"Stories are like the wind, carrying whispers of forgotten truths and dreams yet to be born. They dance through time, unseen but felt, brushing against the soul like a gentle breeze. In their passing, they leave a trace of magic that lingers long after they have moved on."
◇ NAME: The Wanderer
◇ AGE: 28
◇ GENDER: Male
◇ RACE: et'Mari
◇ NICKNAMES: Wanderer, Storyteller, Chronicler
◇ SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
◇ HEIGHT: 6'2
◇ BUILD: Hidden behind layers of clothing
◇ HAIR: Medium and Wavy Black
◇ EYEs: Storm Grey
◇ MARKINGS: None visible
◇ TATTOOS: None visible
◇ ATTIRE: Practical and durable with a touch of elegance; prefers cloaks and tunics
◇ MARITAL: Taken {Genoveva Bellecotte}
◇ MONIKER: The Trouper, The Wanderer
=ATTRIBUTES=
STR -1 | CON 2 | AGI 2 | INT 4 | HP 22 | TOX 11 | MS 10
STR -1 | CON 2 | AGI 2 | INT 4 | HP 22 | TOX 11 | MS 10
The Wanderer is a deeply compassionate and empathetic individual, guided by an intrinsic desire to learn from others and understand the world around him. His journey across varied lands has imbued him with a profound sense of kindness and a strong moral compass. Wanderer approaches each person he meets with genuine respect and a desire to learn their story, regardless of their status or background. His empathy allows him to connect deeply with others, offering solace and wisdom to those in need. Despite the hardships he faces, his spirit remains unyielding, always striving to bring light and hope to the lives he touches. An eternal seeker of knowledge, Wanderer's curiosity is matched only by his reverence for the stories and traditions of the world. He is a storyteller, using his tales to bridge gaps between cultures and bring people together. His wit and subtle humour endear him to those he meets, while his humility ensures that he never places himself above others. He values the lessons he has learned from his mentors and experiences, and he strives to live by the principles they have taught him.
◇ ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good
◇ TRAITS:
◈ Compassionate
◈ Wise
◈ Charismatic
◈ Humble
◈ Restless
◈ Rebellious
◈ Insular
◈ Distant
◇ INTERESTS: Storytelling, crafting, exploring nature, and practising martial arts◇ HABITS: Tends to stare off into the distance when lost in thought, fidgets with his hands when nervous
◇ ASPIRATIONS:
◈ To show compassion to the downtrodden
◈ To learn every story there is to learn
◈ To hear the song of the earth and speak true of the wind
◈ To follow Her guidance wherever she leads
He was born amidst the ancient trees, where the light filters through the canopy in dancing patterns, and the world hums with the quiet wisdom of centuries. His mother, a kind and soft-spoken woman named Elysia, was his first guide to this world of secrets and shadows. She would whisper to him in Fael, the language of the forests, words that carried the weight of the ages, each syllable a prayer to the woods and the wild. Elysia filled his days with stories—tales of old heroes and whispered legends of the et'Mari’s enduring bond with the earth. It was from her that he learned to see the forest not as a collection of trees and beasts, but as a living breath where every leaf, every shadow, had its place.
They journeyed far, mother and son, traveling through the rolling hills and into the lands where the ground felt different underfoot, and the air tasted of salt from distant seas. They encountered a troupe of performers in their travels—a wandering band of storytellers, singers, and magicians. With them, he found a second home. He learned the arts of performance, the way a well-told story could silence a crowd, the way a song could linger in the air like smoke. The troupe embraced them, giving his mother a place to rest and find moments of peace, while he thrived under the tutelage of a master storyteller who taught him the delicate craft of weaving words and emotion.
The boy's heart, however, was always restless, always seeking the next tale, the next lesson hidden beyond the horizon. He could never stay in one place for too long; the wind would not let him. One day, as if sensing the wind’s restlessness in him, his mother told him, “You must follow where it leads, even if it takes you away from here.” And so, with a heavy heart but a spirit light with purpose, he bid farewell to the troupe and his mother, setting off into the wider world, feeling the wind at his back, guiding his steps.
His path took him to places few had seen and fewer still had understood. He found himself in a secluded glade deep within the Crystalwood Grove, where trees adorned with crystalline growths cast a kaleidoscope of light across the forest floor. Here, he learned the art of stillness, of listening not just with his ears but with his very soul. He met those who had survived the Eight Year Peril, elves whose eyes held the deep, haunting echoes of that long, desperate flight. They spoke in the quiet tones of those who had seen too much and yet had returned to reclaim what was lost. In their stories, he found both sorrow and strength—a reminder of the resilience that ran through his own blood.
But always, there was the wind, whispering to him of ot
Everywhere he went, he listened—to the wind, to the stories of those he met, to the quiet places where the world seemed to hold its breath. He became known not by a birth name but instead as The Wanderer, a name that suited him as he continued to seek, to learn, to heal where he could, and to move on when the time came. He lived as he always had, guided by the unseen and the unspoken, following the pull of the wind and the stories it carried, forever searching for the next chapter in the endless tale of the world.
The Wanderer had been in Elsar long enough to feel the land shift beneath his feet, though never long enough to claim it as home. He walked the cobbled streets of Manaan Port, where the scent of brine hung heavy in the air, mingling with the laughter of sailors and the distant call of gulls. The waves whispered stories to him—fragments of lives lived on the edge of the world, where the sea met sky in an unbroken line of endless possibility. He listened, as he always did, but now the wind carried something different, a subtle change in the air that he could not yet name. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something just beyond the horizon.
His time in Elsar was marked by moments that seemed to slip through his fingers like sand, impossible to grasp yet unforgettable. There were nights spent beneath the stars, where the sky opened wide and deep, and the firelight flickered with the laughter of new companions. He moved among them, never truly settling but always present, a part of the moment without ever belonging fully to it. There were faces that lingered longer than others, voices that left echoes in the quiet spaces of his mind. In those silences, something unnamed stirred—a quiet yearning, a pull that felt not unlike the wind but warmer, more human. He did not seek to understand it, only to follow it, wherever it might lead.
And there, in the spaces between, he found something else entirely. It wasn’t in the stories shared over cups of spiced wine or in the fleeting glances across the fire. It was in the moments between words, in the unspoken connections that seemed to stretch between him and another, fragile but unbreakable. He did not chase after it, for he had learned long ago that such things were not meant to be pursued. Instead, he let it unfold around him, as gentle and inevitable as the changing seasons, allowing himself to be carried by the current. And in that quiet acceptance, something began to bloom, as elusive and delicate as the first breath of spring.
UNIQUE | POSITIVE | NEUTRAL | NEGATIVE
◇ Genoveva Bellecotte [Significant Other] | Nova is the moon reflected in a still pond, elusive but real, and when she smiles—truly smiles—it’s like watching the moonlight break apart into a thousand scattered stars, a beauty so fragile it makes you feel as though the world might hold its breath just to preserve the moment. There’s a quiet strength in her, the kind you can only notice if you’re paying attention, like the way a river moves beneath ice—constant, unseen, but powerful enough to carve mountains in its patience. She carries herself with the grace of someone born into a world of expectations, and yet there’s something wild in her, something untamed that flickers behind her eyes when she lets her guard down. It’s as if she’s always on the verge of becoming, of breaking free from the roles she’s been given, and I can’t help but be drawn to that subtle rebellion, that quiet yearning for more. I’ve never believed in destiny, not the way poets and kings speak of it, but there’s a part of me that wonders if the wind that’s always guided me has been leading me here all along—leading me to her. She doesn’t speak of her heart easily, and I understand that, for mine is often guarded as well. Yet in the spaces between words, in the silence that lingers after the last note of a song, I feel something—something deeper than words, as if the earth itself is sighing beneath our feet. She is both a question and an answer, a riddle wrapped in moonlight and shadow, and I find myself content not to solve her, but to simply walk beside her, watching as the light shifts and changes, knowing that some things are meant to be felt, not understood.
◇ Elysia Ardanis [Mother] | My Mother was the first story I ever knew, though she’d never claim to be one. She spoke in quiet, careful words, and yet each of them held the weight of centuries, like she was translating the language of the forest itself. From her, I learned that the world was alive in ways most people never see—a whispering thing, full of shadows and light, with secrets tucked in every leaf. She carried the wild in her, not as something fierce, but as something steady, something that endured. Her illness, when it came, was a betrayal of that steady strength, but even then, she was unshaken. She is more than a mother to me—she is the one who taught me to listen, not just to the wind but to everything.
◇ Riveryn [Friend] | Riveryn is a bright flame in a world that so often feels clouded. I don’t know her well, not in the way time usually measures friendship, but there’s a quiet ease in her company that speaks louder than words. She carries the sun with her—both in her beliefs and the warmth she gives to those around her. I respect her deeply, not just for her convictions but for the way she balances curiosity and caution. There’s a part of me that wonders if she sees the world the same way I do: full of questions that never fully resolve. Her stories of the Old Gods stir something in me, something distant and foreign. I’ve wandered far, but her people and their ways... they feel like a language I’ve yet to learn.
More to come...?
Massive shoutout to @Laurelin for the initial Character Template. Their work and formatting is astounding and a blessing to us all.
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