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Séren Endai Moonstrider Of the Amethyst Clan And the Skyglow Hold
A mix of Vantha and Drykas, Female Now Aged Seventeen Born Ninetieth of Winter, 496 A.V. At Riverfall, Cyphrus Currently in Sylira Region
Appearance
At first glance, one would see a strangely gowned girl probably showing a bit too much skin and sporting vibrant patterns with the gloomy colors of an afternoon twilight. It would be immediately obvious that she is a practitioner of magic if not for her age leaning away towards the idea that she's just a teenager finding herself and being as loud and stand-out as a girl her age would be. If her clothes and demeanor weren't the only things forfeiting her practice, her hair is stripped to the bone with lye and dyed with an alchemic toner that makes it appear to be lustrous and silver. She mostly keeps it in ponytail with her bangs out framing her face. She also has a few tattoo marks in the form of glyphs on her shoulders, but those are mostly for tradition. Being a djed manipulator comes with its own merits and perks, but there is one distinction brought upon her by nature that she can never change. Séren's right eye is a shade between lavender and royal purple, but her left eye suffers from heterochromia which causes an eye that would have been the same color to be faded and appear red or peachy. Though it isn't known to affect vision, it is something more commonly observed in animals and certainly distracts onlookers. Some even look down upon her for it, comparing her to an animal or seeing her as impure. Thankfully most people are more amazed than disdained. When the attention of turned heads can be too overwhelming, a simple decorated eye patch remedies that problem. People still look, but not as many. All of these features combined make Séren stand out like a sore thumb, which fits her inclined, rebellious magic-using attitude just fine. What people don't get to see often is a tongue that is split down the length and pierced on both sides, unless Séren was being rude and decided to stick out her tongue.
Character Concept
"I know of a place where death is celebrated, not mourned. Where the dead are revered, not remorsed. It grips you like a warm blanket in the coldest night or a mother's embrace in a child's distress. Like a drug, you enter a state of euphoria, and slowly let yourself slip away. You no longer fight it. You no longer struggle. Your mind knows only peace and ignorance as Dira's grace takes hold. Then, like a night with a young wench, it all reaches a climax. Afterwards, you do not feel. You do not think. You are driven like a machine by baser instincts. Everything you've ever loved becomes the very source of your hate. You cannot run. You will not escape. Inward you collapse, under the weight of your own soul. Worse than the undead, you do not cease. You will never experience. You are not long for this world, and not destined for the next. Welcome to Black Rock"
These are all words that describe Séren Endai best. As expected, she is just as eccentric and deviant as any common wizard or djed manipulator. Unlike most however, she is naturally like this and actually has a fairly strong grip over her disciplines. Wherever she is not seen as a plague or a ticking clockwork bomb waiting to go off, she finds herself right at home with the most minimal of amenities. With her always are a hair and cosmetic kit, a couple of blades for self defense and outfits to last a lifetime of variety. Like any young'n, she doesn't exactly spend her money wisely or in moderation. She can be hasty at times. She is quick to temper and stand up for ambitious morals with a sense of heroism and justification. Her gift is in the manipulation of djed with world magics. The way the laws of the world bend at her fingertips with the careful application of djed in different manners excites and amazes her. Ultimately it is not magic that is her greatest enemy but her own maniacal, worry free attitude and the darker half of herself hidden under the empty smiles and trivial laughs. The work not of a wizard, but of a potential killer.
Character History
Enclosed :
Every ray of light that fell from the great celestial fires of the sun each morning cast an equally great shadow in the wake of its beholders. Children played their games and elders gossiped, ignorance was bliss. The words of wise men fell short, like describing colors to the blind. For the most part, a land of the dead was little more than legend for those who only paid attention to the living. For others, curiosity spread knowledge of the past and the present. It was this endless chasm of knowledge that once destroyed dimensions. Elements were at the command of the gods, lightning rods fell from tense thunderstorms and Leth's moon reflected the harmonious fires of the sun to carry all through the darkness of night.
This story begins with a young heroine surrounded by misfortune, a catalyst of tension. A fire burned deep inside her, one that carried her through turmoil to survive each sunrise anew. She'd live another day prisoner to her own thoughts. Séren was born in the grasslands of Cyphrus. No one knows how her mother got there, but her Drykas father met her at Riverfall. They journeyed together in the endless verdant ocean of grass. Unlike her, her father was not stuck in the ways of the past. He strived to better himself every day and brought a renewed outlook on life each morning. He was a clansman true and through, with memories new and old. The Drykas clans came in every shape and color, but this one bore the flag of purple. Séren was born under the same banner and was taught the same philosophies.
Despite a comfortable life under the umbrella of a wealthy family, Séren never felt destined to be there. She felt that her current path through life was empty and without true meaning. In her heart, she yearned for a greater purpose. By the end of the Fall of her thirteenth year, Séren's Vantha mother passed away due to sickness and natural causes. The final weight on the emotional scale toppled the girl. Stuck without a mother in a place she never felt at home, it was her father's final decision to deliver her to Riverfall after the funeral precessions. She was destined for a land that related all too well with her current situation, just another of life's little ironies.
Séren's fare was paid off and she was sent across the southern flowing sea to Falyndar, bound for a little patch of land called Black Rock. It was there that she met him, a tall old man who's wisdom radiated around him, who's fists spoke of their triumphs and who's curved back wrote a visual tale of prolonged use. That, of course, was only if the wear on his cane did not speak for itself. His name was Igaim, and he was a strange mixed man of Vanthaic and Svefran background but also a friend of the family. Stranger still was what he knew, what he offered and where he resided. Like chemistry, this master ripe with knowledge, found all the time in the world to teach young Séren about world magic, djed, transmutations, fluctuations, animations and the mysteries within them. He taught her how to wield these arts as her own, bend them to her will, use them to her creation.
Discipline was Sérens conquest, which she restlessly strove to hone. Eighty-billion molecules pushed against her chest as she learned to overcome obstacles of physicality with feats of strength and will, using the Flux as her instrument. Hours and days tested her patience as she weaved life into the inanimate. Even matter bent to her will, however small the quantity or basic the material. Nature was finally at her command and she became the young, aspiring mage that both her odd master and widowed father always hoped she would become. Only time stood between her and a life of legend.
One day everything good and sweet turned to bitter and sour. Every good wizard, mage and artisan has been bitten by their own works at least once in their careers. This was always true with magic. And when something did go wrong, the toll was usually greater than the reward. One afternoon, Séren toyed with one particular animation-in-progress. The slightest bit of neglect and rest turned an innocent imagination into a death trap. One wrong mental impression was all it took to turn the automaton astray, leading it into the main room where Igaim had been working on a rather extensive transmutation. Because his attention was now steered towards stopping the clumsily wandering automaton, it left the alchemic doors. Because the doors were neglected, the naturally volatile product settled incorrectly and discharged violently. Because of this unexpected discharge of disturbed djed, the entire lab was devastated. Igaim was mortally wounded by debris in the process. He did not survive the night. Fortunately for Séren, one of his last deeds was taking responsibility for the accident which eliminated any repercussions from falling upon her. In a land that cherished and celebrated death, it was impossible to mourn.
Not once but twice Séren lost someone close to her. It seemed to tighten the proverbial noose around her neck and gripped a vice inside the mind of a primordial youth. Dirges sung like parade songs weaved a gloom into her already distressed state of mind. No longer did she have anyone to guide her, teach her or help her up when she was down. At least that was what she thought, as she forgot the main principle of Black Rock itself was death and a place where the deceased could still coexist. Igaim returned the next season as a ghost and was met with sudden surprise rather than terror or dismay. For seven more seasons, she was disciplined, guilt-tripped and schooled by Igaim's phantasmal form. Possessing other disciples or paid mediums aided him in the teaching process. Séren was much more refined now than she had ever been in the past. She now had a vital element that most other young wizards were not as fortunate to gain. She had the taste of loss and first hand experience of magic that went wrong. A truly good djed manipulator was one who knew full well the risks of neglect or abuse in their trade.
Half a cycle passed with Séren being a full fledged, independent practitioner. No one was responsible for her life, welfare or practice but her. Because of her newfound independence, she was quick to spend most of her share of the Moonstrider pavilion's evenly distributed fortune. Now that she did not live with her family, there was no longer going to be another payday on its way. Out of six hundred gold Miza coins, only thirty or so and a few loose Ashls remained. She needed a job but lacked any common trade skills and lived in a land where animation was met with anything but enthusiasm by the locals and manipulation of physical possessions was practically useless to the majority of those locals. Naivety and a sense of adventure lead her to a place she knew as the black tower. Séren was always a bit off her rocker but she went truly overboard when she tried to gain passage through the watchtower's astral gate. She was reluctant at first. She threw a stone tied to a thin piece of cloth and pulled back nothing. That stone could have landed in a hundred different places in a dozen different planes. That very gate could have easily killed her or sent her to an imminent death. Instead, she was once again fortunate and landed face-first on the opposite side of an astral corridor which lead randomly to the Pyrite Tower. She was now a long way from home whether she acknowledged it or not.
Armed with nothing but knowledge and the gold lining her pockets, Séren took her first step into a brave new world... The world that lied outside of Black Rock. The world of Mizahar.
Languages
Fluent Language: Common Basic Language: Nader Canoch Poor Language: Pavi
Skills
Skill
SP
RB
XP
Total
Proficiency
Animation
11
15
0
26
Comptent
Alchemy
10
0
0
10
Novice
Glyphing
9
0
0
9
Novice
Projection
8
0
0
8
Novice
Flux
7
0
0
7
Novice
Cosmetology
5
0
0
5
Novice
Lores
Lore
Details
Thread
Deadly Risks of Practicing Animation and Alchemy in Adjacent Rooms that Doesn't Involve Overgiving
Séren kills her teacher with a series of unfortunate events caused by neglectful magic use.
SP
Watchtowers: Broken Astral Corridors Really Can Lead Anywhere
What dangers lurk beyond the gates, no one knows. Just getting through in one piece is a challenge with uncertain results: Results realized by Seren.
Bone Beaded, Dyed, Black Lace Trim, Gold Chains, Black Embroidery
Casual Town Outfit
.
Steel/Bone
Finger Gauntlets [x10]
Silver
Snake Eyes [x2]
Bone
Half-Loop Earrings [x6]
Silver
Cheek Studs [x2]
Heirloom: The Moonstrider Family Pendant is a small, fogged glass orb containing a single twenty by five millimeter shard of Watchstone, decorated with gold leaf patterns and hung from a sterling chain. It is unclear who first acquired the fragment or from where exactly, though it was passed down from generation to generation among the Moonstrider pavilion as a priceless heirloom.
![[Verified by Fantasy]](./images/checkmark.png "[Verified by Fantasy]")
Seren Endai Moonstrider 
by Seren Endai Moonstrider on October 31st, 2013, 9:44 am 