[Verified by Mayhem] Yomila

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Yomila

Postby Yomila on August 6th, 2020, 4:16 am

E S S E N T I A L S

Race:
Ethaefal of Leth [Drykas]

Gender:
Female

Age:
Five

Birthday:
61st of Winter, 514 AV

Birthplace:
South Suvan Sea

Profession:
Squire & Marassa

L A N G U A G E S

Fluent Language: Common

Basic Language: Pavi

Poor Language: Tukant
Last edited by Yomila on October 26th, 2020, 3:10 am, edited 4 times in total.
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Yomila
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Posts: 86
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Joined roleplay: August 2nd, 2020, 3:33 am
Race: Ethaefal
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Yomila

Postby Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 2:47 am

A P P E A R A N C E

D A Y:

Syna rises and she shrinks. Diminutive and lesser, a mere human by all appearances: Dark hair, wind-chapped skin and intense black eyes. Windmarks of old and waist-length windblow braids serve as echoes of what this form once was: Drykas.

Pride and grit from this past life bleeds forth under Syna’s rays. Moving with the stride of someone more comfortable on a horse than on foot, she is a whirlwind presence, coming off far taller than her average height of 5’7”. Survival sings in the blood of this form, flesh and bone sculpted by the sky god Zulrav. Svelte in body with small callused hands and long, weathered fingers.

She stares at them often. These hands that aren’t hers.

Intricate sweeping inkwork wraps her right arm and shoulder and left hip and leg; her body, a patchwork of scars.

So many stories told on her skin.. Her face.. Her eyes.

But she can’t remember.

Her frustration with this form burns in her: gritted teeth, furrowed brow and flare of her crooked nose.



N I G H T:

Syna sets and she’s free.

Towering seven feet tall and otherworldly, she moves with purposeful ease, wrapped in marble-like skin that glitters and glints in Leth’s glow. She is an imposing statue: A face with exaggerated features, broad shoulders, narrow hips and sculpted limbs chiseled from the finest stone.

She is refined; harsh in her celestial beauty and wholly inhuman.

Thick, glossy stone-like horns frame her face, sweeping back from temples, arching gracefully towards the nape of her neck before ending in a single tight spiral. The color changes with the season: The new year finds them a shimmery white followed by a verdant green. Then comes a molten gold that is the envy of all minters and, lastly, an obsidian as cold as Morwen’s lost winters.

Lustrous locks reaching her thighs follow a similar, even changing pattern. Braided and plaited and wound round this wreath of horns to be kept of out her way. The frosty blue of spring is chased away by a warm liquid black that fades and shifts to mirror the dying leaves before bleaching out to a bone white.

Molten silver eyes flicker in the pale moonlight, critical gaze searing hot. Trying to understand. Trying not to be disgusted.

Even in this near-perfect form she is unsatisfied. It is not what she was. It is not what she should still be. It is earthbound, corporeal; it is wrong.

And so she is quick to scowl, quick to judge; her chronic dissatisfaction marring her ethereal beauty.
[/quote]
Last edited by Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 12:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Yomila
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Yomila

Postby Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 2:49 am

C O N C E P T

Withdrawn yet present. Loathing all yet full of love. Equal parts awe and disgust. Driven yet distracted. Yomila finds herself still much like she was when she plunged back into this world, turning over and over in waves long gone, desperate to find which way is up, to break the surface, to breathe.

Like the majority of young Ethaefal, she is grappling with her earthbound situation. She is tenacious, burning with a desire to find out why. As a child of Leth, she is a creature of deep thought, reflection and craves understanding. She believes she must have been ripped from her celestial home for a reason; this could not be a mistake, could not be by chance, so she strives to seek what it is she must achieve, what purpose she must fulfil before Leth welcomes her back with open arms.

Like the deity that blessed her, she is mercurial, feeling all things too keenly for her liking, and struggles with bonds with other earthbound entities. She is not one for rash actions except in extreme conditions yet the emotions elicited are often palpable to all around her. What she lacks in a poker face she more than makes up for with patience, but even this can be ground to dust when tested.

As a former celestial being, Yomila is well aware of how different she is. Proud and stubborn, this fact has not always been kind to her so she uses it to further drive her. She needs to be better than her peers, to out-perform, to out-think. Competition and difficult situations are fuel for her drive, bringing out the best - and worst - in her.


MBTI: ISTP

Enneagram: 3w4
Last edited by Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 12:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Yomila
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Yomila

Postby Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 2:50 am

H I S T O R Y

The dark sky above stretched out in a dazzling display, its serene beauty only challenged by the rougher, raw majesty of the sea crashing against the rocks below.

“My love, is that a shooting star?”

Tyak Duskrider studied the pale path of the object in question. It was a strange sight; there was no arc, just an object dropping straight down from the sky.

No.

It was falling.

His light grip on his third wife’s waist tightened as realization hit him. “Fetch my boys -” his hands signed ‘urgency’ “- and the Watch.”

Pelin’e Duskrider rose without question, parting to do as her husband said.

It was only a few ticks later when the thought crossed his mind that he should have also requested a healer. It was too late. He was already on his strider and Pelin’e was already on hers, the creature screaming off like a bolt, and he turned his focus on riding down the narrow trail that would lead to the shore.

It was falling.

No.

She was falling. Plummeting like a stone to that wild sea below.

She had never felt such agony. Such shocking pain and despair. That was until she crashed - hard - into unforgiving cold. Her breath knocked clean from her lungs.

She wanted to cry or to scream but the sea forbade it, filling her open mouth when she felt the urge to test it.

Dying.

She was dying.

But she had already died. What was this?

Her vision and her mind went black, body ceasing to fight and the sea churned her limp body, tossing it about like a ragdoll. A combination of the tide, current and rips eventually pushed her to the surface and she clung to a piece of flotsam.

The days following her being washed up to shore bled together, the Ethaefal listless and resistant to the helpful advances and offers of care that came. The looks of curiosity and worry grew sharp edges as displeasure and even contempt grew from her aloofness.

She didn’t care. She should not be here. Surely she would be swept up back to Leth’s glorious realm if she continued to ignore her situation.

But the reunion she so desperately craved never came.

Seasons passed where she resisted, fought tooth and claw to avoid acknowledging the very obvious fact that, by day, she looked just like those she was surrounded by. But her resolve was steadily ground away, mostly due to the very resilient and patient Tyak Duskrider.

“You shouldn’t ignore their civility,” he urged gently. She clenched her fists and lifted her chin, steadfast in her frigid otherness.

While his two living wives, many of his sons and all of his daughters resented the ungrateful interloper, the Duskrider ankal worked tirelessly to guide the despaired Ethaefal in the right direction, encouraging her to take up skills befitting a Drykas. He taught her to use his shortbow - with little success - and the basics of surviving the Sea of Grass - but cautioned her to never stray far without at least two others in her company. What caused the greatest connection between the two was riding.

The Ethaefal craved a challenge yet her desire to understand and figure things out conflicted with her need to resist so she begrudgingly took on the teachings Tyak passed on to her in all things but the horse. Mounting one of the pavilion's docile - yet large - semes, she found the feeling to be unlike anything she had experienced since her fall. It felt natural. It felt right.

The pair would often ride whenever the seme was free and Tyak did his best to try and break down the Ethaefal’s stony exterior.

He never succeeded, but she would never forget his love and commitment. It was something she cherished deeply.

She would have left sooner if not for him. Looking back on her life, she regrets waiting but his warmth was a boon she was loath to part with.

Her departure was inevitable. She lacked the skills to truly contribute to the pavilion, let alone to the greater Endrykas, and remained hellbent on living a life on the fringe for fear of getting too comfortable. She reasoned Leth would not retrieve her if she made a life for herself amongst the horseclans.

Tyak made the arrangements and the pair set off with three of his sons for the Kabrin road. Her short visits to Riverfall on supply runs had not been her happiest moments and Kenash was to be outright avoided so she had decided on venturing further to Sylira. Tyak had agreed that Syliras, the capital, would be ideal.

It would be his last ride through the sea of grass, the aging ankal perishing when a juvenile night lion male ambushed him after they had made camp for what would be their last night. Syliras had only been a day’s ride away but the lone thing anchoring and steadying her in this twisted nightmare she was stuck in was gone.

His sons rightfully blamed her. She blamed herself.

Her agonizing sorrow felt endless. She was drowning again, lost in that churning, unforgiving ocean.

It took half a day of heated debate between the three sons before they decided whether or not to leave her to her fate in the tall grass, and another for them to get her just far enough to leave her on a portion of the Kabrin road known to be frequented by knights. They left her there with some basic supplies; Tahlto, Tyak’s eldest, offering of his father’s shortbow being the only thing that took the edge of such a cold dismissal.

“Know I would rather do anything than give you this.” His words were as sharp as the blade on his hip. “I do this only to honor my father’s memory.” The blow struck true, piercing the wall she had worked so hard to build around herself.

An all-consuming sense of loneliness filled her in that moment: she had no one. She was no one. The reality was crippling.

No wonder Leth had abandoned her.

Her prickly pride reared its head somewhere along the slow walk towards her imminent demise. She was a creature born from Leth’s glorious domain. She was more and she would not let this be her end.

Her tears were still drying when a wing of Syliran knights approached her, the Sergeant Knight slowing the group down to inquire into her wellbeing. Whether or not it was required of the knight, the Ethaefal saw it as a sign and she traveled the rest of the way with the wing. She listened as they chatted amongst themselves, one even regaling to her a tale of their latest adventure.

The experience - and the Sergeant Knight - made such an impression on her that she headed to the barracks shortly after settling into the city, seeking out a chance to become a member of the knighthood.

She had spent too much time desperately trying not to live, to escape this mortal coil she found herself thrust into. Now was her time to prove her worth.
Last edited by Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 12:10 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Yomila
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Yomila

Postby Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 2:52 am

G N O S I S

V I T A L I Z A T I O N - K I H A L A

"Vitalization is the gnosis of Kihala, the Goddess of Life. Those marked by Kihala are known as Marassa. Marassa serve as midwifes and commonly bless pregnant women as they are givers of life. They also engage in seeking out those who have died in a manner opposite to what fate has decreed. Those who have died before their time due to murder or accident are targets for the Marassa. Those individuals are seen as having died before their time and the Marassa work to remedy that by bringing said individuals back to life. Marassa are always the epitome of health and vitality and seek to spread that to others. The Marassa are not a formal religion. Instead they are individual marked persons who work to enact Kihala's will. As a result, they are highly respected in numerous cities and work alongside followers of Rak'keli amd Caiyha to encourage health and life."

Yomila acquired her first mark of Vitalization during her trip to Syliras, the Goddess Kihala visiting her on the Kabrin road where she placed her mark upon the top of Yomila's left hand.

Story :
There was rustling outside the pavilion flap, followed by two voices. One was familiar, the other new. A stranger.

“I need the Fallen.”

“For what cause?” It was Tyak, his calm voice holding a protective edge.

“One of the foals-”

The words were hard to hear from where the Ethaefal sat within the large tent and she leaned, straining to hear. Willing the Ankal to send the stranger away.

“You may.” The Ethaefal stiffened. “Her name is Yomila.” She did not need to see the hand gesture that went with Tyak’s words. His tone was enough. Be gentle.

The flap opened. A long, slanted sliver of golden light poured in, shadows flickering and licking at the light cast from the fire beyond.

“Yomila?” The voice was more cautious than gentle, wary. A body moved, blocking most of the light.

The Ethaefal remained where she was, ensconced in her section of the pavilion, back to the tent wall, molten silver eyes fixed on the entrance.

The body paused as the lantern it held cast its light upon the Ethaefal’s form, the warm glow sucked up by the creature’s shimmering, marble-like skin and glass-like horns. “Yomila.” the form said after a pause to take the creature in. “I am Svaya of the Palerun Pavilion, member of the Amethyst Clan.”

“The Palerun’s are in need of you.” She continued. Her sign was awkward, the lantern moving and causing shadows to swim - urgent, help, rely. “We require your power.”

Yomila tensed. She was an animal backed into a corner, trapped. She knew the other woman could see it in her eyes, even in the dim, even at a distance.

“It’s for a foal. A pale one” - special, gift - “It’s weak. Please. Will you come?” Svaya asked.

The Ethaefal could begrudge humans and Drykas. She could not begrudge a foal.

She rose, hiding her reluctance, and nodded.

Svaya took a step back, not expecting the Fallen’s stature but composed herself and motioned for Yomila to follow.
The moon was full overhead as they arrived at the penned area of the Amethyst clan, Leth’s light illuminating the area enough for the Ethaefal to begin to understand. It was foaling season. Members of the Palerun pavilion stood vigilant over their Strider dams with round bellies, only intervening when necessary.

Svaya motioned towards one that stood away from the others, two Drykas crouched off to the side. The Ethaefal didn’t have to see the small thing they were crouched over to know it was the foal in question.

Striders were sacred. Yomila was fascinated with them: their speed and everything they stood for. As painful as it was that none had yet to bond with her, she could not hide her awe at their majesty and felt the pull to help.

She joined the others without a word and they moved without question to give her space, her entire being radiating and powerful during Leth’s reign. Svaya had told her about the foal: it had not developed fully and had come too early. She had added: light-colored Striders were such a rarity. The collective whole believed this tiny creature to be a gift from Zulrave. Even a test.

Yomila felt the weight on her shoulders and the eyes on her person.

Do not let it die.

Yomila was no healer. She knew no medicine. What she did have was a gift, one discovered during her first foaling season since her fall. She had pressed her hand to a foal’s wound out of impulse and distress and it had aged - healed - a day.

She was possessive of this gift and used it sparingly, reserving it for the beautiful horses she was certain she would never ride again.

Once more she set a shimmering hand and closed her silver eyes, calling upon her ability. Once more a thing aged a day. This time it was not a wound but an entire creature.

The Ethaefal stepped away to allow the Drykas to do what they needed to once she was done. She was no longer needed. Or so she thought.

Svaya approached after convening in low tones with her fellow clanmembers. “I have another request.” Her look was oddly sympathetic as Yomila stiffened. “We ask you remain with us. The foal is still too small and weak and will need your power until it is able to stand on its own.” she explained.

The Ethaefal only nodded. She would stay for the foal.

~~~~~


Tyak’s gentle blue eyes followed her without reproach or question. She hated how she could not dodge his attention. Hated how he made her feel seen and welcome when everyone else ignored her. It made it hard for her to remain steadfast about her decision.

“I can’t stay,” she said, words weaker than she wanted them to be.

He dipped his head in understanding.

This only made her sigh. His unwavering love and support was like a warm blanket. It was security. Peace. It was going to be so hard to part with it.

They continued to pack in comfortable silence.

Come morning, Tyak clapped a hand on his eldest’s shoulder and said, “I’m glad you agreed to join us on my last adventure.”

Yomila was oblivious of the exchange, too focused on orienting herself to the Zavian-mix she would be riding. The pointed look Tahlto shot her bore into her back.

“You do not need to come, father. The three of us are enough to see Yomila to her destination.”

Tyak smiled. “I trust you would, my son, but do not rob an old man of one last ride.”

K’walen and Rulkis, two of Tyak’s younger songs, exchanged a look and then mounted their Striders in unison.

Each son was heavily armed. Each rider wore armor. There was no guarantee the trip would be uneventful.

It was why the aging Ankal had called it an adventure.

The five rode steadily from sun up to sun down and took regular breaks for the sake of Zavian-mix and its rider. Tahlto kept point, sharp eyes on a constant swivel for danger, and his two brothers took up the rear leaving Yomila and Tyak guarded in the middle. Nights were spent around a low camp fire.

It was during one of these nights where Yomila sat close to Tyak, feeling surprisingly comfortable. The initial tension that had existed at the start had fallen away; outgoing K’walen and mischievous Rulkis had both warmed to her, bolstered by the freedom and excitement of being away from Endrykas. Even Tahlto was less rigid and formal, laughing at his brother’s antics and father’s stories.

Tyak stretched, rose, then excused himself to answer the call of nature and K’walen took it upon himself to fill the silence with another tale of a hunting trip gone wrong.
The remaining bodies sat in rapt attention until a heart-stopping scream tore through the silent, moon-less night. The rumblings of a roar followed and all four were on the feet in a flash, the boys snatching up their weapons to advance towards the noise.

Yomila froze. The scream had left her blood cold and the hairs on her arms stood up on end. She grabbed the bow Tyak had often lent her with a shaky hand and trailed the others.

The scene she came upon was horrific.

A juvenile night lion had Tyak’s limp body pinned beneath a black paw, lips drawn back to reveal teeth and gums as it bellowed a terrifying roar in response to the spears that were stabbed in its direction. It lashed out with claws and might, causing the armed men to jump back.

Yomila charged with a scream.

It was only as she advanced that she realised she had forgotten the quiver at the campsite. Her fingers clenched white on the bow. No matter, it could still be a weapon.

The lion balked as the stately, horned biped lunged, tucking its head to grip Tyak’s face in its jaws, stubbornly refusing to release its prey even as the blows came.

More stabs fell from the three spears. More blows fell from Yomila’s hand.

The lion lashed out one final time before growling lowly in defeat. It rose and reluctantly parted from its quarry, disappearing into the night as seamlessly as it had appeared.

Yomila was instantly on her knees, cheeks wet from tears, hands gripping her beloved Ankal. She felt a hard push from her left as Tahlto came careening to her side, attention on his father. Then Rulkis’ scream.

“You have your power. Do something. Fix him!”

The world melted away as her chest knotted tight and sob escaped her, unbidden. How badly she wanted to. Her knuckles white in Tyak’s bloody tunic.

Tahlto vibrated near her with emotion and K’walen approached cautiously but turned away violently once he saw the extent of his father’s injuries. He took five steps then retched.

Hands were on her suddenly, shaking her violently, fingers flexing in her hair and then shoving it down hard.

“Fix him!” Rulkis’ was desperate and wild.

It took everything she had not to do as he demanded. It had been her initial reaction, to use her power and mend him a day. To remain at his side and see him through until his wounds were no more.

But he was so ruined. She knew he would hate her. Hate that she robbed him a natural death in the Sea of Grass. Hate that she might have sentenced him to a less desirable death. One of old age, of a life becoming a burden to his family.

“I can’t,” she cried, voice breaking.

It was Tahlto who moved first, sweeping to his feet and then to his brother, tearing him from the Ethaefal.

Yomila yelped without meaning to.

“Peace.” Tahlto’s voice was even, cold and calm and he gripped his brother, stifling Rulkis’ attempts to thrash, to fight. He gripped him tight until the strength pooled out of the younger Drykas, until tears replaced the screams, until the younger slumped against the elder. “Peace,” he repeated, softer now.

The brothers had each other, K’walen having sought them out and they embraced.

Yomila remained, heartbreakingly alone with the knowledge Tyak, mutilated and bloody before her, was gone. Gone because of her.

Another sob shook her whole body.

~~~~~


The world felt muted and gray as she walked numbly down the road. Everything felt pointless now with the knowledge that her need to leave had left Tyak dead.

Tyak, the only person who had ever been good to her. The only person who had ever accepted her. Tyak, just, patience and merciful, ever true to the Topaz clan way of life.

Her eyes shut tight as she fought back fresh tears.

She opened them to see a woman suddenly in her path and she started, surprised.

Dressed in pure dazzling white with long braided hair the vibrant red of a sunset, the woman wore a gentle smile upon her equally gentle face.

“You are hurting,” she said, words equally gentle.

Warmth. The woman exuded warmth. Just like Tyak had. The Ethaefal felt drawn to it like it was a campfire on a cold night.

The woman continued, “It is not wrong to hurt now, child. Don’t feel shame.”

The woman beckoned her forward but Yomila remained where she stood, uncertain, head a mess of emotion.

“I know you are hurting,” the woman coaxed once more, pressing just enough, “but I want you to know you did the right thing and Tyak is proud of you.” Her soft smile returned.

Hot tears spilled down Yomila’s face.

The woman reached out and took hold of the Ethaefal’s hand, holding it soothingly between her own and cooed gently, like a mother comforting a babe, “The cycle of life is important. Cherish it. Protect it. But do not go against the natural course it follows.”

There was a sudden increase in warmth in the woman’s hands, the burn was noticeable but not uncomfortable. It soothed.

The woman’s eyes regarded something over Yomila’s shoulder and the Ethaefal felt compelled to look. She saw riders approaching and glanced back to the woman, seeking direction.

“Go with them, child. This is not your end, only your beginning.”

Yomila looked back towards the riders as she felt the woman pat her hand. When she turned back, the woman was gone. Confused, the Ethaefal looked down at her hand, noticing the symbol upon its back.
Last edited by Yomila on October 25th, 2020, 8:53 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Yomila
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Yomila

Postby Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 2:57 am

S K I L L S

Skill EXP Total Proficiency
Leadership 10RB 10 Novice
Logic 5SP 5 Novice
Riding [Horse] 15SP 15 Novice
Weapon [Shortbow] 10SP 10 Novice
Wilderness Survival [Plains] 20SP 20 Novice


Resolve: 27

26 [base]
+1 [novice leadership]


L O R E S

  1. Riding [Horse]: How to Use an Yvas
  2. Syna and Leth: Mother and Father of the Ethaefal
Last edited by Yomila on November 3rd, 2020, 6:08 am, edited 8 times in total.
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Yomila
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Yomila

Postby Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 2:59 am

P O S S E S S I O N S

  • Simple Shirt
  • Simple Pants
  • Simple Undergarments
  • Simple Cloak
  • Simple Boots
  • Waterskin
  • Backpack
  • Wood Comb
  • Wood Brush
  • Soap
  • Razor
  • Week's Worth of Rations
  • Eating Knife
  • Flint and Steel
  • Shortbow Arrows [20]
  • Quiver
  • Leather Armor [Drykas Style]
  • Map of The Outpost

Items on Loan :
Image
  • Broad Sword
  • Scabbard
  • Steel Shield [Large]
  • Black and White Tiaden Warhorse, Cryxis
  • Knight Plate Mail
      Plate mail consists of a helmet, single gardbrace, pauldrons, vambraces, gauntlets, breastplate, cuisses, poleynes, and greaves and solarets. Full chain mail is worn underneath.
.

Mykom the Outpost Cat :
ImageName: Mykom
Age: ~5y/o
Sex: Male
Breed: Stray/Short hair
Appearance: Mackeral tabby with big, slanted Amazonite eyes.
Temperament: Independent but likes being near Yomila. Social when it suits. Strongly dislikes being held.
Location: Yomila's apartment in Syliras.

Yomila adopted him from The Outpost in this thread and he came with the following items taken from the Codex:
  • Food
  • Bowls
  • Leashes
  • Grooming tools

Heirloom: Simple shortbow
Last edited by Yomila on November 2nd, 2020, 8:42 pm, edited 9 times in total.
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Postby Yomila on October 19th, 2020, 3:00 am

H O U S I N G

Location: Syliras

House: Simple 20x20 apartment in Stormhold Citadel.


L E D G E R

Purchase Cost Total GM
Starting 100.00 100.00
Shortbow Arrows [20] -1.00 99.00
Quiver -20.00 79.00
Leather Armor -10.00 69.00
Last edited by Yomila on November 3rd, 2020, 6:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Yomila

Postby Yomila on October 25th, 2020, 9:02 pm

T H R E A D S

P R E S E N T

Tentative Ground 1st of Fall 520 ft Reed -- Complete

Ambition 1st of Fall 520 ft Reed -- Active

The Cat's Meow 3rd-4th of Fall 520 Solo -- Complete

Movement 7th of Fall 520 ft Kelski -- Active

Thread of Life 10th of Fall 520 Solo -- Complete

Thread of Life II 10th of Fall 520 Solo -- Active

Visions && Memories 15th of Fall 520 ft Ari'Ellin -- Active

Fernweh 22nd of Fall 520 Solo -- Active

Let's Start a Riot, pt2 40th of Fall 520 ft Madeira Craven -- Active

Dirge 51st of Fall 520 ft Autumn Rose -- Active


P A S T

Short Breaks 8th of Spring 515 ft Karsynwa -- Active

Saddled 24th of Summer 520 Solo -- Complete


D R E A M S

Sinking 2nd of Fall 520 ft Rohka -- Active
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