#witchskel

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 GUILE ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Thieves Guild & Nightingale OCCUPATION. Thief

There you were, ass out once again. You’d tried to explain that things were already that when you got there, you promised to be telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth and everything, yet, they didn’t believe you. Audacious, really, but to their credit you were lying and you were completely at fault. The Tower of Olympia didn’t stand for liars and you’d never know what you might have faced had you made it far enough to reach your final rites. Accepted and songbird of the nightingales, you had quick hands and a mind for slipping away whenever needed. A weave here, an incantation there, your nose wasn’t clean but nobody ever said that making a living was honest. They’d sent you off to that Tower because they had hoped you’d make something of yourself, the witches there were too bound up by their rules, but you? You were free. Ardent in your dishonesty, sooner or later your luck ran out but that’s what happened when you spread the right rumors about the wrong people. A little less wily and maybe you’d have spent your life in a Lysaran prison cell but they had yet to invent a cage that was good enough to hold you; you were out in a fortnight and onto your next mark.

CONNECTS

THE LOST: Broke them out of prison.

NOTES

N/A.

THE HIDDEN ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. UTP OCCUPATION. Pirate Captain ( Ran's Armada )

You washed up on the shores of Iskaldrik without even a name attached to you, an infant that should have been swallowed by the sea but were instead too stubborn to just lay down and die. You were a liability to yourself, an orphan on the streets of Ishraed, poverty under the rule of a cruel town of coal-miners and border guards. There was one kindness that came, your magic drew the wrong kind of attention, but a druid would do something you’d never forget: they’d save you, they’d get you on a ship bound from the shores of Iskaldrik, and they’d be punished for it. Your ship never made it to its destination, boarded by pirates, you might have been tossed overboard but instead of walking the plank they let you stay on because someone needed to scrub the deck. Your magic would not stay quiet and there was more power in you before you reached maturity than most seasoned masters; you spent years putting together the weaves of your self taught magic, witches of the Tower called them schools but you knew them as the way to survive, as the way to win. Your swords, your magic, your pistols. Captain of your own armada, there wasn’t a soul alive that would ever dispute your rule.

CONNECTS

THE SHIFT: Smuggled them out of Iskaldrik.

NOTES

Faceclaim must be female and half black and half white.

THE BOUNTIES ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Tower of Olympia OCCUPATION. Pirate

You’d never finish your training, you’d never become accepted among the witches of the Tower; the sea called you home so you put the halls, the lectures, and the books behind you to embrace the thrill that came with the open air. Salt in your lungs and the sea beneath you. The raiders were in your veins and there was a ship with your name on it, you with your sharp tongue armed and at the ready. Magic and greed, your grandfather was a wanted man and left this ship to you while he basked in the glory of retirement. Wealth in a carefree estate, secluded and in hiding. That was the most you could hope for, you’d accrue enough coin for your head that you’d be forced to leave the tides behind. It was that, or some upstart would find you and swoop everything up from under you; someone like you though? You had ambition. Wants of your own. Desires. You wanted more than just a ship with a crew, you wanted an armada of your own, you wanted to be so powerful that no amount of coin would be enough to topple you from the summit. Wasting away on some island, living off former glories when the tides were ready to turn at any moment.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

Accepted into the Tower.

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

THE LIONHEART ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 35+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Tower of Olympia (Warrior of Mars) OCCUPATION. Prince of Lysara

If only you’d been born a girl. Your mother didn’t say it, but it was always there, looming over you as you trained amidst the witches of the tower. Not quite an initiate, but not quite deniable either. You were the son of Queen Arethusa Mordecai, the Queen with no heirs because only women could lead the nation of Lysara; the people would never follow a man, that was a simple fact and it was one you heard in crowded whispers time and time again. All you had to give was everything you had, all you could do was fight to prove that there was more to you than the circumstances that surrounded your birth. More than a prince without any real crown, you were a witch, one who’d inherited his mother’s power and talent but none of the respect that came with her name. That would have to be earned, the hard, brutal way. While you father dawdled about doing nothing of importance, you trained, you ascended, and you faced yourself to stand amongst the Olympians. Warrior of Mars, your strength, loyalty, and resolve was undeniable, so when your Mother returned from Southreach, you marched to take her place. A witch of the battlefield putting down the encroaching threat of the Vanguard of Light, monsters who either burned or cleaved witches with nothing in between. Five long years you spent on the field, now you’ve returned home, victory not yet secured, but soon.

CONNECTS

THE EXILE & THE INHERITANCE: Fought together at Ardentgate THE RIGHT, REDEMPTION, SPHERE, SANCTUARY, BLAZING, and ENGINEER: Members of the Queen's Court

NOTES

Lysaran Royal: FC must be half black and half white

the offering~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch Coven & Rank. Lupercal Emissary OCCUPATION. UTO

An ancestor within the Asphodel, a loyalist from the Dark Goddesses’ temple of night; for a love that you had lost you pledged yourself eternally, and to his ghoulish figure you returned every night until war saw your body destroyed and your soul bound. Between vessels when necromanteion’s call went out, it was only when magic stuttered that the binding placed over you was broken. From the bindings that covered your earthen tomb, your soul slipped out once more and leapt into the body of the first witch that was available to you. Worming through their veins and burning through their soul, it wasn’t perfect, but it would certainly work for now. Through the dark you could hear the call of another name, Oztalun had risen from the book at long last. His priest and his devotee, the dragon with three heads, were brought out from his slumber. To Lupercal you anointed yourself, stood beside the council of lycans, a friend, an ally, a helpful word in the ears of those whose laws were separate from Rome. An emissary of magic, an advocate for change, and the advantage of a place amidst a crowd of monsters.

the wilderness~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ & UTP. SPECIES. Witch ( Jotunn ) COVEN & RANK. Lupercal Emissary OCCUPATION. UTP

Witch of the wilds. Raised by a mother and proudly so; you saw the way a druid changed their shape and thought that it didn’t look so difficult. You studied the way spiders crept across the ground, how they wove their webs and caught their prey and through them you learned how to transform into a monstrous version of this. You watched the wolves as they hunted in packs and brought out the most dire version, a bear and a raven because while covens and stuffy witches preached about the five schools you learned from the world around you. Like a lamb to slaughter your mother had bore you to rear you, and to butcher you in the name of immortality. It was kill or be killed, but you learned through observation so the power she claimed would be yours instead. Her blood fell across your altar and you wandered the wilds free of any mortal burden, throughout history they found you adjacent to power. Real power, wild power, wolves and beasts that needed the gentle guidance of a mentor who had just about seen it all. In Lupercal the council took you in to advise, to help, and to stand just left of the throne.