HOME | DD

Description

[Character Badge]

Am I hypnotized, fascinated by evil because I have none in me?
Or is there in me the greatest and secret evil? - Anaïs Nin

Name:        Ýsenlin
    Titles:        -
    Monikers: Tseyla, Ýos, Sen
    Age:           Adult
    Gender:     Female
    Leaning:    Bisexual
    Height:      80cm
    Weight:     38kg
    Build:     Willowy
                Limber and quick.
    Faction:     Stonehaven
    Ranking:    Tradewolf Mender

    Moon:        Full Moon: Ash; The Enchanter
Familiar:    None
Pureblood: Presumed not
    Abilities:     None

Personality

O Lovely Nemesis, — My shadow, —
image of my very soul - Henrik Ibsen

Upon first meeting Ýsenlin, one may be disarmed by her graceful poise and innate cordiality which is offered freely to friends and strangers alike. She can be quiet and demure, often finding it difficult to hold a conversation, but she is an excellent listener who is eager to help those down on their luck and will often put the needs of others before herself.
Unfortunately, her loyal and nurturing disposition has been used against her in the past. While she cannot be coined as paranoid, Ýsenlin is slow to trust and will not blindly take another's word as gospel nor show her vulnerabilities at a whim.

Fine-boned and lacking brute strength, Ýsenlin finds that diplomacy serves her best and usually allows her to safely navigate harrowing situations. As an open-minded individual, she finds it easy to be empathetic with wolves of all sorts and standings, even if she does not agree with them. Adaptive and tactful, she can be especially persuasive when the situation calls for it.
Though she is willing to compromise and appeal to individuals she is in conflict with, she is not above deceit when necessary. Neither is she above outright displays of submission to those who hold superiority over her– be it in rank, physical prowess, or otherwise– when mediation has failed and retreat is impossible. Ýsenlin is a disciplined wolf with a strong sense of self-worth. However, she knows pride is worthless if she’s dead or too debilitated to protect that which matters most to her.
No matter the situation, she is not to be seen as pitifully weak. What she lacks in brute strength, she makes up for in the strength of her will. Once her mind is made up, very little is capable of withstanding her fiery tenacity. Ýsenlin is more than capable of holding an air of authority and can be surprisingly cutthroat without ever having to show her teeth. Armed with a sharp tongue, her choice of words can sometimes pierce deeper than any set of fangs could ever hope to reach.

Ýsenlin constantly strives to improve herself in all ways possible, but there is more to her unrealistic expectations of herself than the mere habits of an overachiever. At the core of this issue is a deeply set fear of failure and loss. Haunted by shortcomings she may never forgive herself for, her extremes are both a preventative measure and a form of self-punishment.
Dusk and dawn are especially notorious in their ability to invoke a wistful mien, but it is not in her nature to wallow in grief.In spite of the pain she’s suffered, Ýsenlin continues to be a spirited creature. More than anything, she loves to laugh and retains a pup-like curiosity and wonder toward the world around her. In the company of those she trusts, she may prove herself to be a hopeless romantic who indulges in whimsical fancies and holds onto idealistic views that many these days would either scoff at or even find dangerous. The island may be awash with conflict and dark mystery, yet Ýsenlin remains full of hope and unwilling to hold grudges even when it is difficult to forgive.

History

Beauty means the scent of roses
and then the death of roses. - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Content Warning: gore & death

Childhood brought few troubles to Ýsenlin. Most of her days were fun-filled and spent in the company of her sisters and their friends. Under the stern guidance of her parents, the only troubles she suffered were the results of her own misbehavior and almost all of those incidents were forgettable aside from the lessons learned. These lessons, alongside all the others her parents taught their children, helped her to achieve lofty goals and shaped her into a disciplined and cunning wolf. Svanhilde and Bo did well by their young and Ýsenlin loved them just as much as they loved her and her siblings. As a child, she hoped life would never change.

But paradise, it seems, can never last.

The family dynamic shifted dramatically with the rise of Malaysia. Her promises of power and godhood were too alluring for Bo to ignore; neither could his family ignore his unexplained absences and late nights away from home. Pride prevented Svanhilde from addressing the growing divide between herself and her mate. Instead, she poured her all into raising her daughters who were promptly prohibited from entertaining ideas of magic. For Ýsenlin, the rule served its purpose. Neither magic nor power could improve something that was already perfect; instead, she rather preferred the lack of it for it only seemed to steal her father away.

However, a rare opportunity to spend an evening alone with her sire opened the door to an in-depth conversation concerning Malaysia’s purpose and the miracles she could bring about– the miracles Bo could help weave into reality. His passion for the dreams he shared with like minded wolves was infectious. Although Ýsenlin could never entirely align with the necessity of blood and sacrifice, she wondered if it was really so different from living. How many animals needed to die to sustain wolfkind as it was and what difference would a handful of human lives make in the grand scheme of things?
By the end of their conversation, Ýsenlin remained unconverted and she could not approve of her father's physical attraction to Malaysia, but neither could she damn her sire for following his heart and reaching for his dreams. If nothing else, she admired his ambition and appreciated the opportunity he gave her to understand him. The gesture was made all the more poignant by his abrupt death.

Losing Bo changed the family again. Ýsenlin never bothered to ask, but she heard enough from the crowds to understand what had happened without having to bring it up to her family. Hillevi had always aligned with their mother and believed magic to be nothing but a dangerous fairytale, yet a fresh burden clearly weighed on her shoulders. Sigrid carried an even heavier weight and her lust for the power of magic had died alongside Bo. For Ýsenlin, though, their father’s fall gave her reason to follow his path. Despite everything, she could not abandon the things he loved. After all, he had not abandoned his family in the end. He’d given his life to prove that.

The mantle she had taken on remained a topic she rarely broached with her sisters or mother. She hadn't the heart to make waves while they each moved on with their lives and so she typically only shared her ideas of a gentler magic with close friends and beaus. She dreamed of a magic that did not kill or thirst for blood and tailed ideas of ways to soothe such an unknown and wild thing.
Needless to say, her idealistic views conflicted with the principles of many she held close and she was not alone in that regard. The effects of division could be seen throughout the whole of Tundes and soon, it was not only friends and sweethearts she was losing, but her family too.

With the splintering of the southern pack, her mother and sisters followed Yetta to the west. Following Lennart to the east proved to be one of the loneliest moments in her life. But it did not last for long and soon her tender heart found distraction from the pain of her father’s death and the vast distance between herself and her remaining family in the company of a childhood friend, Eryx. The two easily fell in love and the duo found their life within Skydan borders to be near idyllic. As a Harvester, Ýsenlin’s integration into the pack was seamless and her lover proved to be an exceptional Seeker. The two were happy and content and when the setting sun found them alone together, they whispered excitedly of starting a family all their own.

But as it had been before, paradise was set ablaze almost as soon as she made herself comfortable within its fold.

The arrival of autumn and the newly poisoned waters gave rise to another dilemma: Eryx’s sudden disappearance. His trade often kept him away for days at a time, but days became weeks and there came a point when Ýsenlin could no longer stand to wait for him.
Her search was relatively short lived. Within a full day’s walk, she caught his scent at the edge of Ithunwood and found him not long after in the company of the dark she-wolf, Vashti. At first, she suspected to have caught them in the act of a tryst, but when She called out and Eryx turned to face her, it became clear that what she came across was no lascivious midnight rendezvous.
Even in the moonlight, it was clear Eryx had been dead for days. It was apparent in his dry and cloudy eyes and the wounds that scored the length of his body, left ribbons of hide and clotted chunks of muscle hanging from exposed bone and twists of innards, that he’d been killed by something far more powerful than he. Perhaps a bear or maybe the tines of a rutting red deer stag, not that it mattered which in the moment. The mere sight of him– so clearly dead and yet still walking– was enough to plant fear in her heart. When he lunged forward, she turned and ran, uncertain of whether or not the roaring cadence in her ears was the thundering of her heart or the drumming of his paws as he pursued her.

She never stopped to look back and she never returned to Skydas borders.

By the break of winter, Ýsenlin found herself within Stonehaven as a Tradewolf Mender. Back with her family, she found the support she needed to carry on with her life, but her apparent recovery may have had more to do with how quick she was to compartmentalize autumn’s traumatic event and bury it within herself as deeply as possible. She never spoke of her previous lover and seemed to have forgotten her father’s dreams. Whenever asked, she merely deferred to the darkness of magic and the apparently inescapable deaths it continuously brought to the island. It needed to be stopped, she would say, never once admitting why exactly except to defer to Stonehaven’s creed.
It helped that she threw herself into another relationship with one of Stonehaven’s Acolytes, Vaughan, and was granted permission to bear a litter with him. Discounting her mental wellbeing, which seemed altogether sound to everyone around her, it may have been a foolish decision considering the onset of winter. Unfortunately, no one in the pack could have foreseen just how brutal the season would be in the western mountains.

Locked within Sanctum and heavy with pups, there was little to do but while away the midwinter hours with her family. The new parents-to-be were especially fond of passing the time by learning about one another, their quirks and habits, their pasts and hopes for the future, everything that made them who they were in the moment. It was during one of these conversations that, for the first time since her arrival in Stonehaven, Ýsenlin confided in him of the very thing that drove her to the west.
Vaughan was nothing but supportive of her thoughts in the matter, or so anyone might have believed. But, the possibility that magic could return the dead to life became a fixation during the long, dark weeks spent within a cave he quietly compared to a grave. It was only for the love of his mate and her wellbeing that he kept his nagging interests in magic a secret from her.

Unfortunately, Ýsenlin’s health quickly declined as her pregnancy progressed. Concern was high as she came into her later terms and when at last she gave birth to two healthy pups, she was left so ill and frail that the Menders could not be sure if the new mother would survive to see the following season.

Cognizance through her illness was questionable, only vague and disjointed at best. Now and then, she saw their little faces and rarely noted the sensation of the twins nursing. Blurred pictures of Vaughan encouraging her to eat or drink were a little more frequent and sometimes she could make out the scene of her mate telling their children bedtime stories.
It was a difficult time in all their lives, to be sure, but as winter gave way to a warmer season and fresh, plentiful food, Ýsenlin’s condition gradually improved. As the last clumps of snow began to melt, she returned to her duties as a Mender and began to care for the sick and injured. By the time the spring flowers were in full bloom, Ýsenlin could descend the mountain slopes to forage and hunt. Her recovery was near miraculous and as her life settled into normalcy, she allowed herself to believe life was good again. She was healthy, and so was her family, and all of them were safe in the mountains.

It would be the last time she would ever allow herself to feel so at peace, for once again, the illusion was torn from her eyes by magic’s influence.
Only thanks to Revan’s swift action and the urging of the Keeper he’d grown close to was Ýsenlin made aware of her mate’s treachery shortly after the Vajda was. And by only a narrow margin was her daughter saved from Vaughan’s dark intentions to sacrifice her to the island and it was only by the strength of multiple Keepers that Ýsenlin was kept from tearing her mate asunder.
Yetta did not make her wait for long and the Vajda’s sentence was cast before the entire pack: trial by conclave. Ýsenlin was promptly given the honor of dueling him. It was she who had been betrayed by all others, thus it should be she who decided his fate.

The ensuing battle was vicious, but Ýsenlin’s rage could not be overcome. To know that his bedtime stories had been lessons of the Old ways, that his time away with her children had been spent forcing them to pore over old relics and lost languages– stars, she even allowed herself to believe that her children’s cuts and scrapes, the very ones she tended to nightly, were not the result of a pup’s roughhousing amongst jagged mountain terrain, but the results of their father’s demand for blood… He was everything she hated about magic. He was everything she hated about wolves.
Holding Vaughan’s life between her jaws made her bloodthirsty. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to tear his throat from his neck and his tongue from his mouth, but an errant glance toward the twins stayed her thirsty fangs. She could not bring herself to be like the very creature pinned beneath her claws and she had no right to steal their father from them as her own had been taken from her.
Vaughan was allowed to live, only to be cast out of Stonehaven and left to the island’s whim.

Though gone, Vaughan’s memory lingers with those he wronged. It would take time for them to recover from the scars he left them with and perhaps some would never fully heal at all.

Minutiae

• ...

Blood Ties

• Svanhilde , mother.
• Bo, father. Deceased.
• Sigrid, sister.

• Hillevi, sister.

• Lee, half-brother.

• Revan, son

• Innessa, daughter.

Notable Ties
• Kjall , step-father.
• Valka, childhood teacher

• Brutus, old flame

• Eryx, past lover. Deceased.

• Vaughan, ex lover, father of her children. Estranged.
________________________________________

Player Information
    Contact Preference: Discord or GoogleDocs
    Random Events: Opt in

    Timezone: CST

Description

[Character Badge]

Am I hypnotized, fascinated by evil because I have none in me?
Or is there in me the greatest and secret evil? - Anaïs Nin

Name:        Ýsenlin
    Titles:        -
    Monikers: Tseyla, Ýos, Sen
    Age:           Adult
    Gender:     Female
    Leaning:    Bisexual
    Height:      80cm
    Weight:     38kg
    Build:     Willowy
                Limber and quick.
    Faction:     Stonehaven
    Ranking:    Tradewolf Mender

    Moon:        Full Moon: Ash; The Enchanter
Familiar:    None
Pureblood: Presumed not
    Abilities:     None

Personality

O Lovely Nemesis, — My shadow, —
image of my very soul - Henrik Ibsen

Upon first meeting Ýsenlin, one may be disarmed by her graceful poise and innate cordiality which is offered freely to friends and strangers alike. She can be quiet and demure, often finding it difficult to hold a conversation, but she is an excellent listener who is eager to help those down on their luck and will often put the needs of others before herself.
Unfortunately, her loyal and nurturing disposition has been used against her in the past. While she cannot be coined as paranoid, Ýsenlin is slow to trust and will not blindly take another's word as gospel nor show her vulnerabilities at a whim.

Fine-boned and lacking brute strength, Ýsenlin finds that diplomacy serves her best and usually allows her to safely navigate harrowing situations. As an open-minded individual, she finds it easy to be empathetic with wolves of all sorts and standings, even if she does not agree with them. Adaptive and tactful, she can be especially persuasive when the situation calls for it.
Though she is willing to compromise and appeal to individuals she is in conflict with, she is not above deceit when necessary. Neither is she above outright displays of submission to those who hold superiority over her– be it in rank, physical prowess, or otherwise– when mediation has failed and retreat is impossible. Ýsenlin is a disciplined wolf with a strong sense of self-worth. However, she knows pride is worthless if she’s dead or too debilitated to protect that which matters most to her.
No matter the situation, she is not to be seen as pitifully weak. What she lacks in brute strength, she makes up for in the strength of her will. Once her mind is made up, very little is capable of withstanding her fiery tenacity. Ýsenlin is more than capable of holding an air of authority and can be surprisingly cutthroat without ever having to show her teeth. Armed with a sharp tongue, her choice of words can sometimes pierce deeper than any set of fangs could ever hope to reach.

Ýsenlin constantly strives to improve herself in all ways possible, but there is more to her unrealistic expectations of herself than the mere habits of an overachiever. At the core of this issue is a deeply set fear of failure and loss. Haunted by shortcomings she may never forgive herself for, her extremes are both a preventative measure and a form of self-punishment.
Dusk and dawn are especially notorious in their ability to invoke a wistful mien, but it is not in her nature to wallow in grief.In spite of the pain she’s suffered, Ýsenlin continues to be a spirited creature. More than anything, she loves to laugh and retains a pup-like curiosity and wonder toward the world around her. In the company of those she trusts, she may prove herself to be a hopeless romantic who indulges in whimsical fancies and holds onto idealistic views that many these days would either scoff at or even find dangerous. The island may be awash with conflict and dark mystery, yet Ýsenlin remains full of hope and unwilling to hold grudges even when it is difficult to forgive.

History

Beauty means the scent of roses
and then the death of roses. - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Content Warning: gore & death

Childhood brought few troubles to Ýsenlin. Most of her days were fun-filled and spent in the company of her sisters and their friends. Under the stern guidance of her parents, the only troubles she suffered were the results of her own misbehavior and almost all of those incidents were forgettable aside from the lessons learned. These lessons, alongside all the others her parents taught their children, helped her to achieve lofty goals and shaped her into a disciplined and cunning wolf. Svanhilde and Bo did well by their young and Ýsenlin loved them just as much as they loved her and her siblings. As a child, she hoped life would never change.

But paradise, it seems, can never last.

The family dynamic shifted dramatically with the rise of Malaysia. Her promises of power and godhood were too alluring for Bo to ignore; neither could his family ignore his unexplained absences and late nights away from home. Pride prevented Svanhilde from addressing the growing divide between herself and her mate. Instead, she poured her all into raising her daughters who were promptly prohibited from entertaining ideas of magic. For Ýsenlin, the rule served its purpose. Neither magic nor power could improve something that was already perfect; instead, she rather preferred the lack of it for it only seemed to steal her father away.

However, a rare opportunity to spend an evening alone with her sire opened the door to an in-depth conversation concerning Malaysia’s purpose and the miracles she could bring about– the miracles Bo could help weave into reality. His passion for the dreams he shared with like minded wolves was infectious. Although Ýsenlin could never entirely align with the necessity of blood and sacrifice, she wondered if it was really so different from living. How many animals needed to die to sustain wolfkind as it was and what difference would a handful of human lives make in the grand scheme of things?
By the end of their conversation, Ýsenlin remained unconverted and she could not approve of her father's physical attraction to Malaysia, but neither could she damn her sire for following his heart and reaching for his dreams. If nothing else, she admired his ambition and appreciated the opportunity he gave her to understand him. The gesture was made all the more poignant by his abrupt death.

Losing Bo changed the family again. Ýsenlin never bothered to ask, but she heard enough from the crowds to understand what had happened without having to bring it up to her family. Hillevi had always aligned with their mother and believed magic to be nothing but a dangerous fairytale, yet a fresh burden clearly weighed on her shoulders. Sigrid carried an even heavier weight and her lust for the power of magic had died alongside Bo. For Ýsenlin, though, their father’s fall gave her reason to follow his path. Despite everything, she could not abandon the things he loved. After all, he had not abandoned his family in the end. He’d given his life to prove that.

The mantle she had taken on remained a topic she rarely broached with her sisters or mother. She hadn't the heart to make waves while they each moved on with their lives and so she typically only shared her ideas of a gentler magic with close friends and beaus. She dreamed of a magic that did not kill or thirst for blood and tailed ideas of ways to soothe such an unknown and wild thing.
Needless to say, her idealistic views conflicted with the principles of many she held close and she was not alone in that regard. The effects of division could be seen throughout the whole of Tundes and soon, it was not only friends and sweethearts she was losing, but her family too.

With the splintering of the southern pack, her mother and sisters followed Yetta to the west. Following Lennart to the east proved to be one of the loneliest moments in her life. But it did not last for long and soon her tender heart found distraction from the pain of her father’s death and the vast distance between herself and her remaining family in the company of a childhood friend, Eryx. The two easily fell in love and the duo found their life within Skydan borders to be near idyllic. As a Harvester, Ýsenlin’s integration into the pack was seamless and her lover proved to be an exceptional Seeker. The two were happy and content and when the setting sun found them alone together, they whispered excitedly of starting a family all their own.

But as it had been before, paradise was set ablaze almost as soon as she made herself comfortable within its fold.

The arrival of autumn and the newly poisoned waters gave rise to another dilemma: Eryx’s sudden disappearance. His trade often kept him away for days at a time, but days became weeks and there came a point when Ýsenlin could no longer stand to wait for him.
Her search was relatively short lived. Within a full day’s walk, she caught his scent at the edge of Ithunwood and found him not long after in the company of the dark she-wolf, Vashti. At first, she suspected to have caught them in the act of a tryst, but when She called out and Eryx turned to face her, it became clear that what she came across was no lascivious midnight rendezvous.
Even in the moonlight, it was clear Eryx had been dead for days. It was apparent in his dry and cloudy eyes and the wounds that scored the length of his body, left ribbons of hide and clotted chunks of muscle hanging from exposed bone and twists of innards, that he’d been killed by something far more powerful than he. Perhaps a bear or maybe the tines of a rutting red deer stag, not that it mattered which in the moment. The mere sight of him– so clearly dead and yet still walking– was enough to plant fear in her heart. When he lunged forward, she turned and ran, uncertain of whether or not the roaring cadence in her ears was the thundering of her heart or the drumming of his paws as he pursued her.

She never stopped to look back and she never returned to Skydas borders.

By the break of winter, Ýsenlin found herself within Stonehaven as a Tradewolf Mender. Back with her family, she found the support she needed to carry on with her life, but her apparent recovery may have had more to do with how quick she was to compartmentalize autumn’s traumatic event and bury it within herself as deeply as possible. She never spoke of her previous lover and seemed to have forgotten her father’s dreams. Whenever asked, she merely deferred to the darkness of magic and the apparently inescapable deaths it continuously brought to the island. It needed to be stopped, she would say, never once admitting why exactly except to defer to Stonehaven’s creed.
It helped that she threw herself into another relationship with one of Stonehaven’s Acolytes, Vaughan, and was granted permission to bear a litter with him. Discounting her mental wellbeing, which seemed altogether sound to everyone around her, it may have been a foolish decision considering the onset of winter. Unfortunately, no one in the pack could have foreseen just how brutal the season would be in the western mountains.

Locked within Sanctum and heavy with pups, there was little to do but while away the midwinter hours with her family. The new parents-to-be were especially fond of passing the time by learning about one another, their quirks and habits, their pasts and hopes for the future, everything that made them who they were in the moment. It was during one of these conversations that, for the first time since her arrival in Stonehaven, Ýsenlin confided in him of the very thing that drove her to the west.
Vaughan was nothing but supportive of her thoughts in the matter, or so anyone might have believed. But, the possibility that magic could return the dead to life became a fixation during the long, dark weeks spent within a cave he quietly compared to a grave. It was only for the love of his mate and her wellbeing that he kept his nagging interests in magic a secret from her.

Unfortunately, Ýsenlin’s health quickly declined as her pregnancy progressed. Concern was high as she came into her later terms and when at last she gave birth to two healthy pups, she was left so ill and frail that the Menders could not be sure if the new mother would survive to see the following season.

Cognizance through her illness was questionable, only vague and disjointed at best. Now and then, she saw their little faces and rarely noted the sensation of the twins nursing. Blurred pictures of Vaughan encouraging her to eat or drink were a little more frequent and sometimes she could make out the scene of her mate telling their children bedtime stories.
It was a difficult time in all their lives, to be sure, but as winter gave way to a warmer season and fresh, plentiful food, Ýsenlin’s condition gradually improved. As the last clumps of snow began to melt, she returned to her duties as a Mender and began to care for the sick and injured. By the time the spring flowers were in full bloom, Ýsenlin could descend the mountain slopes to forage and hunt. Her recovery was near miraculous and as her life settled into normalcy, she allowed herself to believe life was good again. She was healthy, and so was her family, and all of them were safe in the mountains.

It would be the last time she would ever allow herself to feel so at peace, for once again, the illusion was torn from her eyes by magic’s influence.
Only thanks to Revan’s swift action and the urging of the Keeper he’d grown close to was Ýsenlin made aware of her mate’s treachery shortly after the Vajda was. And by only a narrow margin was her daughter saved from Vaughan’s dark intentions to sacrifice her to the island and it was only by the strength of multiple Keepers that Ýsenlin was kept from tearing her mate asunder.
Yetta did not make her wait for long and the Vajda’s sentence was cast before the entire pack: trial by conclave. Ýsenlin was promptly given the honor of dueling him. It was she who had been betrayed by all others, thus it should be she who decided his fate.

The ensuing battle was vicious, but Ýsenlin’s rage could not be overcome. To know that his bedtime stories had been lessons of the Old ways, that his time away with her children had been spent forcing them to pore over old relics and lost languages– stars, she even allowed herself to believe that her children’s cuts and scrapes, the very ones she tended to nightly, were not the result of a pup’s roughhousing amongst jagged mountain terrain, but the results of their father’s demand for blood… He was everything she hated about magic. He was everything she hated about wolves.
Holding Vaughan’s life between her jaws made her bloodthirsty. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to tear his throat from his neck and his tongue from his mouth, but an errant glance toward the twins stayed her thirsty fangs. She could not bring herself to be like the very creature pinned beneath her claws and she had no right to steal their father from them as her own had been taken from her.
Vaughan was allowed to live, only to be cast out of Stonehaven and left to the island’s whim.

Though gone, Vaughan’s memory lingers with those he wronged. It would take time for them to recover from the scars he left them with and perhaps some would never fully heal at all.

Minutiae

• ...

Blood Ties

• Svanhilde , mother.
• Bo, father. Deceased.
• Sigrid, sister.

• Hillevi, sister.

• Lee, half-brother.

• Revan, son

• Innessa, daughter.

Notable Ties
• Kjall , step-father.
• Valka, childhood teacher

• Brutus, old flame

• Eryx, past lover. Deceased.

• Vaughan, ex lover, father of her children. Estranged.
________________________________________

Player Information
    Contact Preference: Discord or GoogleDocs
    Random Events: Opt in

    Timezone: CST