Anya aj'Siera

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Approved Character
Posts: 33
Joined: Tue Sep 18, 2018 3:27 am
Race: Human
Profession: seeker
Renown: 0
Character Sheet
Wealth Tier: Tier 1



Anya aj'Siera

anya .. aj'siera
given name .. anya tesellios
race .. human
date of birth .. 694 Saun 6
languages spoken .. fluent Vahanic . broken Common, Rakahi, and Common Sign.
5'10" | lithe | sea-green eyes | lightning white dreadlocks | tattooed | sailor's mouth
Hers was a hard-knock life, that much is obvious. Tall and lithe, she walks like a trained deckhand, though she’s spent very little actual time on ships. Instead, she grew that way through rowdy brawls in Ne’haeri taverns, carousing with pirates and smugglers. She bears dreadlocked hair like the Biqaj she considers her true people, as well as their nautical tattoos and markings. Her torso and arms are covered with tattoos depicting the sea, the suns and moons, as well as directions and sea life. These are all well done, and for a woman of only 24 arcs, they are extensive and intricate.

Her hair, naturally a dirty blonde, has been bleached by the suns in which she spent her youth to the blistering white of hot fire, the pit of the flame. Sea-green eyes, the only thing she inherited from her father, stare out over high cheekbones with light freckles. Her face is angular, perhaps too angular to some, appearing as much a python or other snake’s would. But it is her style of dress that is most notable. Garish colours, sweeping garments and their tawdry remnants from prior outfits stare out from her thin frame, perhaps too large for her, though she seems not to mind. She is noticeable, that much is true, when she wants to be.
brash | confrontational | honest | terse | violent | deceptive | inquisitive
Fiery, even from birth, Anya’s countenance is one of cynicism and confrontation. Never one to shy from a fight, she’s been taught the hard way that not all battles can be won, let alone fought. Still, though, she faces every adversity much the same: attack it until it stops attacking back. This has carried into all facets of her life, giving her troubles when trying to make friends or love interests. She isn’t stupid, by any means, though her formal education is lacking. She learned things the hard way, picking them up one failure after another, and has developed a determination that exceeds all other character traits. She sets her mind to something, and that something submits, or she dies. That’s her personal creed, and she sticks by it every trial.
past | present | future

That was her first thought, panic-stricken and emphatic. She felt it more than she saw it, or maybe she smelled it. Acrid, like burning wood, all around her. The haze hadn't filtered in yet, but she knew it was there. She knew that just outside her door, the blaze was consuming the meager possessions she had. She didn't care about the furniture, or the food... She only cared that she got herself out. Leaping quickly from the bed, Anya searched for whatever she could find to help her escape. The window was there, open, but the fall would be enough to immobilize her, even break something. No, she had to go through the blaze. She had to face the fire. And she knew this was something she'd lose.

"Is there someone in there?" The voice was strong, feminine but in control. Anya tried to call out, but the smoke creeping under the door hit her then, and she choked. She heard a sound outside the door, as if someone tried to open it, but nothing moved. Muttering, indecipherable words, followed, accompanied by a slam on the door, harder than any person she'd ever know. Again, like someone was using a ram to smash through the heavy wood, and finally, it splintered. The face that peered through was stern, the short and spiky black hair sitting atop it austere and controlled. Cold black eyes searched the room quickly.

"Move back." It wasn't a suggestion. As she did, the door exploded and flew inward, sending wooden knives at her body and face. Never helpless, Anya dropped and shielded herself, and when she looked back up, she could have sworn the hand that came through the gap to yank the door open was covered in stone. Shaking her head, Anya cleared the smoke from her eyes and the woman was inside. She scanned the window, swearing, before turning back to Anya.

"Faldrun's balls." Yeah, that seemed about right. She concentrated for a moment, and something inside Anya writhed in pain and confusion. It was like the woman was pressing on her organs, suffocating her before the smoke could. Anya supposed it was a mercy, but she wanted to fight. Fists balled, and before she struck, she heard it... A tiny nudging, like something she couldn't shake, weighed on her mind. The air was heating in the room as the flames licked the remnants of the door, setting them alight like kindling. And Anya felt a pull toward it, like she needed to get through but she couldn't. And then something strange happened... The flames pulled toward her.

In a moment of quick thinking, to escape the backdraft, Anya silently begged the fire to stop. She couldn't understand what she was doing, but the fire halted its progress. The woman, whose eyes were solely on the door, was obviously doing the same, concentrating on holding the conflagration at bay. Anya joined her, still silent, still unable to breathe. A loud crack split the beam above her, and her concentration was broken. In an instant, she was under a flaming ton of wood, and she knew this was her end.

"Talk to it! Ask it, beg it not to burn you!" It was absurd, but Anya did. She begged and pleaded with the fire and pressed with all her might to try and lift the wooden support from her form. Flames engulfed her hands, searing the flesh of her palms, sending waves of nauseating pain through her body as she screamed with effort. She entreated the fire still, asking it to cease biting her. It abated, but only slightly, as her clothes smoldered around her. The woman rushed over, and suddenly the beam was lifted by two stone columns, as tall as Anya. The woman's hand shot out and yanked Anya out of the way before the earth disappeared, sending the beam crashing through the floor. The chasm opened beneath into the downstairs of the shabby abode, and the woman looked down into it, judging.

Then she tossed Anya through it.

"What's your name?"

She made small talk as she wrapped bandages, wet with cool, pure water, around Anya's hands. She couldn't do much else, and the blistered skin ached with the sensation. Anya's eyes locked on the woman's, and she felt she owed her something. Her life, as it was.

"Anya. Anya aj'Siera."

"Don't look like no Biqaj to me." She was right, Anya wasn't a Biqaj, despite her name.

"Blood doesn't make family," she countered.

"Des'penya," the man said, an amused smirk on his face. He watched the commotion with eyes bluer than any sea he'd ever sailed, though a moment before, they'd been dirt brown. The girl, likely no older than ten, was holding her own far better than he thought. His companion, a Biqaj named Toriq, stood impassively against the wall, watching the fray.

The girl had stolen some of the boy's coin, presumably the money his parents gave him to buy the sweets that were now strewn on the ground beside the ruckus. He and his two friends were held at bay by her wild swings, lips clasped tightly together to ensure she didn't bite her tongue. As they advanced on her, she would spin and swing, missing by a mile but worrying the boys enough to keep them at bay. She stalked in, targeting the taller of the trio first, and faked a lunge, causing him to trip. She laughed in derision before turning and catching a punch to the stomach, doubling her over. The two remaining grew courageous then, coming in, but she kicked one in the shin and dodged around the fatter of the two, the boy with the sweets. Still, she stayed ferocious, even in pain.

"Are we going to watch all day, toraqat?" Toriq looked over, and the man shook his head.

"Enough!" The boys froze, but not the girl. Not Anya. The Biqaj walked over and picked up the sweets, tossing them at the trio. "Best be underway, boys. 'Fraid she might embarrass all three of ya." And they were off, running through the streets. Anya's baleful glare burned a hole in the Biqaj's back, but when he turned, he was all smiles.

"Lotta fire in ya, toralat. What's your name?" It was a simple question.

"Anya," came the defensive tone. He could tell she was a fighter, probably a wharf rat all her life.

"An' where's your parents, Anya?" The look told him all he needed to know. "Ah, des'penya, little bird. I am Karyk Raj'oriq, simple fisherman from here in Ne'haer. Are you hungry?"

She was.

"I chose it," she explained to the woman, who was now cooking two freshly cleaned fish over an open fire. The flames spread themselves evenly across the flesh, and the smell caused Anya's stomach to rumble.

"Isn't that always the way?" The woman chuckled. "I am Miranda Voushe. You can just call me Miranda," she said, eyeing the fish to ensure its doneness. She laid Anya's filet on a small stone plate and pushed it her way. "Can you eat?"

Anya did, vigorously, though not without pain in her wrapped hands. She wolfed the whole filet before Miranda set to eating her own, and when she was finished, Anya sat back and watched the woman. She had an emblazoned silver eye sitting next to her, and Anya couldn't take her eyes from it.

"How did you know my house was on fire?" The words came before she could stop them, and Miranda paused. She sighed and looked down at the eye, then back to Anya.

"I was following the man who set it. He knew that, and needed a diversion. He knew I couldn't leave innocents to die, so he set the fire." Her tone was matter-of-fact, and Anya was furious.

"What?!" Miranda looked toward her, the smallest smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. "I almost died because someone was trying to escape you? Who are you?"

"Someone who is going to protect you."

"I don't need your help," Anya said defiantly, though the fierceness with which she consumed the roasted gull said otherwise. Karyk acted as if he hadn't heard her, and instead speared a potato with his fork. He raised it to his lips, and the crunch from the skin made Anya even hungrier.

"I was thinking tomorrow, I could use your help hauling some of my wares. I'm getting old, and Toriq is about as useful as a kitten," Karyk said, smiling again. "I'll pay you an honest wage, and that'll be it."

Anya stared at him, her blonde hairs falling into her glowering stare. This man had interjected himself into her life, and now he wanted to put her to work?

"No." Finally, Karyk looked surprised. Still, though, the ease with which he recovered was impressive.

"No, thank you, and it wasn't a question." Karyk's face was stone for a trill, before it softened again. "Way I see it, we ent meso till you do me this solid. One little thing. Ot djal?"

Everybody always wanted something. Nothing was free, not the air, the sea or your freedom. She learned that from a young age. If you wanted something, you took it, or you made someone else think you deserved it. That was how the world worked, how Ne'haer worked, how Karyk worked and how the Biqaj worked. They were carefree, but they understood the value of 'meso'. Fair. Everything had its equivalent exchange, and Anya knew that Miranda hadn't saved her out of the goodness of her heart. No matter what she said.

"So what now?" It was pointed and blunt, but it needed to be voiced. It had been a few trials since Miranda had saved Anya, and though they were in Ironridge to avoid suspicion, she knew that their time together was going to come to an end soon. Miranda was quite the herbalist, and the burns on her hands were going to scar, but they no longer ached. Instead, they just stayed wrapped, and Anya wouldn't lose feeling in them. And for all that Miranda had done for her, she'd done one other thing. Something fantastical and horrifying... And liberating.

And Anya knew it wasn't free.

"That's up to you. You owe me nothing, but I will give you the choice. I belong to a group of people who study the ancient arts inherent in Idalos, created and handed down from the High Mages of Arcanis to the remaining Seekers of today. What happened to you, that's happened to many men and women and children over the arcs. Countless numbers slain at the hands of Ellasin the Necromantress and her ilk. With the Spark I kindled in you, you can use your gifts to save others like yourself, and unlike yourself. You can figure out the secrets of this world and use them to hunt and exterminate those who would use those secrets to harm others. Or, you can go your separate way, back to a life of dockwork and poverty. I will not call upon you again."

Anya considered it for a moment, recalling the silver eye that the woman had. She could sense something about it, that it carried a weight, but now she understood. This woman, this Seeker, she was on a mission, one that would take her places and give her purpose. She was consumed with fire, like Anya's house... Like Anya now. She knew Anya's answer before the girl gave it.

It was no coincidence, their meeting.

Quacia was something else. Ne'haer was rollicking, loud and bodacious, but not Quacia. The city itself was prison-like, and the Seeker college was the only place free of dirt. There, tomes and manuscripts housed esoterica, esoterica she was not allowed to view. They were secrets she could use, like weapons.

A weapon using a weapon.

"You're not listening, Anya. Again." Miranda bade her Initiate to stand, and stand Anya did. The dirt below her grumbled, low and slow, and she tried to Call it from its position, to make a ball and hang it in the air, but it was stubborn.

"Like you." Sometimes, it felt like Miranda could read her mind. Frowning, Anya concentrated, willing the dirt to rise. Finally, it did, a small clump the size of her fist. Anya focused it, hardened it, and threw it at the target.

"There," she said through heavy breaths. The clump smashed into the dummy's head and exploded, and Miranda nodded curtly.

"The elements are not tools. You're the instrument, the weapon. You ask the elements to augment you, not the other way around. When you Defy, you're asking them to behave erratically, you're changing nature. Fire doesn't jump, earth doesn't flow, water doesn't stand. You're asking them. Again."

The torch, set on a stick high above them, flickered as Anya reached high. The flame easily jumped to her scarred palm, hovering above it at a safe distance. She threw this sphere at the target too, setting it ablaze.

"I guess it agreed," she said, walking from the grounds.
skillpoints knowledgeproficiency
defiance(27/250) 11 competent
intelligence(10/100) 1 novice
investigation(10/250) 2 novice
linguistics(10/250) 2 novice
resistance(5/250) 1 novice
unarmed combat [rb](27/250) 11 competent
SKILL(X/250) X novice
..earned spenttotal
defiance..20 [SP]..
intelligence..10 [SP]..
investigation..10 [SP]..
linguistics..10 [SP]..
unarmed combat..25 [RB]..
resistance [GH] ..5 ..
Our Talent15 [DE]...15
Devils of Stone10 ...10
answers to unasked questions15 [DE] ...30 [DE]
unarmed combat...231
[SP] The elemental spark
[GH] you're the instrument, not the other way around
calling the elements
using wind to move faster
the relationship between a mage and the elements
using air to sense movement
stone maintains its shape at Novice
borrowing someone's flame
using an element's natural behavior
two mages chaining abilities
using wind to boost yourself

[GH] surviving smoke inhalation

[SP] utilizing an information network

[SP] following leads
identifying the source of commotion

[SP] the basics of language learning
finding a common language

[GH] being used as a distraction

unarmed combat
[SP] how to punch
[GH] swing and a miss
[GH] endless barraging tends to throw an opponent off
aggressive attacks break defenses
attacking in rage wears you out
remaining in motion
using an opponent's arrogance against him
aim for the shoulder to knock off balance
sweep low to trip
use your momentum for power
reserve your energy for counter attacks

miscellaneous knowledge
races - humans
history - Quacia
locations - Quacia
layout - Quacia
laws - Quacia
customs and festivities - Quacia
faction - the Seekers
morgana dare: burned your house down
morgana dare: Aberrant
Quiet: Defier
a room in the Celestial Enclave
set of standard clothing
set of eating utensils x2
a charred music box that no longer works [SP]
100 gn
itemdebit credit
being human+10
battling morgana dare+10
Last edited by Anya on Thu Oct 25, 2018 5:18 am, edited 12 times in total. word count: 3118
User avatar
Approved Character
Posts: 33
Joined: Tue Sep 18, 2018 3:27 am
Race: Human
Profession: seeker
Renown: 0
Character Sheet
Wealth Tier: Tier 1




spells .. mutations
Defiance is often misunderstood as a discipline. Considered to be simply hurling fireballs or making shapes in water, in reality it is a relationship between mage and the natural elements surrounding them. While not delving into the spiritual element, as Pact does, Defiance is a way of understanding the truest nature of these humble and important aspects of Idalos. Gaining its namesake for the overt means by which the elements can be manipulated, Defiance spits on the Immortal masters of the element merely by existing...or at least that was the intent when first developed. Truthfully, most Defiers have a grudging respect for how well the Immortals have controlled the element up till now. Elements are fickle things, easily roused to chaos and just as quickly given to passive silence. What begins with a spark becomes a dialogue, and the dialogue becomes a kinship. While an Immortal controls the elements imperiously, mages of this discipline Defy that. No. For them, it is the relationship that is paramount; Defiance is about the bond.

What needs to be understood about Defiance is that it is unique, even among other magics. The spark in the mage's soul affords them a real connection with the elements around them. From the moment they are inducted, rain will sometimes fall around them, fire will struggle to warm them, even in a heavy wind, and even the earth is a soft bed for them to sleep on. Defiance is a magic that is felt in minor but significant ways. For a Defier, the elements are friends more constant than those of flesh and bone. Some of the mutations involve a difficulty communicating with ordinary people. Why bother when such fragile beings only pretend to master the elements that you have come to love and cherish? A Defier is never alone and so these mages tend to be more confident than others.

Of course, this relationship applies to ALL Defiers. Many Defiance mages truly loathe to fight each other. In a way it's like forcing a generous lover, a true friend, to turn against someone they care about. The elements hate to be manipulated and with the protection Defiers receive, most fights between Defiance mages tend to rely on secondary magics or physical skills rather than their strength in this discipline to fight each other. Of course, the superior Defier can overpower a lesser one but equally skilled masters will warp their environment before they do any damage to themselves.

Some mages fancy a romantic relationship with the elements, a kinship men of flesh and bone would not understand. It is not uncommon for those who can see spirits to see the spirits of elements following and clinging to such mages. Even powerful Induk show deference to a mage of elemental precision. Of all the magics, Defiers are the least likely to become unraveled and insane. Their power comes from the support of their friends around them, and that place of nurturing promotes a healthy and sharp mind. While Defiance can certainly be used for evil, there are few, if any, who would consider what they do harmful to the elements around them. Despite loyalties, many Defiers can put aside their differences to hunt down a rogue Defier who has taken to hurting or manipulating the elements in truly horrific ways. This solemn hunt, called the Severing, always ends in the rogue's death.

Dancing is encouraging the elements to act outside of their ordinary purview for the purposes of the Defier. Most elements behave as people expect them to. Wind blows around objects or in one direction, water fills the area it is placed within. Earth remains steadfast and fire burns along the objects it devours. We understand these manifestations and ordinarily cannot control them. To the purview of Defiance, however, Dancing becomes a singular expression of ones connection with the elements around them. Water can be made to coil like a snake or jet from a puddle into someone's face. Fire can be encouraged to blaze and burn between open hands and be hurled as a projectile. Earth can roil and create pillars, hurl stones, and become jagged obstacles.

At first Dancing is clumsy, the elements stay close to their true form and must be encouraged. Fire will still require substance to feed it and both earth and water will need to be connected to itself in order to act. Floating stone pillars are not the purview of beginning dancers, but rather the masters who learn stylistic expressions. A Defier takes great pride in the development of their dancing skill and most cultivate signature manifestations and routines involving the elements. A talented Becomer who was also a master Defier commanded the elements into the likeness of animals briefly. Dancing follows the control of radius, the prowess of the Defier stretching no farther than their ordinary area of influence.

This most basic ability of a Defier is the tentative acceptance of the elements. A measure of resistance is gained to each elemental manifestation. At a beginning level, this resistance is not much. One might last longer in a burning building or stand stronger against the wind than another of their race. The elements pull their punches against a Defier, showing them a certain grudging deference. It is the beginning of a conversation. The conversation culminates at expert when the Defier gains improved resistance (a noticeable and drastic improvement) to whichever elements they currently manipulate and immunity to their Kin element.

Another basic ability, the Defier becomes aware of an element's voice and can follow it. A Defier intuitively senses a shift in the wind which heralds a coming storm quicker than almost any other creature, can find water in the desert, gold in the dirt or the flicker of a campfire on a cold night Defiers disagree on what the voices of elements sound like. The closest any of them agree on is that the bigger the manifestation, the louder it is.

A talent learned in competence, a Defier calls an element to augment one of their own weapons or tools. As they are capable of Manifestation at this stage, the element can be called directly rather than coaxed from a nearby source. Due to the nature of competent Defying, taking it from an existing source will always be stronger. As a Defier progresses in their mastery, this may one day no longer be the case. Examples of this power include setting a sword ablaze, encasing a shield in another layer of spiked stone, or augmenting the head of a mace to hit with both wind and the force of the swing.

Another competent ability, the Defier begins to shape the manifestation of an element. Fire can crash like a wave and water can encircle. Earth can be shaped into crude sculptures and even air begins to allow some mutability. Defiers call this dancing because it is what they consider this technique. They encourage the element to dance, to show off, to be comfortable under the Defier's control. While most may not understand trying to make earth comfortable, a Defier understands all too well that sometimes a building doesn't crumble because it was poorly built, but because the earth was not comfortable in that shape. This ability grows in power and versatility as the Defier progresses in their discipline. Some have considered the elemental dancing master Defiers capable of breathtakingly beautiful.

Kin Naming
At competent a Defier is offered a choice. They must choose one element to become their Kin. Although a Defier may have trouble choosing between the four elements, this choice is pivotal on their further development. Their Kin element is their closest and boon companion in the world. While their relationship will progress with the other three, none of them can compare to the grace, versatility, and power that the Defier can call from his Kin element. It is said that a Master Defier can name a second Kin Element...and a revealed Defier can name a third. Kin: Fire
Defiance Witchbrand
When in the presence of flame, the substance will bend towards her. Lit candles will angle their flames, the flickering of a fireplace will change course as if a gentle breeze is blowing it, and the fires in lanterns will burn against the glass in whatever direction she is standing. This happens, regardless of her conscious thought, as the fire wishes to be closer to her.
Defiance Archetype - The Archon of Flame
The Spark is hungry, consuming, fickle. It wants to feed and grow and consume, and that translates into how it interacts with Anya. Like Fire itself, the Spark is grows stronger and larger when fed with ether, and so it imposes this will on Anya. When she is not Defying, she constantly desires to use it, even for mundane tasks. She's as likely to cook her food with Fire as she is to cook it over a cookfire. When she is Defying, the Spark wants it to be Fire, to use its power to consume, destroy and cleanse. As she progresses, so too does this will and desire of the Spark.

Competency - Indomitable
The Spark, like Anya, is ferocious and indomitable, craving more and more to sate its desire. With this mutation, any fire around Anya will not naturally burn out, even if the source of its use burns out. A campfire will burn brightly throughout the night, even if the fuel is ash an hour in, and may only be extinguished by conscious effort on Anya’s part. Additionally, because the Spark is really stepping into its own, and Water is Fire's natural enemy, after acquiring this mutation, Anya finds herself extremely hydrophobic.
Effect: Fire doesn't burn out around her, but she becomes hydrophobic.
Passive Ability
Passive Ether Drain: No
Forced Overstepping: No
Expert - Ashmarked
Upon becoming Expert, Anya's body transforms to become marked by ashen marks, looking like charred flesh upon her skin. These marks are always visible on her hands, but others move around the rest of her body, seeking open wounds. If an Ashmark finds an open wound, it cauterizes it, searing the flesh shut to prevent bleeding out. The process is incredibly painful, and though the Spark is preserving the body for its own use, it does nothing to dull Anya's senses while it does this. The greater the number of wounds cauterized, the more Ether usage, and the closer to overstepping she comes.
Effect: Ashen marks on her skin seek out open wounds, cauterizing them at the expense of intense pain to Anya.
Passive Ability
Passive Ether Drain: Yes
Forced Overstepping: Yes
Master - Flamebody
The most physically altering mutation, Flamebody causes small rivulets of flame to appear all along Anya’s skin. These lines don’t emit flame when ruptured, but they do offer a significant resistance to cold and cold-based effects such as those from Ezere. Because of this, Anya has double the resistance to cold than others of her race, allowing her to withstand nearly fatal low temperatures.
Effect: Skin becomes home to magmatic cracks, granting double cold resistance.
Passive Ability
Passive Ether Drain: No
Forced Overstepping: No
Master - Crown of Thorns
Fire, by its very nature, is hungry and indiscriminate of what it consumes, and this mutation is predicated by its very nature. Upon acquiring the mutation, Anya gains a thin line of red around her forehead that cannot be hidden by any means, magical or divine. The Spark, when it senses that Anya’s Ether is near depletion and she approaches Overstepping, draws upon this line for fuel. Appearing as red fiery veins that fall down her face, the Spark burns Anya’s form to create more fire to be used. This effect is permanent, meaning that the effect will eventually reach her heart. When this happens, Anya’s entire body ignites into flame, mimicking that of the Exemplar for two bits. During this time, Anya becomes an NPC and has extremely deep ether reserves for the duration. When the effect ends, Anya’s physical form is horrendously burned, as if she were burned alive. Her wounds are fatal if not treated within one trial.
Effect: Grants Anya increased Ether at the expense of physical burns running from her face to her chest. When the burns reach her heart, she temporarily combusts into flame and has the capacity of an Exemplar, but after the two bits, comes out horrifically burned.
Passive Ability
Passive Ether Drain: No
Forced Overstepping: Yes, extremely Heavy Overstepping
Last edited by Anya on Thu Oct 25, 2018 5:22 am, edited 4 times in total. word count: 2109
User avatar
Approved Character
Posts: 33
Joined: Tue Sep 18, 2018 3:27 am
Race: Human
Profession: seeker
Renown: 0
Character Sheet
Wealth Tier: Tier 1



Re: Anya aj'Siera

miranda .. voushe
given name .. Miranda Voushe
race .. human
date of birth .. 16 Ashan 680
languages spoken .. fluent Vahanic, Common, Rakahi, Common Sign, Leni
A problem from the beginning, MIranda's idea of negotiation is asking the dead for their secrets. Initially brought into the Seekers for her tenacity and proficiency with Defiance, which was unusual for the Seekers at the time, Miranda was tasked with creating a Cell dedicated to hunting and eradicating Ellasin's Coven. In the beginning, they operated as sleeper-cell agents, each dropped and activated when the time was right. Undercover was their lives, and Miranda herself was one of the best. Though she'd never met Ellasin, she met a few of Ellasin's higher ranking Coven members, and was trills away from killing them.

But as she grew older, she grew less bold. She was strong-willed and fiery, but she understood the need for caution, especially in her agents. Called the Suicide Sect, her Cell lost more members than most of the other active cells in any of the cities combined. They were deep undercover, and Miranda felt they needed more training. Pulling herself from the field, she dedicated her life to the Celestial Enclave and the training of mages to hunt Ellasin's Coven. This is her tenth arc training, and she is good at it.
word count: 244
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