#hiddenskel

THE PATH ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Hidden One OCCUPATION. UTP

Carefree and hotheaded, your Lysaran mother didn’t make it far past the throes of childbirth before she was taken away to the mines. You were hidden, concealed, but magic left a mark and it wasn’t long before the witchers showed up to take her away. Stubborn as the metals your father tempered, your magic came and you felt no shame; fearlessness was your birthright, free as the ravens that circled Hrafntun, wild as the horses that you ran alongside. Unbreakable, even in the mines where you’d end up; this wouldn’t be your first proving ground, or even your last, but the next was in the hills wardened over by the Old Woman in the Mountain. Dead witchers lay behind you, goblins, trolls, and orcs ahead of you. Among them you crept, your self-taught magic sharpening, your abilities growing, and when you laid your blood in your mentor’s phylactery, you felt content wash from the heart of Ymir’s Spine. This was how your world would change, how you’d shift the course of fate to save those like you before they ever needed saving. You didn’t ask questions, a name appeared, your blade followed, and when Aetheron washed magical flames across your homeland, you looked forward to the day when the names of magisters would appear on an unmarked, iron coin.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee

THE PATIENT ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 300+ SPECIES. High Elvhen FACTION. Hidden One OCCUPATION. UTP.

In Avalon you only ever heard stories of the cruelty of the Iskarans, how in Astoria there were witches being set ablaze by elvhen and humans alike, and that mystical creatures were imprisoned and put to work in the mines of Iskaldrik. In what some would consider paradise, this paradox was beyond you, you couldn’t understand how anyone could treat another with such cruelty unless you saw it with your own eyes. Against the better judgement of others you pressed your luck, certain that your ability to slip by undiscovered would keep you safe. Magic left a tang in the air and for those accustomed to hunting it, you were an easy mark, you’d have been trapped in a mine like so many others and left there to die had a raid not liberated you along the way to your sentencing. Ymir’s Spine was filled to bursting with dangers, but once again you pressed again better judgement and threw yourself into the folds of goblins, orcs, and worse. Pursued by witchers and hunted by the blighted darkspawn who’d gluttonously feast upon your flesh, you threw yourself at the mercy of the Old Woman in the Mountain, and from there she showed you the truth; fate was unkind, but you could help steer it. Right the wrongs before they were ever wrong, stop those who would stand in the path of the light. Avalon and Iskaldrik were behind you now, the shadow of the Lysaran trees, Laurelin was fading from your veins, it wouldn’t be long until mortality fell upon you but every coin is spent eventually.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

THE SECRET ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. The Hidden Ones OCCUPATION. UTP

Rural child of Hrafntun, born under the glow of an Iskaran blacksmith, one who worked the black into tools and shapes. You used to watch the soft embers of the forge and wonder if the same principal of applying heat and temperance could reshape anything. Magic drew the ire of the witchers, you and your sibling watched with bleeding hearts as the life you’d known went up in flame, tempered by the fall of the rain, this was the last of the sky you’d see for many years. The mines called you into their depths, whatever power you possessed was shackled beneath the weight of the irons that the witchers clapped you with. There you might have died, but fate had other plans, a riot broke out and you saw yourself freed - freed but pursued align with the other prisoners that poured over the mountains, picked up one by one by the relentless jailors intent ot put you back to work. The Old Woman in the Mountain waited, your pursuers dead, you reforged yourself into something new, something tempered by earth, air, water and fire. A blade for fate to hold, a weapon to stand in the ashes of the person you used to be; a watcher and collector of unmarked, iron coins.

CONNECTS

THE PATH: Siblings THE TRAITOR: Saved them

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee Iskaran: Rudimentary magical abilities