╔══《 Daniel Vayr 》══╗
[Ref]
╚══《 "Do No Harm" 》══╝
Name: Daniel Vayr
Titles: None
Age: 19 - Born in the Summer, 13th of Highsun, 1622
Race: Human
Culture: Valkyian, Sanguifleur
Sexuality: Hetero
Social Status: Low Nobility
Appearance: A lean young man with a proper, sharp Valkyian freckled face and a lighter dark skinned complexion. Locks of black hair flowing down either side of his crown with specks of silver that ran to his neck. Olive-blue eyes. Thin, soft fingers; a small waist; small scars along his arm and hands.
(MC Skin / FE Portrait)
Weight: 170 lbs
Height: 5'11"
Voice: Mid-soft
Story
The Arrival
The rhythmic lull of hoofbeats are a marching drum to the small group of pioneers and variety of folk you have found yourself amongst, packed into a wobbling wagon. The rolling plains of the Southern Reach and a clear sky stretch out all around you, the buzz of excited chatter a dull wash in your ears as your mind strays to your former life and what has led you here to new lands.
“Nervous?”
You blink, returning to the present moment. A kindly older woman sat near you is smiling warmly with a crinkle to her eyes.
“I can tell it’s your first time. Still remember mine,” she flashes a grin and leans in.
“Tell me my dear, why have you come to the Reach?”
Daniel took a moment before responding. He always did, just to comprehend a question. A chill ran over him.
Why had he come?
The answer should've been obvious - the same reason as anyone: to leave a life behind. To escape them. Well, it might have been obvious, were it not for the juxtaposition of his attire and the desolate caravan he found himself in. He wore a brilliant blue vest with gold and silver finery; worn full-grain leather and a shirt made of silk and lined with threaded wools - each piece called attention to himself, more so that it was an ill-fitted hand-me-down. He could lie - the thought had flashed across his mind - but the circumstance didn't seem to call for it yet. This old woman wasn't any particular threat to his station, and besides, who would she tell? He didn't want to tread on the realm of starting a gangly threaded rumor he could not control; he was a poor liar, and it seemed poor to start now - he thought there would have been more ample time to fashion a lie when he arrived.
He figured confiding his actual reasoning to a stranger - and one bound to some secrecy - was a poor start as well. But he decided he would make the exception, partially because he gauged the woman simple and kindly enough to tell, and partially for selfish reasons burdening his heart. It was an ungrand burden, unlike his house's grander ambitions. As some minor Midlander lord's third son, not fit as an officer of the King-Emperors armies, nor apprentice to any coastal trade guild of some import - he didn't need that sort of attention, not that he was receiving any.
No, he would be sent to the Reach, of all places. Its reputation had already preceded him - home to an upstart town positioned next to an ancient Aedall historical marker. Why there?, he'd asked himself many times already. Why not Ko'ram or…
Thankfully, he was not completely cut off from a reasonable answer, nor from some meager correspondence to his homeland, but the question remained all the same. Despite having grown in a rural piece of the Midlands, Daniel disliked traveling very long to get places that peaceful rural comforts could not afford, and had a dislike for underdeveloped countries and cities - the Spire, he suspected, was to be no exception. He always found himself sick or a fool on his brother's escapades to the Mist Isles, usually on Port Aylma'aan or Abmanyo; though he liked foreign foods - and more like for the blend of its traditional Valkyian comforts and entertainment there - it never seemed to stick where it was supposed to, namely his stomach.
Neither would his other pursuits stick; martial talents escaped him, so he had apprenticed as a surgeon, one day to serve in the King-Emperors army at the border-lands - perhaps as a surgeon general, he dreamed once - but he was never quite suited for the brutality of it - a few Greatling skirmishes had seen to that. No, he'd preferred to be stationed in a library or some scholarly pursuit. Somewhere stable, bloodless.
That fit him best, he'd thought. If there were any markers of civilization at the Spire, those would suit him better than some noisy port or a forsaken warish northern hold. He fantasized to be somewhere where he could fascinate about fey nymphs and sprites and ancient-Ashland dragons and write theories about the Great Disappearance - his new station suited that latter thought, but he didn't dwell greatly on these ideations. It wasn't why he was here.
I don't deserve it anyway, he'd thought.
Some time had already passed, and the kindly woman's gaze pierced Daniel for an answer. He brought his voice low, shamefully, as he fidgeted with his fingers over a loose nail scuffed with dirt.
"I killed someone."
Murder was inconvenient, Daniel thought. It muddled his mind and consumed his mannerisms. He wondered how common footpads did it so often, or how he'd never gain favor from the Lady of the Lake as his other lordling peers did, and how his soul would be stained - at least by Korami standards. He'd heard tales of Kor'ami soul-deeds as a boy from his surgeon-master; he had fantasized when he'd get his chance to join the ranks of knightly Valk orders as his brothers proclaimed they would - and how they'd perform great deeds and hunts, slay mythical dragons and barbaric Greatlings, reincarnate as princes, and serve in a great lord's army as he made makeshift wood-sword battles with his brothers.
I'd be lucky as so much a glance from them now, he'd thought. He wondered if Lady Luck favored murderers, seeing as he'd certainly lost any chance for the favor of the other.
The old woman had looked at him with some bewilderment, and Daniel found himself mirroring her. Perhaps she didn't hear him - the caravan was marching over a rocky patch, bumping the wheels and shuffling cargo loudly behind them. This was merely a querying look. That's what he'd hoped, at least. His selfish burden was relieved either way, sharing it with the old woman. Daniel kept his head low during the exchange. His voice took on an airy, somber quality, as if he shocked himself into saying the words, distancing himself from the act. He felt the edges of his mouth quivering like an abandoned pup after the admission. It wasn't the way someone at his station should act. But neither was murder. And though he never meant for it to happen, and though it was closer to a voluntary manslaughter -
That doesn't change anything, he thought. Someone was dead because of him. His father knew, as well as his brothers - but his father had been particularly wroth with him, as his honor demanded. Knowing Daniel's less than ardent use of lies - and a great deal of fondness for the boy - he sent him quietly away, figuring that past the Wall, he would be out of the way of any investigation, and that perhaps it would do him some good anyway. No one would check upon a lord's third son for some lady-in-waiting's death - who would suspect him? Daniel had been a model lord his whole life. His father concocted a lie that he sailed to the Mist Isles and then the Reach on extended leave some time ago, his brothers serving as alibi; the blame would be on some servant, and that would be that.
Except that it had been a noble, he thought. That bit at him. He'd known this person for some time - a slender faced half-human, half-elf woman about his age with a penchant to music and dance, serving under his sister. And she was no commoner - that would've been easier to cover up without the need for this farcical trip. There was still a risk, too. What if someone suspected, given his absence? There were already holes in his father's plot, not that he had much say in it. And now some nameless face would take the fall. A few days ago, he imagined what they'd looked like - how their heart would sink and face would flush at the accusation - but he decided it was better not to dwell on that. What was the point? It was out of his hands. He'd make the most of this, and in a few years, he'd return and forget all about this.
Do no harm. The words rang in his ears every time he believed that lie; it was so easy to think he'd forget. Do no harm, Daniel. The world is full of pain already, no? We needn't bring anymore into it. His surgeon-master, Var Voramish - a kindly but strict Korami Arsa Sidhe his father had hired for his apprenticeship - had said this after a scuffle with one of his brothers; he cringed slightly, recalling the pain he'd felt in his chest then. Now, his mantra-oath mingled with the image of Daniel plunging a knife into the lady-in-waitings back, thinking her some thief in the night; the way the blood pooled beneath her heart and her lifeless pristine face stared back at him with emerald eyes. If indeed a man's deeds made up his soul, as his master often said, then his must be stained and rotten to the core. The pain in Daniel's chest surged. He'd be unburned, and suffer in his rebirth as some necrophaged creature - not that he'd prescribed to that belief, and yet...
Perhaps she had been some robber after all, he'd theorize, seeing if the stain would be easily rubbed away. The circumstances were dubious - a broken window where a chest was displaced, the strange cloth, unseemly wounds on her hands. And her face… it must have been -
Do no harm, Daniel.
He'd already failed at that. He slumped backward against the wagon walls, staring outward. As the road stretched out before him, he wondered how many more failures he'd leave behind, and how many more awaited him in the Reach. He felt a comforting hand from the old woman, rubbing his shoulder; the warmth of the sun rested on them both like a soft blanket as the clopping of horse-shoes made a satisfying rhythm. He didn't feel he deserved any comfort or satisfaction right now, but he sat there taking it anyway. And neither did he have time to think about studying some mystical field, about the Aedall or fey or otherwise, but still he sat there thinking about it anyway.
What a fool I am, he thought, discarding his wonderments, turning his back to the old woman. He gripped hard at the side of the wagon, small splinters finding purchase in his soft hands. The pain seemed to center him, drawing it away from his chest. Whatever had happened, he wouldn't let himself become miserable here. He didn't have the luxury. He'd make a name for himself, and do good in whatever way he could. It was the least he owed to his fortune, if one could call it that.
He released his hand from the wagon, releasing splinters from his palms with his dirty nails, forcing himself to ideate what lie he would tell when he arrived.
Events
1. Reflection 13 - Daniel arrived during the Typhon Tournament. Witnessed the opening ceremony, fights that broke out; explored the festival grounds and met several members of the Black Phial, offering himself as an apprentice. Retired the day at the Catnap Inn
2. Reflection 14 - Daniel attended the second day of the Typhon Tournament, witnessing the bouts in the melee and meeting new faces. He meets Liatris, offering a position at the Albern Clinic, which he accepts - as well as a view into the Arcane. He would ponder that.
3. Reflection 15 - Daniel attended the third day of the Typhon Tournament, attending debates and food stalls. He meets Doctor Konrad, querying him about the state of affairs at the Spire's hospital.
4. Daniel goes to Albern Crossing to investigate a strange illness. After seeing brutal and visceral combat - he was able to fascinate about the strange etheric creature he saw, that he extracted after performing surgery on a man named Icarus - but only briefly, as a shadowy figure seemed to haunt his thoughts. Konrad and Isabis - members of the expedition - helped to contain a creature called a "muisi".
5. Daniel assists at the refugee camp north of the Spire. Learns treatments for the Scarlet Plague.
6. Daniel travels with a group of scouts to find three missing patients who escaped from quarantine. Two were found, with one still missing.
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