Arty's Comments

Name: Arty

Character type: Wild Mage +2 power
Species: Cervid
Gender: Female
Age: 30
Items: Summoning Circle, Imbue Magic Amulet, Handmade Idol, Extended Telekinesis Scroll, Mending Scroll

Personality  

Now that she’s hit 30, Arty is the most confident in her abilities and herself than she’s ever been before. That said, she’s no showboat and practically never brings up her magic, always waiting for the other to reveal their cards first. Arty has a desire for action, but she herself would never put a foot first on the board, she prefers to whisper her words to others, build up confidence in her ideas and make sure someone else’s name is the face of it all. She refuses to put her neck on the line again, but with behind the scenes training, she’s always prepared to defend herself.

Unless it’s her work, Arty also has no desire to put her stamp on things or ideas. Essentially, she would never want anything that went wrong to be traced back to her, her crafts are always labelled under the family name, never her own. She’s extremely proud of her work however, everything she’s created has been with complete love and care. Especially as she knows the weapons used by monster hunters are fighting back against their injustices and major prejudices. If people get to know her and not just the work she does, they’ll find a sweet soul who still needs some nurturing. She still doesn’t really know how to turn off her work mode, it’s just been ingrained in her for so many years. Even with the threat of it all being taken away under Miriam’s power. Now she just wants to help those who can’t help themselves. (244)

History

Arty or Artemis (only to her family) started as a pretty insignificant child, she helped around her family’s artisanal workshop of jewellery and weaponry aimed at monster hunters. They were a well known non-mage family business of many decades and extensions. The children had always been raised to help hold small delicate chains and make sure the fire was stoked to the correct heat for long periods of time. Arty was no different, for a time.

It happened one day while Arty was playing in her mother’s things, being a jeweller she had the most exquisite pieces and although they were a family of great talent who could repair almost anything, her mother would never let them play with anything. So when the opportunity presented itself, who was Arty not to take it. In a great game of pretend, Arty had swung the necklace around and its delicate chain had snapped on an impossible link. There was a great clattering and Arty’s mother came rushing up to find out what had happened. Hearing the footsteps, Arty had broken out in nervous shakes, holding the necklace close to her, crumbled to the ground, she hoped with all of her might that it wasn’t broken too bad. It was in that position her mother found her, crumpled and trembling, but incredibly, covered in transparent, flitting, butterflies. Sobbing, Arty began to tell her mother what had happened, but both the necklace was incredibly fixed and there was no malice in her mother’s eyes that day. 

After that there were many, many discussions between her parents and their siblings. The whole family had a fairly downward look on mages, but those mages are what brought the gold in and perhaps having a little mage around would boost things furthermore, bridge the gap. The corrupted mages played on their mind but they didn’t want to lose any money making opportunities by sending her off to the order to learn control. Then an idea was sparked, they had a sweet, older retired neighbour whose magic played with illusions, maybe he’d teach her some control while she got to stick around home and continue to work. Genius. 

Theo had been lonely for awhile, he’d lost his partners some years ago and never gained the energy to connect with anyone else. So, he put himself into his work, just small scale paintings, nothing close to the magnificent murals he created in his prime. When his neighbours knocked on his door, he was puzzled, he knew his surrounding neighbour’s stances on magic and mages and this was the last thing he could’ve expected that day. The puzzling sort of fell away as his face looked down to shoulder height to see a small muzzle covered in translucent butterflies. He gave a small nod and they entered his home to discuss the child’s future and training. 

They worked together in small doses here and there, when her family allowed it and developed her magic and control. It went from translucent butterflies of nerves, to almost tangible looking smoke engulfing her body when she was frustrated and even licks of flames that seemed to hold a little heat when she was furious. Arty became a walking mood ring and as she embarked on her teenage years, she despised it. She couldn’t talk to any crushes without being super obvious, couldn’t hide anything from her parents and couldn’t be frustrated without someone calling her out on it. It was also during this time that Theodore revealed he, himself had been a student of the Order and he hated it. His professors were only interested in finding if his power had some sort of physical attack power that would be useful against monsters, not the aesthetics or raw soul it took to create them, a painting wouldn’t help on the battlefield, nor did he desire to increase his magic tenfold. His magic never did develop any bite and so the moment he could, he split from the academy pushing the memories of power-hungry mages far behind him and found a lovely home in a predominantly non-mage area. 

The next advancement they made was a day when Arty was terrified of her life being nothing but an open book, which sure, could be viewed as pure and wonderful to some, but certainly not to a teenager. Theodore had become her confidant and the one person she felt safe being herself around and he nodded along in understanding. It was when she bumped a small table and a little pendant fell off that everything changed. In her ramblings she didn’t notice the little pendant going underfoot and she stepped on it, fearing it was extremely precious to Theo, snakes began to twist around her legs in a strangling fashion, that was new. Arty began to shriek and attempted to flick the snakes off of her. Incredibly, they did disappear. Lifting her foot up, Arty and Theodore both gasped at the same moment. Suddenly the plain looking pendant was transformed into a teeny, circle pit of beautiful, writhing snakes. Her illusion had been sucked from her body into the pendant! Theo and Arty looked at each other with complete shock on their faces, then they did a little happy dance around the room. They decided together to keep this new information on the down-low, knowing that Arty’s family would force her to be done with any training now that her magic would prove useful and profitable, even if she didn’t know how to do it. So for many more weeks they kept at the grind, learning what it took for Arty to send her powers away from her body like that, into something concentrated. They stuck with jewellery as it’s an item that Arty knows best and were small pieces to concentrate on. Her power remained minimal, minor movement that didn’t last for too long, but as time went on she learnt discipline and could do it on her own terms and for much more extended periods. 

The turning point in Arty’s life came at the age of 20. Still to this point she had remained studious, making beautiful work alongside Theodore and was now able to create new images and imbue them, not just replicas of the illusions that came from her strong emotions. Once she had learnt that skill and control, they agreed to tell her family and let them do with that information what they will. The family was thrilled and acted much warmer than Arty had ever experienced in her life before. She almost felt real love. The next day they put her to work and so piece by experimental piece they began to sell beautiful, but limited use, illusory moving pieces of jewellery (with a dramatic price increase of course, not that Arty saw a dime) and once that popularity began to soar among the non-mages they began to push Arty further. It started with small daggers and darts, either brave and endearing images on the hilt or more extravagant fire and electricity cosmetic movements along the blade and points. These were all quickly snapped up by monster hunters of all shapes and sizes, all wanting that slight extra piece of glitz and confusion to their opponents and fellow hunters and not long after Arty was crafting significantly larger works of swords and bow and arrows sets. Quickly Arty found herself burning out, never had she pushed her self so far in her 20 years, but being so important to her family now, how could she stop? All they told her when she said she needed a break, was that their business would never survive without her service, it was her fault for starting this next level in the first place! They needed her and so she kept on pushing, not necessarily improving. She got less time to spend with the ever-ageing Theodore and more mediocre pieces to be exchanged for gold she’d never see.

One night she got a letter from Theo asking her to come and meet him. She sent back that she had minimal time and could meet him the next night briefly after dinner, but she couldn’t stay. The next night in his home, they met up, Theodore began telling Arty he was concerned with how fatigued she was becoming, she’d lost so much weight and she clearly wasn’t being looked after. All Arty could do was wave him off. She was needed by her family now more than ever, being because of her they had an astounding, improved, reputation to uphold. She began to walk out the door, saying she had to get back to it. Theo turned back into his room, so saddened by what he saw. After a moment he chased her out the door, holding a magnificent painting. He stopped her in the street and presented the painting, the last large piece he’d created. A piece of true struggle and turmoil that reflected on his loss of partners, almost a warning that there was more to life. At the same moment a drunken self-proclaimed witchfinder came stumbling down their pathway. All they saw was a flash and movement come from an area around two figures and stupor-ly thought another monster was coming for the city. In a blaze of action, the witchfinder launched forward with his sword, cutting Theodore down before Arty’s eyes, just as she had taken hold of his gift to her. Screams erupted from her throat and hearing a banshee like roar, the witch finder grabbed a torch from a sconce on the nearby wall and lit fire to the screams, even as Arty managed to shout out that they were not a threat, they were defenceless! Flames engulfed her throat and she felt powerless to stop it and far too fatigued. She crumpled to the ground as concerned figures had come bolting out of their homes in search of the danger. She doesn’t remember much else from that night, just a blanket snuffing out the burning on her flesh and the horrific sight of Theodore laying bleeding outside of his own door. Who were two defenceless, illusory powered mages to hold  their own against a war-torn warrior, drunk or not? Even if she wasn’t without a weapon, what could she have done?

When she had recovered her mind and body to the best of her young ability, Arty struggled to look at herself. Her neck was completely scarred and furless and absolutely hideous. Laying at her bedroom door was the tattered painting Theodore had gifted her, clearly someone had tried to mend it the best they could and a beautiful garment. When she tried it on, the intricate waistcoat glinted with sparkling thread that moved in the light, it also had a matching neck-piece to go with it. It almost covered up the entire scar, leaving just a little poking out as a reminder of her horrific night. Steeling her mind, Arty shut off her emotions and got back to work. The thought of stepping outside of their home made her physically ill and covered her with patterns of snakes chasing butterflies, so she kept working, indoors. Away from the dangers of the outside world.

There was a piece of her mind that couldn’t shut off the emotional turmoil no matter how hard she tried and she worked for three exhausting days straight crafting her finest work yet. It was an intricate pendant, not so far off the one she stepped on in Theodore’s home so long ago, but this one held a special thrum of magic. Testing her theory, she shut her eyes and stretched a foot out the door, and instead of the usual fluttering she felt when her illusions danced across her body, she felt nothing. Staring down in disbelief, Arty saw the pendant was moving! It had worked! Feeling a hint of confidence, Arty went to talk to her family. It was time she made a life for herself outside of work, just like Theodore wanted. At first they were flustered, where was their mood ring daughter, or was she really just that confident? At first they protested, stating how much business they lost when she was recovering, but even they couldn’t say no when Arty said she wanted to learn to fight. Maybe it would be good having someone more adept at protection in the family, she could also model the weapons! So they agreed to let her have a little time off, so long as they had enough product to sell, and she could go and learn how to handle weaponry. 

That’s what her life became in the next ten years. The family business was now less of family and more of just Arty with some helpers. The occasional soul still stopped by for the basic things their family made, but most were after a unique illusory piece. It was also Arty who had a natural skill for mending so she tended to focus on that when she needed a break. 

She was still making beautiful, unique jewellery and weaponry, but was now also becoming someone confident in her ability to protect others, in theory not yet practice, whether they are a non-mage or just a mage whose magic was not on the offensive, especially as the change in powers happened. More than ever she wanted to hide her magic in public, so her pendant was tucked beneath her garments as she went to see her latest mentor, the fear of losing another mentor like Theodore hung around in her mind, so she never grew too attached. This last one had come recommended from her previous mentor, specialising in dagger work. They had a great session and by the end Arty was panting hard. She was getting herself ready to go when they stopped her. “You really want to make a difference, huh?” They asked. “Well yes, of course I do, who doesn’t?” Arty replied. “Far too many” they responded cryptically. “I think you should come with me to a gathering tonight, your presence would be welcomed.” They added. “I’m not so sure about that, I have a lot of work to do.” But looking into their eyes, Arty could tell this was something more important than just a simple gathering. They slipped a note into her pouch of belongings, “Please, think on it. We all want to make a difference, for mages of all uses. All the information you need right now is there.” Then they walked away, with a cautious smile. 

Confusion tickled through Arty, what difference could she possibly make? But she did ponder it on her walk home. Later that night she pulled the card out of her bag and was shocked to see a small, intricate signature alongside a location. “Prince consort Saboro” That certainly piqued her interest! 

Slipping a coat on, Arty made the hasty decision that this was an opportunity she couldn’t miss. When she got to the unsuspecting location, her jaw fell agape. So many incredible mages! The mentor then slipped to her side, “I’m so glad you made it after all, welcome to the Mage Court.” It was then that Arty understood, she really could make a difference in the unbalancing world.

(2538, sorry)

Magic: Mood Illusion

Discipline 3  Power 2  Cost 2

Naturally adept at mending jewellery and other similar priceless artefacts (mending scroll) 

Can imbue artefacts with powerful looking illusions, whether on the hilt, blade or point doesn’t matter but has to be attached to something (eg can not be loose floating clouds). This takes the most energy from Arty and leaves her heavily fatigued.

Illusions that reflect Arty’s mood. The illusions play over her body and heavily fatigue her. However with a conduit (a little pendant she can wear), the illusions are cast in a much smaller scale, allowing Arty control and doesn’t fatigue her the same. 

With discipline, Arty can channel the specific images she wants to create in her work and give them flickering movement. 

At this level of power, the illusions have limited use and must be taken back to her to be refreshed. With more power they will last much longer and with more discipline she will learn control over what level of intricacy the illusions project rather than just one key trait (fire, snakes, butterflies or moving flowers etc).

Future: Will be able to cover people in an armour like fashion and look solidified and anything she imbues will have a much longer lifespan.

Cost

Magic use fatigues the caster (1). Arty can now make small scale jewellery illusions with little effort, bigger ‘canvases’ still take a lot out of her. 

Magic takes a long time (1). Anything she imbues has to be tolled over, which in reality does not help the fatigue issue. But it must be done to keep her family business thriving. 

Hi my comment either didn't post or vanished- here's this I tried to post a few days ago lmao https://docs.google.com/document/d/1kYmYBkxrg4qPSRf1HEeVIdiMClR9kEq0K0-wS1IO7Is/edit?usp=drivesdk

Name: Viktor/Viktoria Cantrell

Character type: Mage, Hidden (-1 cost)

Species: Cervid

Gender: They/Them

Age: 34

Items: Summoning Circle, Imbue Magic Amulet, Handmade Idol, Extended Telekinesis Scroll, Mending Scroll

Personality: Viktor has a hard time expressing their emotions, so a lot of people see them as cold and apathetic. Really, they just don’t have a lot of energy to talk to people that will just waste their time. However, Viktor is truly passionate and loves learning new things. They are excitable- especially when beginning a new project. They are quite protective of their business, and while they dearly love their family- they believe their family has no need of protection.

History: Often best described as shrewd,to Viktor, running a business came naturally to them. Being secretive to the family secrets and business trades..or better yet his secrets. As a kid, his family was well off and quite prestigious. They crafted jewelry of fine quality and pocket watches (some people who ascribed to more gender standards prefer these not to be considered so dainty as “jewelry” so they list it differently). Well off and not too involved politically, the best way for a business to be in such times where people were not sure to trust mages or distrust them. Viktor, as a child, enjoyed watching carefully as their parents constructed the silver trinkets and gold watches, awaiting their rightful turn to lead the business. Most kids in such positions might be reluctant or aggravated having no “freedom” but Viktor longed for nothing more than to be entrusted with the company. While they were accepted and loved, the family knew something was…off about Viktor. Being a Cervid, they were expected to have horns at birth, but instead of a pair- one lonely horn sat on top of their head. The Cantrell’s chalked it off as a birth defect, not wanting to assume the worst of their newly born child. Growing up, Viktor developed differently from the other children their age, and had a hard time expressing their emotions. The Cantrells paid no mind, letting their child learn at their own pace and nurturing them. Growing up in the city of Faline wasn’t the easiest, but the bustling ports made getting their product to other countries a clear positive. Then when Viktor began to work the jewelry making tools, their family’s suspicions and worries were confirmed true. Viktor had a magical touch when working, it wasn’t flashy or too obvious but something changed about these trinkets that weren’t the same as other Cantrell’s work. Viktor paid no mind to what this implied, or the family drama it had caused. Instead, they kept working to their heart’s content. In fact, they worked so much that oftentimes they’d forget to feed or take care of themself. Not a lot mattered to them besides their work and the Cantrell business. Now, they practically run it themselves with the help of a few family members. To some, they sell the jewelry with the purpose of it having “magic” within, and others not so much. With the current Archon, Miriam sent out Witchfinder’s, Viktor felt threatened since their business revolved a bit on the fact that they had magic. This leads to Viktor siding with the Mage Court, vowing to protect their business at all costs.

Magic: Precision

Power: 1, Discipline: 2, Cost: 1

Costs: Magic use fatigues the caster. This magic heavily relies on Viktor’s eyesight, to the point where the eyestrain causes them to have headaches and suffer from great fatigue when and after they use it.

Viktor’s magic is not the flashy kind, instead it enhances their eyesight greatly and beyond that, grants their eyesight the gift of being able to see weak points in people or constructions. For jewelry making it comes handy in making the metal and gems more secure and less likely to break. In combat, it allows them to strike ruthlessly where it will hurt or incapacitate the most. Imbued into objects their magic grants people who wear Cantrell family jewelry made by Viktor a “feeling” of what might be a weak point or decision. 

Intro
Name: Thallan Damasc
Age: 33
Pronouns: They/them
Background: Order Mage (+2 Discipline)
Profession: Clothier, Artisan

History 
CW: non-explicit violence, attempted murder
Thallan was a quiet child growing up, choked with the pains of perfectionism so tight that they could barely begin to try picking up a needle and thread. They stared endlessly at the intricate tapestries on the walls of their home, ran their hands over the embroidery that seemed to come so naturally to their parents. They didn't really recognize envy in their belly till they looked over their amateur embroidery hoops with wobbly stitching and threw it all out the window onto their aunt's gardenias and tried something else.

Jewelry-making. Awful, uninspired. Bronze-casting. Botched pours, ugly beads. Weaving. It took three aunties to stop them from ripping it out of the loom for the fourth time, wasting too much quality thread. All amidst praise and well-meaning advice to help learn from their mistakes. They were so promising for a beginner! their family kept saying. But that wasn't enough. Their family didn't get it. Being the youngest in the family amidst master artisans made Thallan impatient to show their worth.

They wanted to be good at something so badly that their desperation bled into their work as they grew older. When their father snuck away a ring from Thallan's mountainous discard pile to give to their grandmother, it didn't take long for the enchantment to take hold. They found Grammie Damasc the next morning, sleep-deprived and bent over her spinning wheel, muttering that her work wasn't good enough, aching for the perfect spool of wool to dye with that ruby ring gleaming on her knobbly knuckle. And Grammie never self-critisized. She knew her own worth and held her chin up high, and to see her like this alerted the whole family that there was something going on. But the wool she spun that night was finer than silk, and they kept their comments to themselves as they opened Thallan's tiny workshop to pick apart.

Here, shoes that made you feel lighter than air. There, a knitted scarf that brought you immediately to tears. Thallan's work evoked emotions so deep that they were undeniable as long as you wore their work, and they were quickly packed up and shipped off to the Order before their fourteenth birthday. Protests stifled their throat - were they abandoned so quickly? Was their work so terrible? - before their father leaned in with a kiss to their temple and a promise that when Thallan came back, they'd outshine the entire family.

That promise kept them going through all of Namarast, and farther. They stayed longer than they had to, eventually claiming a workshop for themselves along with their own ordering list of supplies that ignored the cost. Years passed with that quiet burning coal in their belly to earn the Damasc name, until they nearly mastered every craft they could get their hands on. Nearly, but not quite. Thallan kept to themselves and their workshop, curling more and more into stifled unsociability. By the time they became an adult, they had colleagues more than friends, places of advice and favors rather than people to spend time with. They had no idea how to hold a conversation by the time they graduated, but they came home with a portfolio that made their parents weep, and that was good enough for them.

After that, Thallan became the star of every craftmans festival, every guild connection, every spotlight in shops lucky enough to carry an enchanted Damasc product. They were pushed to socialize, make connections, sell themselves, and enough conversations of slipped smiles and stammering, sweaty palms made them reach for their corsets that gave them confidence, earrings that made their words flow like a calm river, and arm bands that drew all eyes to them and kept them there. They relied on their clothes like armor, eventually unable to leave the house without them.

And it wasn't trickery, not really. Their enchantments couldn't go beyond what someone was naturally capable of on their own, so this charisma had to come from somewhere...right? And they had a mentor to rely on, whose word they took as gospel, whose perfect mannerisms Thallan used as a shield whenever they could feel their nerves rising to the surface. It was good, for a time. Their family was proud of them.

Past Thallan's thirtieth birthday, when the Damascs were a household name, Thallan was pushed outside of the cities to spread their name to lesser known villages. It was almost a vacation to rent rooms outside of the sprawling galas Thallan had grown used to, rubbing elbows with nobility who all begged for a commission spot on a list years long. They wouldn't think too much about them doing it all alone without their mentor. They could leave their earrings at home, maybe. Loosen the belt of the corset while they talked about these new shoes that were their best work yet.

At the showcase, Thallan called upon the prettiest girl in the village to try on red slippers so rich that she'd never seen such beauty, let alone worn them. And when she danced with them on, the crowd wept as her passion swept her away. But when the musicians put away their instruments, she didn't stop. When her parents told her she could sit down again, she didn't stop. She slipped out of her beau's grasp, evaded the mayor, leapt over the stage and spun down the road, unable to stop. She danced like a thing possessed, so passionate that her feet would bleed before they would catch her. And bleed they did.

She twisted through nets with a willowy grace, jumped over crowds of reaching hands that tried to catch her, and evaded even the most clever of the village to the tune of unheard music. The frustration mounted and aimed itself at Thallan, and their words failed them when arms grabbed them and screamed at them to do something. It was the shoes, Thallan choked, take off her shoes and she'd be fine!

To the infuriated crowd who loved the girl dearly, the blame of this lay solely at Thallan's feet. And as if the girl's unheard music drove them all mad, they tore at him, clawing at his face and throat, told them to do something, to cease their witchcraft and give her back! In the chaos, a rope was thrown around Thallan's neck, from whose hands, no one noted, or cared - but three more joined in to hoist it up, gripped by the craze.

As Thallan was pulled into open air, they thought that this was it, that all their hopes would end under an apple-blossom tree in late summer, all because they left their stupid earrings at home.

Thallan barely heard the yells of joy as blood rushed to their ears and their vision went black. Her beau had managed to catch her by the waist and rip those shoes off, and she'd collapsed from exhaustion, unconscious but still breathing. The lynch crowd was broken up as rationality was somewhat restored, but they couldn't chase Thallan out of the village fast enough, throwing their beautiful shoes after them as the carriage rode away.

Thallan hid after that for a solid three years. No gentle coaxing from their father could pry them out, no tsks from Grammie Damasc could shame them enough to come back into the spotlight. Their face and throat was scarred from that day onward, a permanent reminder that they were nothing without their enchantments.

From that day forward, once they managed to emerge from their room, they never leave the house without a full attire. They barely sleep without a bracelet or subtle soothing mood to replace their constant anxiety. They've learned their lesson to stay away from mage-fearing villages, and honestly? Thallan hasn't seen hide or tail of themselves in years.

Nowadays, Thallan spends less time promoting the Damasc name and moreso using their hard-earned charisma to speak on behalf of the Mage Court. It's more of self-preservation than selflessness that they advocate against Miriam's reign - never would they want to experience that hell again. If it keeps someone else from the noose...well. That's just an added bonus. (1,355 words)

Personality
Thallan is a bit of an enigma. Outwardly, they can change their characteristics as easily as a snake shedding their skin. With a simple change in wardrobe, Thallan can present themselves however they like: Caring and soft-spoken, dripping with persuasive charisma, focused to an incredible degree - the list goes on. With their Order training, they've refined their moods to an elaborate degree, mixing and matching moods like anyone manages their fashion, with good taste.

But inwardly? Their true personality is a mess of nerves that's hardly seen the light of day, shoved down and ignored. Without their enchanted attire, they fear anyone getting close, stammer, can't make eye-contact, and suffer from imposter-syndrome so fierce that it's a wonder they can continue making clothing at all. They will never see their work as good enough for the household name, and are deathly afraid of the opinions of others. They almost died because of it.

They're also particularly naive about the finer social details purely through lack of experience, a fact that their altered moods cannot overcome. They haven't seen how the curl of a smile could indicate sarcasm, how a drawn-out word could mean a dagger in the back later - things his blunt family would never do. Through Thallan's work and focus on the business side of society, they never had to wade those treacherous waters of nobility alone. Thallan takes most of what is said at face value, a facet of them which isn't likely to last once they delve fully into politics.

They're selfish in a quiet way, and envy often stains their insides. They're incessant about attaining master artisan status in every field they can get their hands on, and feel worthless taking a day off to 'relax'. But in turn, they also can't help but see things to admire in others that might be taken for granted. They give the benefit of the doubt to others far more than they do themself, and are generally forgiving to the people around them, hoping that mindset is returned. They're a good person at heart, just one who hasn't been taking care of themself and doesn't know how to. (359 Words)

Magic
Woven Desire 
Stats:
Power: 3             Discipline: 2
Corruption: 0      Cost: 2

Technically, what Thallan's magic is at the core is emotion-manipulation, but they've never used their magic on others without the medium of enchantments, and remain unaware of it. Understanding that part of their magic would require getting close and touching others, which they refrain from doing with anyone but their family.

But their enchantments, through clothing, amplifies the moods a person is capable of. It can push a mood to its absolute extreme, ie: obsession with a passion, but it can't alter someone's natural tendencies. A sweetheart can't be urged to murder, for example. Similarly, it doesn't take away someone's sense of reason and logic, though strong moods can be very persuasive on their own.

Thallan can make a wide variety of moods, and has perfected the 'good' ones so far, the ones that sell in cosmetic articles. But they're beginning to become interested in more useful kinds: determination to overcome any obstacle, fury that makes you see red, or poisonous apathy to make an enemy give up before the fight even begins. They also want to see how far they can go, but have yet to push themselves without an external nudge.

Magic will not work unless under specific circumstances. 

Thallan's magic requires constant contact in order to enact its work. His enchanted clothing works for as long as it is worn, and has no lingering effects once it's removed. Thallan is currently unaware that they can similarly inspire moods as long as there's constant physical contact, and is currently socially averse to the entire idea, no thank you.

For fun!

Basics

Name: Gina Arkwright 

Age: 24

Pronouns: she/her

Background: Hidden Mage (-1 Cost)

Magic

Stats: 1 Power, 1 Discipline, 2 Cost

Name: “The Giver”

Description: 

Gina’s magic is a form of manifestation, or perhaps fortune-altering. Her magic, when imbued into an object, gives the wearer the thing they most need when they are faced with danger of any sort. For those facing bankruptcy, gold may fall into their lap from an unknown source. For those facing a terminal illness, it may improve enough to give them a fighting chance, or dull the pain enough so that they can cross items off of their bucket list and give proper farewells to their families if they have had enough time living. If one is harmed, it can give them what they need to escape the situation. Although she is limited in what she can do right now, and the results are mostly minor, they work well in a pinch. However, she can never give these gifts to herself- only to others. In addition, since she has 1 power, each item may only be used once, after which it still retains the “magical” appearance, but cannot perform miracles any longer. 

However, Gina does not truly know the true extent of her gift. She believes that her magic relates to increased telekinesis and crafting of moving jewelry and metalwork, and does not know about the gift-giving aspects. Her magic is able to provide some slight magical appearances when imbued- perhaps a slight glow, or the ability to move on its own (powered by the wearer’s telekinesis, usually), or perhaps the appearance of images, though hazy and immaterial and probably just imagined. When the “gift” fades from the object, it can retain these magical effects, but they are mostly created by the imbuing process and the touch of magic on the object through hours of work.

Costs: 

• Magic use fatigues the caster: After imbuing her works with her magic, Gina usually needs to rest for multiple hours. She can work on setting jewels or sculpting metal for a non-magical project, but is practically unable to access her magic. 
• Magic takes a long time or requires a lengthy ceremony to cast: Rather than imbuing her objects with spells and being done with it, the gifts Gina gives are imbued through the crafting of the object. Because her works are intricate and detailed, it may take days or weeks, depending on the object’s complexity, to craft and imbue them. 

Personality and History

Personality:

Generally well-liked and respected despite her mage status, Gina is kind and compassionate and utterly devoted to her work. She cares for her family, and is protective of their image and their lives alike. Ambitious when trying to improve but not towards gaining power, and a dutiful daughter, aunt, cousin, and friend to those in her family, most would consider Gina a blessing in disguise.

However, she is very disguised when working with her family. She is overly humble and modest, and struggles with praise. Incredibly shy and anxious around crowds, she flounders in social situations and can rarely make her voice heard. As a result, much of her family tends to speak for her, and they do not always align with what Gina actually wants. Naive and overly trusting, she tends to take words literally, and has found herself burned by those who did not have her best interests at heart- whether maliciously or otherwise- before, and will likely do so again. 

Though once cheerful and humorous, and often the bubbliest member of her family, once her social anxiety was discovered and her family turned smothering, those traits were lost. She is now reserved and quiet, and tries her best to be invisible. She wants recognition for her troubles, but is often overlooked. Even still,she aims to please, and will give all of her heart to something she wants, even if it causes her pain. (237)

History:

TW: Panic attacks, improper response to mental illness

The Arkwrights had long been known as superior crafters. Though their interests were varied, with some going into jewelcrafting, others into metalworking and some into armoring, tailoring, or weaving, one thing unites them- their creativity and love for their work. They had long been known as a well-respected non-mage family- so when Gina was born, her lovely little horn resting on her forehead, the family was surprised. Surprised, and afraid. What would having a mage amongst them mean for them? Would the mageling be forced to stay away from the crafts? Would they be turned over to the Order? Would they have to remain hidden all their life?

One thing was for certain, though- she was one of theirs, related by blood, and they would still love her. 

For a cousin, Mira’s, fourth birthdays, the family- sans Gina and her mother, Alessandra, the former too young to travel and the latter needed to care for the child- traveled into Faline proper (most lived on the outskirts, with only those running the store living in the heart of the city) to see the Troupe d’Arcadia perform. The wondrous movements of the dancers, the skilled paintings of the painters, the incredible smells and tastes of the cooks- it delighted and amazed them. But there were signs of unrest within the troupe- children with unwanted wings, horns, and other fantastical markings of magic were shunned, set off to the side. The Arkwrights could see their eyes, see in them how they longed to be a part of the Troupe, but were set aside due to their magic. 

When asked, the Troupe members were nonchalant. Yes, they were loved members of the family, and were treated well. But their looks and magic made them unacceptable members of the main troupe, and so they were relegated to lesser things. The whole point of the Troupe d’Arcadia was to show off the talents of non-mages; why would mages be allowed to steal their thunder? 

The Arkwright matriarch, Cloe, mourned inwardly. The Troupe could not see the harm they were doing to those poor children, to separate them so, and make them lesser for something that was not their fault. They said they loved them, but they did not show it in their actions. She swore then and there that the Arkwrights would not be like the Troupe d’Arcadia. If she wished, little Gina would be allowed to participate in any aspect of the craft, so long as it was an Arkwright who taught her, in order to protect her from the Order’s clutches. 

Gina never knew any of this, never remembered the tension in the family from her younger years. All she knew was that she was loved and cherished, and perhaps spoiled a touch too much. Her life was her own, and she was protected and loved just like any other Arkwright. When she turned seven, she began to learn the crafts of her family, settling eventually into jewelcraft and metalwork. Though originally crude- as was the art of any child- her creativity shone through, and with hard work and effort, she improved. 

At thirteen, she was working her way up to be the best of the family, already among the top of the middling members- a feat for one of her age. She poured her heart and soul into those works, and one day, it clicked. Something inside her came alive, and with the final polish of a necklace, it became something more- something inherently magical. Though none knew for sure what the magic was, as it did not glow or move or do anything particularly special, every Arkwright agreed- it held something within it that made it magical, and wondrous, and that would make Gina the best craftsman of all. 

At fifteen, she had improved so much in her art that, for the first time, she was to join the members of the main shop for the first time. It would not be permanent- only for a week or two, so that she could gain practice selling her wares, and with her mother in tow- but it was the youngest an Arkwright had ever made the journey. She brought her finest wares- earrings that spun on their own, powered by the wearer’s telekinesis, although unknowingly; a pendant that seemed to glow with an inner light; a set of tiny wind chimes that stirred themselves to song on some unknown wind. Each was magical, and the family believed Gina’s belief- that her magic was just the ability to powerfully imbue something with magic, to give it a small, but gold-worthy, effect. A good power for a crafter, but not one that would require much training or a trip to the Order, and certainly not one that would bring about much other than wonder. 

But when she arrived… it was too much. Arriving at the shop at night helped to ease the stirrings of unease within Gina, but when daylight dawned, and people crowded around, she could not breathe. Her heart launched itself into her throat, her limbs locked up, and spasms, however tiny, wracked her body. Her mother tried to calm her- “it is alright, sweet girl, be brave-” but not even the slightest of squeaks could leave her tightened throat. She could not move, could not speak, could not breathe,  could not think. 

She ran from the shop, out into the world, and found it worse. Her mind spiraled downwards into a well of panic and fear, and she tore through the streets, searching for quiet, for calm, for the lack of these monster-faced individuals who tried to stop her, tried to capture her. It was too much, too much!

They found her hours later in an alley, sobbing and shaking with terror amongst a pile of refuse. She babbled nonsense, barely understandable due to the tears clogging her throat, the ragged breaths and sobs. After a day of rest in the living portions of the shop, she was shipped home, her wares left behind for the others to sell. 

Though not a word was said to Gina about her incident, she could feel the sadness and fear of her family. Was something wrong with their shining star? Had her magic warped her brain in some way, to make her easily frightened? A doctor was called, a mage that still terrified the poor girl, even with only one new face. His insight into her mind left them with a new diagnosis- severe social anxiety. He said that, given what he discovered from the halting interview and the gentle proddings of his magic against her mind, she had panicked when faced with new faces, new experiences, and even the fear of being seen by others who were not her family. It was not something that could be cured- only treated, and even then there was no guarantee that it would ever improve to the point that she would feel comfortable in new spaces, or selling her own wares. 

In response to this diagnosis, the family swore that they would speak up for Gina. She would have others advocate on her behalf, would attend therapy and take the herbal remedies the doctor had prescribed. They loved her, and would care for her- but their care turned smothering. Gina’s wants were repressed behind a wall of adults saying that they knew best. The medicines did little, the therapy less. Gina panicked at any change in her situation, and could only rarely overcome it enough to whisper a few words at a time, looking down and away from the source of the panic, the fear. She wanted to improve, to get better, but her family would not listen. To them, being able to speak sometimes during a panic attack was a great improvement- surely that meant that the treatments were working, and that nothing better could be done. The doctor had said that it would never be cured- perhaps this was the best that Gina could be. 

Her cries for relief, for them to just listen, fell on deaf ears. In time, she stopped trying.

So she withdrew. Her work was her life, and she continued to pour her heart and soul, her quiet grief, into her pieces. Her family may be smothering her, but they were trying, and deep down she knew that they really, truly cared- but like the Troupe d’Arcadia, they could not see the harm they were doing. Still, she would not let her family down. She would try harder, and do better, and push herself to make pieces that would sell well. She heard nothing of the rumors of sudden windfalls of luck for those who had bought her pieces, and neither did the Arkwrights- but still, her work became valued and treasured, and many flocked to buy the pieces made by an unseen craftsman in hopes that they, too, would be blessed with luck when they needed it most. 

And then the Archon took over. The Witchfinders spread like some horrible plague, all over Ivras. Mages, who had done nothing wrong and were of no threat, were arrested, transported to Namarast, and left to rot. Few, if any, came home. Afraid of what could happen to poor Gina- poor anxious, sheltered, unable to handle new situations Gina- the family bound tightly together. 

Gina was protected at all costs. She could not leave the Arkwright home- even if she practically couldn’t, anyways- could not be seen in public, could not be seen anywhere, even at home, without using her basic shapeshifting to hide her horn. The smothering became unbearable, and worse, they no longer trusted the therapist, and feared that Gina’s travels to and from would lead to her being captured and carted away. One of the things that made her anxiety more tolerable- if only slightly- was gone. All that was left was the useless herbs, and the smothering became even worse. 

It was unbearable. She was drowning, drowning in some rapid river, covered in foam- and her family was pushing her head beneath the waves, all in the name of protecting her.

But then came hope. A Court- not royal, not wild, but one of mages. The Mage Court, an organization for protecting mages, and opposing the Archon’s reach. This organization could be a lifeline for mages, could help them rise up and keep the Archon from reaching past her limits. It was necessary, and brave for those mages- and Gina knew she had to do something. 

The first time she snuck out, wrapped in a dark cloak, it took all she had to keep the panic at bay. She sat in an alley, her limbs shaking, eyes on the cobblestones below her, ears wide open and listening to a speaker preach about mages’ rights. It resonated with her- and she needed to do something more. 

But what could she do? She certainly couldn’t speak for them, or go into situations with new things and danger. She would be a hindrance, not a help, and could be captured and sent to Namarast. What would she do then? Would she fall apart in captivity, unable to reach even the medication? No- she could not do that. She would not do that- for all their faults, her family loved her, and would be heartbroken if she was gone. She knew that they would tear Ivras apart to find her, would spend every cent they had if it meant that Gina was brought home. She could not hurt her family like that.

But she could supply the movement. 

Her output of work increased exponentially. Some pieces she sold, keeping a bit of money that was hers from their sale to herself, and sending the rest on as donations. Some pieces she gave to them herself, so that they could do what was necessary with them. Sell them, keep them, use them as bribes- for by now she had heard the rumors that her pieces were more than just pretty things. She didn’t believe the rumors, of course, but if her pieces brought luck- even if by the placebo effect- the movement needed it. She was not yet in a place where she could join them in person- so these pieces, these bits of funds, would have to be enough. 

She could only hope that it was enough. 

(2054)