#highskel

THE SLIP ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 500+ SPECIES. High Elvhen FACTION. Thieves Guild & Nightingale OCCUPATION. Bard

Some days you think you weren’t meant to be born amongst the Elvhen. Never in a hurry, always willing to ignore you, but it wasn’t your fault you were blessed with a power. You were born to captivate audiences, and in the mortal realm, it was all too easy. You loved floating through Taravell, and sometimes that got you in trouble, but you could talk your way out of anything and everything. It helped that everyone had to listen to you, but you’d lick your wounds and head back to Avalon to those you’d left behind. They always waited because they knew you’d always return, and if anything, you were a creature of habit. You became a thief, a Nightingale, someone that could sit in a tavern and get as much info as they desired. You could talk someone into a lull, but you also knew the benefit of being silent. Each time you leave the mortal realm, you count down the days until you can come back. You were bold once again, in Iskaldrik where you hadn’t been in decades. Normally, mortals stayed silent because of you – but not this time. You idly wondered if this would be a good story for your next tune, a massive civilization crashing down around you – but you were meant for the hearts of the people, not for the end of the world. So you packed your strings and went on your way; the refugees would need your good spirits.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee ABILITY: Narcissism: when speaking, no one can talk over them.

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 ORACLE ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 300+ SPECIES. High Elvhen ( Precognition ) FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Prince of Avalon

You were a child when your first vision came to you. Another child went to shove you, and you moved out of the way. They fell, it was amusing, but you were scolded – your ability was meant to benefit others, not yourself. Your family was burdened by many things in life, the weight of the people, the weight of scandal – a father who was banished, a half brother who was not to blame. Still, you pushed. Visions came and went, days without sleep would haunt you, followed by endless aches within your head that hardly seemed to cease. Arvandoril was your home, protecting the Light of the Laurelin, traveling the branches and living amongst each –you knew your people well, but it would not benefit your people if you stayed within the Moongate forever. You thought your ability a curse, nothing worth a future monarch, but your grandmother’s hand laid on yours as she reminded you that many Elvhen only saw what was beneath their feet and barely ahead of them. And you were meant to see more. You have traveled into Taravell, you’ve met the Queen, you’ve been a diplomat at times, but Avalon is where you have remained most of your life. The only heir, a vision that haunts your waking step. A blighted hand reaching out – and when your grandmother became frail, as the blight began to spread more quickly, you had to wonder – was it her hand or yours?

CONNECTS

THE ESCAPIST: Half-brother

NOTES

ABILITY: Precognition: Able to see events shortly before they occur; relying too heavily on this power for an extended period decreases its accuracy.