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Dice Shadows of the Setting Sun (CS)

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WlfSamurai

Maelstrom Engineer
Please post your character sheets here.
  • Standard character creation rules
  • Solars, Lunars, and Dragon-Blooded permitted
  • Character background
    • Please write a character background for your character
    • It can be as long or as short as you like
    • It should include:
      • Where your character is from
      • What was their family life like growing up?
      • How your character Exalted
      • At least one other person, place, or thing your character cares about (make them up if needed). The more the better!
      • What your character’s outlook is on the world (what do they think of all that’s going on? Or what do they know?)
      • What your character hopes to accomplish as an Exalt (if they do hope to accomplish anything)

For reference and character help, Charm trees:
MadLetter's Charm Cascades - Lunar, Solar, Dragon-Blooded

XP Tracking:
  • 11 total regular XP earned (not including the 10 at character creation)
  • 4 total Solar/Lunar XP earned

NPCs
Judge Jokaza Ryst.jpgName: Judge Jokaza Ryst
Caste: N/A (Mortal)
Concept: Whitewall Judge
Personality: Stubborn, harsh, but fair

Judge Ryst was born and raised in Whitewall. Her father before her was a Whitewall Judge. And his father before him was a Whitewall Inspector. She is well-dressed; polite, but proper. When Judge Ryst smiles, it is with the least amount of effort possible. She never takes her cold eyes off you if she's speaking to you.

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Aaki Whistling Death.jpegName: Aaki “Whistling Death”
Aspect: Air
Concept: Whitewall Guardian
Personality: Outgoing, arrogant, flirt

Aaki is a Whitewall Guardian who has been in service of the city for about six years now. He thinks very highly of himself, mostly due to his work with the Guardians.

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Haze.jpgName: Haze
Caste: N/A (Mortal)
Concept: Scout / Huntress
Personality: Hard, but easy-going in the right context

Haze has been a Whitewall agent for many years now. Before that, she has a past she’d rather forget.

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Ranna.jpgName: Ranna
Caste: N/A (Mortal)
Concept: Icewalker weaver acting leader
Personality: Brash, but usually quiet. Private.

When the White Elk Tribe last went on a raid, the were met with plague-walkers. Escaping, a small group of survivors formed around Ranna when there was no one else who would take charge.
 
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  • 94dddc9a9b3951fd545d3097f75e839c.jpgName: Toun Whitefang
    Caste: Full Moon
    Concept: Tribal Wargod
    Age: 24
    Homeland: Ice Walker Territories - Snowdrift
    Tell: Sharp Canines

    Essence:
    Willpower: ●●●●●

    Spirit Totem: Arctic Fox.

    Few things teach a boy how to defend himself like an older brother. Where nobles squabble over inheritance, titles, money, and land nomads feud over more refined topics. Who gets the last scrap of roasted meat? Who gets the new bracers? Who gets to play with dad’s knife? These were the critical debates for Toun and his elder brother Ruac and the rhetoric in the school of hard knocks pulled no punches. For the children of the infamous Aegir Hammerhead, no struggle was an easy win, even for the eldest by three calibrations. Competition and ambition burned in their veins, all the better to ward off the biting cold.

    In the frigid tundras and rolling foothills that surround Snowdrift peak, refuge of the mighty hunter god Whitefang, life never stopped to wait on the weak. Even as pouting, feuding toddlers both children were constantly tested for survival fitness. Forestry, tracking, scouting, and trapping, all skills that meant feast or famine came from old Hammerhead and his wife Kati. By the time each could walk, Toun and Ruac had to carry their own weight and belongings. The reaches of the north are cruel and unforgiving even to this day. Many of their peers fell to illness, the elements, or the beasts that lurk amidst the brush, snow, or sparse woodlands. Aegir was often away for weeks at a time on a raid, hunt, or both. Education often fell to the elders, or itinerant shamans and envoys of their god.

    Unfettered by the chains of Immaculate calendars and dogma, the tribe of the Arctic Fox paid their due to Whitefang annually. When the blizzards began to blanket the rolling expanse of the Snowdrift foothills, the entire clan marched up a winding trail leading to a cavernous den carved into the mountainside. Encircling the stone palace of Fox-god Whitefang was a fortress marked with a masoned wall of unhewn rock leading to an archway painted fresh each year in blood from the burnt offerings. The rune sigils drawn by a small order of shamanic priests led by a favored one, elevated with a gift of essence and knowledge of primal magic. Each year the high priest welcomed the host with open arms, accepting the tribe for refuge for the harshest weeks of winter in exchange for the tribes offerings as the seasons turned.

    Year after year, as more calibrations passed Toun took to wild with a hunger laden with ambition. Even with Aegir afield away from the home camp the youngest worked tirelessly to master the art of snatching prey. Ruac grew more and more distant as squabbles became less petty and both children understood the cutthroat world they walked upon. Ruac turned to the gods for answers and for power. Unbeknownst to his younger sibling, feuds still boiled from generations past. Toun could occupy his leisure with his drive to be a peerless warrior, yet Ruac could only see that fewer and fewer rangers and raiders filled the fortress at Snowdrift each year. They argued often, Ruac quoted omens and prophecy while Toun sat scowling, fingers in his ears only to earn a hand upside his head. Whitefang’s seer Ravi also saw the times changing and the young man nearly of age seeking after the gods. To Kati it was no surprise that rather than raid, he took up a rod and stayed at Snowdrift fortress when he came of age.

    The heavenly machine turned three more cycles with the tribe’s outlook still bleak. Aegir began to retire, joining the elders as they began to raise the next litter of warriors. Toun continued ranging out from the home camp solo, picking fights with lone bears and grown stags. Most that dared cross the mightiest beasts of the wilderness nearly always favored distance, taking bow in hand with Aegir’s sons now favoring sword, spear, and good bait. The boy’s crowning achievement was a snare large enough to hold a moose still. He returned home, pulling a cart as the villagers laughed, thinking he was reduced to being a human ox. Drawing back the covering over his prey he revealed the adult moose in all his splendor with a red smile across his throat.

    --Background is WIP--

 
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  • were-girl2.jpg were-bear2a.jpg Name: Tyree
    Age: 21
    Caste: Full Moon
    Totem Animal: Bear

    Attributes
    **Str: 5
    Dex: 2
    **Sta: 5

    Cha: 3
    Man: 2
    App: 3

    **Per: 3
    Int: 2
    **Wits: 5

    Abilities
    Archery
    Athletics: 2
    Awareness: 3 - Spotting Ambushes
    Brawl: 3 - Dirty Infighting
    Bureaucracy
    Craft
    Dodge: 3
    Integrity: 3
    Investigation
    Larceny
    Linguistics: 1
    Lore: 1
    Martial Arts
    Medicine
    Melee: 5 - Lance Fighting
    Occult: 1
    Performance
    Presence: 3
    Resistance: 3
    Ride
    Sail
    Socialize
    Stealth: 3
    Survival: 3 - Hunting
    Thrown: 1
    War

 
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Wip


  • a1ddc0994946b4126d72eec66707757d.jpg Name: Afureru the Bloodlight Siren
    Age: 22
    Caste: Dawn
    Supernal: War
    Anima Banner: Gold Plated Crocodile

    Attributes
    Str ●●●●
    Dex ●●●●●
    Sta ●●

    Cha ●●●
    Man ●
    App ●●●●●

    Per ●●
    Int ●●
    Wits ●●●

    Abilities
    *Archery ●
    **Athletics ●●●
    *Awareness ●●● +join battle
    Bureaucracy
    Craft
    *Dodge ●●●●● +against battle groups
    Integrity
    Investigation
    Larceny
    Linguistics
    Lore
    *Martial Arts ●●●●● +polearms
    Medicine
    Melee
    Occult
    Performance
    **Presence ●●●●● +Threaten
    *Resistance ●●●
    **Ride ●●●
    Sail
    Socialize
    Stealth
    **Survival ●●●
    Thrown
    **War ●●●●●


 
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  • 5956935F-8A67-4779-887D-6238A276C6E3.jpeg 1A782E5D-947C-48DF-B319-B9DBA4C44F04.jpeg
    Name: The Evervictor Aeliana
    Age: 20
    Caste: Zenith
    Supernal: Performance
    Anima Banner: A billowing brazier of flame wreathed in laurels of gold

    Attributes
    Str ●●●
    Dex ●●●●●
    Sta ●●●

    Cha ●●●
    Man ●
    App ●●●●●

    Per ●●●
    Int ●●
    Wits ●●

    Abilities
    Archery ●
    **Athletics ●●● +Glamour muscles
    Awareness
    *Brawl ● ● ● +Everything is a weapon
    Bureaucracy
    Craft
    *Dodge ●●●
    **Integrity ●●● +Detachment
    Investigation
    Larceny
    Linguistics
    Lore
    Martial Arts
    Medicine
    *Melee ●●●● +Combative Performance
    Occult
    **Performance ●●●●● +Showmanship
    **Presence ●●●●
    Resistance ●●●
    Ride
    Sail
    *Socialize ●●●
    Stealth
    **Survival ●●
    *Thrown ●●●
    War


 
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  • 1616548319905.png Name: Sigrdrífa Tyrsdohtriz, Champion of Snow Leopard
    Caste: Night
    Concept: Unstoppable Force of Nature

    Well, this needs some editing to pare it down by like half.
    tl;dr Christmas Presents From a Deathlord, What Could Possibly Go Wrong? Nothing. The Answer is Nothing.

    There are, broadly, two kinds of Icewalker tribes: Those who take their totem from a (to humans) prey animal - elk and seal, mammoth and walrus, musk ox and mountain goat, hare and goose, and many more - and those who take their totems from predators. While the former are far more numerous, herding their totem animal to provide food and building materials through the harsh winter months, the latter are prized above all others by the Deathlords, for their prey is man. While the prey totem tribes raid settlements and each other opportunistically or when times are lean, the predator totem tribes must raid constantly as a matter of survival, cowing weaker tribes and vulnerable coastal settlements into offering tribute or taking what they will not yield by force, and in so doing contribute much to the Icewalker reputation for savagery and infighting.

    From the moment she was born of Tyr, a warrior of one of the bands of Snow Leopard's tribe, the shamans told Sigrdrífa she was born to greatness and the favour of the gods. She never learned who her father was, but she was perceptive enough to see that while her mother was accorded a great deal of respect, she had sacrificed much to obtain it. All but the shamans kept both of them at a distance, the adults watching like hawks whenever she played with the tribe's children. When asked, the shamans would say they were waiting to see how her blessings would manifest, and once she demonstrated herself a hero of the tribe she would be accepted.

    Still, her mother was fierce, the shamans wise, and Sigrdrífa did not want for love as she grew, and manifest her blessings did. She was stronger, faster, and hardier than the other children, possessed of uncannily keen senses and heart-stopping beauty. Every year she watched the Handmaidens of the Lover arrive at Calibration, when the storms were fiercest, the nights longest, the air coldest, prey scarcest, and the spirits wildest, radiant in their white veils with frost-blackened lips, supplicating themselves and bearing wondrous gifts, always promising more if the tribe would do the smallest of things - attack specific targets, sell them slaves, adopt small rites into their ceremonies. The elders were wise. They understood survival. Appease the strong, exploit the weak. Never reveal weakness to the strong, but neither antagonise them unnecessarily. They accepted the sorely needed gifts, but refused the additional tasks, and each year the Handmaidens left empty handed but smiling, for it would only take one truly bad year and they had all the time in Creation.

    As she grew the Handmaidens began to take a special interest in her, bringing her small gifts - a knife of sharp black obsidian, a warm coat of the finest sable furs in black and silver, beautiful jewellery of silver and onyx and bone, all of which she still wears today - asking if they might be allowed to gift her magics in addition to their honeyed words and adoring smiles, so full of endearing warmth despite frozen lips. The other children were often jealous of her gifts, driving her further into the cold where she came to fondly look forward to the brief warmth of these strange outsiders each year. They were never so careless or brazen as to ask to foster her, and while her mother politely accepted the gifts she declined their offers of more.

    The Handmaidens, like the shamans, saw much potential in her, and they were not wrong. She studied under the shaman Ylva, learning the stories of her people, the ways of propitiating and venerating the Spirits and the Ancestors, combating the hungry dead and Fae that made the tundra and ice sheets their hunting grounds, and the unusual but valuable skill of using fine bone tools to defeat the small mechanical wards the outsiders used to seal their most precious treasures. She studied the arts of war and the hunt under her mother, and this is where she truly shined, killing her first snow leopard in single combat at ten. The feast and celebration that followed made her feel like she really belonged, however briefly, but her mother's pride was perhaps more precious still. From then on she was always in search of deeds that would earn her similar acclaim. She killed her first man the next winter, demonstrating a terrifying aptitude for ambushing and silently executing sentries in the dark for someone so young. As she looked at the pile of severed heads in the flickering firelight her eyes were always drawn to the lips, cold and rimed with shining frost of black blood, so like the Handmaidens, and she smiled. She soon become a regular and well respected member of raiding parties.

    From then on she was granted the honour of attending the annual convocation of the local tribes, where every year she saw a few more sporting the gifts of the dead, bragging of how their new wards kept the ravenous spirits at bay, and of the fearsome strength of their new weapons. None could help but notice how the first to accept these gifts were now sallow and distant, quick to violence and quicker to anger at any perceived slight. They sometimes gave her curious looks when they saw her jewellery but she joined the rest of her tribe in shunning them, and over the years many stopped showing up.

    Sigrdrífa had eyes only for the feasting, drinking, dancing, fumbling romance, and most of all, the competitions. While the handsome boy from one of the Snow Fox bands always won the boy's league, Sigrdrífa and Áleifr of one of the local Sabretooth bands fought viciously for the fanged crown of the girl's league, and the position by Toun's side at the head of the youth table when receiving it, trading year by year. Did he become a little bit more handsome each time? And when did she start to resent Áleifr more for where she was sitting than the crown? Outside the ring the collection of the best fighters were almost inseparable, and became a blur of alcohol, reckless hunts, dares, and making out under the stars. Kissing Toun was every bit as good as she had dreamt. When Áleifr kissed her it was a surprise for exactly as long as it took for her brain to process how good it felt and then the surprise no longer mattered.

    Once they had both graduated into the full warrior's league, after one too many beer and one too many snide remarks about Toun having the real crown, Sigrdrífa challenged him to a duel and was shocked to find herself shortly thereafter flat on her back with Toun standing over her, smiling, hand outstretched. He was so fast, and every bit as strong as she was. Having long since equalled or surpassed the warriors in her tribe, this came as an exhilarating surprise. She accepted his hand, leaning in with a grin to kiss him to the cheers of onlookers, then throwing him over her shoulder while he was distracted to a chorus of laughter and groans. She lost the next two rounds as well, but she was hooked. This was a real opponent, and it quickly became an annual tradition.

    She drew her second breath leading a hunting party against a vicious spirit beast stalking the tribe after it had claimed two of their best hunters. She laid a trap, ambushed the creature, and the hunting party's spears wounded it badly. They harried and chased it across the tundra, falling back as it advanced and moving in to strike when it retreated, until they tracked it to its lair. In desperation it lashed out, wounding several of the hunting party before collapsing the ice shelf above with a terrible howl. In an act that smashed straight through the thin line between bravery and stupidity, Sigrdrífa refused to leave the wounded and attempted to catch the falling piece of ice to buy them time to crawl away. Against all the odds, and by the blessing of the Sun, she succeeded. An immense snow leopard in a blizzard of golden light lit up the ice sheet like day for miles around as she hurled the massive piece of ice at the spirit beast, pinning it in place before beating it to death with her bare hands, then setting up a makeshift sled and single-handedly hauling home all of the wounded and its corpse.

    Her tribe were ecstatic, and her mother inexpressibly proud. This was better than the shamans had dared to dream. Yurgen Kaneko's Exaltation had changed the fortunes of his tribe forever, and surely hers would do the same. She remembered peerless skill she had never learned and a seemingly bottomless font of power suffused her body and mind. She never returned from a hunt empty handed. They never again need fear any hungry ghost, angry spirit, or fae creature, and she hunted dozens effortlessly in the next few weeks. Ylva took her to the mountains sacred to Snow Leopard, and in the greatest honour of her life the spirit named her its Champion.

    Word spread. Months later the Bull's emissary's arrived, the tribe emphatically declining his open invitation, and that year at Calibration the Handmaidens did not come alone. Áleifr stood beside them, more radiant than ever with lips blood red and skin white as fresh snow. Sigrdrífa could hear her pulse and feel the heat radiating off her skin even from metres away. She could tell that Áleifr still breathed where the Handmaidens only pretended to, and yet she was clearly different. She had heard the rumours that the Sabretooth tribe had started taking tasks from the Handmaidens. It was a hard year, and she couldn't blame them. Áleifr hissed in pain as Sigrdrífa greeted her by name, and asked her to please call her <Insert Abyssal Title Here> from now on. Sigrdrífa laughed out loud until she realized Áleifr was serious. Well, it was a stupid title, but... perhaps she had heard self important hunters give themselves worse. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Áleifr seemed happy, and when the Handmaidens suggested a hunt in the freezing pitch dark Calibration blizzard she seemed eager, almost hungry to show off. The prize they proposed caught her attention; A wrap made from the skin of the legendary Shadowdancer, a powerful smoke leopard felled by a Moon-chosen ancestor-hero countless generations ago, embroidered with Moonsilver and Black Jade.

    She accepted. This was a competition, and completely insane at that. She was back on firmer footing. Áleifr smiled hungrily at her, and for the first time since Exalting she felt like prey. That couldn't stand. She quickly realized that Áleifr had no intention of hunting the spirit beast, and was stalking her. Sigrdrífa could no longer hear her heartbeat, nor feel the heat radiating from her skin, but she could still smell her perfume, and though Áleifr was quiet as the grave she was not silent enough. They clashed in the pitch darkness, and Sigrdrífa's essence surged like never before. She felt the rush as Áleifr sent her flying into ice canyon walls with bone shattering force and she returned the favour before vanishing into the blizzard. They stalked each other and fought for hours, carving a path of destruction across the tundra, until Áleifr had her pinned to the ground on a precipice over a deep chasm in the ice, the golden light of Sigrdrífa's anima swirling and mixing with the darkness swirling around Áleifr, somehow deeper than even the Calibration night around them. They both had frozen blood on their lips, but neither could feel the cold. Áleifr had fangs now, like the Moon-chosen heroes in the stories. Blood ran freely down her face from a mark on her forehead. Both of them were grinning madly despite - because of? - their injuries. Sigrdrífa had never felt a high like this before.

    Áleifr leaned in close, her face almost brushing Sigrdrífa's, "Come with me."

    "Where?"

    "Does it matter? Far from here. Trust me, you'll love it."

    Sigrdrífa smiled wider but shook her head, laughing, "No, your people might be weak enough to take tears, but my place is here with mine."

    Áleifr sighed, exasperated, "Forget them. You can come back and see them later. I want you to come with me. We can find Toun, he can come, too." At Sigrdrífa's confusion she continued, "He's one of us now. Chosen. We all belong together. We always have. It's better that way, like the Bull."

    Sigrdrífa's eyes widened. It was hard to think with Áleifr this close to her. She was never this magnetic before. Still, it changed nothing. She grinned, "If you can win the crown from me this year I'll go with you."

    It was Áleifr's turn to be surprised, then disappointed, "That's three seasons away! Don't make me wait that long."

    "Then you stay with me."

    Áleifr's face contorted, torn. Finally she sighed, "I... can't."

    She yelped in surprise as Sigrdrífa laughed derisively, kicking her off and into the chasm, "And yet you expect me to just follow you like a pup!"

    Áleifr recovered, pushed off the far side of the chasm, and smashed into the near side with such force it dislodged the ice Sigrdrífa was lying on and sent her plummeting down.

    Hours later, breathing heavily and lying side by side on the ice, they finally resolved to complete the hunt for propriety's sake. It wouldn't do to offend the spirits by declaring a hunt and not seeing it through. So it was that half an hour after that they came stumbling back into camp with the carcass of the immense spirit beast a looming shadow behind them, barely visible through the driving snow. They were both laughing; beaten and bloody but unbroken. Everyone gave Áleifr odd looks about the name, but this was Áleifr, someone they all knew, and a guest. That was not easily forgotten, and when Sigrdrífa slipped out to present the trophies from the hunt to Ylva everyone had long since warmed to her. Even mother was smiling and laughing.

    Sigrdrífa had never seen Ylva frightened before. Not like this. Not even when surrounded by hungry ghosts. When she recounted the tale of her day with obvious relish Ylva paled. She told Sigrdrífa she had received a dire omen from Snow Leopard: If Sigrdrífa did not leave the camp immediately, cross the White Sea, and complete seven great tasks worthy of song and legend in the eyes of the Spirits before she returned, terrible misfortune would fall upon the tribe and they may never recover. Sigrdrífa was shocked, but she trusted Ylva implicitly, and at her request swore an oath before all the Spirits to see it done. The will of the Spirits was not to be gainsaid. She grabbed her caribou skin travel bag, snatched the Shadowdancer's skin - she had clearly won the hunt - and disappeared into the night, running south for days before she stopped to sleep.
    As the sun rose at the end of Calibration she set about finding her first task. How hard could it be, really, getting a song or seven written about you? She'd be home by convocation. But first, Toun was Chosen now? That could mean only one thing: It was time for a rematch.
 
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  • Name: Zoya
    Caste: Zenith
    Anima: A blooming orchid
    Concept: Sorceress-Priestess and restorer of Creation

    Appearance
    fire_queen_by_sgt_lonely_d6pfeai-fullview.jpg

    Artist credit: Sgt-lonely

    Background
    The life of a refugee is an unenviable one, though for those who do live it there are few better places to end up than the great city of Whitewall. While the underground sprawl of Underton is doubtlessly a slum, it is a slum that remains warm in winter and where even the poorest can get a bath so long as they do so out of sight of their betters. The bigger reason, though, is that the Syndics are willing to lift out of abject poverty the people who help them drive away the great Shadowland of Marama's Fell. Thus it was that after fleeing slavery in the Realm satrapy of Serrat, some-time street sweeper, some-time garbage hauler Prodan and his young wife Vesna walked out of Whitewall on the first day of Ascending Wood to consecrate the Chrysanthemum Shrines for another year. They did their part putting up the shrines and saying prayers, and when evening fell, conceived a baby girl who would be born nine months later at the very same shrine. With the Syndics' award for reclaiming the great Shadowland by bringing life into the world, they were able to send young Zoya to school rather than have her work alongside her parents in the meanest jobs the city had to offer.

    Had they found refuge in another city, it is hard to say what would have become of Prodan and Vesna's daughter, but here she flourished. While they never had as much as they'd have liked, life gave them food on the table, clothes to wear, and a chance to learn. Though her parents had never had schooling beyond what was required to work hard without complaint, Zoya took to education like a fish to water - taking in everything that her teachers offered her and coming back for more at the end of the day. While that would have earned her a pad on the head and a tired smile in Grieve or Icehome, in Whitewall it earned her a scholarship and a chance to leave Underton for the upper city's better schools and brighter days. In addition to her secular education, she learned to offer praise to the Syndics of Whitewall in prayer and song, and if her voice rang clearer and louder than her fellows, it was passion and gratitude as much as natural talent that drove her. It is hard for a child to appreciate how much better their life is than it could have been, but ever since they found her old enough to understand, her parents had told her of the life they lead in the coastal satrapy and how lucky they were to be in a place ruled by those who cared.

    It was here she met Unrepentant Miracle, or Mira to her friends. The child of a Guardian officer and a professor of architecture, Mira was born into Whitewall's upper crust and when she saw the shy girl from Underton, she decided to take her under her wing and out of her shell. The two quickly became inseparable - playing together, studying together, singing together. Though their backgrounds differed wildly and they had lived a decade apart, they soon seemed closer than sisters, and when they came of the age where young Whitewallers seek out the steamy private alcoves of the public baths, it came a no surprise that they found them together. It was Mira's idea, of course, and Zoya went happily along with their exuberant mutual exploration, but it soon became clear that this new development in their relationship did not mean the same to both girls. However much she wanted, for this Zoya could not match Mira's passion and after a while they stopped. Their friendship remained despite this, and soon they found childhood and an end and the rigours of adult life before them.

    Twenty five years to the day after her conception, Zoya once more went out to Marama's Fell. It was not the first time since her birth she came there. As part of the Syndics' priesthood, she came every year to offer the blessings and thaumaturgical charms that gave the Chrysanthemum Shrines their power of life and protection, and to consecrate the mortal lovers who came with her as well as any children who might come of such love. Among those young lovers this year were Unrepentant Miracle and her betrothed, an admirable young man by the name of Regal Sky. While a child was already growing in Mira's womb, they had delayed getting married so that Zoya might do the honours and so that they might contribute to that great work: Reclaiming Creatiaon from the the forces of the death itself.

    Alas, that year the proceedings were interrupted by those very same forces. The marriage had been held and in their joy at the coming of spring (though snow still covered tha land) and young love, the wedding party failed to notice afternoon passing into twilight and with that the ghosts of the fell began stirring. While the chill of the day had been kept away by the warmth of bonfires and happiness, now a bone-gripping cold came over the celebrations and one by one, the fires went out. Out of the cold came a fierce gang of war ghosts led by a monster of some forgotten race - killed when the Fell was first formed in the wake of the Usurpation. Before anyone could react, the groom's head was cut in two by the daiklave wielded by that great ghost, and the bride's stomach opened by a lesser ghost's ice-cold blade. The wedding party quickly sprung to action as among them were several members of the city's elite Guardians, and the sorcerous spells Zoya had long failed to shape finally came when she called for them. The ghosts were beaten back and their leader forever banished from Creation and the Underworld both.

    Zoya knelt weeping over her dying friend and with all the passion and fury in her soul, she cried out for the Syndics to save the young woman's life, but no answer came. Raising her voice ever higher and bringing forth ever more heartfelt pleas, she called upon the Unconquered Sun himself and he answered, though not as she had wished. "The dead belong only to themselves, and all souls must move through the circle of reincarnation. You, my daughter, will shine my light across all Creation and split their world from it," and as the bright disk of the noon-day sun shone on Zoya's forehead for the first time, Unrepentant Miracle let out her last breath. Driven by grief and ancient instinct, she took hold of the fallen war ghost's blade and claimed its power for herself. Thus, the soul that left Mira's body did not go to the Underwold to pass through Lethe, it went into the daiklave Skofnung and the Sun's chosen priest was torn between her love for the dead and her duty to Creation.

    -Further answers to BG-questions-
    Zoya's parents are still alive and reasonably well, as are Mira's who were at the wedding when Zoya Exalted. She cares for all of them and for Whitewall itself.
    Zoya also has a sister (age 23) and a brother (age 20).
    She's a bit torn on the Syndics at the moment. For one their policies led to the (generally good) life she's been able to live, but they did not come when she needed them the most.
    Zoya fundamentally believes in the goodness of the Unconquered Sun, in helping the people of creation and banishing demons, faeries, and the dead from it.
    She mistrusts the Realm and the Bull of the North mainly because those are the default positions of Whitewall, but she's reasonably good at keeping an open mind.
    Zoya wants to reclaim Marama's Fell as a part of Creation. Since even before her birth she's been content at chipping away at it a little year by year, but now she wants to do something bigger. Much bigger.
    She knows some of Whitewall's history as a prayer-city for the Unconquered Sun and she's also got restoring that on her to-do list.

 
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  • Name: Mournful Chalice
    Age: 30s (looks 20s)
    Caste: No-Moon
    Concept: Sijanese Funerist determined to bring down the Deathlords
    Anima: Caste Mark burns as an empty circle, glittering with silver light. Her anima banner is a dreamliek veil of silver-purple.

    Backstory:
    o2puJt1.jpg
    Mournful Chalice grew up in Sijan, raised by a pair of Dragon-Blooded parents. Her earliest memories were of the dead; speaking to them, listening to them and learning about simple rituals to please them, for her parents were both primarily of the Deathspeaker Observance. As Mournful Chalice grew, she displayed an unusual brightness of spirit for a place as grim as Sijan and her cheerful optimism, enduring kindness and sweet gentleness won people over. Her parents worried the realities of life in a city of death would crush that spirit but Mournful Chalice grew up focused on the joy of living, knowing it was only transitory.

    She was recruited into the Mortwright Observance of the Mortician's Order age the age of 12. No one could deny Mournful Chalice had an exceptional attention to detail, precision in her work and phenomenal manual dexterity, precisely the qualities they look for. She also had the lasting patience to deal with meticulous reconstructive work. That she treated each corpse as someone priceless, deserving of the most tender care, made her even more valuable. By the time she was 18, Mournful Chalice was considered a promising Mortwright but hope had faded that she would follow in her parent's footsteps and Exalt as one of the Dragon-Blooded.

    Then disaster struck. A specter managed to break into the halls of the Mortwrights and animate a Black Guard body, inflicting massive destruction in a matter of minutes. Conflicting Arcanoi and enchanted weapons destabilized the crypt-vault laboratories, causing a collapse that killed dozens of people including Mournful Chalice's own parents who'd come to visit her. It took two days for workers to reach her, led by the new ghosts of her mother and father. They found a newly Exalted Lunar who'd turned into a monster and finished the specter in defense of her surviving colleagues.

    The Lunar Exalted were not unknown to the ancients of Sijan but none had set foot in the grave city in many years (that anyone knew of). Mournful Chalice was permitted to remain, with the understanding that her nature would need to be concealed from any Wyld Hunt friendly nations. Now gifted with Exaltation, she was swiftly tapped to learn Sijan's exceptional but secret arts of Necrotechnology. The young Casteless Lunar shied away from monstrous uses of the art but swiftly gained strong proficiency in building bodies of the Black Guard nemessaries along with the very finest surgical work, cosmetic alteration and modification. She also learned deeply of occult lore, the thaumaturgical arts of the dead and absorbed all she could of medicine. By the time she turned 20 years old and swore her full oath to join the Observance, the leader of the Mortwrights Lorskos Pinebranch permitted her to study the secret arts of Sorcery practiced by the essence-wielders among the Funerists.

    A few years into her formal career, though, and Chalice came to realize she wouldn't be able to stay. The memories of her Exaltation, of the sheer danger of that specter, and the growing knowledge of the rising threat of the Deathlords made neutrality a virtue with a limited shelf life. The Morticians counseled that it was simple essence fever, and perhaps it was, but Chalice had always been a sweet girl, free from anger. Now, every new story of the Deathlords conquering an Underworld nation or harvesting souls for their Soulsteel forges woke an abiding rage that no calm rationality could dispel. In the end, rather than risk her city's delicate political positioning in the lands of the dead, Chalice left her homeland to seek out the lands of a Lunar whose dead Sijan had a contract to care for.

    Which is how Mournful Chalice met Keen-Eyed Snowcat, whose domain lay on the northern banks of the Avarice River to the North. The elder Lunar took her in, gave her an education in the ways of the Silver Pact and fixed her Caste before taking her as an apprentice for a span of years. While the two discussed what role Chalice could play in Lunar affairs, Keen-Eyed Snowcat's education on Northern religion in regards to Luna finally touched on the Son-and-Daughter, a twin god-goddess forever standing back to back, whose true selves are revealed only under moonlight. This was the form Luna had taken during Chalice's Exaltation yet the worship of this identity of the Incarna was unique to Whitewall; a city the Sijanese woman had never been to. The elder No-Moon agreed that the younger No-Moon's destiny might lay in that city and encouraged her to go.

    Making the long trek to that fabled city, the Mortwright had only to set eyes on one of Whitewall's priestesses to realize what Luna had in mind for her...

 
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  • Name: Makuro Tehraihn
    Age: 23
    Caste: Changing Moon Lunar
    Spirit Shape: Spider (Tiny Creature, Spinnerets, Wall Walking)
    Tell: Dark green spider's eyes
    Concept: Disciple of the Spider King
    Limit trigger: The Lunar has his trust betrayed by someone he cares about.
    Anima Banner: An aura of bright indigo light surrounds his body, while web-like strings of silver light trail out from his fingertips as he moves them.

    Appearance (How he currently identifies himself)
    * Neck-length black hair from his mother, along with fair skin.
    * Prefers to go clean-shaven.
    * Average height and slender; he doesn't have the muscle of a northern hunter, but he does stay in shape.
    * Wears a buff jacket of mammoth hide, with the Hundred Rings worn as a bracelet under his sleeve.
    * Handsome and self confident in whatever forms he possesses.

    Caste Effects:
    • For five motes, the Changing Moon lends her words hypnotic allure, adding (Essence/2, rounded up) non-Charm dice on an influence roll. Anyone who perceives the influence will hear her out; leaving or interrupting her before she’s finished costs one Willpower to resist for the scene. This power’s cost is Mute and is waived at bonfire anima.
    • At dim anima, she gains +1 non-Charm Guile and adds (Essence/2, rounded up) non-Charm dice on Stealth and disguise rolls.
    • Once per day, she can pay three motes, one Willpower when she makes an influence roll to ignore negative Ties her targets have towards her (or her current shape). These Ties can’t be used to bolster Resolve or in Decision Points.

    Backstory:
    Makuro was involved in the affairs of the Silver Pact from a young age.

    He was born and raised in the northern town of Kamai, a mountain settlement located southwest of the Spider King's domain. His father was a town guard, and his mother was a huntress. While good-hearted, he quickly developed a reputation for mischief and getting into trouble.

    At the age of twelve, Kamai was attacked and razed by an Icewalker Tribe, leaving Makuro and his parents among the handful of survivors. With nowhere else to go, the family of three set off towards the Mountain of the Spider King, whom they knew as a spirit who offered protection to travellers and refugees. They eventually made it there after much hardship, with all three getting adopted into the Tehraihn family.

    As did many others who were saved from death by Aum-Ashatra, Makuro and his parents all became devoted subordinates of the Spider King, with Makuro's father even becoming one of his many spiderfolk warriors. Makuro himself was noticed as having a talent for deception, and selected for training as a scout and spy, learning martial arts and how to speak the tongues of the Realm. At the age of eighteen, he began infiltrating the Realm settlements across the near North on missions too valuable for Lunars to be risked on, avoiding detection and serving his matter through nothing but his own cunning.

    His exaltation came when he was acting the part of a street hustler within the capital of a minor Realm satrapy. When he was alone one evening, Luna approached him in the form of a wizened fellow criminal, and dared him to assassinate the satrap in her palace, hinting that such a thing could only aid the "spider anathema hidden within the mountains". After Makuro tried to laugh off such a task as impossible for a mortal like him, the wizened criminal told him not to be too sure of that, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before making to leave. Makuro's entire being was instantly hit with a wave of Essence and divine power.

    By the time the sun rose the next morning, Makuro was long gone, and the satrapy had been thrown into chaos by the satrap's sudden murder, allowing for its swift liberation by the Silver Pact a few days later. Makuro meanwhile accepted the moonsilver tattoos of a Changing Moon, and began training under the Spider King himself, quickly becoming a deadly spy and assassin with Luna's blessing.

    Roughly a year after Makuro's exaltation, the Mountain of the Spider King was visited by another Lunar, a No Moon from Sijan. Mournful Chalice had come with warnings about the Deathlords, thirteen ghosts of unimaginable power who included the Mask of Winters among their ranks, as well as concerns about Marama's Fell, a shadowland close to the city of Whitewall. The Spider King soon came to sympathize with these ill-thoughts, fearing that Marama's Fell could be used as a gateway for another invasion by the dead, and upon learning that Mournful Chalice intended to travel to Whitewall to investigate matters, he dispatched Makuro to accompany her.
 
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