i could just eat you up

Pristine, ink-black, close-cropped fur. Softest thing you've ever felt. Always covered in a thin, oily residue - woodsmoke from cooking, speckles of oil, the heady smell of garlic. Erys is a black hole of need. Serrated knife-teeth gnashing, tip-toe reaching need. Although they're a little thing - almost impossibly small, spindly, and delicate - they have the presence of something much larger. You can count their ribs easily. In fact, it makes you a little bit queasy. They look like they're teetering on the edge of death but they keep asking for another serving, another sip of that, need to wash it down. 

You notice that they do not say please. Or thank you. They simply watch you with wide, milky blue eyes. Are you going to finish that?

Personality

• Food motivated - Erys will do anything for a morsel, although they maintain some illusion of scruples. If you're offering something particularly unique, something worth really salivating over - well, not many things are off the table for negotiation.
• Irritatingly type A  - While recipes were made for improsiving, Erys refuses to deviate from a plan. They're loathe to accept help from anyone - in and outside of the kitchen - and highly competitive. It'll just make a bigger mess than if they went about it alone. Too many cooks. 
• Chaotically detail oriented - A good chef always keeps their kitchen perfectly in order; it may not seem to have any rhyme or reason to an interloper, but Erys knows exactly where each spice is placed and where their tools are jumbled together in the cabinet. Each and every little thing in its perfect place. 
• Big baby - A chronic child. Underneath all of the muck, salt and olive oil is a petulant child who just wants attention. Their prickly exterior is a laughably classic cry for companionship. Food, after all, is the great lynchpin of families, friendships, and social gatherings. Erys wants to invite you to their table. They want you to eat your fill - and oh, they need you to tell them what a good cook they are. When things heat up, Erys looks for the biggest, baddest coattails to hide behind and is a big proponent of my dad can beat up your dad school yard battle mechanics versus fighting their own battles.

History

Erys was born to a pair of innkeepers on the distant outskirts of Faline, down past the least trodden dirt road near the border of Siregal. They were a screeching, mewling mess - colicking baby doesn't begin to describe the unfortunate noises that came out of their infant mouth. They were so painfully hungry. Three weeks passed and the poor babe was on death's door when a mage passing through from Siregal noticed the child wasted away at an alarming rate after being fed a full meal...

The mage, a gentle healer-type, stayed with the family for another two months. They delayed their visit to the capital as long as they could until they could diagnose the child's issues. It was theorized that Erys had some of sort of mysterious wasting illness at first, kept at bay with such a strict feeding schedule that their mother would frequently pass out from her own inability to keep up with young Erys' caloric demands. Once four rotating nursemaids were in place so that Erys was kept on a constant drip feed, the mage finally left to attend to their errands almost more perplexed than they were when they first met the squalling child.

A year and a half or so passed and the same mage rolled back through the inn, this time returning to Siregal. With sheepish expressions, the innkeepers offered the mage their child - permanently thin still, Erys had nearly eaten them out of house and home. They were unable to provide meals for those who stayed at the inn if the child stayed on and were barely able to feed themselves. Taking pity on the scrawny thing, the mage agreed to take on the charge. Their partner in Siregal was more experienced - something of a scientist - and if they couldn't get to the bottom of it all, the child was doomed. The journey across the border was havoc. Several times, the mage was sure the child would die. No matter what they shoved into Erys, hours - sometimes minutes later - they'd cock their ear and hear the tell-tale rumble of a little stomach. 

Upon arrival in Siregal, the mage's partner took one look at Erys and announced: "It's magic! Of what sort... I'm not sure." Some time tinkering later, it had finally been narrowed down and the beginnings of Erys' power had been uncovered. At first all they could create were mealy, ugly little potatoes that tasted of sand. They would play with them, roll them about, but never eat them. The mage's partner, amused rather than frustrated with the hungry child, began creating strange and lavish meals for them to share. As their palettes expanded, Erys' powers followed suit.

And so Erys grew, the darling only adopted child of two mages who loved to indulge them. They were selfish and adorable and bratty and lovely; their parents were endlessly charmed by their attitude, grateful to pour their love into this strange, knife-toothed creature. Erys adored them in their own way. Once they learned their way around a kitchen, they cooked three spectacular meals a day for their parents (and many more gourmet snacks between for themselves).

Eventually they reached the height of what they felt they could learn of Siregalese cuisine. With a taste for adventure and an enormous appetite, they bid their doting parents farewell and followed the river west until they hit the coast and set off down into Ivras.

(WC: 573)