A magnet of chaos, Bailin thrives in clamorous crowds... always either being the reason for it, or found in the thick of it. Never seen without an impish grin, the passionate fool revels in the outcries of rebellion. True menace that they are, their crude words and actions are as exciting as they are disconcerting...

Attempts to put a stop to their fun might draw the eerie attention of a gaze absent of warmth, rending your flesh from bone with their fury alone.

To create such anarchy, one must be charismatic, courageous, bold! Luckily in possession of a near unshakeable faith in themself, Bailin's unflappable nature can be tiresome to deal with, albeit a good trait to have. Moreover, their stream of consciousness is neverending; scarcely mincing their words, regardless of the status of the recipient. And should softening a blow be advisable, she is all the more likely to do the opposite. But of course there is a positive spin to counteract the bad! Never does one have to expect a betrayal from the elf, as gossip's never piqued their interest. No, these things they'll tell you up front!

Annoying as he may be, their confidence does serve them well— fearlessness allowing Bailin to charge forward, in any situation, with reckless abandon.

He's not a dunce, though, constantly readjusting themself to consistently be worse than you imagined. They've got a status to live up to, after all.

The youngest child of four, Bailin was born with a gift. One that their elders hungered for more than anything— and they had no sooner left their mother's womb than they were swept into the arms of a dying priestess.

Decrepit as she was, her luminous gaze sat, unwavering, upon the raucous infant, breaths leaving her lungs in shuddering gasps..

At long last, their gods had bestowed upon them a new augur. Bailin would breathe new life into their declining practice, and they would fluorish, once more.

✧✧✧

Heralded as a new beginning for their entire sect, Bailin opened their eyes to a surplus of attention from their people, their closest relatives drowned out more often than not by wave after congratulatory wave of hopefuls, every one of them eager to witness a revival after they'd made their peace with surrender. Chances to see the new sybil grew to be a rarity, and blood ties meant less and less to the priests charged with their safety.

As soon as poor attempts at language touched their lips, the child was thrust into the arms of the local scholars, desperation growing as time ran thin for the reigning priestess—

but Bailin could care less!

They had met once before, He-jie insisted, cowering when the subject of their conversation so much as glanced their way before continuing their tale.

Infants, at the time... of course you could not recall.

To Bailin, at least, this was their first meeting. And he would ensure that it not be the last.

Studious was their new peer, Bailin's equal when it came to the respect in which everyone addressed her. No— certainly above her in station. She was quiet, and strict. One month their elder, and callous, to boot. While she toiled away at convoluted equations and sophisticated lettering, Bailin whispered provocations until she'd raise her head, and, if they were lucky, glared. Sometimes the elf would sprawl obnoxiously across her lap, and sometimes he wouldn't immediately be pushed off.

Neither party expected a bond to form amidst Bailin's attempts to torture her to death by being a nuisance, much less any resemblance of a friendship, but gradually, there came a reliance. A wordless expectation... and soon enough, they could no longer operate without the other.

Hand in hand, the two traveled the sparse amount of land that they could. And when they could no longer dawdle above water, Bailin would guide her along the fringes of her home— before returning her to her palace.

But Bailin didn't come back to take her adventuring again. Not that day, or the next... and not the day after that, either.

For an entire month, a ten year old Bailin had to do without seeing her only friend. For an entire month, Bailin bore the full weight of their duties as an augur. For an entire month, Bailin realized, truly, the dedication required to be the only chance at resurrecting a dying art, and paid the price for the years they spent frolicking, neglecting their studies and seeking a life they could not afford to live.

Never before had someone's embrace been as sweet— as needed— as hers had been. Unforgettable, even after the years passed them by.

And how eager time was to slip past their fingers. Bailin rose up to the challenge, no longer able to resist it's call, and she grew distant, having sensed a subtle change. Their bond did not suffer heavily, but life, work, obligations, got in the way. Both of them were adults, and they were adults when they fought, too.

✧✧✧

Bailin came to the realization that their life would be better spent outside the domed walls of Atlantis not long after. Relying on their magic to find refuge as an elf, they stumbled their way through foreign lands, until they ran shit out of luck. Then, someone gave them a letter.

Cautiously, the diviner unravelled it— unsure of when, or how it had apparated, and was pleasantly surprised with what greeted their eyes. An invitation to a safe haven..? Who was she to turn down such an enchanting offer after such a harrowing experience?

... By reading the ebb and flow of any body of water, Bailin can catch glimpses of the your future. From events around the corner, to happenings that won't occur for years, they see hazy images— colors, maybe tidbits of language. While it might relent in it's griping, loathe would the waters be to present the future with perfect clarity.

A languid finger swirls in the small pool of water, disturbing it's fragile tranquility.

It refuses to stir, trembling in muted frustration.. and when that proves futile, it's gurgling outcries are smothered instantly. But Bailin's always been known to have a silver tongue, and although not a single word is spoken aloud, the water releases a final gasping complaint, before it unravels, relaying it's secrets in modest defeat.

FIELD NOTES

✦ Rarely do they stumble upon impending doom or tragic deaths. The scene selection is entirely random— but should they focus their efforts, they can hone in on certain events, so long as they have a specific date as to when something will occur. The more accurate the time is, the better the prediction will be.

Ex, should someone ask for the results of a proposal they plan to do the next day, at sunset, Bailin may see what the recipient's reply is, exactly.

✦ The information is not always accurate. Or rather, it is accurate, but told in such a roundabout way that it is impossible to know when [A] event will occur and/or presents any sort of threat.

✦ Their magic requires a pool of water. The quality of the water itself does not matter. It can be murky, or crystalline. It can be an entire lake's worth, or a pair of cupped hands. So long as it is present, that is all that matters.

✦ Concentration is a necessity, of course. But more important is Bailin's wit. If they perchance fail to pursuade the waters, the chances of a successful reading diminish greatly.