Rain

Race: Fairy

Class: Drakewarden Ranger

Craft: Tattooing

Rain grew up, well-loved, in a large community of faeries in the wastes of the Shattered Isles. They had very understanding of how big the world around them really was, as there really weren’t any other types of people that they encountered out in the Wastes. Rain, being born “late” in their parents’ lives, has no siblings, although they did grow up surrounded by many cousins and friends. It became apparent early on that Rain was unlike the other fae children, however, in that they were happiest out on their own, exploring the landscape around them, whereas the other children preferred to stay close to home and play their mischievous games amongst themselves.

Rain’s best friend growing up was one of their grandparents, Nobi Echo. While Rain was loved by their parents, they weren’t always understanding of Rain. Echo was the one who encouraged Rain whenever they brought home strange insects or the occasional rodent, as “pets”. Echo was the first person Rain told when they realized that they wanted to work with animals and train to hunt/scout. Echo was the one who commissioned Rain’s first and most beloved longbow. Echo even went out into the wastes once with Rain, though they did not venture very far (seemingly on edge the entire time), but it was clear to Nobi Echo at that point that the wilderness was Rain’s element. Echo also encouraged Rain’s artistic side and expressed joy and pride in their drawings and their new skills in tattooing, although Rain has never told Echo, or anyone, the new magical side effects they (Rain) have begun to notice in the tattoos they’ve given themself.

There is no one religion practiced in this commune of faeries: although there are several small subgroups who enjoy semi-private worship for a handful of various entities, they as a people tend to be either agnostic in their beliefs. However, throughout Rain’s life, they have often dreamt of a large dragon. This dragon is almost always flying overhead in these dreams, although once it did briefly fly a bit lower in order to make eye contact with Rain for a split second. Though they haven’t received any kind message or inspiration, nor has anyone else in the clan ever practiced worship to a dragon (that Rain is aware of), they are convinced that this dragon holds great significance (thus inspiring their dragon’s eye tattoo).

Then one day, while out exploring the wastes, Rain came across some strange ruins. The ruins were of what appeared to be an old settlement of tiny folk, just like Rain. At this site, they discover a small box that plays a gentle tune when it opens, and inside, Rain sees only a tiny inlaid blue crystal that appears to have intricate little green glass vines wrapped around it. Something in the back of Rain’s head tells them that this is important and they carefully collect the box and race back toward their home.

Once home, Rain went straight to Nobi Echo to inquire about what this box might be. After some prodding and begging, Echo finally admits that they believe that box may have belonged to their (Echo) parents, and that it’s possible that this box serves as some sort of record although Echo has no idea how to access the information, if that is the case. A conversation ensues in which Nobi Echo does admit that their ancestors made a grievous mistake that forced them into the Wastes. Echo also tells Rain that they (Echo) were the last of the family to have been born in their native Feywild, although they don’t really remember it very well anymore. Rain tells Nobi Echo that they are determined to figure all of this out and to find a way to help their people, so that their people may live well again and be free of whatever is oppressing them. Nobi Echo at first attempts to dissuade Rain from pushing the issue and warns that the issue is highly dangerous but Rain refuses to back down and does, at one point, threatened to go out and figure it out on their own if Nobi Echo refuses to provide any guidance. Finally Nobi Echo tells Rain the few tales they know about a magical school, filled with all sort of secrets, and talented and smart people, … and connections to the Feywild that even Nobi Echo doesn’t fully understand. They tell Rain that if there is anyone, any place, that might be able to provide answers or guidance, it would probably be the people at that school.

Beskey Nevering

Race: Human

Class: Celestial Warlock

Craft: Cooking

Hi my name is Beskey Nevering and I am a young optimistic spellcaster from Ne’reen. I am a descendant from the royal Ne’reen family and I’m part of the Island Kingdom with some of the best magics and airships the world has ever seen. I love all the culture and how colorful the kingdom is and taking trips on airships with my uncle. That's my favorite. I hate having to be part of family meetings and discussions about boring kingdom stuff. I would rather be cooking or studying the stars.

I’m told from Waelyna that I am a Warlock and I am here to help others. Waelyna is pretty cool. I met her in my dreams while I was on a fun camping trip with my uncle Kaba. I saw her in the stars and she said that she is a Valkyrie that needs my help and that she can help me too.

I’m really excited about attending Faeforge Academy and finally learning magic. I have had tutors in the past who I had trouble learning magic from but I am excited to see what the new school has to offer. I heard that they have cooking studies that I can learn more about! I also promised my parents that I would take up some writing so I can write spells but I would love to make a cookbook one day. Unfortunately my Dad and Uncle are part of the school and I am nervous to make them proud. But I think with enough studying and help with new friends that I meet at the academy that I will be a spellcaster that they can be proud of. And that one day I will live up to the royal family’s expectations.

Voiced by Michael Sinclair II.

Blossom de Brûlée

Race: Tiefling

Class: Bard, College of Nightmares

Craft: Pastry Chef

Mama and Papa made the journey to Aurelia when I was just a babe in arms. Oftentimes I’ve overheard them speculating that the cross-planar journey is what catalyzed my abilities. Mama was always gifted with the needle, and Papa with the hammer, but I received a gift of a different sort  - one that I am forbidden from sharing. I can feel it in the forest when I am alone. The shadows bend towards me and the darkness draws me in, bidding me to speak of the horrors beyond the treeline. I long to tell their tale, but shudder at the power of the words. 

By the time I am six years old, I am forbidden from reading. Nobody in town will sell me so much as a piece of parchment. Mama has incinerated my beloved book of ghost stories. I have hidden my one remaining tome of tales in the hollow of the old oak, far from their judgemental glances.

At dawn, on my 16th name day, Mama hastily places the contract in front of me. She won’t look me in the eyes anymore. I hear her whisper to Papa at night. That girl is… unsettling. I should not have told them about the Watcher in the Woods, but it is too late. I am to be married by the next full moon. They tell me the match will strengthen bonds between townships. A small cottage, deep in the woods, has been procured for the happy couple, but I know it is just a cage of a different name. Mama sets a quill in front of me and turns toward the window. 

“You must keep your stories to yourself, Blossom.”

A thick gauze veil hangs from my horns, obscuring my face. We are not allowed to see our new spouses until we have reached our new home. I can barely make out Mama’s crimson complexion in the moonlight. I know I should be melancholy or fearful, but I am well-acquainted with the horrors of this world and beyond - and I do not fear matrimony. 

The ceremony is brief. He is tall and lanky, though I cannot discern any features. I place my palm on his and am surprised to find that it is smooth and warm as a river rock baked by sunlight. A strand of Ne’Reen’s finest silk is wound around our clasped hands, signifying our newly forged bond. 

The townsfolk bid us adieu at the edge of the forest, leaving us to walk the winding path beneath the dense canopy. The journey to our new home is spent mostly in silence. My veil catches on a branch, tearing a small hole and through it I catch a glimpse of his face, dappled by moonlight. His features are sharp, yet delicate, with sea glass green eyes that dart nervously around. Thick ringlets of onyx hair are brushed aside by the night breeze to reveal pointed ears. He is beautiful like I am; the kind of beauty that makes others uneasy. We are home. 

A week has elapsed since the ceremony. Ithraides, as I now know my husband is called, spends much of his time sketching the flora and fauna surrounding our ramshackle, wooden abode. I wonder what he has done to be exiled along with me. His manner is gentle and quiet, if not a bit shy, and he has not attempted to lay so much as a finger on me. For this, I am grateful. I have decided to venture into the woods to surprise him with something special for dinner, (though admittedly, I am a terrible cook and the burden of feeding us has fallen mostly on him). The forest hums with life in the late afternoon sun. As I enter a nearby clearing, the woodland symphony falls silent. Passing clouds dampen the sunlight.

It is here. 

I cautiously step forward - aware of the sudden shift. As I place my weight on the mossy ground beneath me, the forest floor gives way and I tumble down, 

down, 

down. 

Just before the moment of impact, my darkvision allows me to see the mangled pile of bones carpeting the bottom of the pit. I land with a sickening crunch, as splinters of bone pierce my skin. I let out a scream and a column of fire bursts forth from my palm, shooting up towards the darkening sky. My skull collides with something hard and flat, and inky darkness overtakes my vision. 

As my senses return to me, I can hear someone singing, softly. Ithraides? I inhale deeply, surprised when the sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar fills my nose. My eyes flutter open and through pale lashes I can see that I am back in the cottage, laying upon a heap of blankets and sheepskins in front of a dancing fire. I attempt to roll over to find the source of the singing, but the pain stops me short as I let out a gasp. Ithraides calls out to me from the kitchen. 

“Don’t move. You’ve had a nasty fall. I’m glad I was able to find you when I did.”

The floorboards creak as he hastens towards me. He places a tender hand on my shoulder and helps me to sit up. Our eyes meet and he does not look away. With a kind smile, he plucks a delicious smelling sticky bun from a tray and lifts it up to my lips. 

“Here, eat this. It will make everything hurt less, I promise.” 

I take a small bite at first, but the taste is overwhelmingly good and I am hungrier than I thought. I devour the bun in a matter of seconds. Ithraides chuckles and hands me another one, as I glance at him sheepishly. I practically inhale the second bun. Within a matter of moments, a delightful warmth overtakes my body, as if I had lowered myself into a perfectly temperate bath. Looking down at my battered and bruised appendages, I inhale sharply as the cuts and scrapes begin to disappear from my body. He flashes me a nervous smile.

“It won’t do much for the internal damage, but hopefully this makes the pain more bearable -” 

Before he can finish speaking, I wrap his lanky frame in a firm embrace. He tenses for a moment, before melting into my arms. We maintain our silent embrace for several minutes, before he breaks away. 

“Blossom, I - I’m so sorry, but I can’t - I can’t -”

He crumbles and the wall between us comes down. He tells me about his town, his parents, the Butcher’s son - and the night they were found together. His emerald eyes well with tears as he recounts how he signed the marriage contract to spare his family, and his love, the shame of what he’d done. I pull him back into my embrace and hold him for what feels like an eternity. 

For the first time in my short existence, I have a friend. I join Ithraides on his daily sketching walks, and we pluck dazzling arrays of wildflowers to adorn the “special” cakes and loaves that he is teaching me to bake. I have quite the natural talent for it, and I can feel him eyeing me with curiosity. If he suspects that there is something strange about me, he does not say anything. In the evenings, we sit by the fire and he listens, enraptured, as I spin him tales of ghosts, demons, and the Watcher in the Woods. 

⁕⁕⁕

It is Ithraides’ first name day since our wedding and I want to bake him something extra special to celebrate. I’ve listened intently to every tip and trick he’s ever imparted, committing his lessons to memory with a fervor. Now, it is time for my magnum opus: a five tier, strawberry basil buttercream-frosted, Aasimar’s food cake with wildflower petals for decoration. As I spread the thick frosting across between the layers, I catch myself singing under my breath - something I haven’t done since I was knee-high. I am happy here. The thought sends a tear rolling down my cheek. It splashes silently down onto the cake, soaking into the sponge. My vision shimmers, or maybe it’s the cake itself? I regard it curiously and continue my work. Just as I sprinkle the last of the blossoms on top, the front door swings open with its usual creak. Ithraides stands in the doorway, beaming at me.  He scoops me up into an embrace and sneakily scoops a dollop of buttercream onto his fingertip. 

“Mmmm, this is incredible, Blossom!” 

I smack his hand away playfully as he goes in for another scoop. 

“Let me cut you a slice, you heathen.”

He grins at me, cheekily and plops down on a stool. I cut him a generous portion and slide it down the counter. He digs in immediately with giddy glee. As he goes to raise the fork to his mouth for the third time, he stops abruptly, looking puzzled. 

“What’s wrong?”

He lifts a pale, slender hand up in front of his face to inspect it. The air around it shimmers with a golden aura. The glow begins to spread to his entire body until he is emitting a faint light. He smiles at me with a twinge of something in his eyes that I cannot recognize. Then, quick as lightning, he reaches across the counter, grabs the serving knife, and brings the blade down on his hand. I let out a scream as the sharpened edge collides with his skin and - bounces off? I shake my head in bewilderment. I have healed cuts and bruises with special treats before, but this is different. My moment of pride is poisoned by shame as I think of my mother’s disapproving face. Ithraides breaks me from this moment of anguish. He cups my face in his hands, the strange warmth of them making my skin tingle, and smiles at me. 

“You are a rare flower and the world deserves your gifts. It’s time to tell your stories…”