Akpadiaha Uwem
"The world has a lot of colors.
Mine is orange, but my friends said is indigo.
My papa said it's blue, but my mama said it's silver.
So it must be silver.
But I don't understand why colors are important.
It's not like the world will die in the absence of colors.
If it did, then the world should not exist.
I don't know a consignment of affairs, but I do know my puzzle is incomplete."
— Origin This Guy, Here
Akpadiaha Uwem has lived most of his life featherbedding his family—his papa and sister. He never met his mother, but understood that asking was too much for either his papa or his sister to explain. So, he usually engages in pottery and raffia-weaving while running with the wind. But after his sister's death, he only does raffia-weaving. The last gift from his sister: the truth about his mother's death.
Appearance
At sixteen, Akpadiaha Uwem stands with the wiry, agile build of a youth who has grown more in spirit than in muscle. His frame is lean but flexible—like a shadow that has learned to move on its own. His skin is a smooth, dusky blue, deep and matte like twilight just before the stars emerge. This Drow inheritance gives his features a striking quality, especially under moonlight or torchlight, when his skin seems to absorb color rather than reflect it.
His hair is a cool ash-grey, fine but thick afro. Strands often slip into his face, framing eyes that are impossible to miss: rich amber, luminous and feline in their intensity. They seem too bright for someone so quiet, too full of judgment and curiosity for a boy still coming of age. When caught in firelight, his gaze often reflects a copper-gold glow, unnerving to some, enchanting to others.
His facial features are a delicate balance between sharp and soft. From his Drow mother, he inherited slightly tapered ears, high cheekbones, and a fine-boned elegance. From his human father came a rounder jaw, expressive brows, and a fuller mouth that makes him appear far more readable than most drows. His face is animated when energetic—restless smiles, wide eyes, a quick flush in the cheeks—but eerily still and somber when the low moods seize him.
In dress, Akpadiaha blends the austerity of his magical training with colorful attire: a finely woven tunic in the chieftain style, adorned with embroidered patterns that resemble bats, moon cycles, or river waves. This is often paired with richly colored usobo wrappers, waist sashes, or native caps—especially during ceremonies or prayer. Beads carved from bone or wood decorate his wrists or neck, and he carries a slim cane not just as a walking stick, but as a gesture of identity and ancestral pride. During colder nights in Elbion, he layers with dark robes or traveler's cloaks for practicality.
Subtle physical tells betray his moods—slight tremors in his fingers when agitated, pacing steps when elated, a hollow stillness when despair takes hold. While not frail, he seems carved for endurance over strength, for flight rather than fight, though his sharp eyes and presence suggest that when cornered, he might be far more dangerous than he appears.
His hair is a cool ash-grey, fine but thick afro. Strands often slip into his face, framing eyes that are impossible to miss: rich amber, luminous and feline in their intensity. They seem too bright for someone so quiet, too full of judgment and curiosity for a boy still coming of age. When caught in firelight, his gaze often reflects a copper-gold glow, unnerving to some, enchanting to others.
His facial features are a delicate balance between sharp and soft. From his Drow mother, he inherited slightly tapered ears, high cheekbones, and a fine-boned elegance. From his human father came a rounder jaw, expressive brows, and a fuller mouth that makes him appear far more readable than most drows. His face is animated when energetic—restless smiles, wide eyes, a quick flush in the cheeks—but eerily still and somber when the low moods seize him.
In dress, Akpadiaha blends the austerity of his magical training with colorful attire: a finely woven tunic in the chieftain style, adorned with embroidered patterns that resemble bats, moon cycles, or river waves. This is often paired with richly colored usobo wrappers, waist sashes, or native caps—especially during ceremonies or prayer. Beads carved from bone or wood decorate his wrists or neck, and he carries a slim cane not just as a walking stick, but as a gesture of identity and ancestral pride. During colder nights in Elbion, he layers with dark robes or traveler's cloaks for practicality.
Subtle physical tells betray his moods—slight tremors in his fingers when agitated, pacing steps when elated, a hollow stillness when despair takes hold. While not frail, he seems carved for endurance over strength, for flight rather than fight, though his sharp eyes and presence suggest that when cornered, he might be far more dangerous than he appears.
Skills and Abilities
NORMAL ABILITIES:
- Pottery: Adept at shaping clay into ceremonial, devotional, or utilitarian objects.
- Raffia-Weaving: Skilled in crafting mats, baskets, and adornments from raffia palm, often using weaving as a meditative or memory-anchoring practice.
- Self-Defense (Low-Intermediate): Trained enough to fend off a common thief or unskilled attacker using swift movements and improvisation. Not yet an expert.
- Endurance Running: Run for long periods with minimal fatigue, so hard catch or outlast in foot chases.
- Divine magic: Sanctuary of Whispering Wings (Vaene, the Bat Queen)
- Trigger: Activated when Akpadiaha or an innocent nearby is injured, or when harmful magic targets them.
- Effect: Akpadiaha summons a vortex of spectral, shadowy bats around a 20 ft radius. The swarm circles the area in near-silence, their wings creating only a faint flutter or hushed murmuring—echoes of Vaene.
- Blocks magic projectiles, magical tracking, and remote viewing, and scrying
- Mutes sound within, preventing eavesdropping
- Heals minor wounds slowly to those within if they are asleep, resting, or praying
- Dampens physical force partially
- Individuals/creatures of malicious intent feel unease within the sanctuary
- Limits:
- Requires spatial knowledge of the current environment.
- Requires knowledge of the topography or spatial layout
- Must remain conscious for the sanctuary to persist
- Stronger magic can disrupt or shatter the barrier prematurely
Personality
Akpadiaha Uwem is a boy of sunlit moods and shadowed silences. At a glance, he seems bright-spirited, opinionated, curious, and deeply expressive. He speaks with the energy of someone who feels every word, whether explaining a strange dream, asking about a spell, or describing the texture of river clay.
However, those close to him have come to recognize the rhythms of his mind. There are days when Akpadiaha moves like he's racing a storm, talking fast, ideas leaping ahead of sense—brilliant, scattered, passionate. Then, there are days when silence wraps around him like a second skin. He withdraws, gazes long into nothing, or fixates on a single action—braiding raffia, walking the same path in the garden, or staring at candlelight until it flickers out.
These moods are often misunderstood as spiritual disturbances, especially among peers and faculty unfamiliar with mental illness. Some whisper that he's “touched by the divine.” Others suspect a magical imbalance or secret pact. Akpadiaha himself does not name the condition—only that some days are fast, some are heavy, and both belong to him. He finds moments of grace in small rituals: prayer, weaving, running in the rain, or quietly holding someone’s hand.
He has a strong sense of right and wrong, but not always in the conventional sense. He values truth, but believes lies can sometimes shield the soul. He respects rules, but will break them if it protects someone vulnerable. And when hurt, he either lashes out too soon or forgives too easily.
He misses his sister deeply, and though he rarely speaks of her, her absence shapes much of his inner world.
However, those close to him have come to recognize the rhythms of his mind. There are days when Akpadiaha moves like he's racing a storm, talking fast, ideas leaping ahead of sense—brilliant, scattered, passionate. Then, there are days when silence wraps around him like a second skin. He withdraws, gazes long into nothing, or fixates on a single action—braiding raffia, walking the same path in the garden, or staring at candlelight until it flickers out.
These moods are often misunderstood as spiritual disturbances, especially among peers and faculty unfamiliar with mental illness. Some whisper that he's “touched by the divine.” Others suspect a magical imbalance or secret pact. Akpadiaha himself does not name the condition—only that some days are fast, some are heavy, and both belong to him. He finds moments of grace in small rituals: prayer, weaving, running in the rain, or quietly holding someone’s hand.
He has a strong sense of right and wrong, but not always in the conventional sense. He values truth, but believes lies can sometimes shield the soul. He respects rules, but will break them if it protects someone vulnerable. And when hurt, he either lashes out too soon or forgives too easily.
He misses his sister deeply, and though he rarely speaks of her, her absence shapes much of his inner world.
Biography & Lore
Akpadiaha Uwem was born in Vel Anir, though his earliest memories have little to do with its proud towers or the ironclad rhetoric of its banners. His world was much smaller—woven from raffia, clay, and the laughter of his older sister, Anwa, who raised him more gently than the city allowed. Their mother had vanished before he could speak her name aloud, and their father—quiet, human, kind—did what he could to shield them from the storm brewing around their mixed blood.
But even shadows have edges. One night, when Akpadiaha was seven, soldiers came—not city guards, but Dreadlords-in-training, swept up in an operation that never made the records. They called it a sweep for illegal sorcery. Akpadiaha doesn't remember spells, only the smell of ash and iron, and the scream that stopped halfway.
Anwa died shielding him. Whether she cast a spell, or merely stood in the wrong place, he was never told.
Afterward, his father fled with what remained of their life, making a home in Elbion, far from the cold shadow of the Republic. There, Akpadiaha grew—but not whole. He learned pottery and weaving, things Anwa once did to cheer him. But over time, he abandoned clay. The weight of it reminded him too much of burial mounds. He stuck to raffia.
At the age of twelve, something in him wouldn’t stop whispering. Bats in his dreams. Wings in his ears. A stillness in pain. It was during a night with his father working overnight, alone and sleepless, that he saw Her: Vaene, the Bat Queen, cloaked in the dusk of his memory. The goddess did not offer answers. She offered sanctuary—and in return, a vow: to protect the helpless, even when no one else sees them fall.
Akpadiaha studies divine magic, whispering to wings no one else hears. He is often cheerful, full of questions, and almost too curious for his own good—but in quiet moments, something sharp flickers behind his amber eyes. He doesn't talk much about Anwa. Only once did he speak of her to another student, murmuring one of her sayings like a prayer:
“People will try to lock your hands, Akpa. So make sure your voice flies farther than your feet.”
He’s still trying to figure out what it means.
But even shadows have edges. One night, when Akpadiaha was seven, soldiers came—not city guards, but Dreadlords-in-training, swept up in an operation that never made the records. They called it a sweep for illegal sorcery. Akpadiaha doesn't remember spells, only the smell of ash and iron, and the scream that stopped halfway.
Anwa died shielding him. Whether she cast a spell, or merely stood in the wrong place, he was never told.
Afterward, his father fled with what remained of their life, making a home in Elbion, far from the cold shadow of the Republic. There, Akpadiaha grew—but not whole. He learned pottery and weaving, things Anwa once did to cheer him. But over time, he abandoned clay. The weight of it reminded him too much of burial mounds. He stuck to raffia.
At the age of twelve, something in him wouldn’t stop whispering. Bats in his dreams. Wings in his ears. A stillness in pain. It was during a night with his father working overnight, alone and sleepless, that he saw Her: Vaene, the Bat Queen, cloaked in the dusk of his memory. The goddess did not offer answers. She offered sanctuary—and in return, a vow: to protect the helpless, even when no one else sees them fall.
Akpadiaha studies divine magic, whispering to wings no one else hears. He is often cheerful, full of questions, and almost too curious for his own good—but in quiet moments, something sharp flickers behind his amber eyes. He doesn't talk much about Anwa. Only once did he speak of her to another student, murmuring one of her sayings like a prayer:
“People will try to lock your hands, Akpa. So make sure your voice flies farther than your feet.”
He’s still trying to figure out what it means.
Outfits
Normal Attire
These are representatives of his outfits, not his physical appearance.
Celebration Attire
These are representatives of his outfits, not his physical appearance.
School Attire
These are representatives of his outfits, not his physical appearance.