Is there anything else you want done?
It's actually never really ever dark in the winter. When the moon hits the snow, bam, you can see for miles. It's actually darker during the summer months. Sorry, can't help it, it's my inner-Canadian bursting through :BBut yeah, I get what you mean. A frigid, harsh race with little care for anyone but themselves. That would fit the Tuath Dé pretty well, I think, especially the higher noble houses. The Aos Sí are more the gentle caregivers of the land.
Well, the Aos Sí come from a southern province, they could be summer? The Tuath Dé hail from a northern one, so maybe winter?
See you. I'll send anything I finish tonight for your approval.
Okay, I can start working on sub-species, if that's all right? I can send you the completed info so you can add them to the threads.
All right. Would you like me to start working on location threads, or information ones?
I think it would be best to go with that. It could even create a small sub-plot where someone needs to seek out one of these ancient fae.
If you were to estimate, how many Trods would you say are in each realm?
I guess you right, lol. Vampires and Shifters are doomed to be forever apart.
Hmm, that sounds interesting. It would mean that there would be a limit to how many times a person could travel between realms, right? I wouldn't imagine that be a problem for the shorter-lived species, but for the ones that lived for centuries, it would certainly be something they'd need to think about.
Well, there wouldn't be any fun if all the realms go along, that's for sure. How about this: (+ realms are peace, = realms are in a cold war, so to speak, -realms are at war)
(view spoiler)[Angelic
-Faery
+Human(?)
=Vampire
-Shifter
Faery
-Angelic
+Vampire
=Shifter
=Human
Vampire
+Shifter
+Faery
=Angelic
-Human
Shifter
+Vampire
=Faery
-Angelic
+Human (hide spoiler)]Thoughts?
I don't know about the travel. I read a few books where people would travel between realms via cairns, but I'm drawing a blank on anything else, lol.
So is there anything specific you want me to work on? I can start putting together some information.
● ʟíᴀᴅᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴄ ɴᴜᴀʟʟáɴ ●
“ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴀs ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ.
ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴀs ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ.”
— ᴍᴀʜᴀᴛᴍᴀ ɢᴀɴᴅʜɪ
(view spoiler)[ ● ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ●
● ғᴜʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ● Líadan Mac Nuallán
● ʙʏɴᴀᴍᴇs ● Kit, Kit of the Mac Nuallán, Wilding of the Mac Cnáimhín
● ʙɪʀᴛʜ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs ●
● ᴀɢᴇ ● 167
● ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴀɢᴇ ● 19
● ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ● September 4th, 1847
● ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ● Mag Mell
● ʙᴀsɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs ●
● ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ● Female
● sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ● Fae of the Tuath Dé
● sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ● Asexual
● ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ sᴛᴀᴛᴜs ● Betrothed [Open]
● ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ●
● ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ● Chlöe Howl
(view spoiler)[○ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇxɪᴏɴ ○ Fair
○ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ○ Ginger
○ ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ○ Brown
○ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ○ Athletic (hide spoiler)]
● ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ●
●ᴀғғᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ ●ᴄᴏɴғɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ●ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴀʙʟᴇ ●ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴛ ●ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ●sᴛᴜʙʙᴏʀɴ ●
● ᴀғғᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ ● Though many would doubt the claim that the bold warrior was capable of any form of affection, it is very much the truth. Despite the cold figure she cuts, Kit's love runs deep, and she is hardly afraid to express her affections to those she holds dear. While it can be difficult to worm your way into her heart, once you're there, you'll never be forgotten.
● ᴄᴏɴғɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ● There has never been a time when Kit has doubted her abilities. Never having lacked confidence, Kit is self-assured and positive in her capabilities to do what needs to be done. You will nary find a time where Kit is mired in self-doubt, it just isn't in her nature. Unruffled even in the most harsh of situations, her confidence gives her a poise many of her companions lack.
● ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴀʙʟᴇ ● Steadfast in her loyalty, you could find no better shield-sister to guard your side. As faithful as any hound, she would guard those she trusts to the death, and would gladly sacrifice herself for those she holds dear. To her, there is no greater honor than helping those who need it.
● ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴛ ● Like her mother, Kit's independent streak runs a mile wide. Ever has she been willful, determined to do things on her own and without the meddling hands of her parents. Her cunning determination to be reliant on no one but herself has landed her in more than a few spots of trouble, but she gladly accepts the punishments that come.
● ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ● Having spent many of her years in soldier's barracks, Kit has developed a rather coarse personality. Long gone is the polished maiden her father sought to perfect, and in its place is a foul-mouthed soldier capable of ribbing alongside the most vulgar of individuals. She's also developed a rather prickly side, quick to temper and even quicker to blows.
● sᴛᴜʙʙᴏʀɴ ● Like her father, Kit is as stubborn as a mule. It is one of the many reasons why the clash so often and with such violence. With each mired in their belief, it is nearly impossible to get them to agree on a subject.
● ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ● Kit is, without a doubt, a person determined to forge her own path through life. She has little patience for the desires others may have for her life, and wants nothing more than to break out of the gender-based roles fae society dictates.
When deep in thought or conversation, Kit often displays a habit of smoothing a finger along and eyebrow, or raking a hand through her hair. When displayed, she often purses and licks her lips, and often bites the inside of her cheek. She is oblivious to these habits, and vehemently denies having any form of tell.
Like her grandfather before her, Kit is fond of gardening. Even so far from her Clan's homeland, she has brought and cultivated a few small plants native to the north, keeping them alive through gentle care. She takes great pride in them, and finds a simple form of joy in caring for them.
Like any good sword, Kit enjoys sharpening her mind. She devours books one after another, absorbing information like a sponge and ever thirsting for more. Most of her time off is spent pouring over the texts offered in the ancient fae libraries, learning as much as possible in so few of hours.
In the years she has spent in the Royal Guard, Kit has sustained many injuries in the name of the realm. One particularly grievous wound was sustained to her right hand, when a man broke four out of five of her fingers. As a result, her fingers are stiff and difficult to move, and she often experiences pain in them during the colder months.
Kit fears little, but ever is she afraid of losing those she loves. She would sooner lay herself down to die than see another member of her family disappear from her life, and is fiercely protective of what she has left. Other than that, she is afraid of sustaining any more damage to her hands, and is sickened by the thought of it.
● ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ●
Born in the southernmost part of the northern province of Mag Mell, Kit was raised far from the "barbaric" northerners that were her mother's kin. As the eldest daughter of the Mac Nuallán Clan head, much of her younger years were spent learning to maneuver and manipulate the world of politics.
For all of her father's strict lessons, Kit was never the delicate maiden he wished her to be. She had far too much northerner blood in her for that. With more akin to the wild Mac Cnáimhín than that of the illustrious Mac Nuallán, she was ever her mother's daughter.
Whereas her father taught her how to manipulate the many social circles of the fae elite, her mother taught her the art of the battlefield. From her, she learned the dance of the sword, the thrust of the spear, and the stance of the shield. Her father hardly approved, but she took to it with a passion she had rarely displayed for anything else.
From her parents, she learned to play both charming diplomat and bold warrior, and oftentimes felt split by the contrasting persona's. It only grew worse as she passed into womanhood, wherein her father began to pressure her with matches suitable in only gaining their Clan more prestige. Her mother, thankfully, averted the worse of it, and began to pull strings of her own.
Instead of having her wed to a faceless noble, her mother had her sent to the seat of fae power, the renowned capital, home to the King and Queen themselves. Here, she was placed as a city guard alongside the snot-nosed brats of other lordlings. It wasn't long before she rose to the top, a protégé among the lazy and corrupt.
By her hundredth year, she was promoted to the Royal Guard, an honour amongst honours. Her mother's pride was the true reward, however, and Kit was determined to make her even prouder.
At home, however, things weren't going quite so well. Word from the north spoke of a plague ravaging the ranks of the lowborn, devastating the remote towns and villages of the north. Her father insisted that the Mac Nuallán would not get involved, lest they bring the disease to the more civilized south, but ever was her mother a Mac Cnáimhín. She would not sit by as her Clansmen died, and was adamant she needed no approval on her husbands part.
It took three years, and many, many deaths, but the plague was eventually cured. Among the deaths Kit's mother and eldest brother, who had spent so many months helping her ailing brothers and sisters. Kit grieved long and hard, but as is the way of the young, she surpassed it and continued on.
Without her mother's manipulations, however, it was not long before her father had begun hounding her to find a man. A much desired match due to her prestige and proven abilities, many were eager to pair her with their sons. She had no interest nor desire to find a mate, but her complaints and desires fell on deaf ears.
Within two decades, her father had found her the perfect match, and she was doomed to give up all that she has worked for to play the pretty wife of some fat lordling. It is something she is bitter about, but is resigned to do. Until then, she will enjoy her position with the Royal Guard.
● ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀs ᴏʀ sᴋɪʟʟs ●
Like her parents before her, Kit has excelled both in diplomacy and combat, though she by far prefers the latter. She is considered an expert in combat, and a pride to all her former tutors. In short, her skills include, but are not limited too, the following:
○ One-Handed Combat
○ Blocking (Shield)
○ Speech (Persuasion)
○ Archery
○ Mathematics
(view spoiler)[ ● ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ●
● ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ●
○ Bébinn Mac Nuallán (née Mac Cnáimhín), mother (deceased)
○ Cathán Mac Nuallán, father
○ Faolán Mac Nuallán, brother (deceased)
○ Lonán Mac Nuallán, brother
○ Sadb Mac Taidhg (née Mac Cnáimhín), aunt
● ᴠᴀʟᴜᴀʙʟᴇ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴏɴs ● One of the few things she possesses that she values above all else is her mother's spear. Given to her when she made the Royal Guard, it is the one thing she takes pride in owning. Other than that, she has a few simple baubles she treasures for various reasons, including a doll given to her by her deceased elder brother.
● ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ ● As is tradition, Kit was raised to worship the Old Gods recognized by the the Tuath Dé. She strictly holds to the beliefs of her people, and can be considered devoted to her religion.
● ᴀᴄᴄᴇɴᴛ ● If her pronunciation of words were to be compared to a human region, it would be said that it most resembles an Irish accent. (hide spoiler)] (hide spoiler)]
● ᴇᴏɪɴ ᴛᴡɪᴄᴇ-sʟʏ ●
“sᴜᴄᴄᴇss ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ғɪɴᴀʟ, ғᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ғᴀᴛᴀʟ:
ɪᴛ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛs.”
— ᴡɪɴsᴛᴏɴ ᴄʜᴜʀᴄʜɪʟʟ
(view spoiler)[ ● ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ●
● ғᴜʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ● Eoin Mac Cnáimhín
● ʙʏɴᴀᴍᴇs ● Twice-Sly, Lie-Smith, Fox-Thief
● ʙɪʀᴛʜ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs ●
● ᴀɢᴇ ● 872
● ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴀɢᴇ ● 34
● ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ● October 22nd, 1142
● ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ● Mag Mell
● ʙᴀsɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs ●
● ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ● Male
● sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ● Fae of the Tuath Dé
● sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ● Bisexual
● ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ sᴛᴀᴛᴜs ● Widowed [Open]
● ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ●
● ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ● Peter Eggers
(view spoiler)[○ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇxɪᴏɴ ○ Fair
○ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ○ Ginger
○ ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ○ Grey
○ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ○ Athletic (hide spoiler)]
● ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ●
●ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜs ●ᴏʙsᴇʀᴠᴀɴᴛ ●ᴘᴇʀsᴜᴀsɪᴠᴇ ●ᴄᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ●ᴅᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs ●ᴘʀɪᴅᴇғᴜʟ ●
● ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜs ● More often than not, Eoin's curiosity has gotten him into trouble. Like a crow after a shiny bauble, Eoin will not leave a thing be until his interest has been completely filled and lulled into a slumber.
● ᴏʙsᴇʀᴠᴀɴᴛ ● There is very little that escapes Eoin's awareness. Having honed his vigilance to a keen edge, he can all too easily pick on the flaws and insecurities of others, playing them to his own means.
● ᴘᴇʀsᴜᴀsɪᴠᴇ ● If ever there was a person gifted with a silver-tongue, Eoin is he. As eloquent and smoothly spoken as he is cunning and deceitful, he has charmed his way through much of his life. There are few with the wit to see the glinting steel behind his suggestive smiles, or the poison soaking through his velvet-coated words.
● ᴄᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ● It is a well-known truth that Eoin is as wily as a fox, gifted in a cruel cunning and a shrewd intelligence. For Eoin, achieving his means through subtle half-truths and well-spun lies is as natural to him as breathing, and he has nary a regret for all the harm he's caused with his sly tongue.
● ᴅᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs ● Morals and ethics have never been high on Eoin's list of concerns. He is wicked and dishonorable, concerned first and foremost with himself, and will hardly shirk from killing to fulfill his many schemes. Shady in the best of sense, Eoin is treacherous and secretive, trusting in no one but himself.
● ᴘʀɪᴅᴇғᴜʟ ● Vain doesn't even begin to cover it. Of all his flaws, pride is his crippling one, his selfishness and vanity knowing no bounds. As such, he is quick-tempered and believes himself right above all others.
● ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ● Eoin has ever been a rogue, and he has taken more than a fair bit of pride in that fact. He is daring and cruel where a fae of his age should be calm and reserved, far from being respectable in a traditional sense.
When idle, Eoin is rather fidgety, often snapping, tapping, and rubbing his fingers. It is a nervous tell, one he's tried to squash out, but it would seem that his fingers have a mind of their own. When irritated or frustrated, he often clenches his jaw to the point of pain.
Eoin is not the sort to maintain a hobby, but he has a noted fondness of block puzzles, usually carrying several different ones with him. They're a way to keep his hands busy, and he enjoys the challenge of solving ever more difficult ones.
Alongside his block puzzles, Eoin has a fondness of tea. While much of his associates prefer a stronger drink to finish their evenings, Eoin likes nothing more than settling down with a cup of tea and his journal to record his day. It was how he and his wife ended their nights for the two hundred years they were wed.
Eoin also enjoys physical exercise. He has spent much of his life training his body, and devotes his spare time to maintaining his condition. One of the few times you'll find him truly at rest is when he settles to read or write, a privilege he has grown to enjoy in recent years.
In his younger years, Eoin fell from a roof and did serious damage to both his knees. With the left being worse than his right, it is an injury that has haunted him much of his life. They often trouble him with pain, and are weaker than they should be. Eoin is also missing the ring finger on his right hand.
While he would deny ever been afraid of anything, Eoin has a crippling fear of dogs. The result of a childhood trauma, he won't even thieve from a house that has dogs on the premises. Other than that, the only thing that could be said is that Eoin is a highly superstitious being, with all the fears and phobias that come with it.
● ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ●
Like a favoured childhood toy, many of Eoin's memories have grown tattered and worn, faded and warped beyond repair by the passage of time. A gradual process suffered by many who have lived as long as he, he has since recorded the events of his life as he remembers them in small journals, windows to ever-waning memories.
Born in the northern province of Mag Mell, Eoin was raised far from the political turmoil and strife that shaped much of his mother's younger life. They lead a simple existence, his mother trading her basic healing skills for whatever supplies they may have needed.
Eoin never knew his father, nor did his mother ever give mention of him or his clan. It was something that gave him much grief as a child, when the other children of the village spat and scorned, but something that grew faded with the passage of adolescence. As he grew, he learned that pride could be found in being a man of Mac Cnáimhín.
As he passed from child to man, Eoin slowly wandered farther and farther from his mother's hearth, until the day came when he no longer returned at all. He possessed a restless soul, and could only feel content with the dirt of the road beneath his boots.
It is of little surprise he took to thieving. With his charm and sly wit, it was all too easy to relieve the wealthy of their many trinkets. It was not an easy life, but one he thoroughly enjoyed, even if it meant the occasional lashing or period of jail time.
Eoin met Caoimhe in one of the many taverns littering the roads leading to and from the sprawling fae cities. She was a gentle soul, soft edges and kind words where he was bitter and harsh, his cutting tongue dulled by her mere presence.
It wasn't long before he found excuses to stop at the small village she called home, to ply her with sweet wildflowers and even sweeter words. He refused to call it love, but it was damn well close. With her, he was content to abandon the road he had so long called home.
They wedded within three years, a scandalous amount of time for the long-lived fae, whose courting could last decades, if not centuries. They did not care. They knew they had found the other they could spend the rest of their lives with, and saw no reason to dance around the matter. In truth, though, Eoin's silver tongue may have had something to do with the speedy wedding.
Though he did not give up all his roguish ways, Eoin traveled less when wedded. He was content to spend the winters at her side, and only ever left to thieve in the warmer months. She didn't approve, of course, but settled with the fact that it was just in his nature to be a scoundrel.
They were together less than two centuries when everything came crashing down. Caoimhe was strong in spirit, but weak in body, as sickly as she was cheerful. When she grew with pregnancy, she declined rapidly, and when the birthing came, it stole both her and their babe.
The grief that stole over his heart is something that still lingers to this day. Without his wife, he was a ship without harbour, and he found himself wandering roads no fae had traveled in centuries. It took him decades to recover himself, and even then he was not wholly the same. Crueler, his tongue honed to a razor's edge, there was little kindness to be found in his heart.
Since his wife's passing, he has devoted himself completely to the seedy underworld of the fae cities. There is hardly a heist that goes unplanned without his dabbling, a murder done without his approval. He has risen to be one of the most respected fae in the underworld, his skills sought after for both thieving and assassination.
● ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀs ᴏʀ sᴋɪʟʟs ●
Eoin never inherited his mother's skill in healing, nor his clans abilities in other arcane arts. His skills lie first and foremost in the physical realm. Most of his skills would and are considered criminal, from his ability to turn any luck, to his exact knowledge as to where to place a dagger to make a man's death as painful as it is certain. In short, his skills include, but are not limited to, the following:
○ Lockpicking
○ Pickpocketing
○ Unarmed Combat
○ Stealth
○ Speech
(view spoiler)[ ● ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ●
● ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ●
○ Siofra Mac Cnáimhín, mother
○ Caoimhe Mac Cnáimhín (née Mac Duinn), wife (deceased)
○ Cian Mac Cnáimhí, cousin
○ Dubhán Mac Cnáimhí, uncle
● ᴠᴀʟᴜᴀʙʟᴇ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴏɴs ● Perhaps due to his life as a thief, Eoin has rarely formed attachment to material goods. He keeps few possessions, and can carry them all in a small pouch. One of these things is his mother's token, a small carved fox made for him when he was still a child, meant to bring him luck. He still keeps his and Caoimhe's weddings bands, wearing the rings on a long chain about his neck.
● ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ ● As is tradition, Eoin was raised to worship the Old Gods recognized by the the Tuath Dé. While he is not fervently religious, he still holds to the practices of his people.
● ᴀᴄᴄᴇɴᴛ ● If his pronunciation of words were to be compared to a human region, it would be said that it most resembles an Irish accent. (hide spoiler)] (hide spoiler)]
Is there different forms of fae, or are they all the winged sort?
ɪɢɴᴀᴛɪᴜs’s
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(group member since Oct 22, 2014)
