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𝗖𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗛
𝐴𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑙𝑜𝑟, 𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒, 𝐿𝑒𝑠𝑏𝑖𝑎𝑛, 𝑇𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦-𝑇𝑤𝑜
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei has smooth, deep olive skin with a soft, sun-warmed undertone, and sharp, bright yellow eyes. Her long, light brown hair is thick and silky, often twisted up into a cute, low-maintenance top-bun that gives her a playful charm or left down in delicate waves framing her face. There’s an effortlessness to how she looks, confident but never showy.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Among her jewelry—black metal rings, silver chains, or dark piercings—there’s one piece that never changes: the old orange and pink woven bracelet tied tight around her wrist. Though it's ragged from time, she takes care to keep it from fraying more than it already has. It’s the last thing her sister ever gave her, and Ceonrei wears it religiously.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei is spirited and bold in a way that draws people in. She exudes warmth without crossing into overbearing cheerfulness. There’s a steadiness in the way she listens, the way she roots herself in a conversation, making people feel like they matter. Her loyalty runs deep and permanent, and while she gives that love freely to those who’ve earned it, she can be dangerously indifferent to anyone outside her circle. When Ceonrei cares, she cares. But when she doesn’t? You’ll feel the chill. Her protectiveness is both her most beloved trait and her most dangerous one.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Though seen as unorthodox for a Councilor, even in Asterath, Ceonrei deeply embraces creativity and openness rather than rigidity and tradition. She leads with compassion, humor, and a genuine desire to connect with Asterath’s citizens. But she isn’t naive—her views are shaped by trauma, grief, and a sharp memory of injustice. She doesn’t always think about the bigger picture if the people she loves are at risk. That tunnel vision can make her reckless, but it’s also what keeps her human. She has an innate ability to inspire trust in others, even when she herself is doubting everything behind the scenes.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She is not quick to anger—but when she breaks, she breaks. Petty insults or basic slander don’t bother her, but the second someone threatens her loved ones or dismisses what she’s built from the ground up, the things she knows she exceeds in, she is very quick to anger. Those close to her know that any fury from her is born from heartbreak, from the guilt she still carries every day, and from the unspoken truth that she sometimes feels she did deserve her mother’s rage.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei loves dancing under neon lights, darting through the market alleys, rooftop strolls above the city noise. She adores the familiar comfort of fizzly drinks with her father, and long, meandering walks with her grandfather. She finds joy in street art, vintage jackets, soft instrumental music, and the joyous laughter of a child.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei has no patience for elitism or classism, especially in Voxthain citizens. She hates being underestimated, but hates pity even more. She can’t stand the sound of someone crying alone, or crying at all. She avoids floral perfumes and anything too sweet-smelling, loathes being idle, and being trapped in silence with nothing but her thoughts. Worst of all, she can’t stand looking in the mirror too long. Some days, she still sees her mother’s disappointment staring back.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei’s magic is driven by imagination and visual detail, allowing her to summon complex items from nothing but air. Though her Councilor duties leave little time for hobbies, she still makes room for late-night drinks with friends or the occasional wild escapade.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei has refined her magical ability to transmit messages over vast distances, usually as brief visual flashes of words or spoken words carried on a wisp of wind. While it requires concentration, she can maintain stable communication across the entirety of Asterath, and with effort, possibly across both major cities. The farther the message, the more draining it becomes, but she can do it nonetheless.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei’s visually-inclined mind allows her to summon items in intricate detail. She often conjures utility-based items on the fly when needed, but sometimes crafts artistic or emotionally symbolic things as well. The magic is demanding, especially for complex materials that are utility-based, but Ceonrei’s control is sharp from years of focused training.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei can control artificial lighting around her. She can dim or brighten streetlamps, change color palettes in neon signs, or cause an entire room to plunge into darkness. When necessary, she can also amplify a light source into a blinding flare to disorient others. It gives her a horrible headache to use this magic at all sometimes, but she knows she can easily.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her father was always kind and supportive after her sister’s death, unlike her mother who hated her and went insane. He kept her safe and always looked out for her, which she will be eternally grateful for.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei’s grandfather took her in when her mother went insane and she needed a safe space, teaching her a lot of what he knew and guiding her through life. He and her father are two of her three close loved ones.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra has been Ceonrei’s only friend for many years, her confidant and biggest supporter alongside her father and grandfather. They have a sarcastic but genuinely loving dynamic.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Caledonia is Ceonrei’s Sister Councilor, though their relationship is anything but civil. The two clash constantly—arguments, barbed insults, and tension thick enough to split the room. Ceonrei’s never had this kind of combative dynamic with anyone before, and while part of her is begrudgingly intrigued by Caledonia’s icy, unreadable nature, that curiosity never lasts long. The longer they interact, the quicker Ceonrei’s patience burns out, replaced by frustration at Caledonia’s unyielding, venomous stubbornness.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Born in Asterath to two average citizens, Ceonrei was raised in a peaceful and warm household. Her parents had always been deeply in love and their magic was always so bright and captivating. Ceonrei had always hoped to take after them in every way she could. She had a sister come along a little over a year after her, the two being close throughout their younger years.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She and her sister enjoyed stirring up trouble at Cogworks with other students. One day, a young boy claiming to be the child of powerful Club Serpentine gang members threatened to have their parents track her down and kill her whole family, but she didn’t believe them. Her parents had always warned her and her sister to stay on their side of town—and they did.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀That didn’t do much good when Snakes found where her family lived, Ceonrei’s sister answering the door to be killed immediately. Ceonrei was a few paces behind her, curious about who was at the door, watching as the knife pierced her sister’s neck and blood splattered everywhere. The rest was a blur, her mother on the ground screaming as her father rushed over, pushed Ceonrei to the side, and took care of the Snakes. She never asked where her father learned to fight like he did that day.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei screamed and screamed until she lost her voice, her mother gasping for air on the ground as her father held her sister’s pale corpse. Ceonrei needed the comfort of her mother, to tell her why this had happened, She told her mother through the tears that she had bullied some kids at school and what they had threatened. She reached for her mother, begging for her sister to come back, for a hug, for all of it to go away—but that was the last time she ever reached for her mother. She smacked Ceonrei’s hand away, shrieking furious words and throwing harmful hands, her husband pulling her off Ceonrei before she had two dead daughters. Before her father took care of her sister’s body, she managed to take a bracelet her sister always wore from her wrist. A woven string bracelet of orange and pink, one she’d made merely days before with their grandfather.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei was unenrolled from Cogworks by her father—her mother refused, stating that Ceonrei deserved to be killed by the people she provoked to kill her own sister. He hired tutors and personally schooled her, his kind hand guiding and nurturing her as a person even as her mother tore her down and hurled insults at her.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her father moved her in with her grandfather when he realized that his wife would never treat her the same again, unwilling to let his living daughter endure the abuse. Six years passed, the same routine of doing her work with her father and grandfather, finding fun things to do with them both, and avoiding her mother who screamed and shouted at Ceonrei the moment she saw her visiting her old home.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei had always been fond of her grandfather, she and her sister often hanging out at his house, messing with his gadgets and reading his dusty books. He accepted her into his home easily, raising her and teaching her everything he knew, never once mentioning her sister. It was for the best, Ceonrei knew, and so she never did either.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀At eighteen, she finished her lessons. She had honed her Transmutation magic beautifully, conjuring items from thin air with intricate detail, her innate ability to visualize things in great detail coming in handy for that skill. She also learned to send messages very long distances to her father and grandfather when she wandered Asterath, which is how she met her best friend, Fiehra.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They met when she was sixteen wandering Asterath and hit it off immediately. After a few months, Ceonrei told her friend about the years of torment from her mother after she all but killed her own sister. Of course, Fiehra reassured her that it was not her fault, but Ceonrei would never get past the screams her mother had woven into her soul, the blame that pressed on her chest every day of her life.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She felt as if her life were moving forward—learning more about Asterath as she explored the neon streets and alleys, meeting more people, making connections. Feeling healed, educated, and happy. Near her nineteenth birthday, she was asleep peacefully in her room in her grandfather’s house when she felt a blade at her throat, those oily, dark whispers in her ears. Her mother, ready to kill her after having snuck into the home, eyes wide with insanity and skin pallid. The blade drew blood briefly before her father burst in and dragged her away, leaving Ceonrei to wonder what she could do if her mother was ready to take her life. She wondered why she didn’t try to push the woman away. Perhaps she knew deep down that she deserved it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It wasn’t a problem anymore when, days later, her mother was found dead. Her father never told her what had happened, but Ceonrei could tell from the way he was heavy with guilt, the way he apologized for nothing and collapsed in her arms after he brought the news. He had likely given the woman a potion of some sort, a sedative with too much power, to save Ceonrei from her mother’s wrath.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Four years passed, her life relatively peaceful, he could finally think of her sister without the screams of her mother rattling in her skull, but she still had a long way to go before the nightmares stopped. Asterath Councilors never lasted long, so a new election was held—the candidates were not promising. Ceonrei had a wild thought, an idea her loved ones supported wholeheartedly, to run for Councilor. She had no experience with leading—nor did any other candidate—but she knew she wanted to fix some important issues. She ran and won by a landslide, the hopeful eyes of Asterath’s citizens gazing back at her giving her a newfound hope in her ability to become a leader. She would do her best for the city she called home, even if deep down she knew she was only taking the position to occupy her time and thoughts from focusing on her past and trauma.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei serves as Asterath’s most competent Councilor, though her leadership style is unconventional. The common citizens adore her creativity and genuine kindness, the way she wants to make a change and just needs to figure out how. She spends her days balancing massive issues with more smaller, local ones. The shadowfog encroaching on a needy, terrified Voxthain has grated on her nerves listening to them whine, but when it truly matters, Ceonrei is the type of person to fight for everyone around her, not just her own people even if they are her main priority.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yee-haw!
Mod
𝗔𝗭𝗜’𝗥𝗬𝗡 𝗞𝗢𝗧𝗔
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Mod
𝗔𝗭𝗜’𝗥𝗬𝗡 𝗞𝗢𝗧𝗔
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi’ryn has light brown skin scattered with freckles, a constellation of soft markings that frame her otherwise striking look. Her features walk the line between pretty and sweet, often disarming to strangers who mistake her for gentler than she is. Her curly brown hair is typically worn down in a wild, frizzed-out mess, or shoved into a loose, half-hearted bun that doesn’t try too hard to impress.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her usual outfit consists of sleeveless tops and worn black pants, cinched by her favorite tattered black belt. She accessorizes with a few mismatched pieces of jewelry she’s collected over the years.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi’ryn, or Azi as the very few allowed into her inner circle may call her, is known for her sharp-witted sarcasm and biting commentary. She rarely softens her words, preferring blunt honesty over pleasantries, which makes her difficult to approach and even harder to befriend. Her retorts are quick and dry, often making people laugh and flinch in the same breath.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Despite her abrasive humor, she isn’t loud or erratic. Azi is calm, cool, and collected in most situations, speaking with a kind of quiet confidence that unnerves those who underestimate her. She listens more than she talks, but when she does speak, it’s most of the time something necessary or at least blunt.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Underneath it all, though, she has a tightly coiled temper. If someone crosses her or simply tests her patience too long, she doesn’t hesitate to let her aggression flare. It’s not always dramatic or loud, more like a simmering kind, but dangerous nonetheless.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi’ryn enjoys late nights where the world feels still, a good wildfire cherry vodka in her hand, and nothing pressing on her mind. She has a soft spot for old people with sharp humor like her own. She also enjoys tinkering with things even if she has no real skill in that specific art.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi has no patience for niceties or forced small talk. Loud, boastful people set her teeth on edge, as do those who push boundaries just to test her. She hates being cornered, physically or emotionally, and doesn’t respond well to being pried into.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi’ryn doesn’t use magic. Not because she lacks the talent, but because she simply doesn’t care to. Whatever fire once fueled her connection to it has long since burned out, leaving only embers she refuses to stoke. She believes that magic comes from something she no longer has, so she is distanced from it and doesn’t even try anymore.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi’ryn is close with her fathers, the couple who found and raised her, showing her love she might have never received if anyone else found her abandoned in those alleyways. They are endlessly supportive and kind, willing to sacrifice whatever they have to keep her safe and happy. They’re not exactly thrilled with the way she’s become, the sarcasm she exudes and trust issues she harbors and won’t let go of, but they remember what happened even if she doesn’t. They never judge her and push her to be better, do better, but love her all the same.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi’ryn doesn’t know the exact details of her birth, nor has she any interest in learning them, but she grew up in the more gang-populated side of Asterath with a pair of loving fathers. They had found her when she was a baby, with no more information than that, and decided to take her in.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As most Arachniad gang members, the two men were very focused on their personal lives. Spiders function as a big family, but they all focus on themselves more than the gang, and it all works quite well that way. They raised Azi with love and care, but also to be assertive and relentless. Spiders were known throughout Asterath to be not much of a threat, but not people you threatened, either. Azi’s fathers often did supplies runs for the gang, but there were never many more duties to fulfill than that. She began helping as she grew up, but she never had many run-ins with her fellow gang members, preferring to keep to herself.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She was enrolled in Cogworks Academy later than most, when she was ten, as her fathers originally wanted to educate and teach her themselves. She never went out and had no friends so, as an attempt at getting her out and about a bit more, they enrolled her in school with other children. She excelled in Abjuration immediately, Cogworks being the first place she actually learned magic as her fathers didn’t really do much of their own, and made many friends over the course of two years.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Unfortunately, Cogworks was both formative and detrimental. She grew her powers and did well academically, but all it took was one rumor to ruin her social life and self-esteem. It was so traumatizing to this day that she has cast it from her mind entirely, forgetting the incident by sheer will and what the rumor even was. It ruined her friendships, her life, her spirit. It was awful, and so she refuses to think about it or remember.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cogworks had to tell her fathers what had happened, as she had gone desolate after it, the shouts and jeers of those she thought of as friends echoing in her mind constantly. They began personally teaching again, finishing up her six remaining years of curriculum. She isolated for all of those years until she was eighteen, only leaving to do missions and runs, finally re-emerging into the world with much prompting and encouragement from her fathers. She had only made one single friend on a supplies run one day, and even then it took much too long for Azi to even call Celia a friend.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her fathers never brought up the incident, as they could see how badly it burned her, but they saw what it did to her. She was once a very bright, excitable young girl, but she became sarcastic and bitter. Her fathers didn’t know what to do aside from pushing her to go out and socialize again, promising that she wouldn’t regret it, that it would be great for her. Skirting around even mentioning the incident that occurred all those years ago.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀One day, the Spiders sent out a diplomatic mission consisting of her and six others. Tensions in the gangs were becoming incredibly violent at the time and the Spiders decided a diplomatic mission would help, but it did not. The Night Riders were less of a problem, more on the side of getting back into the relative peace they once had, but Club Serpentine reveled in the chaos and violence. The diplomatic team was attacked the moment they went near the Snakes’ area of Asterath. Three of the seven Spiders on the mission were killed, the rest fleeing or severely injured. Azi tried to fight, but with no skill in that area, she was wounded and forced to flee with the other three living Spiders.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With that, Azi decided she needed to work on herself. She was an empty shell of social trauma, but she needed to learn to fight and defend herself. Her strongest magic was Abjuration-related, so she honed those skills over the next few years, also training with her fathers and some other Spiders in hand-to-hand and evasion tactics. She was very fast and agile from the start, so that helped, but it was a long road of learning how to evade those who have been learning to fight since birth.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She found the Neon Cogs Saloon when she was about twenty-six, falling in love with the atmosphere and deciding that she would frequent the place daily. It wasn’t too far from her home, so it was perfect. Either way, she could teleport wherever she wanted anyways. She tried many drinks and met many people, but the one thing that had stuck with her was that wonderful wildfire cherry cocktail. Her favorite drink, one low on alcohol, but one she drank too much of. The feeling of slowly falling into that dazed stupor of drunkenness called to her, and she succumbed to it quite often. She wasn’t an alcoholic, but she enjoyed the feeling of getting drunk every so often.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀When she was twenty-eight, her life settled into a steady rhythm. Training and the saloon with her wildfire cherry cocktail. Sometimes hanging out with random people she found semi-pleasant and who tolerated her, taking care of her now-older fathers, enjoying what little bit of life she made for herself. She found no friends worth her time, the trust issues still running deep, but she goes out often and finds the entertainment she needs to thrive.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Azi’ryn spends most days training, drinking her favorite wildfire cherry cocktail at the Neon Cogs Saloon, or checking in on her aging fathers. She has lived a life shaped by silence, betrayal, and survival, and now, as the weight of an inevitable end hangs just over her shoulder, she walks toward it the only way she knows how—head held high, eyes sharp, ready to meet whatever comes.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yee-haw!
Mod
𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress has long, wavy, and wispy brown hair that cascades freely down her back, rarely tied up since she enjoys the feel of it around her shoulders. Her slanted, deep brown eyes always seem to shimmer with some kind of joy. She has a warm smile that lights up her whole face. Her skin is a beautiful tan shade, kissed by the sun and lightly dusted with freckles, giving her a look as earthy and gentle as the gardens she tends.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her clothing reflects her softness: she gravitates toward light, airy fabrics like loose skirts and short-sleeved tops in pastel hues, often looking like she just stepped out of a spring afternoon.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress is a gentle soul. She radiates warmth, not in a loud or boisterous way, but with a quiet steadiness that makes people feel safe in her presence. She’s the kind of person who remembers your favorite tea, who notices when a plant looks droopy before anyone else, who instinctively offers her hand when someone looks like they’re on the verge of tears, even if she’s the one usually on the verge of tears.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sensitive and anxious by nature, she feels everything deeply and sincerely, and that emotional depth gives her a powerful intuition and empathy for others. Her anxiety can make her hesitant in unfamiliar situations, but she still tries, especially when someone she loves is involved. She believes everyone deserves to feel safe, heard, and cared for.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress is also deeply connected to her family and her environment. The greenhouse her parents run is not just her home—it’s her sanctuary, her whole heart. She spends her days planting, pruning, harvesting, and laughing with her mother, tossing jokes back and forth with her father sometimes, or basking in any rare moment she can steal with her sister who is often out and about. While she’s technically affiliated with the Spider gang through her family, she remains completely removed from their more dangerous activities, choosing instead to pour her energy into nurturing beauty and growth wherever she can.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress adores early mornings when the greenhouse is quiet and dewy, the warmth of the sun filtered through first the roof of the cave, then the leaves. She loves nurturing life, be that tending to her plants, watching her sister laugh, or baking flower-shaped cookies for her family. She loves soft fabrics, lavender-scented things, and the hum of bees.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She gets overwhelmed by loud, aggressive energy—shouting, unexpected loud noises, sharp voices all make her tense. Which would be why she has a deep fear of leaving her home and greenhouse, as Asterath is constantly bustling with noise and energy.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress has honed magic that relates to her everyday life and what she loves to do most. It helps her manage her family’s greenhouse and makes everyday gardening much easier for her.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Cress’s earth magic is her strongest. She can coax plants to grow faster, healthier, and more beautifully, simply by being near them or running her fingers through the soil. Her connection to the land, even as underground as Asterath is, allows her to sense the health of plants and the energy of the ground beneath her feet.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ While not her strongest gift, Cress’s water magic is gentle and purposeful. She uses it mostly to nourish her plants—summoning fresh dew to thirsty petals or misting delicate leaves with a flick of her fingers. She can cleanse water sources, summon light rain, or guide small flows through irrigation lines in the greenhouse. Her touch with water is more intuitive than powerful, better suited for care than combat, but it fits her perfectly.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress’s younger sister, Katniss, has always been one of two people she was closest with in life. One of the two people she wholeheartedly trusted with her life and secrets both. She worries about her sister to no end—never judging or looking down on her for anything—wishing she could do more than stand by and watch. She has no idea what her sister has gone through but she knows her well enough to see traces of memories and sadness and can’t do anything to help.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her mother raised her and gave her every core value and hobby she has, always being a steady and soothing person in her life. Her anxiety developed on its own without provocation, but her mother was always there to soften the blow of hard days. For that, she is someone Cress would do anything for.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The guy is usually busy with gang duties, but he and Cress have their moments when he’s around where they check in with one another and joke around. Otherwise, they aren’t close enough for much else.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress was born the first child to two Arachniad parents, her father being a fairly highly-ranked member in the gang and her mother someone who loved greenhouses and plant life. For her whole life, she’s had a powerful bond with her mother, having been raised with such gentleness and love. She took the same interests as her mother, immediately falling in love with plants and caring for that sort of life. She and her father were also always close, but he tended to make efforts to “toughen her up”. Her mother defended her from those attempts, as harmless as her partner was being, as she appreciated Cress’s empathetic, gentle demeanor.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress’s life had always remained uneventful, as she preferred sticking to the greenhouse and the occasional visits to Voxthain to see their gardens—far more vast and beautiful than the small greenhouse in Asterath. Her mother picked up on her love for the upper city quickly and promised that no matter what Cress decided, she had a home in Asterath. Her mother had schooled Cress and Katniss herself instead of sending them to Cogworks, but she never had harsh words for Voxthain. She taught them the pros and cons of each city and basic school subjects, helping them however she could. Their father wasn’t around much, but only as a normal gang member would be busy, so they were still close and had time to bond over the course of Cress’s life.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress, being the older sister, broke every stereotype associated with older sisters. She was the one being protected by Katniss most of the time, even if she would fight ferociously for those she loves. Her family had always protected her before she could protect them, and sometimes she feels very bad about it, but they reassure her and alleviate that anxiety they all know well enough. Katniss and Cress are very close—they had always been. Hardly ever had they fought—Cress would just start crying—and so they grew up together with a powerful bond just like Cress’s with their mother.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress has slowly been realizing how dangerous Katniss was becoming—and the danger she was facing in doing the things she was doing. It had always been a worry, but everyone in the gang liked to steal. But not all of them began entering the realm of danger in doing so, Katniss had. Cress had always been too anxious to say something, but her concern can sometimes present itself in her being pushy attempting to get her sister to spend time with her or stay home for the day, even if Katniss hardly listened.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cress’s life is and always has been incredibly uneventful. The only things she ever has to worry about are others. Especially her sister, Katniss, who has become increasingly entangled in the gang’s more dangerous circles. Cress doesn’t even know if it’s the gang or if her sister has found new dangers to get into. Her anxiety, usually manageable, has grown sharper due to that concern and the whispers of the shadowfog approaching Voxthain, just above Asterath and the greenhouse. She has lingering fears that Katniss won’t come home one day. She doesn’t know how to stop any of it, only how to love harder and try to manage her spiraling panic when it surfaces.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yee-haw!
Mod
𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx is an imposing figure, built like a fortress and impossible to miss. Towering over most, his frame is layered in thick, powerful muscle, giving him the presence of something ancient and unstoppable. His deep tan skin stretches over his bulk like bronze over iron, and his shoulder-length brown hair falls in messy curls.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His most noticeable feature is his eyes: red abysses of feral red. There’s a sense of stillness to Zyx, moves always deliberate, almost lazy in their lethality. Scars dot his body like badges of honor, most of them earned without a second thought.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx operates without a shred of a moral compass. There’s no line he won’t cross, no rule that binds him. If he wants something, he takes it. If someone stands in his way, they disappear. He mostly harms for sport and malice, but also because he has an inherent disregard for human life. What some would call evil, Zyx would simply call unbothered.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His demeanor is far more subdued than expected of someone so brutal. He speaks in monotone with an almost praciced level of deadpan, rarely raising his voice, rarely expressing much at all. The humor he offers is dry and unsettling, like he’s letting everyone else in on a joke only he understands—and that joke usually ends with someone dead.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The only time Zyx shows any spark of genuine feeling is with his family—particularly Cadmus. His devotion there is terrifying in its own way, an obsessive, bone-deep protectiveness that overrides everything else. While his affection is quiet, it’s absolute, and Cadmus is the one soul Zyx sees in value.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx relishes in the feeling of absolute control. He likes watching others unravel under pressure he exerts, testing their limits just to see where they snap. His one genuine source of softness lies in Cadmus and their children. He likes the thrill of shared cruelty, the sick comfort of lying beside someone just as broken as he is.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx loathes sentimentality and anything that tries to paint him as redeemable. He abhors institutional magic like that taught at Cogworks, with its rules and ethics and watered-down theory. Any figure of authority that believes their title makes them untouchable earns his ire as well. Children’s laughter grates on him—except from his own, whom he tolerates and protects with feral obsession.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Zyx was never one for the rigid, polished magic taught at places like Cogworks. Zyx turned inward, searching for something raw and cruel enough to match the dark thing settled deep within his soul. What he unearthed wasn’t taught in classrooms. It was personal, feral, and entirely his own.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Zyx created his only form of magic through years of brutal experimentation, first on animals, then on people, molding it until it obeyed him like a well-oiled machine. Rupture focuses on the manipulation of internal force—organs tearing themselves apart, veins combusting beneath the skin. There are no pretty movements or whispered spells. Rupture is performed through sheer will, intention, and physical touch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx’s husband of eight years, his Rattler, his whole world. Cadmus is someone who has seen and continues to see every dark, evil, cruel, and intimate side of Zyx all while loving him no less. They do everything together and are two very powerful people in different ways. Zyx is so heavily attracted to his husband’s intelligence, as even if Zyx is sneaky, Cadmus’s intelligence is unmatched. Rupture and Rapture, they call themselves.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx’s two children are the only other people he truly cares about aside from Cadmus. He is not specifically close with either of them, as they are still quite young and just entering Cogworks, but he would not hesitate to murder anyone who harmed them in any way.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cadmus’s daughter who he’d had before entering Zyx’s life, Europa, is not exactly Zyx’s cup of tea. Because he loves Cadmus, he keeps her alive and safe, but he holds no affection for her. Perhaps the first sneaky thing he’d done where Cadmus was involved, he pushed for Europa to become a Councilor. He wanted her pulled away from his family and his gang, becoming tired of the woman more and more as the days passed. He never told Cadmus why he chose to back her, but he was sure his intelligent husband could gather exactly why.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx’s childhood is obscure to him, as he does recall it being a happy one. There was no catalyst to his cruelty, no reason. None. In some way, his soul was just branded with dark magic and he was irreversibly irredeemable. At birth, he was doomed to hurt those around him, and he enjoyed that knowledge. He grew up quicker than most, hardened and unbelievably cold towards everyone. He ignored his parents entirely, didn’t make friends, and worked on his magic.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He hated all magic Cogworks taught, so he resorted to learning his own. It took ten years from the time he was thirteen discovering the magic he did enjoy for him to perfect it. Rupture, he called it. At fourteen, he attempted it on another student and almost killed them—only their arm exploded, as he’d only been using the magic on animals and wasn’t great with it quite yet.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He fled, but not in terror, merely to celebrate the victory and continue working on it. He was immediately put up on wanted posters so he could be punished, but nobody ever found him. He abandoned his home and parents, wandering the streets and spending nights in hotels or inns along the darker sides of Asterath, practicing that deadly magic on many innocent passersby. This went on for four more years, the power growing more and more efficient.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As if a testament to how his abuse of magic led to deep changes within his mind and body, his eyes went from deep brown to glowing red. The dark magic within him somehow recognized the bloodshed occurring over and over and it began to show on his physical features. He was a shell of a human, a year of time passing feeling like a minute to him. He began to slow down the rampage once word spread of the “Red-Eyed Serpent”, garnering attention he did not want. Power, though, he did. And the mention of his resemblance to a serpent brought a new thirst for something other than death and blood.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He had his sights set on becoming the Head of Club Serpentine, a gang known for their genuine bloodlust and deadly crimes. Never before had he wanted recognition or held any form of ambition, but the petty murders began to grow dull. He was bored with it all.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx claimed his role as the Serpentine Head by murdering the previous one. It was not a hard task, but finding the man was nearly impossible. He managed it, though, as his cunning ruthlessness led to many tortures for that information. The murder was not told to be “an accident”, no, the murderer is meant to take full responsibility so their claim as Head is acknowledged by the rest of the Snakes. He immediately began working on the restructuring his new gang needed. With that, he also needed a Rattler.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The gang would not accept a one-man leadership, so he decided he’d compromise just enough. He met Cadmus, who was Rattler even before Zyx killed the previous Head, fairly quickly, deciding not to talk and kill first so he could replace the man, but he didn’t get that far.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Their fight was impossible as he couldn’t touch the man before he transmuted into non-physical form. They tired themselves out quickly, neither of them able to even hit one another at all. The pause when they both finally realized they couldn’t even hurt one another was the first moment Zyx felt that spark. That spark that he had never felt and was resigned to never feeling. But oh great Lantas, he fell and fell hard for Cadmus, the intelligent, cunning man.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Many intimate, disgustingly vulgar things happened after that, but it enabled Zyx to settle into their partnership for the gang as well as their growing romance. He and Cadmus both were cruel people who saw the darkest sides of one another and never thought anything of it. With that, they also saw the more intimate, soulful sides of one another—what little of the “soul” part they each had. They married at thirty after three years of a whirlwind romance of murder and torture together.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cadmus’s transfiguration magic allowed a shift in anatomy, so they were able to have children together. At present, their two children are five and seven. Cadmus already had a daughter, Europa, but Zyx doesn’t quite acknowledge her at all. He protects his family with every resource possible, and at least protects his husband’s previous child even if he doesn’t like her, leading Club Serpentine to even more cruelty than they were even previously known for. His steamy romance with his husband translated into a powerful co-leadership dynamic, as they do everything together and garner joy from being awful people together.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx rules his gang from the shadows as steady as ever. Every order, every hit, every act of cruelty sent through his deadpan voice and merciless gaze. The Councilors have long since given up trying to apprehend him. Every bounty placed on his head has ended with the hunter’s body left somewhere poetic. The steps of the Council building, perhaps. He delights in the prospect of the shadowfog, but does not so much with the murders that he knows are not him or his gang. It threatens his known specialty as well as his gang’s notoriety, so he is currently hyperfocused on figuring out who is doing the murders.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yee-haw!
Mod
𝗦𝗬𝗟𝗩𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔 𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗛
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sylvessa’s blonde hair is cut short, tousled in a way that looks accidental but never messy, like she stopped caring how it fell, yet it still frames her face with that quiet kind of defiance. Her eyes, a pale hazel-green, carry a depth that’s far too old for someone her age, rimmed always with a hint of exhaustion or confusion, depending on the day.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There’s a tension to the way she carries herself: shoulders pulled tight, jaw clenched ever so slightly, as though she’s always on the edge of remembering something dangerous.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Before the Shattering, Sylvessa was a quiet, tender soul living in the cold shadow of her favored twin. She was gentle, empathetic, and endlessly patient. The kind of person who gave her kindness even when none was returned. Despite neglect and emotional starvation from her mother, Sylvessa held onto a fragile hope that she might one day be seen and loved for who she truly was.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She had a soft, cautious optimism and a streak of resilience born from surviving in harsh circumstances without much support. She kept her head down around the snakes in Club Serpentine, never provoking, often overlooked, but quietly longing for connection or a place to belong. She was loyal to the few who treated her kindly and carried a subtle strength beneath her vulnerability.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Though overshadowed and unseen, Sylvessa had a quiet spark of defiance and a secret longing to prove herself beyond her sister’s shadow—a hope that one day she could carve out her own path, away from neglect and cruelty.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀After the Shattering, the girl who was Sylvessa became fractured and blurred beneath layers of forced memories and false identities. All of the traits that made her who she was were buried deep under confusion and pain, replaced by a disoriented, hollow version of Seymora that her mother tried to impose.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She is now caught between fragments of her true self and the imposed persona. Moments of flickering memories and intuition break through, but they are overwhelmed by doubt, fear, and a haunting sense of loss. She struggles to trust her own memories or emotions, often feeling disconnected from herself and those around her.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Who is she? Who is she? Who is she?
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Magic once felt like the only thing that was truly hers. Sylvessa had a quiet, instinctive talent for it. She remembers loving it deeply, the way it made her feel weightless and seen, even if only by the magic itself and by not the humans she wanted to be seen by. But now, after the Shattering, her emotions are raw and unruly, like glass shards under her skin. Like something she’ll never get back. When she tries to call on her magic, it’s wild and uncontrolled. It terrifies her. So she avoids it, represses it, lets the power rot behind a barricade of fear and grief.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Discuss with Elizabeth.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Born a twin in the heart of Asterath’s cruelest circles, Sylvessa came into the world already forgotten.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She and Seymora were identical in blood, but not in worth—at least, not to their mother. From the very beginning, their mother had eyes only for Seymora. She poured her love into her, trained her, shielded her, praised her every breath. As twins, Sylvessa just couldn’t understand why. What made her special? Seymora was her masterpiece, her legacy. Sylvessa? An echo, an afterthought. She wasn’t hated outright, just neglected so thoroughly that it became its own kind of violence. She learned early how to go unnoticed, how to live on scraps of affection and never ask for more.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Despite it all, Sylvessa remained soft-hearted. She didn’t fight for attention or retaliate. She simply . . . hoped. She clung to what little warmth she could find—her own magic, the rare moments Seymora spared her a smile. Magic was the only thing that ever felt truly hers, a quiet companion in the cold. Her illusions were delicate, intimate things: flickering butterflies, glowing orbs, soft lightshows hidden in the dark corners of Serpentine alleyways. But no one praised her for it. No one noticed.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Club Serpentine was no place for girls like her. They celebrated power, not softness. Strength, not sweetness. Her sister fit right in. Sylvessa didn’t. The others dismissed her as fragile, weak, useless. Some mocked her. Others ignored her entirely. She was the invisible twin in a den of snakes. Watched, maybe, but never protected.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀When she was old enough to realize the love she longed for would never come, she left. Fled Asterath at fifteen. Not that anyone would care or notice anyways. Disappeared into the edges of Voxthain, hoping to build something, anything, of her own. Began knocking on doors as hunger, terror, and loneliness soared.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀To her surprise, someone opened the door.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A small host family took her in—an older woman and her partner who saw Sylvessan’s quiet trauma and didn’t flinch from it. They didn’t ask for explanations. They didn’t demand answers she didnn’t have. They offered warmth and structure and the kind of love that didn’t have to be earned. It wasn’t perfect. She flinched at every raised voice, kept her shoes by the door like she was ready to flee again—but it was safe. It was hers.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They encouraged her to apply to Cogworks, even though she was years behind. At sixteen, she enrolled—tentative, overwhelmed, and deeply aware of how far behind she was. But it was there that she met Mia-Aesira, the loudest, brightest, most relentlessly kind person she had ever known. Mia didn’t just see her—she dragged her out of the background, kicking and blushing. They became inseparable. For the first time in her life, Sylvessa had someone who didn’t want her to shrink or disappear.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀At nineteen, she finally graduated. Late, yes, but proud. She had carved out a life of her own—however fragile. A home. A future. A best friend. She even dared to think she might be happy.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And then her past came to collect.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Weeks after graduation, she vanished without a trace. Her mother had been watching, waiting. And when the moment came, she struck. Sylvessa was abducted under the cover of night, taken back to Asterath—and subjected to the Shattering.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her memories were stripped, burned, overwritten. Her mother, driven mad by grief after Seymora’s death, forced Sylvessa into her sister’s skin. She dressed her in Seymora’s old clothes. Fed her false memories. Whispered her name like a curse and a prayer. Tried to mold her into a daughter she had never loved, but now couldn’t live without.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sylvessa was gone. Or so they thought after weeks of the torture.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀But something is still alive beneath the surface. Something fractured, buried, but something . . . trying to remember. Trying to fight back.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sylvessa lives inside a stolen life.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her mother calls her Seymora. Dresses her in Seymora’s old combat leathers. Trains her in Seymora’s old routines. Forces her to repeat words that don’t feel like her own and praises her only when she gets it right. But something in Sylvessa’s chest rebels with every breath. It doesn’t feel right. None of it does.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She is quiet, compliant, she doesn’t know what else to be. She nods, obeys, plays the role she’s been carved into, but behind her eyes is something raw and flickering. Glimpses of another life, another self: the warmth of found family, the sound of Mia-Aesira’s laugh, the soft pull of magic used in joy instead of fear. She doesn’t know where the memories come from. They come in flashes, in dreams that feel like warnings. Nothing feels correct or right or real. Magic like the kind her mother used on her shouldn’t even be possible. How? How? How?
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She has pieced together more than that she exists over the weeks she has been abducted, listening and trying to be present. “Revenge” and “send her out” are whispered phrases she hears a lot, along with a name. “Caledonia”? Either Sylvessa spaces out in a daze of not existing or is put through more wardrobe changes or routines by her mother, both removing any bit of focus she’s tried to regain.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yee-haw!
Mod
𝗦𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗘𝗔 𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗧𝗛
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Solaea has a wiry, toned frame, giving her an equal balance of muscle and agility. Her golden hair is often combed over and hanging in her face slightly, caught in a messy side ponytail. Her ice blue eyes, her most intense feature, are rimmed with a subtle but vivid ring of yellow.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her features are fine, sharp even, but she has an effortless allure nonetheless. There’s little softness to her physique, and she manages to be intimidating when she wants. Alternatively, she has an unnatural way of drawing others near and seeming almost nurturing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀To strangers and passing acquaintances, Sol comes accross as calm and reliable. She seems like the type who always has a plan, who knows when to speak and when to listen, and who somehow stays level-headed even in the face of disaster. Her smile is easy, her voice smooth, her posture relaxed. Beneath the surface, there’s a constant ache. A mind dragging behind it years of grief, self-doubt, and guilt that never went anywhere, just got quieter as she used louder methods of coping.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She is intelligent and pragmatic, often able to strategize or defuse tension before it begins. But she also shirks responsibility in the places it matters most—particularly when it comes to her younger sibling, Blue. She knows she’s absent more often than not. She knows she’s emotionally unavailable. She knows. But knowing doesn’t help her act differently. She tells herself she’s doing what she can, that it’s better than nothing. And yet, that lie tastes worse each time she says it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀What truly defines Sol is the internal war no one sees. She’s someone who’s never been taught how to heal, only how to hide. Her unresolved pain over her parents’ disappearance festers beneath every choice she makes. On some days she feels capable of greatness; on others, she can barely get out of bed. She isn’t heartless—far from it—but somewhere along the line, she decided that surviving was enough. That maybe pretending to be okay could pass for actually being okay. And now, she doesn’t know how to undo that choice . . . or if she even wants to try.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol finds comfort in nighttime walks—even if Asterath is always dark, the underground-dwellers have an inherent ability to know what time of day it is aboveground. Sol appreciates music, even if she has little time to enjoy that particular thing anymore. Painting had always been her favorite hobby before her mother disappeared and took that with her, too. Despite her distance from her sibling, she genuinely loves Blue and quietly treasures the rare moments they share laughter, or silence that isn’t strained. It has been too long since they shared those moments, and she pushes down any attempt her heart makes to bring up longing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol despises pity. She hates being asked too many personal questions, especially ones that prod at her feelings or force her to acknowledge the depth of her own self-neglect and sibling-neglect. She avoids being alone, avoids quiet spaces, preferring the bustle of crowds to keep her mind occupied. Sol has little patience for forced optimism or people who think everything can be fixed with the right attitude. And above all, she hates herself most on the days when she realizes how long she’s gone without checking in on Blue—when she remembers that love, no matter how deep, is meaningless without action.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Solaea would find more interest in magic if it weren’t such an emotion-based thing to do, to use. She used to enjoy messing around with Transmutation magic, but refuses to now, as the last time she tried, she spent days sobbing alone in her room screaming for her parents to come back.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Though not by her own magic, Sol has had a Transmutation enhancement made on herself. A powerful Asterath Transmutation magic-user gave her a yellow ring outside of each pupil, allowing her to move with greater speed, process information much faster when she activates it, and emit a yellow trail behind her when she sprints. It was not by her own magic that it exists, so when she has to activate it, it’s not directly siphoning off of her, therefore avoiding the part she hates about using her own magic.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Blue is Sol’s younger sibling, only a child when their parents vanished without a trace. In the aftermath, everything fell apart slowly, in a long, quiet erosion. Sol, already grappling with her own grief, couldn’t fill the role their parents left behind. She tried, in her own way, to keep things stable, but the truth was she was barely staying afloat herself. And Blue—confused, scared, and needing more than she could give—was left to fend for themself far too often. As time passed, the distance between them solidified into silence. They began navigating life in separate orbits, occasionally brushing past each other but never really connecting.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As one does, Valen knocked her date out at the fighting ring when he tried to instigate a fight with Sol. Both women were immediately attracted to one another and it didn’t take long before they were both heading for the Vortex Hotel to find a room for themselves. Just sex, just flirting. Sol cannot handle more in her life than that, but the company of a beautiful woman is enough for her. For now.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Solaea was born to an Asterath mother and a Voxthain father, Juniper and Emmett—a romance forbidden by Voxthain nobles and heavily looked down upon by Asterath citizens. Asterath was far more accepting, even if still on edge about it, than Voxthain—so Sol’s father left to be with her mother. Sol was born a year after they settled into their home, the household happy and nurturing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Blue, Sol’s sibling, was born when she was ten. An accidental birth, but one her parents took in stride. She was excited but also worried how a new family member would change their dynamic she’d built with her parents. That worry was soon relieved when Blue was born and Sol took the time to play with them and do fun things together as a family for many years. One day, Solaea decided to take Blue outside with crayons, paints, and cans of spray to do art all over the side of their home. Upon discovery by their parents, Emmett had almost had a heart attack over it while Juniper laughed and laughed.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol had been a good kid growing up, but Cogworks was hard for her. The teachers didn’t teach in a way her mind could grasp easily. She felt that it was her fault, so she grew frustrated and angry over the years, turning to an unhealthy source of coping—forcing her way into the wrong crowd at Cogworks. She was unable to focus or learn properly, but now she was also distracted.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Blue and she remained close up until Sol had chosen to make the wrong type of friends, her time and focus aimed on them rather than Blue or her parents. Sol was so wrapped up in her self-destruction that she stopped paying attention to anyone in her family. Her parents noticed that she was acting off, as she was growing rude and hateful towards them as well as Blue at times. While they knew their daughter well enough not to take it to heart, they weren’t going to allow it to persist. They pulled her from Cogworks and began teaching her themselves. Emmett being a former teacher’s assistant at Cogworks certainly helped, tailoring the learning to how her mind worked.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol had no interest in magic or any branch of the magic system, preferring to use her physical strengths and her sharp mind to accomplish things. She turned back to her family and Blue once her education caught up and her life grew boring, preferring to stay in the moment rather than worrying about her future plans.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀When Sol was eighteen, life had regained a steady rhythm. She spent time with Blue vandalizing buildings—who was growing up to be a mischievous little gremlin—wandered the streets of Asterath with her father, and learned how to paint with her mother. Painting became Sol’s favorite hobby, inheriting her mother’s gift for it. All of this came to a screeching halt when truly out of nowhere, her parents disappeared.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol had left to go trade for some paints, and Blue was at school. She arrived home a few hours before Blue was set to return, confused and scared when her parents were nowhere to be found. Gone. Most of what happened after that was a blur, events she doesn’t remember in the panic and terror of it all. Blue had arrived home to see her pillaging through the house for an explanation, for anything. Nothing, she found nothing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol went out and begged neighbors for answers, battered them with questions, sobbing as she desperately tried to figure out what happened. Nobody had answers, and even as kind as the neighbors were, Asterath citizens knew more than better not to meddle. She was left entirely alone with Blue, not one single sign of a struggle and only one note promising their return on the kitchen counter.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The two siblings had no other family, no clue what to do next. Sol finally found a letter in her parents’ room a day after their disappearance that she just didn’t understand. Why did her father have a horrifyingly cryptic, most certainly threatening letter that appeared to be recent? Was that why they disappeared? Sol was sure of it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol couldn’t explain to Blue what had happened to their parents, as she couldn’t say for sure either, brushing off their questions for days after it happened, too focused on the papers and figuring things out to worry about anything else. She had Blue stay back from Cogworks, more or less ignoring her sibling after issuing that command, too wrapped up in the confusion and insanity she was facing to make sure they obeyed.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol had no choice but to pull herself together, to put the letter away and focus on her own life and Blue. She was left with an eight year old sibling to care for—a responsibility she was never ready for. She’d learned how to be a big sister over time, not a parent. Regardless, she finally explained that their parents had died. She apologized for her own behavior, doing her best to be a soothing, steady figure for them as they processed the news.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Solaea did her best to keep herself together for a while, heading out to trade for food and supplies that they needed. It went well for a few months at most, but it soon fell apart. Solaea took to wandering the streets of Asterath in an attempt to find something to do, quickly stumbling upon the fighting ring, Asterath’s main attraction. The bright neons and loud music drew her to it—as well as the bloodied Asterath citizens fresh out of a fight she passed as she entered for the first time. She’d done some basic self-defense with her parents, but the ferocity and brutality of the fighting ring was new to her.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sol decided to try one fight in the ring on a whim—a fight where she got beat very quickly. The thrill of it, though, kept her going back for more. She trained with some of the other fighters and learned techniques by getting beat to a pulp on most days, but she enjoyed the distraction and feeling of freedom it gave her too much to let the pain deter her. She discovered her natural talent for betting, an inherent bit of luck she seemed to carry, turning away from daily fights and more so towards the betting side of the ring. Her parents weren’t around to offer them that kind of stability, but Sol’s seeming inability to lose a bet kept them afloat. Jewelry and valuables came to her like moths to a flame, but that didn’t quite matter much when she was allowing her sibling to grow up without any guidance in the world.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Time flew, at least for her. She found a good rhythm, keeping the house well-stocked and heading off to the ring when Blue went to school—or presumably went to school, she wouldn’t have known. She never knew or even asked how Blue was doing—what they were doing—and made no effort to change that. She never asked if they needed anything, wanted anything. She didn’t know parenting, but it was her own flawed thinking and coping mechanisms that led to the deterioration of their relationship. They hardly interact, and when they do, it’s strained and too formal for family members. Sol likes the normalcy of her life and the regular schedule she hardly ever diverges from, but she takes her own comfort at the cost of Blue’s formative years where they need a parent more than anything.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Solaea is treading water, outwardly stable, inwardly breaking. She’s settled into a predictable, almost mechanical routine: she wakes up, trades for supplies, checks her bets at the Asterath fighting ring, and trains when she feels like burning off the weight in her chest. She’s no longer in survival mode, exactly, but she isn’t thriving either—she’s just existing, doing what she knows how to do, and avoiding anything that might force her to confront the emotional wreckage she left behind.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yee-haw!
Mod
𝗠’𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗜 𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗬
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀M’zari has the kind of vibe that radiates that effortless calm you can’t fake. Always relaxed, always leaning somewhere with her arms crossed, she talks like nothing in the world could shake her. She’s the type to chuckle when a drunk man is screaming in her face, to make dry jokes with a split lip after said drunk man gets angry, and to genuinely mean it when she promises no hard feelings after a conflict. She loves watching fights and, of course, announcing for them and giving commentary. As long as everyone involved signed up for the ride, she’s content to watch blood spill and teeth fly. She sees voluntary fighting like music or dance: an expression of self.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her mellow exterior doesn’t mean there’s no fire beneath the surface. Her past burns quietly—losing her parents, being cast out of her village—but she doesn’t talk about it much. Not because she’s secretive or traumatized beyond words, but because she doesn’t need to. The pain, to her, is just as much part of her being as anything. Still, she credits that exile with one unexpected gift: freedom. Wandering the world, seeing new places, choosing her own path—it’s a life she never imagined back in her sheltered beginnings.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀While she refuses to engage in fights herself, her outlet is working out with some of her buddies. She enjoys the companionship while doing what she sees as a hobby and engaging in contests to see who can lift the heaviest boulders. There’s an unspoken rule around her: you get exactly the energy you bring. Be decent, and she’ll be your most chill companion. Start swinging, and you’ll see just how fast that easygoing smirk can turn into something far more aggressive.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A
Mod
𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗛𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗩𝗬
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s look mirrors her spirit, warm and vibrant. Dark black hair frames her face in a chaotic halo, always slightly windblown no matter how she tries to tame it down. Her skin is a deep olive, dotted with small scars and freckles. Her eyes, a rich brown with grey flecks, seem to catch every flicker of emotion around her—restless, aware, and hard to fool.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She dresses just as she did when she lived in the Barvolan Desert, a comfort thing for her. Rugged pants, cropped tops, utility boots, and fingerless gloves. There’s always a knife tucked somewhere, a scrap of cloth tied at her wrist, and the faint scent of the desert incense she burns in her apartment.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra is a spitfire in every sense of the word. She’s sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and never afraid to bite back when someone crosses a line. She doesn’t wait her turn to speak, she takes it, usually with a smirk and a raised brow, daring someone to shut her up. Fiehra has never been one to water herself down for the comfort of others. If you ask her opinion, she’ll give it to you raw, unfiltered, and probably a little too loud. But it’s not about drama and being right, it’s about truth. She believes deeply in standing up for what’s right, especially when others can’t.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Beneath her fire is a fiercely protective soul. Fiehra may bark, growl, and challenge authority with every breath in her lungs, but when someone she cares about is in danger, her entire demeanor changes. She becomes a shield and throws herself in the way of the harmful thing. She’s the first to throw herself into a fight if it means keeping someone else from bleeding.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She thrives in chaos, oddly grounded by it, always adapting on her feet and charging headfirst into life’s worst storms with a grin. She's impatient with cowardice but patient with healing. With her, it’s always “you good?” followed by a hug, a shove, or both. Her humor is biting but affectionate, her love language a blend of teasing and total devotion. Fiehra isn’t soft, but she’s solid—the kind of person who makes you feel like you can breathe a little easier just because she’s standing beside you.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra lives for adrenaline, for the buzz of a close call and the anticipation of a new thing happening. She’s got a soft spot for spicy food and desert flowers and scents. She’s surprisingly sentimental about old songs, especially ones that remind her of home or something she can’t quite name. And despite her sharp tongue, she adores people who can match her wit, call her bluff, or dish it back harder. If you can make her laugh mid-fight? She’ll remember you forever.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra can’t stand being idle. Nothing puts a dampener on her spirit faster than becoming bored, life growing stale, nothing new happening. It almost makes her angry to be sedentary. She hates feeling trapped, physically or emotionally, and claw her way out of any situation simulating that fear of hers bleeding and snarling. Cold weather is another enemy—it makes her deeply uncomfortable.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s magic manifested young. It had to. Out in the Barvolan Desert, survival depended on instinct. At first, it showed in strange flickers—vanishing from danger without running, reappearing on dunes she hadn’t climbed. Her family called it desert mirage, a spirit trick, necessary for escaping oncoming sandstorms and snakes in the sand.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra had to learn to teleport, or mirage as she grew up calling it, at a very young age. She still uses it constantly, so she can move vast distances if she can just picture the place she wants to be. She removes children from dangerous situations with it most of the time, or merely entertains them with goofy teleporting item tricks that they love.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra’s relationship with Paloma is full of warmth and love. Paloma didn’t just pull Fiehra out of the shadows, she pulled her into a real home, enrolling her in Cogworks and standing as her guardian when nobody else would. They bicker like an old married couple, Paloma’s sharp wit matching Fiehra’s fiery tongue, but beneath the teasing is a deep trust. Paloma is the calm to Fiehra’s storm, grounding her when the chaos threatens to consume her, while Fiehra reminds Paloma what it means to fight fiercely for something better.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ceonrei has been Fiehra’s best friend for many years. They know how to make one another laugh on hard days and are always there for each other, if a bit scathing in their humor towards one another.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Future babygirl kissing girls relationship! Starting off as friends, though! Cuties!
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra was born to a nomadic desert family in the Barvolan Desert. She grew up under the shelter of weather-worn tents, learning to read wind patterns and teleport with magic before she could read, running barefoot alongside other children through sunbaked dunes, and listening to the slow, patient stories of elders around flickering campfires.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀At eleven, a group of foreign travelers arrived at her camp. They were heading from Asterath and Voxthain, the twin magical cities to the south, and spoke so very highly of their homeplace. The elders scoffed, muttering of foolish tales and dangerous ideas—but Fiehra’s ears burned. One of the travelers, a woman named Mun-Hee, held her attention like a spell. There was a man with her too, but he was background noise. Fiehra trailed them for days on their mission like a stray pup until she gathered her courage and approached them, offering to guide them through the confusing desert.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀For weeks she led them through the desert trails, pointing out sheltering caves and whispering winds. But when their journey ended, and they turned back to the cities, she realized her family was gone. Or, rather, she had left her family. She loved them, but she was young and they were all so travel-oriented that she didn’t feel much attachment to them. The loss didn’t sting like it should have.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The road south was cruel. Fiehra scavenged, stole, and nearly starved before she stumbled across the hidden descent into Asterath’s underground. She hadn’t managed to catch up with the two travelers, but she had made it despite all odds. She found a group home easily, as communal living was all she’d ever known and it appeared as if there were many parentless children in the underground city. She worked odd jobs, swept alleys, fetched food, ran errands for valuables to trade. Every day was different, every branching cave new. She thrived.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀At fourteen, she started cleaning the blood-slick floors of the fighting ring, scraping puke and teeth off the stone after matches. The violence didn’t bother her, not much did. But it bothered someone else to see a child in the fighting ring for any reason. Paloma was a fighting ring announcer and one night she saw Fiehra mopping up the aftermath of a particularly brutal match. She pulled her aside, demanded to know why a kid was cleaning this shit. They talked. Then they had dinner. Then Paloma asked her to move in.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra didn’t hesitate. It was another new chapter, and she lived for those.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Paloma enrolled her in Cogworks the following week, officially becoming her guardian. They bonded quickly—both immigrants, both fighters in their own way. Fiehra knew the city better than Paloma by then and delighted in dragging her to her favorite hidden spots in Asterath. For the next four years, they built a home. Strange and patchwork, but full of warmth and understanding between them both.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀By eighteen, Fiehra graduated from Cogworks with decent marks and a restless soul. The thrill was fading. She needed something more. That’s when she discovered the Blacklights—a specialized group dedicated to guarding Asterath’s streets, protecting the people from the gangs festering in the dark corners of the city. They called their watchdogs across the city Shields. Fiehra wanted in.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her passion and street-earned grit got her accepted, and she was stationed, of course, near the fighting ring. No one else wanted that corner of Asterath. Fiehra made it her turf.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Her focus was the kids. She knew what it was like to grow up surrounded by brutality and adrenaline, and she wasn’t about to let another fourteen-year-old mop up blood like she once had. She applied as a bartender at the ring to keep eyes on everything. No one wanted the job. She fit right in.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Now twenty-two, Fiehra’s days are full of unpredictability. She serves drinks to murderers and mercenaries, flashes smiles at fighters between rounds, and slips warnings to lost kids who linger too close to the edge. She’s still restless, still searching—but for now, the role fits. It’s messy, wild, and raw. Just like her.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fiehra is deep in the chaos she thrives in—bartending at the Asterath fighting ring by night, patrolling as a Blacklight Shield by day, and doing her damnedest to keep the younger kids out of the kind of mess she willingly throws herself into. Life is loud, bloody, unpredictable, which is just how she likes it. She splits her time between her small but cozy shared apartment with Paloma and the undercity streets she knows better than her own reflection, staying on the move, always chasing the next jolt of purpose.
Mod
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yee-haw!
