Loctlxon (Xon) (LAHK-til-shahn)

Platinum blonde hair, green-grey eyes, lightly tanned and freckled skin, rangy build, 5'10" 155 lbs., about 18 years old with a low and raspy voice.

Description:
Intensity: 2
  HOMELAND d6 OCCUPATION d8 INDIVIDUALITY d4 OCCULT d10
  Suel Islander, Espionage   Tangledark
  Lordship of the Isles     Witchery
 
ATTRIBUTE Natural Grace d8 Keen Perception d10 Sinewy Strength d6 Chthonic Blood (H) d12
 
SKILL Seafaring d6 Art of Being Unnoticed d8 Swordplay d6 Natural Alchemy d10
 
  Language: Common
 
  Language: Ancient Suloise
 
PERSONALITY At Home Underground d6 Easy Liar d8 Mercenary d6 Savage d12
 
RELATIONSHIP Disapproving Mother d4 Wielded by Scarlet Brotherhood d6 (relationship) d4 Jungle Shaman/Father? d8
 
EQUIPMENT Falchion Sword d9 Concealing Cloak d8 Chain Shirt d4 Fungi, Moss, Components d8
 
MAGIC       Growth & Decay d10
        —Womb of the Earth
        —Breath of Decay
        —Tangledark Dance
 
        Madness d10
        —Half-light Symphony
        —Dreamspore
        —Grimrot Visage
 
        Spirit d10
        —Slitherfang Embrace
        —Netherwing Embrace

Bio:

My early years were split between the bright, breezy ocean, sun shining on my face and sounds of sea birds in my ears, and the gloom of island caves filled with creeping vines, bats, insects, and the heavy silence of the darkness beyond. Fitting, I suppose. My mother belongs to that sunny warm world. My father… well, she never told me he was my father, but sometimes you just know a thing. He belongs to the Tangledark. Where the jungle meets that heavy silence, and they both brood, scheme, and birth deep dreams together.

When I had seen about twelve years, my mother decided to “civilize” me. She placed me in the service of an Aerdy noble. It did not last long. I was unruly, and they expected me to wear shoes. Being young, emotional, and mostly full of unsound ideas, I snuck aboard one of the many ships at the docks. Maybe I was imagining a life of bold piracy, like some of the stories I had heard. As it turned out, the ship belonged to the Scarlet Brotherhood.

It was a close thing, that they didn’t throw me overboard. Chum for some unimaginable creature of the deep. But the Captain was a relatively good-humored man, as such things go, and was greatly entertained by my clawing, kicking, and biting of the Quartermaster as he tried to give me the heave-ho overboard. I became the official cabin boy and spent many months aboard ship, fetching, carrying, and learning what there was to learn of life upon the sea. Most importantly, nobody tried to make me wear shoes.

Eventually those days, which I now look back upon as sort of a waking dream, ended as well. There was a fierce sea battle. Many died, including the Captain. We managed to limp home, dubious victors of the encounter. The First Mate gave me the Captain’s sword, which I still carry, before sending me off to be schooled to useful purpose by some very official looking members of the Brotherhood. It turns out that I have a knack for the art of espionage. Combined with my steadily increasing ability grown from the seeds of witchery taught to me by my maybe father, the Scarlet Brotherhood saw in me a very useful tool.

I’ve been a tool for what feels like an eternity now, but is only two plus years by my count. This is where you find me. Doing what tools do, being useful in the hands of those who wield them. And wearing shoes.

Loctlxon (Xon) (LAHK-til-shahn)

Beer Run CJEdwards