Told the mages order I would work on my casting, but I didn't say which kind!

At first and even second glance, Beryl may appear no more than a simple fisherman from a small sleepy fishing village. Most would never guess him to be a mage. He certainly wields no celestial powers nor raging inferno. And yet there is something about him, that easy-going smile, that readiness to talk with whoever comes his way. It draws others in, like fish to an enticing lure... at the fisherman's mercy. 

fish pagedoll by Snagglteeth

Personality

Amicable and easygoing, Beryl oozes small-town rustic hospitality, willing to talk to anyone and offer a friendly smile. He is happy to listen or offer his opinion as needed. He takes things in stride and easily adapts to new situations. 

Curious and full of wonder, Beryl revels in the natural world, especially the aquatic realm. With an almost childlike wonder, he seeks new places and new experiences. He has no problem appearing ignorant if he can ask the questions that will answer his questions. It can come off as naivety to some, to others, it is a joy for life.

Alluring in the way one is captivated and drawn to the edge of clear running water to peer into its depths. It seems to be a passive side effect of his magic ability that is always active. He is aware he has an enticing aura to others and tries very hard not to take advantage of it. It can be difficult to distinguish who is influenced solely by his magic and who is genuinely interested in him. 

Beryl wields his magic with clever ingenuity. Perhaps it is because his magic isn’t all that strong by itself or needs precision and works on a very small range, Beryl has been forced to adapt and find clever uses for the application of his magic. He is quick to read a situation and gauge what lure to use or how best to use the surroundings to his advantage. His affinity and speed in water gives him a significant advantage in such a setting. 

The hippocampus is charitable and big-hearted often springing to help others before thinking of himself. His willingness to help others in need could be taken as naivety or perhaps taken advantage. It may be the result of his upbringing in a small community, but he is happy to help others down on their luck. 

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History

Beryl was born and raised in Shipmouth Quay, a sleepy backwater fishing village along the Nymene coast. A place known for three things: fish, the Hoseki Lighthouse, and fish. Surrounded by pine trees, the village was small with an aging population, but it was a tight-knit community that revolved around fishing. Some of Beryl’s first memories consist of him accompanying his father on his fishing boat, the Kingfisher, setting the nets, and then hauling the resulting catch to market. From then on, Beryl spent more days on the water than on land, working long hours on his father’s little boat or working with a crew on some of the larger boats that would travel far out to sea. The other fishermen said Beryl brought good luck and always vied with each other to have the young lad working aboard their vessels. Like many in Shipmouth Quay, Beryl lived, dreamed, and breathed fish. It didn’t bother the young hippocampus, whenever he got free time, he would spend it fishing along the coast or the inland mountain streams. Sometimes he would disappear for days during the salmon run and return with enough fish to feed the entire village. 

As he grew into his teenage years, he found his interests began to shift outside the village. Occasionally, ships- real ships, great sailing vessels would shelter in the quay. Beryl would marvel up at their masts as tall as pine trees, and he would hang around the bars and listen to their captains tell tales of distant places. Some even spoke of fish Beryl had never even dreamed of. Each time the ship’s captain would take notice of Beryl and offer him a job, which he would politely decline, saying he needed to stay and help his old man. He had always been content in the knowledge that one day he would take over his father’s boat and haul in nets for the rest of his life. But now he spent more and more time looking at maps and imagining the places the sailors spoke of. The next time one of those great ships moored to the docks and Beryl was offered a job aboard, he accepted it eagerly. His father, however, was not pleased with the news, and for the first time, the two got into a shouting match. The next morning Beryl watched the ship pull out of the quay without him. 

From then on, tensions between them were taught as a fishing line caught on a rock. Beryl’s father became short-tempered and took to his liquor again like he had right after Beryl’s mother had left. It didn’t help that the seas had turned sour. Fishing nets turned up nothing day after day; kelp forests and reefs that once teemed with shoals of fish now offered up nothing but seaweed. The village’s fleet of little ships were forced further and further out to see just to bring in enough to feed everyone. 

Late one night, Beryl was shaken from sleep by his father who urgently explained they needed to get the boat out, a school of squid had been spotted just offshore. Groggy and still resentful of his father’s decision to keep him tied down, Beryl rolled towards the wall. “Leave them for the morning. Can’t you hear the wind? There’s a storm blowing in.” He grumbled before falling back asleep. Thunder shook the cottage jarring the young fisherman awake. The windowpanes rattled in the wind and driving rain. His father’s oil lantern and raincoat were gone. Beryl rushed outside into the storm to find a distressed crowd huddled against the storm near the docks. There Beryl learned a fleet of seven boats set out a few hours ago to chase the squid. None had returned yet, and the storm was only worsening. A group of young lads had been sent to the lighthouse using the beam of light to sweep across the frothing waves. Grabbing his fishing rod firmly, Beryl dove into the sea. Despite the rough surf, with immense effort, he was able to get out to Flotsam Rock, a small rock that protruded out of the waves about two miles from the coastline. Once there, he used his remaining strength to cast his line as far out to sea as he could, imbuing the lure with as much of his will as possible. A beacon calling the lost fishermen home. For hours, Beryl stood shivering as the wind subsided and the waves calmed. Finally, the roving spotlight fixed on something far out in the waves. Three boats, all with their lanterns drowned, their captains inexplicably drawn in the direction of Shipmouth Quay until they could see the gleam of the lighthouse. Beryl had reeled them in from the featureless darkness. But there was no sign of Beryl’s father. Beryl cast his line again and waited. He watched shoals of bioluminescent squid swim in circles around the enticing little lure, even a pod of whales was drawn to it, but no other ships. Daylight saw an exhausted Beryl drag himself up onto the docks, where several villagers wrapped him up in warm blankets. Thanks to him, three boats and their crews had survived. 

Over the next few months, broken pieces of the lost fishing boats washed up on the beaches around the village. Someone in the village found splintered plank that still bore the lovingly painted moniker, Kingfisher. Beryl took the piece of wood. A reminder of his father, just like the rest of their driftwood ramshackle home. The next time a merchant ship pulled into the tiny harbor, Beryl joined its crew. He promised those he left behind he would return to Shipmouth Quay, but not for a long time. 

For the next two years, Beryl made a living as a sailor on various vessels and became familiar with the continent's port cities. It was a captain of one of the ships Beryl served on who noticed he might have magic abilities and suggested the lad visit the magic schools in Namarast. Intrigued, Beryl made his way there, more interested in seeing the fabled mage city than anything else. He enrolled in formal magic education and learned to control his magic to imbue lures with aspects of others' magic. However, his magic was deemed weak and unconventional, on top of that, Beryl was far older than the other students and seemed an unpromising asset. After about a year of schooling, Beryl was professionally but firmly turned away with a strong recommendation he stick to a trade school. He didn’t mind much, he had read the extent of the local libraries' books on ichthyology anyway. 

Turned loose on Ivras, Beryl has decided to see what exploration of the interior holds, though he finds himself repeatedly pulled back to the edges of the sea or the rushing of rivers. 

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