[CS] Trapped in Faerie

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Annasiel
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[CS] Trapped in Faerie

Post by Annasiel » Wed Oct 31, 2018 10:13 pm

.
Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

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Trandafir
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Re: [CS] Trapped in Faerie

Post by Trandafir » Wed Oct 31, 2018 10:16 pm

Name: Anthony Wells
Age: 32
Species: Human

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Bio:
Ever since he was young, Anthony was always inventive. Such attribute wasn’t as useful as one would hope for a common farmer’s life, but it would make change - a huge one for that matter - eventually.

At age 18, Anthony, or Anthon as his comrades would call him, joined his in war nation’s army. He was a soldier like any other, from a humble background of one of the small villages surrounding the city, well, at least at the beginning. You see, not only did Anthon have quite an intuition for strategies, he also couldn’t keep his mouth shut at certain occasions that most would prefer to remain quiet. His superiors, the ones who would listen and follow to his wise advices were quite surprised at his skills. It wasn’t every day that a farmer would turn general, but so he did at age 28, after many battles won due to his input.

General Wells was then known by the population as a commoner who was recognized by the king himself, and became a war hero. Anthony didn’t have enough time (or enthusiasm) to enjoy his fame, as war was really the only activity in his life. Despite not being a complete introvert, Anthony excluded himself from most social interactions through the years. Unfortunately, he had lost more friends than one would be able to count in their fingers, and that made him quite reluctant about engaging into new friendships. A smart, witty, intelligent boy turned into a stone hearted general who’d only follow and give orders, as that was his life purpose.

A year later, his first battle in eleven months was lost. An injury on his spine caused him to lose mobility of most of his left leg, and with that, his military career was over.

Anthony was sent back to his land, with his achievements erased as he was no longer of use for the crown. The legend of the commoner general lived on, but was detached to his persona, that returned to an abandoned, burned down farm, that was sacked by enemies years before Anthony’s return.
Hey! Isn't it funny we all want what isn't right?

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Annasiel
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Re: [CS] Trapped in Faerie

Post by Annasiel » Tue Nov 06, 2018 2:33 am

Aibreann (Av-rawn) Lochchild

She is the tan of a faun's fresh coat, with cheeks marked by a mirthful, verdant hue. Pale yellow hair, the color of sunshine on a clouded day, falls in thin sweeps over back and face to just below her hips. Green tints this as well, the works of mossing in between the strands. A lilypad perches on her head. The edges of the leaf droop over the crown of her head like a hat, but beyond that, one would be hard-pressed to tell if it were hat at all. Her hair blends seamlessly with the plant, and a sizable flower in the pad's center seems to mimic Aibreann's affections. Anger makes it flare and shudder, passion and joy bloom, fright shrivel up to a blackened bud.

All in all, she stands just below five feet, and is slender enough to be called skeletal. In fact, her fingers might go so far to be called froglike, if for the lack of webbing and her long, pearly nails. Her face is cherubic, with heartshaped cheeks and large, sea-deep eyes. Some might call it cute. That is, until she opens her mouth, revealing tight rows of needled teeth. "The better to sup with," she'd say with a smile.

For clothes, she garbs herself simply, in a sleeveless dress of lace and silk. Once, it may have been white, but it now has the same mossy growth as her hair. Two thin straps hold it to her shoulders, criss-crossing down her back in an intricate lattice. Beyond this, she wears nothing else, relishing the freedom of openness. Most of all, she despises footwear, refusing to even touch socks and shoes without a recoiling hiss.

Skills, Attributes, and Traits:

Aibreann is a peerless swimmer, and in many ways seems more at home in the water than on land. While her motions outside may seem awkward and gawky, in the water she has all the grace of a water spirit (to the point where some may wonder if nereid or selkie blood runs in her veins). She is also incredibly accomplished illusionist, able to wrap glamours through speech and sight so well one might expect to be able to touch it. Perhaps one of the oddest traits of this little fae is her complete and total tolerance to any sort of intoxicants. She is able to get drunk if she chooses, but can sober at will, and is unaffected by poisons or illness, even those strong or arcane enough to harm a typical fae.

Weaknesses:

Despite her strength, her frame is fragile, bones light and easy to break. She despises the cold, and will slow in speed the lower the temperature drops. Her eyesight, wired for daytime, is sensitive to fast changes, and may have a very difficult time adapting to low-light conditions. Outside of water, her movements are somewhat ungainly, though she is able to maintain a good degree of speed in either element. I mentioned this before, but it bears repeating: Do not place shoes near her if you value your life.

Personality:

Biting is kinky for everyone, most just haven't realized it yet.

The Lineage of Lí Ban:

Also called Daughters of Lí Ban, River Daughters (iníonacha na habhann), and Water Guardians.

Believed to be distantly related to merrow and naiads, the river daughters are guardian spirits for bodies of water. Unlike their counterparts, they are not tied to distinct locations, but instead freely roam, flowing with the currents they protect. In particular, their domain is connected to the movement of Atlantic salmon and other migratory fish upstream in the early year. They are said to watch over the spawn, help them hatch, and keep them safe from predators in their voyage back out to the ocean.

They tend to be incredibly carefree in personality, and delight in mischief, similar to brounies in Scottish belief. Brounies delight in aiding humans, and it is here the river daughters differ; they avoid human contact altogether, and in the rare cases they do interact, they will be ornerily suspicious of the human's intent for their precious lakes and rivers. It's not uncommon for a fisherman to pull a tattered heap back where a net once was, or to encounter illusory mists and ghastly wails when sailing on a guarded loch.

She is a servant of the Springtide Court.
Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

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