was how the The Five truly hurt him, and in some ways continue to hurt him: they took everything away before he'd known what he'd truly had.  

The missing pieces of his heart

They'd struck when Daeth had only just gained the hard-won love and affection of the soul who'd touched his, so many months before.  They'd struck as Daeth was, unconsciously or not, building a family for himself in the form of his lover and a fae child he called his little brother, but truly thought of as his own.  They'd struck before stability could take root, before he allowed himself to realize what he had.

And that was such a bitter pill to swallow, because it was only in the months after he'd lost everything, in the months of denial, anger, and grief over the two biggest missing pieces of his life, that Daeth was able to fully grasp what he'd once had.  Through the shades of his grief, he was finally able to cherish how rare and special what he'd once had, truly was.  And perhaps more than anything else, more than any physical battle scars, it was that full realization of what he'd once had, that opened a wound deepest to the truth of him that would never fully heal. 

Now Daeth travels, cleaving a bloody path through daemon kind as he searches for a way to remove The Brand which marks him as a sacrifice. 

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (3/★4/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN SLAYING: (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: CLIFFHANGER (★1/2) - POWDER KEG (★1/2/3) - HYPOTHERMIA (4/5/6) - BONDED (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING: (1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls [1st KISS: Chase-(★2/3/4)] Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Love Poems & Catnapping Love Poem [FIGHT PIT: CHAMPION SUITE (★1.No, no, no.../2a-2b/3.Prostitution/★4.Tipsu/5/6a-6b/★7a-7b.Holden's/Proposition) - GRAND ARENA (Leona/F#1/★F#4/★Cat-Tom vs.Werewolf: 1/2/3) - LOST (1/★2) - FOUND (3/4a-4b/5/★6.Swansong Kiss) - RESCUE (★1.Teleskela, MF'er/2/3.Reawakened Bond) - ESCAPE (4/5/6/7)]
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Teasing Amarice - [DAYTRIP: LAVISH HAND (1/2/3a-3b/4.Sensing Death] - Kissing Fate(1a-1b) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi - Cormeum MIA (stolen heart) - A Vow & Shadowy Msg
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder - An Angel & Aeros Walk Into a Bar... - Undaunted Spirit - Benediction
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]

Citizen Citizen
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 283

Local Playing Character at River Ahvinn

Deradith - Daughter of the Ahvinn

Appearance: When in a form that others can recognise, Deradith appears as a tall strikingly beautiful woman, her skin is pale cream and her hair flows like moonlight on the water down her back.  Her lithe limbs are closed in silvery silk that ripples and flows about her.  Her eyes are dark blue like the deepest part of the Ahvinn.

Strengths: Like her father the river, Deradith can give life, healing people and refreshing their weary souls, or she can take life like the river at its worst. Deradith has always liked to help people and would not dream of harming anyone.

Weaknesses: Deradith forms attachments to people, unlike her other sisters who stay away from those not of the river.  These attachments are considered a weakness as she grieves on their loss and finds it hard to reconcile their deaths. Mortals are not like the River, enduring and strong.


Deradith used to live in the village of Straith, masquerading  as an old healer. She was friends with all and turned no one from her door.  Then came the elf and his friends, the elf plagued by a demon and everything changed.  Not his friend, the man from the Fort nor the beautiful Centaur girl could stop the demon from possessing the gentle elf and the dark sought out it’s own in the form of the Moonwenders, terrible creatures that bought blood and death to the inhabitants of Straith.

Many died, some fled, but Straith fell to the Wenders.  They killed the centaur and feasted on her, the soldier, she lost sight of as she did the wolf that walked with Inarion. The stalwart beast had gone to fetch help, but had been too late.  Deradith wracked with grief went back to the Ahvinn and slept, the pain of loss was too much to bear.

Life has stirred in Straith and in her sleep she felt it….and has now awakened, determined not to see more death.

Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 862
TC&Mii toughcouplepose (FINAL 2023) goldblackband v4


A Felonious Feline

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"Catboy Assassin at Yourrr Serrrvice"

*profile picture: Tom-Cat (back) w/ his bondmante, Miiya Aether (front)

[aka] A Felonious Feline

[age] 17 (Uman/Elf years)

[race] Catboy Shifter (don't call him a werecat or were-anything; yes, there's a difference) 

[gender] male

[birthplace] City of Haven 

[occupation] Assassin for hire; occasional cat burglar - OH! *rimshot*

[alignment] True Neutral



As part-Uman, part-Elf, and part-Felidae (and part Other), Tom-Cat is undoubtedly an exotic being.  He and his siblings were quite literally bred to be beautiful.  Their creator, however, made each of the siblings a little different, their genetics containing different blends of feline, Uman, some Elf, and, as in his case, the blood of something Other

Tom-Cat is a blend of Uman, Elf, Other, and a rare breed of massive housecat from the untamed wilds far north of Amenee, called the Reachland Blue. (He suspects that a healthy dose of panther was also thrown in, just to spice things up.)  The result: a creature who walks and stalks with the silent grace of a large feline predator, while retaining the agility and the soft tread of a cat who always lands on its feet and pounces with the speed of a lightning strike.

UPDATE:  After a violent encounter with a harpy in a Shaarn underground fight pit, Tom-Cat now sports a prominent scar on the left side of his face that bisects the middle of his eyebrow and runs in a  straight slash down to the top of his cheek. (See profile pic) His eye, luckily, suffered no permanent damage.  And even though Tom-Cat hates the scar, as incongruent as it might seem, the scar actually serves to enhance  his looks, rather than detract from them, lending the catling's frustratingly beautiful face a note of ruggedness and toughness that just makes him so unfairly  attractive.  Go figure.

  • Catboy Form (two-legged)
Intense, kohl-rimmed stare & Natural-bred athleticism
TC new portrait frame
Shirtless TC (in boxers)

Despite, or perhaps in addition to, his more unusual characteristics, Tom-Cat is a categorically beautiful and exotic creature that warrants a second or fourth look. He has a chiseled and athletic build that's well-proportioned, with lean, well-formed, and defined muscles and the sculpted physique of a gymnast and yoga lover. Outwardly, he has none of the bulk that the amount of strength he can employ, might imply, though the tautness of the hard body under his clothing tells a completely different tale. 

Speaking of tales, he has one! Well, a cat’s tail, to be precise, along with cat’s ears, lambent yellow eyes, and vertical, cat-like pupils. His tail is sleek and expressive, and it, as well as his ears, is covered in soft, blue-gray fur, pointing to the Reachland Blue (i.e., Russian Blue) part of his genes. Otherwise, Tom-Cat is undeniably stunning. He's plainly beautiful, with exotic, striking features that are appealing and pleasingly sensual without being pretentious or vulgar. His profile is graceful and attractive; the contour of his jaw shapely and defined. The full swell of his bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top, giving his bow-shaped mouth a suggestive, unconsciously seductive pout. The sharp, haughty angle of his eyebrows frames smoldering, wildly flashing eyes that are slightly upturned at the corners and fringed by eyelashes that are so thick, it appears like they're lined with dark kohl. People have also noted that his eyeteeth sometimes look a little too-sharp to be fully Uman… 

  • Full Feline Form (four paws)
Cat-Tom (full feline)

People refer to Tom-Cat as Cat-Tom in his full feline form, but that’s neither here nor there.  While some of his siblings become the size of housecats when they fully shift, Cat-Tom retains his body mass, and even appears to gain some size.  He’s as furry and soft as a housecat, and his face and eyes are larger and rounder, also like those of a housecat’s.  However, that’s where the housecat resemblance ends.  Cat-Tom has the sleek musculature and powerful limbs of a panther.  His paws are massive, easily able to take off a grown man’s face with one swipe.  Despite his bulk, Cat-Tom moves very lightly as he stalks, pounces, and eviscerates his prey.  Unlike the big cats you’d find in the wild, Cat-Tom always lands on his feet, like his domesticated feline brethren.

It goes without saying that his senses are also much more finely tuned when in his form, able to sense things he’s unable to when on two legs.

NOTE: Cat-Tom now also sports a prominent scar that bisects his left eye from brow to cheek, in a reflection of the scar that Tom-Cat received after his fight with the harpy in the Shaarn fight pit. (See Cat-Tom pic)


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(BONUS) Tom-Cat is a hawtboi Pirate!

Pirate TC Hawtboi

Strengths & Weaknesses



  • Absolutely cannot keep the top button of his pants buttoned or keep a shirt on for longer than a few hours, if that.  Honestly, it's a wonder the boy isn't just walking around in his underwear, given how often he seems to lose his clothing...
  • Poor impulse control
  • Sometimes is overtaken by what he calls his “feline hindbrain”, which is essentially his pure animal instincts.  Depending on how stressed he is in certain situations, his animal mind will simply take over and at that point he’s ruled by animalistic self-preservation, anger, and fear
  • Is constantly balancing animal instinct with what he knows is straightforward, cold, hard logic
  • Has a very strong predator/prey drive and has been known to fixate on and defend what he sees as HIS PREY.  
  • When he’s too stressed or the situation is life or death, a shift can be forced upon him. It’s a truly painful experience and once fully shifted, almost none of his thinking mind is left and the  operates on perfect, unmitigated animal instinct (aka - the animal is in full control)
  • There’s some trauma in his past that he thinks he’s managed to tamp way, way, down...but it bubbles up often enough that he always has a deep vein of self-loathing seething just below the surface
  • He’s not as coldhearted or indifferent as he likes to believe he is, and while this makes him a better person they’re not necessarily the best traits for a master assassin to possess
  • His higher inner body heat is very effective at protecting him from cold elements, but it means it's far easier for him to overheat or suffer from heatstroke in arid and very hot climates. Let's just say that he's not a fan of the desert.



  • Absolutely cannot keep a shirt on for longer than a few hours and you're more likely to find him shirtless than not.  At this point, it's hard to tell if he even notices that he doesn't have a shirt on...
  • Even in his usual, two-legged form, Tom-Cat’s senses are far better than average.  He sees perfectly well in the dark and processes the minutiae of his surroundings and situations with an innate, animal “sixth sense” that gives him more information than the usual sight, sound, touch, and smell.  
  • This innate animal “sixth sense” also acts as a kind of pre-warning system of imminent danger, which usually gives him enough time to act to keep himself (and others) from coming to immediate harm.  
  • Tom-Cat’s reflexes are stupid fast, going from inertia to fluid motion before most people have even processed that he’s no longer where he’d just been.
  • He moves with the grace of all felines and really does always land on his feet.
  • He’s a master assassin, even at the young age of 17.  His biology and innate gifts coupled with (decidedly abusive and overtly brutal) questionable training at a too very young age, made him perfect for the job.  His predator instinct is really the icing on the cake, because he doesn’t see killing as anything all that special; to him, it’s just another facet of life and a fact of nature.
  • His inner core runs far hotter than most people's - all of his siblings run hotter than usual, but Tom-Cat in particular is like a little furnace with cat ears and a tail.  This serves the twofold purpose of keeping his muscles perpetually loose, warmed, and ready for action in a snap, as well as prevent his muscles and joints from seizing up or growing stiff either from the cold or long periods of inaction.  As a bonus, he's great to have if you're cold or suffering from hypothermia - when he wraps around you, he's better than an electric blanket 
  • Tom-Cat's refractory period is something out of this world, if we're being honest.  Seriously, it's almost magickal.  Or you know, he's a typical 17-year old...  Either way, it's something to be appreciated in person.




(Current & major events will be added periodically)

UPDATE:  Tom-Cat has automatically formed a mate-bond with the Aeros, Miiya Aether, marking her as a true mate, which is very rare for a Shifter to ever find.

While the bond they have is technically only an imprint at this stage and not a fully fledged mate-bond (a bond is only fully settled after a Shifter claims their mate and gives them their mate-mark) the "nascent" bond that he and Miiya share is unusually strong.  The strength of their bond was proven after Tom-Cat sacrificed one of his lives and died saving Miiya (and the rest) from a wingless dragon in the Chasms of the UnderNeath; when he resurrected and returned to her, he discovered that, although severely damaged, their bond had not been severed and destroyed when he died, which is something that is almost unheard of in bonded pairs.  Their bond is something that will only grown stronger with time and serves as a source of strength, protection, and comfort for each of them -- even if they don't always know it.  

At the same time, the bond is already something precious and necessary to Tom-Cat, and damage to it can hurt him deeply, as evidenced by the damage it sustained after he died and resurrected.  Because their bond is so unusually strong, Tom-Cat feels Miiya's emotions acutely and can't stand to feel her in distress or in pain.  As such, he will do almost anything to protect his bondmate from danger and hurt, even at the cost (as proven) of his own life.

Tom-Cat is a truly exotic being of the type that makes it unlikely to ever run into another of his kind.  He and his 9 siblings are the only Shifters of their type in existence.  Even though they aren’t siblings in the truest sense -- except for a pair of twins, none of them are from the same litter -- the Cat Fam is as close as a family of 10 can be. 

In fact, Tom-Cat and all the rest of his siblings were created individually through a fusion of dark magick and genetic splicing in the darkest basement labs in the City of Haven.  Their father, a sick man who loved all of his “children'' in an unhealthy way, once said that it took many, many failures before the splicing process was perfected with the creation of the eldest of the siblings, the first perfect catboy, named Leo.  After that came a handful of brothers and sisters, all spliced with different breeds of Felidae, until finally, Tom-Cat was born.  To this day, he remains the youngest of the siblings and the last of the cat-people to be created. 

The reason no new cat-persons have since been created? It may or may not have to do with an unexpected and unexplained fire that broke out in their father’s lab, one ordinary night.  If the fire also happened to burn the man, along with all of his research, alive and screaming? Well, you should know better than to believe the random bits of gossip or rumors heard whispered in the streets of Haven, shouldn’t you?

Perhaps the better question is: why did a mysterious and all-consuming inferno suddenly break out in a nondescript lab, deep in Haven’s seedy underbelly? 

You’re free to ask it, of course; just be certain you want the answer, should you ever find it.  The real answer, that is.  There’s plenty of rumors about why the lab was burned.  It’s said that a good place to start looking for such answers is an establishment on Brothel Row, once owned by Kordo the Fat..


A Brief Rundown on the Cat-Fam Dynamics...

While for the most part all of the siblings get along and love one another, owing to the sizeable age difference between the oldest siblings, middle, and youngest siblings, close relationships between the siblings tend to be generational. 

Cat-Fam: Sibling Relationships (in progress)

The three eldest siblings, Leo, Mau, and Torao, respectively, are extremely close and each consider themselves to be the de facto "heads" of the family -- something that the trio has leaned into even further, ever since their Father's untimely unexpected passing. 

The two "middle" siblings are sisters Gata and Faline freely acknowledge that they're each other's best friend, and technically live together, even though their careers keep them away from home most of the year. The two sisters have formed a very tight knit relationship as adults, despite that not being the case when they were growing up as children.  And although both Gata and Faline (Faline moreso) tormented their younger brother Chatte when they were younger, both retain a healthy relationship with him, even if they're not as close as they used to be.  

Chatte sometimes calls himself the "black sheep" of the family, but he's honestly less of one than he might like to think.  For many years he was somewhat of a lone wolf as he chose to focus on establishing his career and building up his reputation in amongst certain sectors of society.  Despite this, Chatte has always kept in contact with his two older sisters, Gata and Faline, and has always been close with his younger brother, Cheshire.  He and Cheshire have a nigh-unshakeable bond that's only grown stronger in recent years, as the pair have begun co-habitating in one of Cheshire's "summer homes" (aka - a beautiful villa -- just one of a few -- located in the Ameean countryside, that was gifted to Chesh by one of his ridiculously wealthy clients).  Chatte is also the closest out of all the siblings with the Twins, and that's not saying much.  Essentially, Cattus and Cattua like and respect Chatte enough to give him the time of day and occasionally (very occasionally) listen to his advice.

Cheshire, by far, is the closest with his two brothers Chatte and Tom-Cat, though every single one of the siblings will tell you that he has a very deep bond with Tom-Cat, in particular.  It's something unique and special amongst the sibling bonds, and even Cheshire will admit that from the very moment Tom-Cat opened his eyes as a kitten, Cheshire simply loved him.  He can't explain it; it was just an immediate and profound connection between the two brothers.  And ever since then, Cheshire has watched out, protected, and nutured Tom more like a parent than a sibling, and most of the others will freely admit that Cheshire did more to look after and raise Tom-Cat in his early life, than their Father ever did.  

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (3/★4/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN SLAYING: (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: CLIFFHANGER (★1/2) - POWDER KEG (★1/2/3) - HYPOTHERMIA (4/5/6) - BONDED (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING: (1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls [1st KISS: Chase-(★2/3/4)] Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Love Poems & Catnapping Love Poem [FIGHT PIT: CHAMPION SUITE (★1.No, no, no.../2a-2b/3.Prostitution/★4.Tipsu/5/6a-6b/★7a-7b.Holden's/Proposition) - GRAND ARENA (Leona/F#1/★F#4/★Cat-Tom vs.Werewolf: 1/2/3) - LOST (1/★2) - FOUND (3/4a-4b/5/★6.Swansong Kiss) - RESCUE (★1.Teleskela, MF'er/2/3.Reawakened Bond) - ESCAPE (4/5/6/7)]
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Teasing Amarice - [DAYTRIP: LAVISH HAND (1/2/3a-3b/4.Sensing Death] - Kissing Fate(1a-1b) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi - Cormeum MIA (stolen heart) - A Vow & Shadowy Msg
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder - An Angel & Aeros Walk Into a Bar... - Undaunted Spirit - Benediction
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]

Irihi liked
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 58
Zarah (worlde arcane)
Appearance and History
Zarah, which means "new beginning", is an unusual mix of her mother, Kymera the dryad, and her father, a white-haired golden-eyed catling adventurer.
Though Zarah never knew her father, she grew up listening to the fantastic stories her mother often told of youthful adventures long ago, in another time and place.   In appearance Zarah has inherited her father's white hair and golden, almost feline eyes, her face is feminine; softened by the dryadic features and beauty of her mother.  Zarah possesses the same affinity for the forest and all its creatures, having been reared in the Heart of the Forest among the dryads, where her mother serves as High Priestess to the Spirit of the Great Tree inhabited by the dryad goddess Urmother.   It is a massive, solid oak like no other in the forest; the giant tree reaches high to the very top of the dense forest canopy and has a perpetual glow around it.   
From the many tales her mother told her as a child, Zarah knew her mother had lived an entirely different life prior to having a child.   Other dryads sometimes spoke in whispers of the change in the once free-spirited, fun-loving Kymera, who had become more serious and introspective, especially after motherhood; she still looked youthful and beautiful, as all dryads do, but her inner being had matured.   And Zarah knew her mother had quietly pledged the rest of her life to celibacy and service to the Great Urmother, in exchange for Urmother saving the life of the adventurer Kymera had loved.   This pledge had been accepted; (and this was the saddest part of the tale for Zarah) but after having been healed, the Catling Trask had disappeared forever through a great Vortex during a battle in a faraway land, and he was never to be seen or heard from again.   Kymera, true to her pledge, returned to the Heart of the Forest and has served Urmother faithfully these many, many years. She was allowed to rear her daughter in the dryad community, and Zarah turned into a strong, self-sufficient, and striking young woman, adept with the bow, and an excellent tracker of both man and beast.  She is able to read the forest, communicate with most animals on some level, and is confident in herself.  Kymera has tried to teach her about the Umans and the other races she will one day encounter in the cities of the known worlde, for she knows well that Zarah must leave the forest and find her place in the worlde.   Urmother granted an allotted time of 20 years, to rear her and teach her what she needs in order to survive, for though the girl has always been well treated by the dryads, Zarah will never fit in.   She would likely be better accepted in the greater worlde where there are many races and other hybrids.  She could never be happy living forever in the forest in servitude to the Great Goddess.
As Zarah has grown into womanhood, she embodies much of the beauty and grace of her mother, and the athleticism of her father.  The day of her twentieth year recently arrived.   She bade a tearful good-bye to her mother, and now travels the lands of Ufaeria alone, in search of others who might lead her to the fabled cities of the Greater Worlde.   She has much to discover.
Special Pet
Zarah has a large gray owl as her constant companion.  While a young girl herself, she found him as a fledgling, barely alive, his siblings already dead from some marauding creature who had raided the nest.   Zarah nursed him to health, and though free to go, he refuses to leave her. She calls him Moon, and he rides on her shoulder when not flying overhead or roosting nearby.  Zarah wears a thick gray cloak much of the time, in part so Moon's great talons do not pierce her shoulder when he settles there, though the clever owl is always careful to land gently.  
- A skilled archer with both long and short bow.
- An excellent tracker of man and beast.
- Tall for a female at 5' 9", strong and athletic from a life spent outdoors, climbing, running, tracking, and swimming in the rivers and lakes.
- Able to commune with most woodland creatures, and familiar with plants both edible and poisonous.
- Has led an isolated life away from cities and other races, though this makes her naturally wary.
- Though confident in the forests, she may find the bustle of the cities and the ways of the other races loud, confusing and disorienting.
- Has no currency for food and shelter and will need to find work to survive in the towns and cities.

"Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.” Dr. Seuss.

Irihi liked
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Name: Talantariel

Race: Father was Sidhe, Mother was Elven

Age: Unknown, but she has the appearance of a young woman in her early twenties.

Appearance: Tala has the beauty of both races, the gracefulness and slight built of her elven mother and the timeless face of the Sidhe.  She has long black hair and dark eyes to match, which seem, depending on her moods to change like rainbow onyx.  She wears long black leather pants and boots and a odd shimmery black shirt made of a very fine silk.  She also carries a bow, that has jewels lodged into it, but seems not to carry any arrows.

Magic: Tala has inherited her father Laegyn’s skills such as manipulating the dream world and moving within it.  The bow she carries was taken from his magical treasure hoarde, she needs no arrows as each jewel when touched and the bowstring drawn creates an arrow, such as fire, water, lightning and some she has not tried.

Background: Talantariel was created as a weapon to thwarted her exiled father’s Great Enemy who helped to cast him out from their realm.  As she grew she went along with this but started to question it.  Her father, terrible and cruel abandoned her in the world, but Tala found her way back to the dark place and plotted to overthrow him.  She took the bow and learned what she could and even now searches for where he has hidden himself.


Citizen Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 1064

The Other, The Drear One, The Lord of Murk

The Hook:  Many names describe this figure, who was once one of the brightest of the Jende Distiratsua, though that was long, long ago.  The Other goes by a name, not one he took, but one that was placed on him, like a brand. Tiamhaidh, the Destroyer.

Description:  He is not the same being he once was.  Twice remade, he has taken a form closer to the one he lost long years ago... but being flayed in a timeless hell with nothing but the barest memory of what you used to look like... well, you can take some liberties. 

Dark hair, long and free over his shoulders, with a burning gaze light from within that only reinforces his otherwordly appearance.  His skin is quite pale, his features long, narrow and sharp.  They have an alien sort of handsomeness, though they defy long examination.  He is tall, wears dark blue and black robes or similarly colored traveling clothes and carries an odd broadsword.  

On a chain about his neck, he carries a dark cabochon of some unknown and unsettling jewel. 

Powers and Strengths:  These will be revealed in time.  He carries the potential of a great deal of powerful reality-altering magery, with a source of energy that is as yet unknown.  His other strengths are in the strange fealty that he can raise in others, especially in lesser creatures. 

He is allied with Si'ix of the Dark Tower, and all wicked things in the Rosewood would at least begrudge him peace.  

Motivation:  He has come to continue his War on The Outsider

Duilliath Suilleach Seanake, Fool and the Traveler Who Lost a Kingdom

Citizen Citizen
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 142

Verhyd Duella Umbr’m IV

Tiefling warlock healer

Alias: He sometimes jokes his name is Verhyd “The Destroyer”, a nickname earned from a young cousin that jokes Verhyd is too clumsy and tends to destroy things unintentionally. “Little 'Rhyd' (Red)” a family sobriquet; the diminutive form originating from his father, Verhyd "Big Red" Sr.; a nickname & reminder that Verhyd truly does not like

Race: Tiefling

Gender: Male

Birthplace: Noitnetta

Occupation: Physician/Healer/Scientist

Alignment: Neutral Good  


On first glance people assume he is a fighter. He’s dark purple in color with long pure white hair, worn half up in a bun most days. Dark purple and black blended horns, adorned with gold jewelery and chains, grow back from his temple at a horizontally angle, appearing to have been painstaking molded to grow in straight spikes with only minimal twisting to the bone.

He facial features are otherwise humanoid - Grecian nose, square jaw, high cheekbones - he’s not vain but knows that people find his looks attractive. His eyes are almond shaped and pale mint green in color, taking on a greenish-yellow glow from within when he uses his spells. He keeps his eyes partially hidden behind the thin wire rimmed glasses; anyone exceptionally observant would notice that the lenses are plain glass and would not aid vision at all. The intent of the accessory is only to lend him credibility, as he found no one took his intellect seriously otherwise.

Wears a long coat, down to his knees, which helps him to keep his long tail out of the way. He hunches his shoulders in an effort to take up less space, if such a thing is possible for his over six foot two-hundred and ten pound frame. He’s active and used to physical labor, his hands strong and tipped with black nails. His forearms are extensively covered with scars, the thin silvery lines a web leaving portion of the skin untouched. To touch his skin, would be to find it very warm, and in fact because of his nature he is immune to fire and heat altogether.


  • A jambiya beneath his jacket, kept in a a decorative sheath holstered under his arm, and also has a secondary dagger in his boot
  • He typically carries a satchel containing various herbs and remedies, a flask of oil, a set of silver manacles and a piece of wood (which strangely resembles a stake)
  • Spoiler
    Gorze, a fire weasel familiar

    Verhyd’s familiar is never far or long from his side. A gift from The Fiend, Gorze might have originally been meant to spy on Verhyd and keep a report of the tiefling's activities. But now the pair are more apt to look out for one another as they share a close bond.

    For most of the time, the familiar prefers to travel and live day-to-day in his alternate state as a fire weasel. Near the size of a cat, the weasel has reddish colored fur with the points tipped in black and a tiny patch of white running down his throat.

    In his true form, Gorze is a hellhound. A huge pony sized beast with roughed skin, the texture and color of ashes, it burns from a fire within its' chest, the red and yellow heat extending from its' throat to the belly.

    In either form, Gorze has brilliant pupil-less yellow eyes.

    The will to change shape between the hound or weasel is Gorze’s alone and he only sometimes responds to Verhyd’s request to shift. And with a bit of cooperation on both their parts, Verhyd knows of a spell to change the familiar to a dark raven with a red tipped wings.


Verhyd is a warlock able to cast spells through a pact with a demon, whom he calls 'The Fiend'. In order to uphold his end of the bargain, he must spill his blood when casting any spell of significance. (Minor incantations such as providing a light or a bit of minor illusion does not require blood to be spilled).

For any healing magick, he must make the blood sacrifice. This limits how much magick he is able to perform in any given time period, there is only so much blood that he can spill within a day (unless he's willing to risk his own well-being.)

Unlike the rest of his family, he is less confrontational and not ready to charge head on into the world.



  • Thaumaturgy - a minor wonder, a sign of supernatural power, within range
  • Darkness - magical darkness spreads to fill a sphere of space (15-foot-radius) for a limited duration
  • Hellish rebuke - you point your finger and the creature that damaged you is momentarily surrounded by hellish flames
  • Healing - surge of positive energy washes through the creature, ends blindness, deafness, and any diseases affecting the target.


  • Large, clumsy & at times uncoordinated
  • There are limitations on how many spells he can cast within a day
  • He's in debt to a demon and as such, he's at its' beck & call (and sometimes The Fiend changes its' mind on how much blood it wants)
  • Has a tendancy to get distracted by books and solving puzzles


  • Immune to fire & heat
  • Physically strong
  • Can see in the dark

*Affinity for dogs, snakes, rats and ravens


Verhyd is the heir to the Umbr’m line, a once noble family, head of a large but scattered clan in Tenara. His father, Verhyd Sr. (Umbr'm III) is the chieftan and is responsible for the lives of the many families living under their protection. His duty is to see that the clan village is well supplied and defended, everyone is housed & clothed with enough food to fill their bellies. However, the last thing Verhyd Sr. wanted in life was responsibilities in any form. He has been burning through the family wealth - both the gold stored in the vaults and by selling off anything that is in his name - by seeking his own pleasures in drinking, gambling and whatever else might strike his fancy.

The estate and clan have been crumbling to ruin for years and Verhyd is determine to track down his father and force him to relinquish the chieftain title and turn the clan over to him. Verhyd uses what little money he earns to send back to his sister to keep things running as best they can but Verhyd needs to find his father and force him to sign the estate over, hand over the signet ring and renounce all ties to the Umbr'm clan. Without having that authority handed over, there isn’t much that Verhyd can do to stop the slow ruination of the clan.

Verhyd's been trailing his father around the worlde but Verhyd Sr., despite being known as a reckless despot, has proved to be hard to track down. The last sighting put his father as having settled into Shaarn, frequenting the pleasure dens and fight pit in the lower city. Verhyd feels at last he is closer to resolving the difficulties that his clan has fallen under.

At heart, Verhyd is a scholar, an intelligent healer that has an interest in the sciences and engineering. His dream is to push his magick and healing to limits that've never been considered before but unfortunately, the responsibility to restore his clan has caused him to set that dream aside. It was a great turn of luck and opportunity that he was accepted for an internship at the Institute. This boon will allow him to continue his search for his father in the Shaarn area and at the same time advance his learning. (while also keeping his costs minimal)

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Journey starter  

Pegleg Pete



AKA: Unpronounceable (The sound of wind in the mid-level branches of a willow tree.)

Status: NPC of Sharnn

Race: Dryad

Age: 24

Occupation: Beggar

Alignment: Chaotic Good


  • Pete has a living tree grafted to her right leg just below the knee. This imparts a number of health problems, both to her dryad body and to the tree. Currently she is suffering from:
    • Blight
    • Bark Beetles
    • Cotton Root Rot
    • Septicemia 
    • Candidiasis 
  • She suffers from malnourishment, exposure, and the general abuses of a life on the streets. She was never strong to begin with, and life as a beggar has left her in a severely weakened state.
  • The Dryad has no knowledge of the worlde beyond her grove and a few of the streets of Sharnn. She holds a vast number of misconceptions about all the races of Arcane, in particular about trees and dryads. 
  • Pete has a debilitating fear of all wooden objects (Xilophobia), believing they are all made from dryad trees and thus the murder of dryads. She is especially horrified by wood fires.
  • She is addicted to fertilizer. Ingesting nitrates satisfies the chemical deficiencies in her tree leg and lessens the pain of the graft. It also causes dissociative disorder and fugue states that are a relief from dealing with her present reality.
  • Unlike most Dryads, Pete is not sustained by a tree rooted in the earth. She must eat and drink in order for herself, and her tree, to survive. 
  • Pete’s tree is rooted throughout her body. This makes her movements slow and painful. It also gives her body an ugly malformed appearance. 


  • With sufficient nutrition, pesticides, fungicides, sunlight, water and fertilizer, she can cause her leg to grow, branch, form rudimentary tools, flower, and produce fruit (oranges). However, the more she utilizes the tree, the deeper into her the roots delve.
  • Though the grafting of her tree to herself has left her with lifelong problems, Pete is still a dryad. She is immune to disease and poison. She heals rapidly. Her blood has healing properties and she can exert a growing/healing influence over plants, animals, and people. 
  • As with most Dryads, Pete has the magickal ability of biochemical manipulation. This has allowed her to graft trees of two different phylums, live with and support a tree rooted in her body. She also alters the chemistry of the chemicals she ingests so that both her body and the tree she hosts can utilize compounds that would otherwise be toxic to one or the other. This magickal knack has a wide array of potential other uses.
  • Pete is anchored to her tree, as all Dryads, but since she carries it with her, she can travel the worlde without needing to fear it being felled in her absence.
  • Currently Pete’s tree is rooted deeply throughout her. She initially allowed the roots to spread to protect her vital organs and keep her alive through severe beatings from abusive masters and ner-do-wells. Though it makes it difficult and painful to move, the roots do offer a sort of internal armor against bludgeoning, and can substitute for, and set broken bones, giving her a gruesome resilience. 


Pegleg Pete was once blessed by the beauty of the dryads before she washed up in the alleyways of lower Sharnn. Now chemical dependency and nutritional deficiency have reduced her appearance to that of a spindly and sickly creature. Her hair, once the color of willow leaves, is dry, cracked, brown, and stringy--much of it having fallen out. Her skin is grey, flakey and scabbed, looking almost bark-like in places. Her eyes are colorless and sunken like her sallow cheeks. She does not smile or laugh, but if she did one would note more than one missing and broken tooth. 


Pete and her sister dryad--an orange tree, not a blood relation--emerged from two saplings left standing when their sacred grove of dryad trees was clear cut. They grew up as wildlings with no adult influence or instruction, in a great meadow far from any forest or even other trees. Instinctively knowing that they were tethered to their home trees, the pair never roamed far, keeping only the company of each other and the sheep that grazed in the surrounding pastures and watered at the stream near which Pete’s tree grew. 

Pete discovered a magickal knack for influencing plants, and her sister’s tree, to grow and change. It was with this knack that she successfully grafted a limb from her sister tree to her own--a botanical impossibility--though she found that she could not grow one of her own branches on her sister tree. 

The two dryads grew up with just the language of trees until adulthood. They would roam the nearby pastures but Pete always kept within sight of her tree. Not so, the orange tree dryad. She would disappear afield for days and even weeks at a stretch. One day, after a long absence, she returned with news that other people--besides the wooly ones--existed in the worlde. She had learned the basics of their language and shared it with Pete. Over the next few months the orange tree made longer and longer sojourns. Upon each return she would share more of the common language first and then, with the ability to now describe the things beyond their meadows, she would tell Pete about the wider worlde and encourage her to come away from her willow and see these wonders for herself. Pete would always refuse, telling her sister that she would remain and care for their trees. 

During the long lonely times when the orange tree dryad was away, Pete would wander afield and practice her new language on the sheep. Wolves had come to the open pastureland, killing some sheep and sometimes even harrying her. She learned to make spears and staves grow from the orange tree--the willow wood being too soft and unresponsive to her magickal knack--and the wolves learned to leave her alone. She would walk with her stave and imagine the things her sister described--just over the next hill. Eventually Pete did go look over that hill, only to find more pastureland. When nothing bad happened, she dared, after a few days, to look over the next hill, and the next, working her way outward until…

…disaster struck! Pete returned to find Umans had cut down the orange tree and had nearly felled her own! The wolves had taken too much of the free-roaming flock, and the men were building a shepherd’s hut from the only two trees in this far-flung corner of their pastureland. 


Realizing that they were killing dryad trees and fearing retribution, the Umans fled in fear and shame. They left behind their tools, the felled orange and mortally-wounded willow. They had not meant harm and Dryad magick and curses were widely feared.

Pete feared her sister had died with the felling of the orange tree, and that she was soon to follow, for her willow was nearly cut through and the first light breeze would finish what the woodcutters had started. With the focus of will borne of certain death, Pete used the Uman tools to cut off her right leg and her magic to re-graft the orange branch from her tree to the bleeding stump. The process nearly killed her and she lay unconscious amidst the wreckage of the last of the sacred grove for days. When she awoke, her willow had fallen, but she still lived, the grafted branch both sustaining and draining her. 


Though in great pain, Pete was still full of vitality and connected to the land of the grove. She still had the strength--in those days--to craft her tree leg into a form upon which she could readily walk. She could even cause it to form foot and toes, and move as her original leg had. 

Hoping, against hope, that her sister might likewise have survived through the branch now grafted to her body, Pete set out from the only home she had ever known, vowing to walk until she found her sister in the wider worlde. 


Pete’s search was fruitless and brief. Her tree leg sapped her strength and quickly lost motility. While she and her sister had played at eating and drinking after the orange tree dryad had discovered such things in the wider worlde, Pete did not know how to properly sustain herself without her tree--or money or skills.

Pete did not perish, but the story of her survival is not a pleasant one. Over the ensuing months she was captured, abused, bought, sold, and traded through the villages and towns bordering the Nanelire from Granderhoy to Sharnn. Along the way her handlers and owners discovered ways to keep their dryad-tree hybrid, if not healthy, at least alive. When Pete eventually emerged from her captivity, it was with a number of addictions and chemical dependencies. 


Emerged is not really the correct term, for Pete was finally discarded on the streets of Sharnn by her last owners--managers of a failing menagerie of exotic creatures--when her progressively-wasted appearance finally meant she brought in less coin than she cost to maintain. She tried begging in Sharnn Anthos and other districts of the city, but the civil patrol--as well as the abundance of wooden structures--drove her to the sunless depths of Sharnn Nalos, specifically to “The Sump”--a warren of alleyways carved from the city storm-and-surface-water drainage system, where the lowest of the low eke out an existence during their final days before departing for the next worlde. 

The last years of Pete’s life have been hellish. Her captivities aside, the dryad’s xylophobia reduced her to a frantic wreck when in any sort of wooden structure or conveyance. She has a nearly-air-tight bag, fashioned by one of her first owners, which was placed over her head to keep her calm in the presence of wooden objects--which she perceives as essentially the bones of her kind, because she believes every felled tree hosted a dryad. The bag was also used to drug Pete, and she now utilizes it for self-medication with fungicides, pesticides, and her treasured fertilizer, as aerosol delivery is the cheapest way for her to satisfy her need.

Pete’s common name comes from a nickname given to her by the other Umanoid detritus of The Sump--”Pegleg Pete.” Like the rest of her existence, Pete has grown detached from caring about much else besides the occasional relief she can find when she manages to beg (and hide so as not to be robbed by the other denizens) enough coin to purchase the chemicals on which she has become dependent. When she stumbled into The Sump she was already a shadow of her former self, and things have only gone downhill since then.

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