Wordweaver

Biographical information

Birthplace Somewhere where dead leaves littered the frosty ground. Born Died Age A lifetime had passed. Home Kavi Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Fae, Duanann Sub-Race Gender Female Height Middling Mass Slender Hair color Black Eye color Black, but she's doubtful Skin color Ashy, like a corpse

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Entertainer; Dancer, Singer, Storryteller Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Lalazarus Created on Avatar AI

Write a summary paragraph about your character here

Soft, lush lips sat atop an impossibly ashy skin, pouting as someone tore apart the strip of reality where her eyes should have stood. That empty spot displayed sceneries of her own choosing instead–from out of season flowers, blooming colors straight out of her flesh, down to clusters of moths eclipsing her face.

Those that could see past her glamour would stare straight into large, unblinking eyes the color of void–

–Or was it green? Were her brows bushy, fit snugly on top of her eyes? or were they thin and arched in eternal surpris–

No matter.

The rest of her features looked as if they were sculpted—precision so unnatural, it must be anything but a cosmic fluke. A crown of luscious black curls jutted down in waves to her hips, often pulled up and weaved with accessories.

Her height was nothing impressive for her kind, but she made it up with the way carried herself with an air of languid elegance. Her movements were fluid yet precise, deliberate in a way that brought into mind the reminiscent of a dance.

Doubt

Wordweaver could instill, amplify, or diminish doubts, at the cost of faith.

Grasping at doubts too tight will begets consequences. Who knows, maybe reality itself would start to doubt her very existence.

Born when the sun reigned on its topmost dais, Wordweaver enjoy a boost of power during the day, peaking in high noon.

Fire and Air

A flutter of moth

Ley Magick
Magick, as defined by both mortal and fae scholars, is specifically the use of magic sourced from ley lines. These magical bodies run through Arethil like a mycelium. Tapping into these veins of raw magic is an ability exclusive to fae species.

Duanann can utilize all typical parts of ley magick: ley travel, glamour, magick, magick reservoirs, wards, and elemental magicks.

The duanann are among the strongest of the many species categorized as fae. Followed shortly by the sidhe, duanann often possesses a great deal of magick at maturity. The measure and power of this magick has been widely debated by every generation. Most duanann exceed the magical abilities of the average greater fae. A small population are capable of unrivaled feats of magick, while a very select few possess abilities truly worthy of the duanann’s godlike reputation. In the end, greatness is pruned down to two vital conditions: luck and circumstance.

The glamours of duanann are generally superior to those of other fae races. All fae can perceive glamours, and duanann are capable of seeing through those formed by lesser fae. Their glamours, however, may be difficult or impossible for lesser fae to see through or break.

Wordweaver’s voice was slow and melodic, oftentimes lulling audiences into a tale of truths chopped in halves, out of habit if not of necessity.

Presenting the facade of a light-hearted, breezy entertainer, she carefully danced her way from courts to courts, weaving tales and singing the ballads she collected from her travels. Curiosity fueled her travels and as she could be seen enthusiastically lounging in the heart of any major events or places where fates collided the most.

Yet at times, little traits from her past reared its ugly head, such as the surprisingly rigid way she held onto favors and grudges.

Before her.

Some might remember her with another name, leading another life that tied her down with another string of expectations. Maybe it was a life riddled with harsh lessons, cruel yet necessary, taught in the only a father who wished for the survival of his only daughter could have taught. Perhaps she was expected to wade in a place drenched with blood so thick, that place splintered under its own weight.

Perhaps she saved herself from that fate—or was she saved?

Perhaps she wasn’t that person to begin with.

Regardless of the truth, there was only the Wordweaver now.


After her.

Long fascinated with stories that people exchanged when huddled together near a hearth– or any other source of warmth–in a fleeting attempt to ward off the unforgiving dangers, Wordweaver was known to partake in such gatherings, exchanging and recording stories all over the world, often in places where doubt reigned the most. Folktales spoke of the sightings of a hauntingly beautiful woman in the most strangest places, asking to break bread in the middle of a storm or in a caved-in tunnel, of the songs that kept them warm throughout the night and more often than not, the consequences of earning her ire.

She often accepted requests to provide entertainment in the form of songs and dances, enriched with imaginaries created by subtle manipulation of smokes. Many times she played the part of accidental newsbearer due to how often she flitted around the globe.

Perhaps you have heard of her.