#shortcloak

[handmadebynadya]

Women's Cashmere&Wool Camel Cape in faux leopard fur trim %30 Cashmere %70wool *Neck loop for hangin *Single hook and eye closure *Hidden underarm snap closure optimal The fur trim is hand stitched all around #cashmerjacket #furtrimcape #capejacket #shortcloak Warmwrap #handmadefashion #womenofstyle #etsyfinds #etsyhandmade #etsyshops #etsyseller https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp3IhjzL_FR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sparkmender]

“Yes. I will trade it to you,” the old faery promises, running a servo over the finely crafted shortcloak to smooth out the hood, “For one large ripened pomegranate and a fantasy novel of your choosing. That would be a fair exchange, I think.”

[astarab1aze]

➥ Weredragon Cleric

⸻Technical Information. // Face, Voice, etc.

01. Faceclaim. Rin  [ Kami-sama no Uroko ] & Shirasu [ Donten ni Warau ] 04. Voice Claim. TBA

⸻Profile Information. // Name, Age, etc.

01. Name. Furie Night   [ Fuu, Fury, Furious (after great-grandpax30) ] 02. Alias. Euphony of Mausza, The White Wyrm 03. Sex. Male 04. Gender. Male 05. Age. 27   [ Dependent ] 06. Birth Date. December 7th   [ Silver-wing ] 07. Blood Type. Sub-type WWB+ 08. Race. Were-wyrm, Myrrdinian by nationality; Myrrdinian-Scarburran by ethnicity. 09. Marital Status. Single, formerly engaged to Yule Z'raza   [ Multiship ] 10. Orientation. Demisexual   [ Biromantic / no preference ] 11. Residence. The Oracle's room at the Nighthouse in Camlothe, the capital city of the nightfolk-unfriendly Myrrdin.

⸻Physical Information. // Body, Equipment, Family, etc.

17. Physical Description. Furie’s hair is stark white, thick, silky. More akin to that of a mop than anything else, he does occasionally pin it all out of his eyes, though this is rarer than you might think. His hair is very soft and easy to comb through. His eyes are a soft, pale lilac color. Gentle though very guarded, revealing very little. He has a lean and narrow body type featuring some toning, standing at an odd 5'7". His skin is a pale but neutral tone, unblemished aside from a scar in his left side in the shape of blackwyrm’s jaws, many rows of teeth having bore into his skin, and some old knicks, scrapes, and cuts from less than ideal transformation cycles. There are patches of iridescent scales in various places on his body. He has a tattoo of a spacial summoning circle split between both of his hands in enchanted white ink, allowing him to summon forth a devastating meteor shower. He wears a black and purple modified hakama and a dramatic high-collared sleeveless shirt, forgoing the theatrics of a robe or cape, as well as a shortcloak made of starlight.

13. Equipment. He keeps a blackwyrm whistle to call his Bluebird, a knapsack, fragments of a fallen star, a pair of singing stones, a wand made of whitestone, keys to the Night Family estate, a Mauszan scrying glass, a pair of Ordinian & Myrrdinian daggers, various poisons, and a lock of Yule's hair. 14. Occupation. Cryptic traveling fortune-teller ; An Oracle in the Mauszan clergy, but not just any oracle - Mausza Herself speaks through him, literally, and sends him away on tasks that would surely send a righteous man to the hells... 15. Job Performance. Superficially Beloved, but how much of what he says is true? How could he possibly compare to the likes of his predecessors? 16. Parents. Fraya Sinclair & Fallow Night ; Both living, but are no longer married on account of how utterly insufferable Fallow is as a person in nearly every respect. 17. Siblings. None

⸻Personality Information. // Likes, Strengths, etc.

18. Likes. Flying, peace and quiet, cottonmouth cakes, celare, natural settings, stargazing, night walking, spending time with Bluebird, perusing nightmarkets, meandering Camlothe, collecting art & small shiny objects, reading the stars, glaisflower & peaceflower, sacremental bloodwine, etc.  19. Dislikes. Self-destructive types, human arrogance, vampires, the Red Hand, the Belegerande family, scarbuncle cheese, his relation to Enfurious and Sortia, being patronized, being compared to other oracles or family members, granny Ageha, most of the Mauszan clergy, Sanguinarians, Wildlings, Myrrdinians, criminals, monster hunters from west of Vago, etc.  

20. Positive Traits. Gentle. Steadfast. Rational. Diligent. Generous. Thoughtful. Wise. Forgiving. Merciful. Questions authority. Determined. Resilient. Knowledgeable.  21. Negative Traits. Closed-off. Cold. Opportunistic at times. Avoidant. Distant. Impersonal. Cryptic. Chronically late. Does not forget. Secretive. Bitter. Uncertain. Hoarder. Difficulty letting go. Selectively caring. Territorial. Prefers to be hands-off. Cowardly. Fickle. 22. Goals. To locate and retrieve the Sanguine Star, prevent the early destruction of all the world and safeguard it from those who would corrupt and ruin. 23. Desires. Salvation from his grief. 24. Alignment. Neutral Good

25. Personality. Furie is bit of a difficult nut to crack, being a reserved and quiet individual with no straightforward or truly personable inclinations. He presents as unreadable as physically possible, hiding himself beneath layer upon layer of carefully interwoven threads of polite neutrality, cool professionalism, and placidity. There’s a quiet determination about him, a hidden and unwavering steadfastness that anchors him to life and heroic pursuits, but just as this, he’s equally as regretful and deems himself unworthy of the atonement he seeks. He blames himself for the accident of his fiance’s death (though this is starting to direct itself toward Mausza) and is ever and constantly searching for a means of redeeming himself. On top of this, he doesn’t feel he has anything of value to say beyond his divination, harboring much resentment toward Mausza, the clergy, and Her worshippers. All anyone wants from him is his service, not to know what he thinks, feels, likes, or dislikes, so he gives it to them and keeps silent about all else (though this is in part due to the trauma of Yule’s death), putting as much distance as he can between himself and others. Generally speaking, he’s understanding and careful, thoughtful and wise, but he’s not above violence or sneaky tricks, lying, manipulation, or other such things to further his own ends - he will always try the non-violent route, though because of Mausza’s favoritism towards him, he’s given special permissions to use force if necessary during his search for the Sanguine Star.

⸻Sorcery Information. // Affinity, Talent, etc.

26. Affinity. Spacial, Blackwyrm Soporific, & Necrotic - moderate control, though he possesses the creation root which allows him to source these affinities within himself. 27. Shapeshifting. Innate monthly transformation into a white-violet blackwyrm - may transform outside of this, however, but it can potentially make him sick and runs the risk of a permanent transformation. 28. Utility. Wards, curses, blessings, summoning, - highly skilled. 29. Specialization. Divination, Prophecy, and Vocal Soporifics - highly skilled due in part to both practice and raw talent; The magic flowing through his vocal chords, due to its inherent divinity, runs the risk of permanently damaging them. 30. Graduate School. Zurine Mages’ University - the only active school for mages on the pangea ; Extremely dedicated to quality, well-rounded education and therefore expensive, though they do offer scholarships based on potential ; Open to all magical folk, or those who can afford it ; Generally treated as a sort of haven for them. 31. Classification. Beastkin Oracle ; Respected member of the Mauszan clergy, the Euphony of Mausza, working in conjunction with the Fateweavers of the Sightless Eye ; Beastkin (or beastfolk, more commonly) are a type of shapeshifter or were whose human and primary animal forms are permanently apparent in some combination - they are equally as animal as they are ‘human’ in appearance and physiology; all beastfolk in the 2nd Era were oppressed and enslaved. 

⸻Background Information. // Past to Present.

    He was born into the Night family, to a sorcerer and a were-wyrm with dominant genes. As both, he was born possessing a natural affinity for gravitic and necrotic schools of magic, inheriting the spacial abilities of a blackwyrm and the Night’s close relationship with necromancy. From birth, he had many doors open for him, but he chose a religious path early on in an effort to break away from the dark and dour nature of his family (especially his father), though this really only replaced one abusive group of people with another slightly more palatably abusive one.

    But it was there he met his beloved, Yule, a harpy of heron variety who showed him the beauties of hope and faith, pure and kind no matter the hardships she faced. He fell in love with her good-natured charm, adoring her so completely, he proposed. She accepted, of course. Tragically, however, tensions were running high as ever between the Myrrdinians, Wildlings, roving Red Hand vampires from Strigane, civil unrest between beastfolk and non-nightfolk, which coalesced into an all-out skirmish in several nightfolk cities throughout the Myrrdin. At the time, Furie and Yule were vacationing in Frea when a hoard of blackwyrms were unleashed into the town center. Buildings were destroyed, hundreds of people were killed or injured, and he and Yule were separated amid the chaos. He was swept away, caught in a blackwyrm’s jaws and nearly chewed in half; She was overpowered and killed, shredded to pieces. Surviving this without her left a hole inside him that could never be filled.

    Once he recovered from the attack, he dedicated himself to his work as a diviner of Mausza, earning the Starstitcher’s Favor. Insodoing, he was given a special task - informed through communion with her that a Sanguine Star had fallen and must be retrieved before 'bad actors' and 'violent retributors' could get their hands on it, reduce the world as they knew it to ash and sow endless death. He was shown Loux and Sortia’s faces, along with the likes of Elluvius Black, Lilith Morningstar, Cedric & Claire Montgomery, Deadeye, and many others - promised the removal of his pain and grief, the serenity and grace to keep living, the courage and drive to continue. Because of his direct communion with Mausza, he was dubbed Euphony, her voice, among the clergy. This all put a whole new set of pressures and expectations on his shoulders, thrusting him into oracle status and all that comes with it. His position turned into something of a curse, testing his relationship with Mausza as well as his resolve.

    He is used as little more than a service, rather than sought out for genuine inquiries - taken for granted among his apparently graceless and faithless fellows, time and energy abused as both a man and a clerical leader. At this time, however, he has not wavered in his work despite his now shaky beliefs. He searches tirelessly for the star in an effort to please Mausza and achieve his peace, even though it’s costing him much more than he ever thought it would. 

[artsklein]

historical cloak/cape resources

howdy!

these are some links/resources I used to get some inspiration & information for making a historical-inspired cape/cloak/capelet/mantle. i’m working on 2 right now, more posts to come :)

Historical cloak resources & some notes:

 Brunley & Trowbridge - 18th century short cloak tutorial (they sell the pattern for it) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czsqRnN1ENQ&t=0s

>very few wool shortcloaks are fully lined, sometimes the hood is lined in silk but not always

>2 part video (1st linked)

Bernadette Banner - Reconstructing an Edwardian Mantle https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUYLt3QxlDo 

>made from silk & more complicated in patterning than the apparently common half-circle short cloak

V. Birchwood - “I Hand Sewed a Majestic Winter Cloak...” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4lD9NOqSHU 

Costume & Conservation - “The Iconic Red Cloak...” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XBPPvOqCRQ 

A point about cloaks https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yN8cYd3poIk 

>a very entertaining spiel of a guy explaining a lot of benefits of wool cloaks

“Bocksten Man” Style Cloak and Pattern https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrPbq0-laFM 

>explains the cloak of the Bocksten Man, a preserved Scandinavian bog body found with hair & clothes intact, from around 14th century

LarpWright - “How to Make a Ruana Cloak” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JND09HvdHTA 

>the Ruana is a Celtic-style cloak, relatively simple in construction, usually rectangular

Living Anachronism - “My Ruana Cloak Dimensions” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tb9PeqHfbS0 

[enbys-art-blog]

Posted in our dnd chat for expressions from this snipperclips meme (X) and these were the results!

Xannan the half-elf is mine.

Waylin the Gnome is @tozzie1‘s

Navi the Goliath is @jenneeehhh‘s

Joe belongs to Mollie

and of course our beloved dm (even if we were fighting moose and not elk) is @tipnex

[naimly]

Commission for the lovely @thetidebreaks of their halfling rogue, Varris Shortcloak and he lil’ mouse Boot ♥

[enby-scientist]

dnd squad asked to give full names:

Joe:  Joe [insert orcish name here]

Waylin:  Wailefosfouwdi'ielin Shortcloak

Xannan: Xannan Brian Eldar

Navi: Thunder..... Thighs

[edgemarquis]

Excerpt from Chapter Eight

     CITIZENS OF SHIELDWALL CITY, HEART OF THE EMPIRE, DUE TO CRIMINAL ACTIVITY IN CORDIS, MAIN STREET IS TEMPORARILY UNDER LOCKDOWN. SUSPICIOUS PERSONS WILL BE DETAINED. CITIZENS ARE URGED TO STAY INDOORS UNTIL INSTRUCTED BY AN OFFICER OF THE WATCH.

    The announcement certainly kept the people indoors; even the streets around Main were empty. Anberlin warily stepped from the alley and onto Potter Avenue, where the greater bulk of what was considered ‘Marchants’ Alley’ could be found. A café had closed and locked its shutters, and shop display windows were curtained.

    Anberlin had forgotten about the club still clutched in her fist until she dropped it. Was this the Masked Thief’s own personal weapon? The stains on the claw still glistened in spots, as if wet. Perhaps… Perhaps it was unrelated and maybe, just maybe, she was letting her imagination run rampant.

    Through the fog, she saw the shadow of a figure that she at first thought to only be a statue, so involved with her theorizing as she was, until it moved. Too narrow to be Silas and not boisterous enough to be any other Watchman, she called out to them in as authoritative a tone as she could muster: “If you are not an officer of the Watch or a guardsman, these streets are closed to you, and you might be detained!” Anberlin put her faith in the density of the fog and brandished the club in the same menacing fashion a guard would, and it seemed to work; the figure backed away after the threat registered, then vanished into what Anberlin assumed was an open doorway.

    Now, to find Silas. He was no longer on the roofs, that much was certain. He had likely lost the chase and resorted to a manhunt through the streets. Potter Avenue seemed far too peaceful, even with the shouting from the street behind her. He may have moved on to Charleston Avenue, or into the residential districts, but it was far too easy for one man to get himself lost, at least based on what Silas himself had told her. Anberlin tapped the club idly against the balusters as she walked. The club was pulled. Reflexively, Anberlin pulled forward, her thought that it had merely caught on a stone, until something tightened its hold on the club and yanked. Her pull then was violent. She wrestled the club up in front of her, and a person came with it.

    The fingers that gripped tight to the heavy clawed end of the club were in staunch contrast to Anberlin’s, pale as paper, with fingertips and nails that were either painted black or dirtied with oil or soot. The hand was wrapped in black, fraying cloth while the wrist was protected by some manner of stained leather brace. Their hold was strong, and all Anberlin could do was turn sharply to greet them. A hood drawn low and a red bandanna drawn up concealed their face entirely.

    “Let go,” she demanded.

    “Didn’t anybody teach you stealing’s wrong?” they asked, voice a gravelly snarl. A glint of something just beneath the hood, as if glass or metal reflected the dim glow of the nearby streetlamp, unsettled her.

    “This belongs to my friend,” Anberlin sternly lied, though her voice cracked.

    For a moment their hold on the club loosened, she felt it, as if her bluff had worked. Then they reeled her in close, so she could smell an alcoholic stink. “This’s my blackjack,” they said flatly. “I don’t know you.”

    Before she could yell for help, Anberlin found herself violently wrenched. Her head struck something solid, and she was flung right over the balustrade into the runoff below. How the raspy-voiced villain had moved so quickly she couldn’t fathom, but her concerns for the finer details were crushed beneath the weight of water and wavering consciousness. As Anberlin struck the surface, blood spread in a halo around her head.

-

    He leaned over the stone wall and watched as the current took her. “Rest in fucking peace, dumbass,” he croaked. When he heard a gagged cough from the gutter below, however, he placed both hands on the wall and leaned further. “Gotta be fucking kidding me,” he hissed.

-

    Though the rain had tapered off by morning, the gutters were full, and the current was quick and strong. The more she fought the easier it seemed to drag her underwater, and she feared she would drown before anyone caught sight of her struggling. Colors flashed by through breaks in the fog overhead, then were gone altogether; she was away from Cordis. When she opened her mouth to yell, she choked on water.

    CITIZENS OF SHIELDWALL CITY, HEART OF THE EMPIRE, DUE TO CRIMINAL ACTIVITY IN CORDIS, MAIN STR

    She was pulled under and down into the tunnel beneath the joint of three streets with little time to take a deep breath. Something small and hairy bumped her cheek and was swirled away by her own spinning. The motions were dizzying enough even before she crashed against the sewer wall, forced to twist and turn and tumble. Her shortcloak tightened around her throat and flipped over her head, strangling her until she unbuttoned it to free herself.

    Briefly, her head popped above water, just long enough for Anberlin to sputter in a breath. It was too dark to see anything at all. The weight of her clothing only helped to wrench her back under, but kicking off her shoes proved impossible on its own. When her hands found something solid to grab hold of, it broke away with her after a moment’s strain, and she was then convinced that there in sewage was where she would die.

    The water pushed her up and she gasped for air, clawing desperately at the surface of the water.

    Where am I?

    For now, that she had survived was really all that mattered.

    Anberlin was still being pushed along, only this time the current was almost gentle. She was back outside, but there was no expertly-carved balustrade or arching stone footbridges above her. Instead, the handrailing was constructed of weather-beaten wood and the bridges were metal.

    “Help,” she gasped, finally able to find her voice. “Please, I need help!”

    The gutter trenches were much deeper wherever she was, and there was nowhere she could stand, but the overflowing water ran so lazily that she was able to paddle to a spot she could stand. Water had been left to flood the entire street, up to her waist when she stood. An enormous metal statue of Imperator Titus stood weathered and headless, its back pressed to an old brick building that bore Watch insignia on its rotting door. Some sort of cloth had been pinned across several buildings, but were so streaked and ruined from passing storms she couldn’t tell what they had once displayed. The entire atmosphere felt heavy, fog aside, and Anberlin had never felt so small or alone in her entire life.

    When she flexed her fingers, water oozed from her gloves. Her shirt sagged off one shoulder, and her hair hung loose down her back. She was smudged with grime from the sewers, and the water smelled rotten. All she wished in that moment was to return home for a thorough rinsing.

    Until she heard a soft, mournful wail.

    Other voices joined, and she realized it was an organized choir. The haunting song echoed from one of the tight footpaths that led into the web of residencies, and the word siren came to mind.

    It felt like a place beyond the Empire, somewhere alien. Not far down the road stood imposing, dark metal structures that she had only ever seen from a distance, and at the far end was the old clock tower mid-deconstruction, surrounded by scaffolding. Announcements were muffled.

    The Factory District had been blocked off to the public for years due to unsafe conditions. It sat in what had been a shallow lake, drained and molded to accommodate Shieldwall’s rampant expansion, and the entire district had suffered. Anberlin remembered when the fence had risen because of her father’s fiery and vocal opposition of it, that to secure the perimeter was a waste of Watch resources, that there weren’t enough watchmen to patrol the city streets as it was.

    The dreary day had chilled the rainwater. After her violent journey, her legs were beginning to go numb, and she decided she needed to get moving. In Bersia, a storm could blow from the sea at any given time, and the last place she wanted to be in heavy rain was the district whose gutters drained at a snail’s pace.

    Singing continued. It was almost a chant. Anberlin tasted blood between her teeth and reminded herself that she likely had numerous cuts and wounds that needed to be seen to.

    One glance was spared over her shoulder in the direction of the choir as she began to trudge through the water, then another glance, and another, until she stopped walking and turned around.

    If she remained hidden, perhaps she could chance a peek.

    Anberlin all but dragged herself as quietly as she could across the flooded street and toward the narrow pathway, pushing floating debris out of her path. She surveyed the alley as she went; the district had closed long before cantilever footbridges had seen widespread installation across the Empire, but it seemed someone had taken it upon themselves to arrange planks of wood in a similar fashion between balconies and broken windows. Beside those and the distant choir, there seemed to be no sign of life. There were certainly no people anywhere she looked.

    With both arms raised above the water, Anberlin carefully picked her way down the path. The flooding only worsened as she traveled deeper into the district, and soon she found herself chest-deep in water. Still, she pushed onward.

    “If you wanted to go for a swim,” a familiar voice called, “you should’a just gone to the beach. Or some fancy pool. You nobles all have those, yeah?”

    Relieved to see a friendly face as she was, her answer was prompt and cross. “I haven’t the time for you, Reed,” she huffed.

    “Yeah, I see you’s real busy drowning.”

    He was precariously balanced on the edge of a roof overhead, backlit by a break in the fog. Sloshing through the water drowned out any other sound, and Anberlin had to pause to hear the singing choir; she peered up at him as she did.

    “I am going to find the source of that song,” she informed Reed, and stumbled into a hole in the ground that left her suddenly neck-deep in icy water.

    “Well, you’s doin’ great.”

    The fog rolled in thick, and Reed disappeared from view. Had he been the one who set up the makeshift footbridges, Anberlin wondered. She couldn’t imagine a trade-thief willingly compromising their gear by wading through sewer runoff. As if he read her mind, he called; “You got something against convenience, or you really like the water?” Reed’s voice came down through the mist, smarmy. “Dunno what’s worse.”

    “When I said I haven’t the time for you, I was serious,” Anberlin returned.

    He dropped down to one of the footbridges, and the wood softly creaked under his weight. He said nothing else, and at first she considered her snap had hurt his feelings, but dismissed it as irritation with her instead. Or, she thought, he might enjoy watching a noblewoman drag herself through a flood. I’m sure many people would.

    They continued in silence, Reed above, Anberlin below. Occasionally the water dipped back down to her ribs when she stepped up onto what might have been a step into someone’s home, but the water was murky and she couldn’t see to the ground. When the water sat at her collar, she paused to reconsider the path she followed.

    “Y’know you’s bleeding, right?”

    Anberlin wiped blood with her sleeve and continued walking.

    He scowled. Blood, but no wounds. “Just...here, you fuckin’ weirdo,” Reed grunted, suddenly taking hold of her raised hand by the wrist, “climb the rope.”

    “Do you honestly believe I can scale a thin rope like thieves do?” she asked, and indignantly shook him off. “I’m fine.”

    “You know how to swim?”

    “It’s shallow enough to walk.”

    “Yeah, right here. Deep enough to drown if you keep goin’.” For a brief moment, there was silence from above as she continued. “On second thought, g’head.”

    He stared down at her and she stared up at him. The numbness in her legs had radiated through her as she walked, and exhaustion now snuck into her joints. The footbridges would be better, but she couldn’t imagine attempting the climb, and she had seen no ladders along her way.

    The choir voices rose in strength.

    Anberlin wiped water off her forehead and waded to a shattered shop window. “Reed,” she called, “help me get the doors open.”

[verinne-mattwin]

The Werewolf vanished in a blur, shadows enveloping her instantly as she separated from the other two.

"Strike now or wait for her to show up." Said Halfrag.

Minath pulled out a knitted yarn ring, with fifteen knots around the rim. She threw it into the air, snapped out three words, and it vanished in a flash of light. In unison with her, an almost identical ring formed around the scene, small glowing stops around the battle.

"What's that?" Asked Halfrag curiously.

"It's a tracking zone. If they leave it they will leave us a glowing trail."

"Thanks. I'll handle Fortune then."

Halfrag pulled another small stone from his pocket, and palmed it into his other hand. A soft and subtle golden glow surrounded the guards and the two.

"I can't cast it on her since I can't see her."

"Can you add her to the targets when she reappears?"

"I could but that would mean I had to concentrate until she appears, which I didn't."

"How long should we wait?"

"There she is." Halfrag said, as a dark shape blocked their view of the tall cloaked figure for a split second. Minath blinked, and both had vanished into the undergrowth in a cacophony of growling and shouting. The sword flickered out of existence as it's master lost concentration.

The battle paused for an instant, as both sides tried to figure out exactly what had just happened. Halfrag took the opportunity to launch a pair of air lances at the still targets, which nailed some of the smallcloaks, blasting them to the side.

Both Minath and Halfrag stepped out of the brush, revealing themselves. The guards relaxed, and the moment was over. The battle resumed. Swords clanged and clunged against each other. The deadly whistle of the archer's arrows stood out against the background of shrieking shortcloaks and shouting guards, loud metal armor, and the dull thud of a shield hitting something soft.

The guards, Halfrag, and Minath had almost finished off the shortcloaks when a wet howl sounded from the brush that the large cloak had vanished into. The bestial sound paused the battle once again. The guards quickly recovered, rebracing themselves. The shortcloaks, on the other hand, decided that the howl was their key to leave. The remaining four scattered, and the tracking zone Minath had cast left glittering white trails of light behind them.

[astarab1aze]

➥ The White Wyrm

⸻Technical Information. // Face, Voice, etc.

01. Faceclaim. Shirasu Kinjou   [ Donten ni Warau ]  &  Rin    [ Kami-sama no Uroko ] 04. Voice Claim. TBA

⸻Profile Information. // Name, Age, etc.

01. Name. Furie Night   [ Fuu, Fury, Furious (after great-grandpax30) ] 02. Alias. Euphony of Mausza, The White Wyrm 03. Sex. Male 04. Gender. Male 05. Age. 26…?  06. Birth Date. December 7th   [ Saggitarius ] 07. Blood Type. Sub-type WWB+ 08. Race. Were-wyrm, American by nationality ; French-Japanese by ethnicity. 09. Marital Status. Single, formerly engaged to Yule Z'raza   [ Multiship ] 10. Orientation. Demisexual   [ Biromantic / no preference ] 11. Residence. Enfurious Night’s Estate in Belle Valley, Southern Crossroads

⸻Physical Information. // Body, Equipment, Family, etc.

17. Physical Description. Furie’s hair is stark white, thick, silky. More akin to that of a mop than anything else, he does occasionally pin it all out of his eyes, though this is rarer than you might think. His hair is very soft and easy to comb through. His eyes are a soft, pale lilac in color. Gentle though very guarded, revealing very little. He has a lean and narrow body type featuring some toning, standing at an odd 5'7". His skin is a pale but neutral tone, unblemished aside from a scar in his left side in the shape of blackwyrm’s jaws, many rows of teeth having bore into his skin, and some old nicks, scrapes, and cuts from less than ideal transformation cycles. There are patches of iridescent scales in various places on his body. He has a tattoo of a spacial summoning circle split between both of his hands in enchanted white ink. He wears a black and purple modified hakama and a dramatic high-collared sleeveless shirt, forgoing the theatrics of a robe or cape, as well as a shortcloak made of starlight. 

13. Equipment. He keeps a blackwyrm whistle to call his Bluebird, an infinite pocket, fragments of a fallen star, a pair of singing stones, a wand made of meteorite, keys to the estate, a traveling mirror, and a Mauszan scrying glass. 14. Occupation. Cryptic fortune-teller ; An Oracle of Mausza in the Mauszan clergy 15. Job Performance. Beloved, but how much of what he says is true? How could he possibly compare to the likes of his predecessors? 16. Parents. Fraya Sinclair & Fallow Night ; Both living, but are no longer together on account of how utterly insufferable Fallow is as a person 17. Siblings. None

⸻Personality Information. // Likes, Strengths, etc.

18. Likes. Flying, iced coffee, cottonmouth cakes, FrankenLeeches, natural settings, stargazing, night walking, spending time with Bluebird, perusing nightmarkets, meandering Bell’s Hollow, collecting art & small shiny objects, reading the stars, etc.  19. Dislikes. Self-destructive types, human arrogance, vampires, the Red Hand, the Belegerande family (especially Spira; Simone’s okay), scarbuncle cheese, his relation to Enfurious and Sortia, being patronized, being compared to other oracles or family members, granny Ageha, most of the Mauszan clergy, Sanguinarians (worshippers of Sanguinach), the DRS, criminals, etc. 

20. Positive Traits. Gentle. Steadfast. Rational. Emotionally intelligent. Diligent. Generous. Thoughtful. Wise. Forgiving. Merciful. Questions authority. Determined. Resilient. Knowledgeable.  21. Negative Traits. Closed-off. Cold. Opportunistic. Avoidant. Distant. Impersonal. Cryptic. Chronically late. Does not forget. Secretive. Bitter. Uncertain. Hoarder. Difficulty letting go. Selectively caring. Territorial. Prefers to be hands-off. Cowardly. Fickle. 22. Goals. To keep the likes of Sortia Morgana and Loux Garo from ever finding the sanguine star, to find it himself and prevent the destruction of all the world and protect it from selfish whims and further death. 23. Desires. Salvation from his grief, for the grace of Mausza to replace his anguish with comfort and peace.  24. Alignment. Neutral Good

25. Personality. Furie is bit of a difficult nut to crack, being a reserved and quiet individual with no straightforward or truly personable inclinations. He presents as unreadable as physically possible, hiding himself beneath layer upon layer of carefully interwoven threads of polite neutrality, cool professionalism, and placidity. There’s a quiet determination about him, a hidden and unwavering steadfastness that anchors him to life and heroic pursuits, but just as this, he’s equally as regretful and deems himself unworthy of the atonement he seeks. He blames himself for the accident of his fiance’s death and is ever and constantly searching for a means of redeeming himself. On top of this, he doesn’t feel he has anything of value to say beyond his divination, harboring some resentment toward Mausza, the clergy, and Mauszan worshippers. All anyone wants from him is his service, not to know what he thinks, feels, likes, or dislikes, so he gives it to them and keeps silent about all else (though this is in part due to the trauma of Yule’s death), putting as much distance as he can between himself and others. Generally speaking, he’s understanding and careful, thoughtful and wise, but he’s not above violence or sneaky tricks, lying, manipulation, or other such things to further his own ends - he will always try the non-violent route, though because of Mausza’s favoritism towards him, he’s given special permissions to use force if necessary during his search for the sanguine star.

⸻Sorcery Information. // Element, Talent, etc.

26. Element. Spacial, Blackwyrm Soporific, & Necrotic - creation root & moderate control. 27. Shapeshifting. Innate monthly transformation into a white-violet blackwyrm - may transform outside of this, however, but it makes him sick and runs the risk of a permanent transformation. 28. Utility. Wards, curses, blessings, summoning - highly skilled. 29. Specialization. Divination & Prophecy - highly skilled due in part to both practice and raw talent. 30. Graduate School. Belegerande’s School for the Arcane, House Bell - the first of 11 total sorcery-centered schools established in North america in the 1500s; Quite a prestigious institution despite its current reputation. 31. Classification. Oracle ; Respected member of the Mauszan clergy, the Euphony of Mausza, working in conjunction with the Fateweavers of the Sightless Eye

⸻Background Information. // Past to Present.

    He was born into the Night family, to a sorcerer and a were-wyrm with dominant genes. As both, he was born possessing a natural affinity for gravitic and necrotic schools of magic, inheriting the spacial abilities of a blackwyrm and the Night’s close relationship with necromancy. From birth, he had many doors open for him, but he chose a religious path early on in an effort to break away from the dark and dour nature of his family (especially his father), though this really only replaced one abusive group of people with another slightly more palatable one.

    But it was there he met his beloved, Yule, who showed him the beauties of hope and faith, pure and kind no matter the hardships she faced. He fell in love with her good-natured charm, adoring her so completely, he proposed. She accepted, of course. Tragically, however, tensions were running high as ever between the Red Hand, DRS, Sanguinarian extremists, and other factions, which coalesced into an all-out skirmish in several nightfolk cities throughout the United States. At the time, Furie and Yule were vacationing in Salem’s Crossing when a hoard of blackwyrms were unleashed into the town center. Buildings were destroyed, hundreds of people were killed or injured, and he and Yule were separated amid the chaos. He was swept away, caught in a blackwyrm’s jaws and nearly chewed in half; She was overpowered and killed, shredded to pieces. Surviving this without her left a hole inside him that could never be filled.

    Once he recovered from the attack, he dedicated himself to his work as a diviner of Mausza, going so far as to earn the Starstitcher’s Favor. Insodoing, he was given a special task - informed through communion with her that a sanguine star has fallen and must be retrieved before bad actors and violent retributors can get their hands on it, reduce the world as they knew it to ash and sow endless death. He was shown Loux and Sortia’s faces, along with the likes of Elluvius Black, Lilith Morningstar, Cedric & Claire Montgomery, Deadeye, and many others - promised the removal of his pain and grief, the serenity and grace to keep living, the courage and drive to continue. Because of his direct communion with Mausza, he was dubbed Euphony, her voice, among the clergy. This all put a whole new set of pressures and expectations on his shoulders, thrusting him into oracle status and all that comes with it. His position turned into something of a curse, testing his relationship with Mausza as well as his resolve.

    He is used as little more than a service, rather than sought out for genuine inquiries - taken for granted among his apparently graceless and faithless fellows, time and energy abused as both a man and a clerical leader. At this time, however, he has not wavered in his work despite his now shaky beliefs. He searches tirelessly for the star in an effort to please Mausza and achieve his peace, even though it’s costing him much more than he ever thought it would.