Caligo
"Night's Herald"
"Night's Herald"
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Species: Half-Drow
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 135 lbs
Role: Switch
Gender: Male
Species: Half-Drow
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 135 lbs
Role: Switch
>>Always carrying at least 4 edged weapons on his person.
>>Secretly hates himself and his cursed lineage despite being outwardly prideful.
>>Reluctantly best friends with Apricity.
>>Out chasing that mad unsellie clout.
>>A lowball smuggler/delivery boy for the more sordid sorts.
>>Would sell his own grandmother for a promotion.
>>Smug fuck.
>>No one trusts or likes him, and for good reason.
>>Likes to read in his spare time.
>>Will react violently if hugged; secretly wants nothing more though.
>>bastard
>>Secretly hates himself and his cursed lineage despite being outwardly prideful.
>>Reluctantly best friends with Apricity.
>>Out chasing that mad unsellie clout.
>>A lowball smuggler/delivery boy for the more sordid sorts.
>>Would sell his own grandmother for a promotion.
>>Smug fuck.
>>No one trusts or likes him, and for good reason.
>>Likes to read in his spare time.
>>Will react violently if hugged; secretly wants nothing more though.
>>bastard
The gavel's slam rung dolorously, resounding throughout the whole of the court room as the sound settles into the ornate walls and the sentence into the mind of the accused.
"Priestess Lerephri, the High Matriarch's court has found you guilty of fornication of the most detestable kind. I trust I needn't say the penalty of such a crime?"; the judicator's words fell from her lips like silk, the whole room silent in the wake of her ruling. The softness in her speech belied the sheer severity of the quaking mother's sentence.
Through the deafening silence only one voice was permiss to tear its veil, the cruel mother magistrate merely running through the motions when she deigns to ask; "On the eve of the next full moon you are to be executed by beheading; what say you, in the interest of preserving your house's dignity?"
With a pitiful croak more befitting a toad than an elegant, cut-throat courtier, Lerephri finally speaks up; "...m-my baby, where's my baby?"
A serine chorus of bells delivered a droning dirge so sonorous it penetrated the walls of the sequestered nursery, the neglected contents within loosing a shrill wail as a contemplative pair looms over his carriage. "This is it, right?"; one of the nurses asks the other, not really showing much concern nor interest for their temporary ward. "This is what that Drarthae girl got herself killed over?"
With a sigh and a nod the other caretaker responds, exhaustedly mumbling her words as she attempts to placate the new orphan; "Indeed. What a waste too — a male and a half-blood? It'd be a mercy to smother him now, before he grows up to be "made useful"." Despite her morbid sentiment carrying a veneer of charity, there's a tinge of indignant disdain to her tone. Her lesser wouldn't blame her for harboring such indignance; they'd been trying in vain under order of a high priestess herself to look after the nameless bastard. Unable to disobey an order handed down from one of society's most prestigious positions, the caretakers in the nursery have endured his incessant wailing for weeks now. For such a helpless, frail thing, that cursed brood has a mighty pair of lungs on him.
"How long? How long must we endure him, before the council decide to toss him to the quaggoths?"; the first nurse asks, reaching down a slender digit so the wailing babe may find some fleeting comfort to grasp. She does not out of tender concern of course, merely seeking to spare her sensitive ears further torment. "The Drarthae have influence to spare but...this thing is an abomination." As his caretaker spitefully spits her words, the aforementioned "abomination" has ceased sniffling and devolved into infantile babbling. She sneers; "There's no chance their matron would risk her reputation legitimizing him, it just makes no sense." However, to this her better tuts with a click of her tongue. "She would — if her house stood to gain." The smaller drow, quick of wits and short of sight in her youth quips back with a scoff; "I'd think you better than to play Devil's Advocate, especially for a devil as pitiful as this."
"Priestess Lerephri, the High Matriarch's court has found you guilty of fornication of the most detestable kind. I trust I needn't say the penalty of such a crime?"; the judicator's words fell from her lips like silk, the whole room silent in the wake of her ruling. The softness in her speech belied the sheer severity of the quaking mother's sentence.
Through the deafening silence only one voice was permiss to tear its veil, the cruel mother magistrate merely running through the motions when she deigns to ask; "On the eve of the next full moon you are to be executed by beheading; what say you, in the interest of preserving your house's dignity?"
With a pitiful croak more befitting a toad than an elegant, cut-throat courtier, Lerephri finally speaks up; "...m-my baby, where's my baby?"
A serine chorus of bells delivered a droning dirge so sonorous it penetrated the walls of the sequestered nursery, the neglected contents within loosing a shrill wail as a contemplative pair looms over his carriage. "This is it, right?"; one of the nurses asks the other, not really showing much concern nor interest for their temporary ward. "This is what that Drarthae girl got herself killed over?"
With a sigh and a nod the other caretaker responds, exhaustedly mumbling her words as she attempts to placate the new orphan; "Indeed. What a waste too — a male and a half-blood? It'd be a mercy to smother him now, before he grows up to be "made useful"." Despite her morbid sentiment carrying a veneer of charity, there's a tinge of indignant disdain to her tone. Her lesser wouldn't blame her for harboring such indignance; they'd been trying in vain under order of a high priestess herself to look after the nameless bastard. Unable to disobey an order handed down from one of society's most prestigious positions, the caretakers in the nursery have endured his incessant wailing for weeks now. For such a helpless, frail thing, that cursed brood has a mighty pair of lungs on him.
"How long? How long must we endure him, before the council decide to toss him to the quaggoths?"; the first nurse asks, reaching down a slender digit so the wailing babe may find some fleeting comfort to grasp. She does not out of tender concern of course, merely seeking to spare her sensitive ears further torment. "The Drarthae have influence to spare but...this thing is an abomination." As his caretaker spitefully spits her words, the aforementioned "abomination" has ceased sniffling and devolved into infantile babbling. She sneers; "There's no chance their matron would risk her reputation legitimizing him, it just makes no sense." However, to this her better tuts with a click of her tongue. "She would — if her house stood to gain." The smaller drow, quick of wits and short of sight in her youth quips back with a scoff; "I'd think you better than to play Devil's Advocate, especially for a devil as pitiful as this."
COMING SOON
COMING LATER
Like all elves, drow are inherently born with the ability to cast various basic spells. The same can be said for a lowly half-breed, albeit such powers have been diluted in Caligo's case. Still despite this, through extensive training the young drow has honed his abilities to an impressive degree once one considers the handicaps of his heritage.
Darkness:
One of the more rudimentary of tricks in a drow's arsenal is the ability to create a cloud of magical darkness; despite its commonality however this is potentially one of their most notorious innate magical abilities. Accustomed to life in the underground, dark elves have adapted eyesight that is second to none in such an arena. Thus producing this shadowy mire can make for an easy getaway...or a devastating ambush, even on those most adept at seeing in the dark. The ability to craft pure darkness from thin air was among the first "gifted" to the drow as part of the curse permeating their blood. The price for such a blessing? A crippiling aversion to sunlight. Luckily some of the more clever of drow-kind have discovered increasingly creative ways to work around this glaring weakness, the least of which involves using this very spell to shield themselves from the sun's harmful rays. Despite Caligo's competency when it comes to his bloodline magic, he's naturally bound by limitations imbued by his humanity: the Darkness he casts only lasts about a minute before inevitably petering out, and extensive use causes him to incur exhaustion.
Magic Detection:
By intently focusing on an object, an area, or even a person Caligo and drow like him can ascertain the presence of magic through the appearance of arcane auras. Being especially talented, Caligo himself can discern further details about the nature of such magic: its nature, potentially harmful effects, etc. The most common uses of magical detection include determining the threat level of combatants, uncovering magical traps, and gaining crucial on rival courtiers as the most powerful memebers of drow society often possess dangerous magical artifacts. As one who specializes in espionage, Caligo's favorite of these is of course the latter-most.
Perhaps the most unique and most powerful of the drow's innate casting abilities, is the ability to cast the spell Faerie Fire. Among other effects, this evocation is most notable for making an afflicted target much easier to hit, making a drow's poisoned blade as efficient as it is deadly.
Darkness:
One of the more rudimentary of tricks in a drow's arsenal is the ability to create a cloud of magical darkness; despite its commonality however this is potentially one of their most notorious innate magical abilities. Accustomed to life in the underground, dark elves have adapted eyesight that is second to none in such an arena. Thus producing this shadowy mire can make for an easy getaway...or a devastating ambush, even on those most adept at seeing in the dark. The ability to craft pure darkness from thin air was among the first "gifted" to the drow as part of the curse permeating their blood. The price for such a blessing? A crippiling aversion to sunlight. Luckily some of the more clever of drow-kind have discovered increasingly creative ways to work around this glaring weakness, the least of which involves using this very spell to shield themselves from the sun's harmful rays. Despite Caligo's competency when it comes to his bloodline magic, he's naturally bound by limitations imbued by his humanity: the Darkness he casts only lasts about a minute before inevitably petering out, and extensive use causes him to incur exhaustion.
Magic Detection:
By intently focusing on an object, an area, or even a person Caligo and drow like him can ascertain the presence of magic through the appearance of arcane auras. Being especially talented, Caligo himself can discern further details about the nature of such magic: its nature, potentially harmful effects, etc. The most common uses of magical detection include determining the threat level of combatants, uncovering magical traps, and gaining crucial on rival courtiers as the most powerful memebers of drow society often possess dangerous magical artifacts. As one who specializes in espionage, Caligo's favorite of these is of course the latter-most.
Faerie Fire:
Perhaps the most unique and most powerful of the drow's innate casting abilities, is the ability to cast the spell Faerie Fire. Among other effects, this evocation is most notable for making an afflicted target much easier to hit, making a drow's poisoned blade as efficient as it is deadly.