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Vaisali District / Paths that Wind and Wither
« on: February 12, 2021, 10:26:03 PM »
When the order had come from the Dreamer, Lysander hadn't had strong feelings about it. They were one of many, siblings casting out wide to bring all manner of information back to their Lady. The webs were one thing, but accounts from the ground were another, and it was the seneschal's duty to provide. Seneschal tasks had always been fulfilling, pleasant and sometimes exciting. Maybe they should have considered more the Dreamer's somber attitude.

Bring me everything you see, she'd said, touching shoulders and manes with a solemn type of kindness. Everything. From the sickness to the waters and the grasses. Tell me of our people.

Down and out they'd gone, spreading like the threads of the Coven's webs, following animal trails and the edges of dried fields, the bend of shadows. All the lightest feet, the sharpest eyes, the keenest hunters at their Lady's disposal, rooting out information, impressions. It could have been like a game, following clues toward a prize, or a race, to see who returned first.

But the longer they tread those dry and dusty paths, the less enjoyable it became. They hadn't anticipated how seeing it all would feel.

Lysander had always been easy; to please, to fight, to follow, but watching the land peel away from green to brittle yellows and browns, watching the ground crack where water had not been, listening for the animals that should have been there but weren't - it was heavy. A stone in their chest that wouldn't crumble. It was easy to forget, too, how different the environment was outside of their Lady's shadow, beyond the living walls of the tree towers where the coven spun endlessly on. They were able to walk more of it, but always the ability to ascend remained.

The longer they spent out in the land, the more they wanted to return, the worse they felt about it.

Instinct drew them North and East, across one of the District borders, picking across a riverbed they had never before seen dry. Something drew them forward, among brittle trees and leaf litter that crackled and snapped beneath their feet. Animal tracks spun and crossed around them, and Lysander would pick one and follow it until the trail grew too distorted, then pick up another.

It was on one such trail that a flicker of something more than the rare overhead bird brushed against them. They crouched immediately, tail tense and close, ears swiveling carefully to pick up the sounds beyond their own hushed breathing. Dry air moved husky leaves and barren branches, pale in the early noon light; heels up, they stepped lightly over crisp earth, tucking against the shadow of the closest tree.

They sweeping in quick, short bursts with a probe, starting with the white and working up to their Birthright. They preferred the white, for a multitude of reasons, the least of which was that it didn't immediately reveal their strength if a fight was to be had. Not that they wanted to brawl, necessarily, since there'd be no satisfaction in it with their current mood. But needs must, and not everyone responded to the presence of the Dreamer's seneschals with good humor.

If it were someone in a grim mood, they could turn tail and work around them, provided there was space enough to do so.

Tigrelan / Lysander
« on: June 14, 2019, 08:28:08 PM »

The Basics

Full Name: Lysander
Age: 25
Gender/Pronouns: genderfluid/she/he/they/themself

Ethnicity: SL
Birthplace: Tigreland
Current Location: Tigreland
Profession: Seneschal

Caste: Hearthwitch Priest
Birthright Jewel: Rose (CUT 79)
Offering Jewel: Purple Dusk (CUT 49)

Face Claim: Izzy Marshall

The Body

Height: 5'11
Body Type: Slim
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Dark Brown

Long and willowy, with a head of heavy hair and angular features, Lys looks more a cat of the trees than their litter-mates. Lean, narrow, but not sharp, they exude an air of quietude, and carry themselves with grace, although a second glance at their tail does make some wonder at what kind of hunter is lurking in Lys' dark eyes. Long enough to touch the ground and continue into a curl, short furred, brown hair tipped in black, it looks like the tail of a predator, a tree climber. The color matched only on their small ears, where the dark fur blends in with their hair so well it can sometimes be lost.

But a soft mouth and softer eyes push those thoughts away, because Lysander doesn't look like someone who could harm a fly, let alone hunt down and kill any kind of prey, so the tail must be a fluke. Dressing typically in arm-baring shirts and pants, its easy to ignore the scars that line their arms in favor of the webs. Purple and black, Rose and grey, struck through with reds and oranges, Lys' tattoo stripes run almost like bands from shoulder to elbow, encircling biceps in a spiral. Birthright hung under collarbones and across chest, Offering across their back, it's Priest-craft training that runs down the left arm, and heartwitch caste on the right.

The Mind

Craft Strengths: 12/15pts
Ceremony Craft
Guidance Craft
Calming Spells
Craft Weaknesses: Psychic Communication, Cushioning Spells

Either by caste or by birth, Lysander is generally a placid individual, content to follow and aid where it is necessary. Not a leader by any means, their genial disposition belies a snarky tongue and a crude mind, and Lysander is often the first in a conversation to make some kind of double entendre or naughty joke. Lys flirts like breathing, finds pleasure in bodies from above, below, and between, and is never offended when denied, likes the chase as much as the goal. Cast a wide net. Easy to laugh, both at themself and with others, Lys is one who lets events unfold around them and have the chips fall where they may, and it takes a lot to affect them deeply. Not one for extreme sadness or wild pleasure, Lysander is most commonly content. With life, with their friends, their position.

The only time Lys' fur really gets ruffled is when someone is unnecessarily cruel, or when children are involved. Then it's claws out, teeth bared, an elbows and fists and Craft throwdown if that's what needs to happen. Scars from altercations -- both distant and not so distant -- run across arms and shoulders, claws dug deep into resistant flesh. They get plenty of reprimands regarding it when Renewal time comes around, but Lys maintains that they don't start those fights, but someone aught to finish them.

The Backstory

The Seneschals

One of many, a circle flush with children following a good mating season. Easy to follow behind strong personalities, to be a face among many in the games of their youth. Lysander never felt particularly strongly about their caste, even when their name had been something else, only that it was important that someone not let all their young emotions run rampant over one another. Easy to be the calm one, the steady, sturdy, shoulder to cry on. Fists only raised when childish words turned into childish hurts, teeth bared and claws out in defense of anyone with wet eyes. Reprimanded strongly, then, bruises and scratches on their body but a friend protected. Not much the words of adults could do, with that sense of rightness in their chest.

Webs spun because of a temper quick to bloom and quick to fade, an ember smothered beneath a cup, waiting. But no, a steadier pin. Path already sliding between, to freedom without definition, but set in shade. Maybe an impermanence of position, maybe in mind. Quick and fluid and moving, sliding.

Birthright, and flush, Rose sweet. Better than their sisters at hearth Craft, a knack for it tucked in beside their Rose. Still sister, sometimes, but brother more and more, and neither most of all. Sisters guiding hands already moving Lys in the direction of Seneschal hands, and Priest Craft catches their attention more fully, calls out to a thread in them they didn't know had been neglected. Growing in fits and starts, faster than most of their age mates, it feels like no time at all before Lysander descends for a Virgin Night they weren't sure how to anticipate. Finding pleasure in it, finding a desire to know that pleasure in both directions, that pleases too. Easy to step back, knowing, and hold a hand out to a Seneschal that has been waiting for Lysander to declare for years.

Offering, Purple dusk warming their chest. And perhaps passing the place of their parents, a touch of yearning but happy, Lysander joins their siblings among the ranks of the Seneschals, falling into Priesthood as easy as calling to the Hearth.

The Writer

Player Name: Kayndred, Kay
Player Pronouns: she/hers
Timezone: PST
Contact: DMs, discord

Inactivity Instructions:
Archive, adopt out, write out, lastly death

Roleplay Sample:
See Michael Villiers

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