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𝐹𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝑜 𝐼

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Kael’Ira

The Forgotten Flame

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24

Fae-touched and Greatling

Bi-sexual

Fireborne

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Personality

Upon first meeting with Kael’ira, it can be tough to warm up to her. Slightly stand off-ish than a natural people person, she can come off as rude or strange. Do not let this fool you, because deep down she is a fighter. Fiercely loyal to those she trusts and independent, Kael’ira has an innate need to prove herself. Burdened with a sense of responsibility and thirsty for all forms of knowledge, Kael’ira is a perceptive individual with a knack for picking traits off someone. Kael’ira’s word is her law—promises are not made lightly with her. She can be your greatest ally or deadliest foe—so choose wisely.

Backstory

Recently orphaned after the death of her parents in a freak earthquake near the edge of Dragon’s Maw—Kael’ira set out to the spire. Hailing from the volcano many of the Fireborn call home she was raised by a Fae-touched mother and Greatling father. She longs to study the ways of magic and learn everything she can about the world around her, with an almost dangerous sense of wonder for the patrons. Yearning is an emotion that suppresses the guilt and grief.

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Physical

Kael’ira has light grey skin that is smooth and almost luminescent in the right light. Her eyes are pools of water—an opaque blue. Her hair falls in soft, silken waves of black, reaching just past her shoulders. The most notable feature of her appearance are her horns. Jutting out of her forehead and curling backwards, the end tinged with soot—as if burned. Kael’ira stands at 6’7”—which is on the shortest side of the Greatlings. She keeps most of her belongings in the pouches along her belt but her most prized item is the pendant around her neck. The black obsidian was obtained shortly after her parents passing and she would rather die than give it  away

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Relations

Sun - Friend

Arielle - Friend

Upon a scrapped piece of parchment reads the thoughts that follow.

Her interest is piqued, not by the light but by the shadows they cast. Smoke cast no shadow, dancing on the wind—its sister. 

Her mother’s tongue casted spells when no one knew who spoke. A song unsung, words gone silent.

Righteous is the hand that strikes the first blow for it will be the one who screams the loudest.

Heavy is the burden of knowing, large is the yoke by which a hand is held, meek is the wanderer who sees not what the other man has.

Forget the world and its eyes for he is blind, we are not so sheltered.