o mad white moon,
hung over the winedark sea
lead me out of the mess i've made

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Aurelain Vermarrec

FULL NAME: Aurelain Vermarrec
PRONOUNS: he/they
BIRTH DATE: 31st sun of the 3rd umbral moon (29/06)
RACE: duskwight elezen
AFFILIATION: the shroudfolk
ECHO: empath; a heightened sensitivity to other's emotions

about

Far beyond Gridania’s walls, across the winding paths and emerald boughs, tales circulate among the oft-forgotten Shroudfolk of a mendicant doctor who travels the forest with his painted caravan, aiding those in need. Those that have met him all agree; he is surely a kind, dutiful soul, gentle and soft-spoken, endlessly patient and unfaltering in his duty.This is not entirely true. As Aurelain himself would put it, he is a mere cripplied herbalist, doing his duty because someone has to. And more than anything, he is far from the kindly person he is made out to be.It is a mask that Aurelain wears; nothing but a blank visage crafted of hollow niceties and superficial docility, rarely showing any expression besides a placid, empty smile. As the emotions of others flood his mind — all the sorrow and anxiety that come with a doctor’s work — he seldom has any place for his own. In this, the mask is his defence mechanism; a blank slate of subservience that others can project their own wants and desires on to, so that he may be whatever they need of him. Few are allowed to see his true face, and those true emotions are dark and often vengeful. Buried deep within lies a smouldering anger at the injustices he and the other marginalised people of the Shroud have been through — an anger only exacerbated by his knowledge that he can ultimately do nothing. He does not hope for freedom or power, because he has long since given up on all such things.For the most part, though, Aurelain just wants to be left alone. Past the resentment and anger, he is a quiet, somewhat timid person who refuses any kind of conflict, no matter how trivial. He is a man of great practicality and little sentiment, seldom given to flights of fancy — yet buried deep within him lies a dreamer’s heart, locked away and forgotten. Whatever kindness lived in him once, he believes, a lifetime of misfortune has twisted it beyond repair.To the Duskwight, fairytales and folklore are inextricable from reality, each a mirror of the other. It is through this lens that he has come to view the world and his place within it. There is a stark division, he knows, betwixt the heroes and the rabble; those that would shape the world and those that merely exist within it, the lead actors and the silent roles. And he knows his place all too well.

story

The young child was ever a dreamer, prone to wild bursts of imagination; drifting pondweed a mermaid’s tresses, every tree hollow a faerie’s abode. Every fairytale was taken as gospel, and any blank parchment was soon scrawled over with dragons and unicorns galore. But there was always work to be done in the underground village of Nitay-Daolvaen-Har, and the unending chores of laundry and gathering have little patience for daydreamers.Although raised as a daughter at first, as Aurelain grew up he realised how ill-fitting that role truly was, and took on a man’s name and markings as a teenager. As was the custom among many Duskwight communities, he was also taken in by the lead druidess of the village, Mater Nolwenn, to study as a potential successor. Though he learnt much from her, especially the ways of medicine and herbology, she was a harsh mistress who demanded perfection, and Aurelain often struggled to live up to her demanding standards.Between hours of practising stitches and scrubbing the Nophikë altar, he spent what little free time he had in the woods, helping his father restore an old Vardo caravan, reading whatever books he had found and sketching interesting plants. On occasion he would venture closer to the nearby villages, simply to observe the world outside his underground home from afar. It was on one of those days that he encountered a fair-faced, golden-haired Wildwood, genteel and soft-spoken, who to Aurelain’s easily-smitten heart, seemed a prince from a fairytale — and who, in time, even seemed to return Aurelain’s feelings.But the man’s affections soon turned forceful. And when Aurelain dared reject his advances, his rage was all-consuming.Yet somehow Aurelain survived. Broken, body and soul, but alive. Of the assault he remembers little; only the distant sound of waterwheels. For months he remained bedridden and borderline catatonic, to the disappointment of all those who had thought him a far more resilient person. Even once he recovered physically, he was left with a permanent limp in one leg and a constant pain in his body — and scars over his heart that would likely never heal.

companions

PRIM and ROSE
Twin faeries that sprung from a strange blue stone, found by Aurelain while gathering water roots. Intended by Nymian scholars as tools of war, now they guard bookshelves and help with the knitting. Having been given an unusual amount of freedom for aetherial constructs, the two have come to grow distinct personalities; Prim being the more headstrong and vivacious of the two, compared to the shy, retiring Rose. Much to Aurelain's chagrin, they also reflect their master's emotions with far greater honesty than he would like.PEONY
A massive white draught mare, found wandering the Shroud by Aurelain on the eve of the Calamity. In a way, she saved his life — though of course she doesn’t know it. A gentle, placid, warm dumpling of a horse, Peony spends her days pulling the Vardo, bearing Aurelain wherever he might need, breaking wind at inopportune moments, and occasionally knocking over wayward children with her face. The story of how a creature of the Far East would up in Aldenard's woods is doubtless fascinating, perhaps involving a certain imperial prince... but it is another story for another time.

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Ronja bihn Trivedi

pronouns: she/her
age: 23
race: thavnairian roegadyn
birth date: 4th sun of the 6th astral moon (4/11)
main class: warrior/dancer
main weapon: the wheels, an ancient pair of chakrams
echo: ???

personality

Ronja is a warm, friendly woman with a heart full of love firmly pinned to her sleeve. Always ready with a warm rib-crushing hug or a well-muscled shoulder to cry on, her greatest strength is her genuine, loving kindness to almost everyone she meets — after all, a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet.Although to the outsider she may well seem to be a little ditzy, with her decidedly odd way of thinking, she’s far more perceptive and insightful than most people think. While can seem brash and headstrong (which she is) and often comes off as having her head in the clouds (which she does), she cares deeply about the wellbeing of others, even those she barely knows — and is fiercely loyal to her friends, for whom she would go to the ends of the earth to protect. Even then, though, her sincerity can often be uncomfortably blunt or inappropriate, and her emotions are oft as strong as the rest of her, leading to her being more than a little impulsive. But she doesn't agonise over these things much. She leaves that to other people.Above all else, though, she’s a kindhearted, hard-working and loyal person. She values honesty and sincerity above all else, and holds grudges against those she sees as having taken advantage of that honesty — though at the same time, she genuinely believes that most people are good at heart. Her strongest trait, however, is her abject refusal to die. Even if she’s been beaten bloody into the dirt and close to death, she’ll haul herself up by the knuckles and keep going out of sheer determination. She will never give up. Ever.

story

Many years ago, a couple from Radz-at-Han — a diplomat and his heavily pregnant wife — journeyed to Gyr Abania to discuss the mundane topics of trade, fragile as the peace was then.
Barely a week later, Garlemald marched on Ala Mhigo. Caught in the middle of a sudden warzone, the woman barely escaped to the relative safety of a small village with her life. Her husband, however, was not so lucky.
Trapped in occupied territory with no way of escape, it was then that in a stroke of freakish luck, a violent storm hit the village — and it was in the middle of this storm that Ronja was born.
(Her mother, dreamer that she was, liked to say the storm stopped almost as soon as the baby girl began to cry. Whether this was true or not, Ronja was never sure.)From then on, the two lived a meagre life on an shellfish picker's wages, though the village's relative isolation meant that for the most part they were mercifully unbothered by imperial soldiers. As she grew up, though, young Ronja was clearly far, far stronger than her peers. None really knew why, but this inevitably drew the attention of the Garlean army, ever searching for fresh workhorses — or cannon fodder. Though her mother tried to protect her, she was punished severely for her impudence, while her daughter was taken to work the quarries.
Time passed. Castrums rose from the stones like a blight. Ronja heaved stone under the blazing sun, day after day. Her mother grew tired, fell ill, and withered away. Some died. Others vanished without a trace. Such was life under occupation.Eventually, though, something in the girl gave way. Pride, perhaps, or some newfound resolve — even she wasn't certain. But one night, when the guards were asleep, Ronja left her bed and walked away. And she kept walking — through the mountains and forests and ruins, past castrum watchtowers and downed magitek. When she got to the shadow of Baelsar's Wall, she kept walking until she had walked right past it, into the forests of the Black Shroud. And then she kept walking, through the forests into the desert of Thanalan until she found herself on a ship bound to the island of Vylbrand. There, satisfied, she finally decided to rest, and take up cookery.

weapons

VAJRAYANA
Once a company-issued battleaxe, multiple repairs and gradual infusion with lightning-aspected aether served to alter its form. Though brutally powerful, its weight grew too much to bear in time.THE WHEELS
A pair of dancing chakrams. One represents emptiness, the other form. Their shape is simple and blunt, yet their edge can excise infinities.

companions

MARKAB
A levin-touched black rabicano stallion, found wandering Ramuh’s territory after his defeat. To hear his mistress speak, one would think he could leap over mountains in a single bound and gallop wildly over the very ocean waves... but that is merely hyperbole, of course. Surely...?

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Ameny Segunda Sawyer

pronouns: they/them
age: 18
race: hyur (mostly)
birth date: 12th sun of the 6th astral moon (4/11)
main class: black mage
main weapon: the starfall glaive
echo: heavily-concentrated, volatile aether; innate magical aptitude; forcible memory transfer

about

Barely five fulms tall in heavy boots, Ameny Sawyer does not an imposing figure make. What they lack in intimidation, however, they more than make up for in smarts, magical ability, and sheer fury. Ambitious, intelligent, and more than a little vicious, Ameny has only three things constantly in mind; what they have, what they want, and how to use the former to get the latter. Everything — and everyone — else is utterly irrelevant.Or so they would insist. In truth, years of emotional issues and resentment have left them with a chronic inability to express her feelings in any way other than violent outbusts or bitter snark — a trait that has not helped their social life. Yet beneath their abrasive nature lies a gentle heart, armoured and buried.More than anything, though, Ameny’s greatest desire is that of learning and acquiring knowledge, of any and all sorts. Their aetheric and mechanical skills are quite impressive for one of their age, their understanding of aetheryte tech and teleportation magicks allowing them to use them to their advantage, be it in battle or to cause mischief. Such fervent curiosity often leads to trouble, however, and has landed them in hot water more than once. Most times, though, they manage to worm their way out by the skin of their teeth — or by copious use of violence.

story

The child of a Lowri Sawyer, a notoriously free-spirited Sharlayan woman with a habit of vanishing for months on end, Ameny was born and grew up in U’Dah with her mother’s sensible merchant husband, Cyneric Hartshorn. Although they lived comfortably and with little want, the household was far from happy — their relationship was greatly strained, owing to the fact that Ameny was very obviously not Cyneric’s offspring, and arguments were a nigh-daily occurrence. Rumours around the girl ran amok, mainly centering around just who (or what, according to the crueler children) her mother had bedded, and few of her peers ever wanted anything to do with the strange child. Perpetually overlooked and alone, Ameny’s only friends were the knights and monsters who lived in the pages of her books — them, and the strange ghost of a blue-haired girl in the corner of her eye.The tension in the family came to a head when, when Ameny was 9, Lowri left for one of her journeys and never returned. After that, the child withdrew into her shell and stubbornly refused to come out.Things only got worse in time, with Ameny beginning to constantly act out and get into trouble in vain attempts to get Cyneric to notice her, and him wanting increasingly less to do with the living reminder of both his wife and her infidelity. As she grew older, Ameny was enrolled into a notable Ul’dahn boarding school — ostensibly to give her a merchant’s education, but the girl always suspected he rather wished to be rid of her. It was there, however, that she found herself drawn to — especially those of thaumaturgy and the modern science of aetheryte and linkpearl technology. It was her skills in these fields that caught the attention of one Ashril Enard, a visiting omnischolar with connections to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

weapons

THE STARDUST ROD
A weapon of Ameny’s own making, designed to handle amounts of aetheric power other staves could not after one explosion too many. Elegant though it may have been at first, though, over time the sheer amount of aether flowing through it warped and melted its shape into something else entirely.THE STARFALL GLAIVE
A mysterious winged stave formed of crystallised, star-touched Light that appeared by Ameny’s side after the final battle with Hades. It glows with an unearthly light, and sometimes almost seems to whisper — though surely that’s just a figment of one’s imagination.

companions

ASHRIL ENARD
--FAFALA FALA
--STEREOBOOM
In the days of Allag, this node was little more than a glorified tannoy. Thousands of years later, Ameny would rewire it completely to function as a personal floating speaker system, formatted specifically to be as loud as humanly possible. Now it follows her around, blasting only the angriest and most rebellious of tunes as her personal soundtrack.MIDNIGHT
A military-issue chocobo granted to the Scions’ new recruit for the purpose of expediting missions. Very creatively named for his unusual black colouring, Ameny grew quite fond of him, and he proved to be a quite loyal steed until his untimely death at the hands of petty Crystal Braves during the Bloody Banquet.MIDNIGHT 2.0
An ornery black stallion given to Ameny by the Oronir as a reluctant token of appreciation after winning the Nadaam. However, given that Ameny had no prior experience with horses to speak of, their relationship never rose above uneasy co-operation. During Ameny’s time on the First, he was unceremoniously borrowed (or stolen, as Ameny puts it) by one Estinien Varlineau to assist on his reconnaissance mission to Garlemald, and the horse found himself significantly preferring his new master’s company.ARION MK. II
Built from a scrawled blueprint based on an unfinished concept found in Anamnesis Anyder (with a little Allagan biotech thrown in), the ARION* is an aethero-robotic... steed in the form of a strangely reptillian pegasus, created by Ameny for the sake of curiosity. With its angelic wings requisitioned from a chimera, livery made from House Borel's unused curtains, six legs (for extra speed) and a heated saddle, the ARION is a masterwork of chaotic engineering, loyally bearing its master wherever they may wish to go... and making most people that see it slightly uncomfortable while doing so.*MK. I was sadly lost during its unmanned test flight, wherein it plummeted from the top of the Agrius straight into Silvertear Lake.

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Rjego Haigha Rejtem

pronouns: he/him
age: 74
race: veena viera
birth date: 14th sun of the 2nd umbral moon (13/4)
main class: machinist
main weapon: discocvnt, an obnoxiously purple .50 caliber bolt-action sniper rifle
echo: truth-vision

personality

It is very rare to meet a person who can only be described as indescribable. The best way to deal with such a person is, usually, climbing up a tree and hiding until it goes away.
Ever-clad in his obnoxiously bright fur coat, shaded glasses and half-open shirt, brandishing a rifle painted neon violet, Rjego Rejtem is one of those people. Blessed with a unique – if paradoxical – combination of personality features, somehow possessing both an astounding mind and the kind of creative stupidity that can give the former a run for its money, Rjego doesn't so much go through life as much as he stumbles through it in a somnus-filled haze, occasionally falling into a ditch along the way.Doubtless, the Viera would love to style himself as the archetypical rogueish charmer, enchanting the underwear off anyone he finds attractive for his own gain and, hopefully, surrounded by piles of money. For the most part, though, everyone around him agrees that the man is a walking disaster. It is generally considered a wonder, then, that he was able to make his way as a hitman of all things — let alone a good one. Really, they wonder how he's even alive at all.The truth of the man, though, is one he keeps very firmly to himself. A childhood accident involving the Void and a lifetime of traumatic visions brought on at random times by the Echo means he can barely function without mind-altering substances to keep himself vaguely sane; in turn, this combines with his manic temperament to make him dangerously volatile. In clinging to his sanity, yet refusing to admit his own failings, he inevitably rejects all meaningful contact with other people despite how much he craves it. Ultimately, past the veneer of glitter and debauchery, there is simply a very, very lonely man.

story

A wayward son of Sharlayan scholars, Rjego grew up privileged, educated, and never wanting for anything. He may well have even made something of himself, bright as he was as a child — overly curious, certainly, and more than a little lazy, but bright.
As a boy, however, his curiosity nearly became the death of him when, while exploring a laboratory where his father worked, he stumbled into an experiment involving voidgates — and was thrown right through said gate into the Void.
The engineers extracted him a little over an hour later. When asked what he saw, he refused to speak. He still refuses to.Life seemed to go on as normal for a while. But in time, Rjego grew rebellious; starting with missing lessons and failing his studies, to falling in with what little of a 'questionable crowd' existed in Sharlayan, to fully throwing himself into the debauched underground polite society tried so hard to shun. No matter how his parents tried, any opportunity they granted him was inevitably wasted, any extracurriculars forgotten about, any funds spent on Twelve-knew-what. Their good faith squandered, Rjego was soon cast out from the family and, in time, out of Sharlayan completely.Stranded and thoroughly alone, Rjego barely scraped by for a time, before managing to land in Limsa Lominsa with what little pocket money he'd managed not to spend. There, falling back into his old habits, he ended up falling in with the city's criminal underground — but this time, against all odds, he managed to find his calling as a mercenary for hire, making his living by ending other people's. As far as he knows, that's how he'll go out too, someday.

weapons

DISCOCVNT
A high power bolt-action sniper rifle originally of Garlean make before undergoing heavy refurbishment... and being painted bright purple. Lovingly bedazzled in sequins and glitter, in Rjego’s eyes, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.DANCER
Disco’s little sister. A handheld 6-chamber revolver, kept on hand for emergencies and just as obnoxiously shiny.