Katlyn. No Last Name, no siree.

Character Application Template

Account: Seidr

Character Name: Katlyn

Race: Human

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Character Description:

Katlyn has a rather generic look to her. She stands at 5'7", and possesses brown eyes, and dark chestnut hair. She does try and keep it tied back, and only barely succeeds in keeping it out of her eyes. She does keep it in place with a fox shaped pin; one of the final things she got from someone who saved her life, once.

As for her chosen apparel, she prefers more modest dresses. Things with soft but pleasant colors, and floral patterns. Nothing dainty, but she does enjoy looking nice. Perhaps that's why she wears a simple corset, yet has opted for sturdy boots for her feet.

Character Occupation:

Katlyn has done a good deal of things, but has mostly stuck to working as a barmaid. Of course that means she's not unfamiliar with how to barfight.

Character Personality/Traits:

She often appears to be lost in thought, but is quite the attentive listener when talking to someone. While she isn't shy, she does come across as softly spoken. Her smile carries a certain sadness to it, even when it's genuine. That said, she isn't one to fake a smile, valuing honesty in all things.

She's the kind of person who can be easy to overlook, but can also very easily be a dear friend to have. She might not be able to fix your problems or give advice that'll get you there, but she'll certainly do her damndest to help.

Character Biography:

Katlyn was born a single child to two very human parents. That is not to insinuate they were secretly otherwise; they were simply full-blooded humans, through and through. Her upbringing in Barkamsted was fraught with difficulties, given the war. Her parents often scoffed at how they perceived the kingdom seemingly abandoning them once Falkvard was up and running. The loss of the Drunken Ferret really had killed a lot of the town's identity on the social scene.

She was a rather well behaved girl growing up, though her insistence on following rules did not gain her as many friends as she'd have liked. It did however mean she got into quite a few scuffles trying to stick up for others. Still, she never regretted those bruises; she just got better at avoiding them. Best way to avoid getting hurt in a fight was to win it fast, or to avoid a fight altogether.

Still she worried her parents; they'd survived countless hardship before she'd been born, from the Pact War to terrible plagues. Her father had lost an eye to the Ca'liar attack, after all. And yet in the way of youth, Katlyn had decided she was simply built different. The farm blight did somewhat change her mind, after food started to get a touch scarce. The long winter didn't help matters much.

While Barkamsted had little reconstruction efforts, it was also largely ignored by the main bits of news she'd hear: Pine Valley? Sure it was kind of close, but it hardly meant much. People going off to Acaedia to help the pretty bird people? Well sure, their festivals were pretty and they were nice; made sense to help. Still didn't affect her. Even all this business with the Sons of Itiris happened to other people and other places, though it did mean she had to go in groups for a good few months.

The Crossroads, though. That one actually did put the hurt on her and her family. Not directly, as her father was a dockhand and her mother one of many maids, but in the way everyone got more fearful. No trade caravans could go anywhere. People suffered. People suffered where she could see them, and it felt much more real then. It changed her. She didn't suddenly want to take up a spear and charge the cult, no. But she did want to help.

And when you cannot offer much in the way of things, you get what jobs you can. Plenty of people needing to drink their sorrows away, and she was a good listener. Some people might aspire to be a great hero or change the world, but Katlyn was fine changing the room she was in. It's what she could do.

She was a cheery little scamp as a young woman, working in smaller alehouses. She was laughing at someone's joke when she heard word that there had been an accident at the docks; some barrels of water had suddenly exploded open as they were being lifted, caused a load to unbalance and fall on a few people. Her father didn't come home that night. Nor would he ever again.

Her mother fell into a depression, unable to face what the world had come to as she put it. The long winter, when it didn't end, just affirmed those beliefs that the world was ending. Katlyn did what she could, but you can't force someone to look after themselves. Even still, she'd tried. When she got hurt in a brawl someone had started and was hospitalized, her mother never put new logs on the hearth.

The funeral was a another cruelty of this winter: The ground was unyielding and frozen and the winds terrible. She still pitched in to help, since she wasn't one to shun her familial duties. When all was said and done, she'd felt adrift. Work passed by in a blur as she did her best to handle everything she could. Had she known the ships were accepting volunteers to end the winter, end the strange events that had lead to her family's demise, perhaps she'd have joined. As it was, she only heard of their departure when she read of it in the Herald. Even as it was to be destroyed, there was one final cruelty.

Barkamsted had nothing for her, and she'd heard plenty of the capital city. She'd only visited a few times, but she felt Barkamsted had nothing more to offer her. So, she stepped onto the boat and made the journey after packing her few things.

Other/Extra:

Magic Biography:

One of the miracles of youth is the certainty that you know more than everyone else, and that you're going to change the world. As you grow older, maybe that sense dies down. Maybe it doesn't. For Katlyn, she had decided that leaning on the bar listening to slurred stories between drinks was plenty exciting enough, and people enjoyed being able to talk.

One of the local not-urchins had come in. She had to think of his name for a moment- Jorg, that's right. Always seemed to have a bit of mud on his chin. He wasn't clumsy, he just... fell down a lot. Okay maybe he was clumsy. He excitedly approached the counter all the same, his too-large shoes only catching the floor slightly before he hopped onto a stool.

"Jorg, find anything neat today?" She had asked him with some degree of amusement. Jorg was younger, not yet ten years old. Never got into trouble, but liked finding small baubles and making fantastical stories about them and what they did. Most people thought it was amusing or cute, and those who didn't knew better than to give him trouble. You don't mess with the locals, no siree.

"I! Have found the lost ring of... Phantasmism...!" He proudly held up a beat up old thing, might have been copper colored once. Katlyn snorted. "Yeah? And what's it do love?" She propped herself up on her elbows, smiling at the lad. Something about the ring was strange, though. She shook her head, focusing on his words.

"-viously it lets you turn into a Phantom! But, if you do so under a full moon, your blood will turn to ice! And, and-and-and you'll explode!" He waved his arms about excitedly, making a few nearby patrons chuckle. Still her eyes followed that ring. It... it almost seemed to speak to her-

"Young man, would you be willing to part with that ring?" Katlyn, Jorg, and quite a few patrons turned to look at the high elven man seated besides him. Someone started to drunkenly explain that no, it wasn't /actually/ the lost ring of- before getting shushed by Jorg.

"Sure! How about for... twoooo silver...?" Jorg had had to count on his fingers briefly before giving what he best managed as a charming smile. The man smiled, and counted out the silver. "Pleasure doing business with y-"

"Are you a mage, mister?" Katlyn asked, interrupting. "-ah. Well. Indeed I do happen to be, yes! I'd quite like to add to my collection of rare and intriguing artifacts." He waved his fingers about as part of the show, smiling at Jorg.

She nodded, eyes sparking as she spoke again. "Wow, that's amazing! Can you do a magic trick? Maybe the one where you walk out that door and /go fuck yeself/?" The sudden hostility drew more eyes to the bar, Jorg starting to pout as she ruined his deal.

As the man sputtered she looked down at Jorg. "Love, that ring's a trinket. Looks ta be... telekinesis if I understand right. He was tryna scam ye." More sputtered words, and stools being pushed back as people stood. One person leaned in for a closer look, before voicing similar to what she had. Heated words being exchanged, but she was looking at Jorg and speaking softly, "Now, you can sell that to someone for a good deal more'n two silver, love. Or, if you wait a bit, you can see if you've the gift for magic yourself, hm?"

She gave a smile that was matched, before huffing as words began to devolve into shoving. "Alright lads, s'nuff. Just send the fucker out on 'is ass and we can-" she never saw who pushed her. Going by the confused 'huh' and rather confused delivery, she can only assume they'd had too much to drink. She tried to catch herself on the back of a chair, but it slid with her movement. The ground came up quickly-

The light was painfully bright, which was odd as she was rather sure she was indoors. Her head was pounding, the pulse matching the beat of her heart. Her first concussion. What luck. High elven prick. Her mouth felt dry, but also trying to move too much made her want to vomit. Thankfully, a nurse came in with her groaning and resolved that issue. She was even blessed by a man with raven dark hair and very blue eyes.

With instruction to take things easy, she was able to go home. Was even kindly escorted by the man- a priest no less- which made braving the frozen winds much easier. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, calling for her mother to say she was home. No response, and it was far too cold. Like it'd been that way for a while. She held her breath as she opened the door to her mother's room-

Looking back, it was possibly because she had simply not had the strength to put more wood on, or maybe she'd simply given up. Or maybe it was that her only daughter, her only family, hadn't come home that made her assume the worst. There was no note. There was nothing left there. Readying to board the ship with her things, she heard a familiar scampering, scrape, and someone tumbling with an oof.

She turned, seeing Jorg. She squatted down a bit. "Aw, hey Jorg. Was wondering if you'd see me off." She didn't blame him. Nobody to really blame, it was just bad luck. She'd wanted to be bitter about it, sure. But nobody knew what would happen.

"Yeah! Sorry, wanted to be sure I could show you this..." He lifted up a copper coin, staring at it hard. It slowly raised, turned over in air, before he huffed. He caught it in his hand before smiling at her. "You were right! Thank you for..." his smile waned. "I... I'm really sorry about what happened. And with your-"

She hugged him. She held him until her tears dried, giving him a pat on the back as she spoke. "That's great, Jorg. I'm sure in no time at all you'll be one of the best mages the kingdom has. Just keep your chin clean, aye?" She'd wanted to be bitter about it, sure. But who could say what beauty could come from such an ugly thing?

Please describe the magic system, including its limitations in your own words:

Magic requires many things: A person must have the gift save in very specific circumstances as with special trinkets, actually have a trinket unless they've an innate ability to cast such as with half demons/angels or the beastial races, and must have line of sight or be touching what they intend to cast upon. Now of course, alteration can only be cast through touch.

If one wishes to cast a spell, they must have the training and the trinket of that level. One cannot cast beyond the capabilities of their trinket, nor of their ability. And if you try to cast after expending all your spell slots, it carries the possibility of simply dying. And of course if you try and cast too much through a trinket at once, it can overload and explode. This is generally considered to be a bad thing.

Please describe how you would use a weak trinket with your characters first/only aspect:

She'd hum quietly as she rolled the small, red stone on the table. She'd always liked magic, even before she knew she had the gift. Still, she'd been asked to humor the person it belonged to. So, focusing inwards, she sought to light the candle in front of her with a few careful sparks, before giving it a solid wiggle.