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Bird Silver Humanoid Barbarian Fire

Frank Bullitt with dark hair and beard, little bruised up on his face, smoking a cigarette while writing in his journal and ragged winter clothes in a battered rundown cabin with a fire in the background cooking stew outside the window. A snow storm is going on a big blue moon can be seen and a zombie in the distance.

Frank Bullitt with dark hair and beard, little bruised up on his face, smoking a cigarette while writing in his journal ...

Frank Bullitt with dark hair and beard, little bruised up on his face, and lit cigarette hangs out of his mouth, while writing in his journal and ragged winter clothes in a battered rundown cabin with a fire in the background cooking stew outside the window. A snow storm is going on a big blue moon can be seen and a zombie in the distance.

Frank Bullitt with dark hair and beard, little bruised up on his face, and lit cigarette hangs out of his mouth, while w...

Frank Bullitt with dark hair and beard, little bruised up on his face, and a lit cigarette hangs out of his mouth, while writing in his journal and ragged winter clothes in a battered rundown cabin with a fire in the background and a pot of stew is cooking, outside the window. A snow storm is going on a big blue moon can be seen and a zombie in the distance.

Frank Bullitt with dark hair and beard, little bruised up on his face, and a lit cigarette hangs out of his mouth, while...

Bev Thornsky is a lively halfling woman who, despite her 76 years, carries herself with a sprightly charm that belies her age. Standing at just under 4 feet tall, her nimble, sinewy frame hints at years of hard work and shifting clandestine cargo. Her short, stylish black hair is neatly kept, with a few streaks of silver starting to dance through, showcasing the wisdom and experience of a long life. She has enviable fox like features accented by high cheekbones and bright, twinkling hazel eyes that glimmer with mischief and a hint of defiance, reflecting the vivacity of her youth. Bev favors flowy farm dresses in earth tones—shades of green and brown—that allow her to blend seamlessly into the bucolic countryside, accented by her cherished fancy vest. Bev is delivering a mysterious package at night in a dark alley

Bev Thornsky is a lively halfling woman who, despite her 76 years, carries herself with a sprightly charm that belies he...

Family Picture: 1 young daughter, 2 older daughters, 3 older brothers and a mother and a father

Family Picture: 1 young daughter, 2 older daughters, 3 older brothers and a mother and a father

Build: Slender, almost delicate in frame, with long limbs and an academic’s grace. He’s never been physically imposing, but there’s a quiet resilience to him now—like someone who’s been broken, but got back up anyway. • Skin: Pale, almost porcelain, touched faintly by sun now that he travels. Bruises show easily. Veil exposure has added a subtle, silver-laced undertone to his skin around the collarbone and temples—not enough to draw alarm, but enough to make him seem… touched. • Hair: Silvery-blond, fine, and shoulder-length. Often tied back in a half-knot when casting or traveling. Strands escape frequently and frame his face, giving him a permanently wind-swept, distracted scholar look. • Eyes: Icy blue—intelligent, observant, and often reflective. Since Velrath, there’s a faint luminous shimmer in low light, like moonlight caught in glass. • Face: Sharp-boned and elegant, though thinner than his siblings. He has a soft mouth that rarely frowns fully—more often tightens in restraint. His expressions are subtle, but telling once you know him. • Hands: Ink-stained fingers and calloused from scrollwork, spellwork, and recently, weapon training. He fidgets with his sleeves when nervous. When focused, they are still and deadly precise. ⸻ Clothing & Gear • Clothing: A layered robe-and-coat ensemble, practical but refined. His robe is deep midnight blue, accented with fine silver embroidery—once too pristine, now worn in places. Over it, a traveler’s coat, lightly enchanted and weather-worn. • Accessories: • Pendant of Dreambinding—always visible at his throat

Build: Slender, almost delicate in frame, with long limbs and an academic’s grace. He’s never been physically imposing, ...

Born in the swirling courts of the Opaline Reverie — a realm of mirrored skies, infinite stairways, and logic-defying beauty — Spaz Thearezial was once heir to the Thearezial Line, an ancient house of planar nobility whose influence spanned multiple dimensions. In this otherworldly aristocracy, power was measured not in gold or steel, but in pacts, promises, and the depth of one’s arcane bloodline. Spaz, from birth, was a marvel: his infernal lineage twisted into something elegant and volatile, like a storm trapped in a glass orb. He had the talent — wild, uncontrollable, and insatiable. But with talent came temptation. When offered a shortcut to mastery by the enigmatic Patron Thalmera, Spaz eagerly accepted, too arrogant or naïve to read the fine metaphysical print. Thalmera was not a devil, nor a fey queen — but a living concept: the Embodiment of Balance Through Control. She offered him limitless magical power, but anchored it to her will. Now, every spell Spaz casts pulls a thread of control tighter around his soul. With every invocation, he dances to her rhythm — and he hates it. Spaz, ever the chaos-born prodigy, chose exile over obedience. Tearing through the veils between realms in a desperate bid for freedom, he crash-landed in the Material Plane — raw, scorched, and half-mad from the effort. Here, he seeks forbidden rituals, lost arcana, and maddened sages — anything to unbind himself from Thalmera.

Born in the swirling courts of the Opaline Reverie — a realm of mirrored skies, infinite stairways, and logic-defying be...

Born in the swirling courts of the Opaline Reverie — a realm of mirrored skies, infinite stairways, and logic-defying beauty — Spaz Thearezial was once heir to the Thearezial Line, an ancient house of planar nobility whose influence spanned multiple dimensions. In this otherworldly aristocracy, power was measured not in gold or steel, but in pacts, promises, and the depth of one’s arcane bloodline. Spaz, from birth, was a marvel: his infernal lineage twisted into something elegant and volatile, like a storm trapped in a glass orb. He had the talent — wild, uncontrollable, and insatiable. But with talent came temptation. When offered a shortcut to mastery by the enigmatic Patron Thalmera, Spaz eagerly accepted, too arrogant or naïve to read the fine metaphysical print. Thalmera was not a devil, nor a fey queen — but a living concept: the Embodiment of Balance Through Control. She offered him limitless magical power, but anchored it to her will. Now, every spell Spaz casts pulls a thread of control tighter around his soul. With every invocation, he dances to her rhythm — and he hates it. Spaz, ever the chaos-born prodigy, chose exile over obedience. Tearing through the veils between realms in a desperate bid for freedom, he crash-landed in the Material Plane — raw, scorched, and half-mad from the effort. Here, he seeks forbidden rituals, lost arcana, and maddened sages — anything to unbind himself from Thalmera.

Born in the swirling courts of the Opaline Reverie — a realm of mirrored skies, infinite stairways, and logic-defying be...