Ustrya

A loose conglomeration of plots all set in the same landscape that will occasionally collide in new and fantastic ways.

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Ariane 

Alex

James 

Ella

Kerenza

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CHARACTER: Alex Anderson OTHER NAMES: AGE: 32 CURRENT RESIDENCE: Land of the Fae OCCUPATION: Not a doctor

Life was never easy for Alex. Life wasn’t easy for most in his station. He came from a village without enough food in a family with too many mouths to feed. The lord who had charge of their land was as most lords in the West were; unforgiving. As if that were not enough, Alex was the youngest of his siblings. An unhappy accident of his parents (though it was often whispered that he was not his father’s son). His siblings took great joy in reminding him that he was not meant to be. They called him cursed. None of them really believed it though. At least, not until he was five and began responding to questions not asked out loud, guessing events that happened days later.

Magic is an unacceptable practice in the West. To be a witch was to be as good as dead, along with the family, so he was taught to shove it down. He was not allowed to respond to the voices he heard in his head, or talking about the colors he saw flowing around people. He learned, in time, to shut it off. It often resulted in headaches and slow responses, but he could push away the voices. They called him ‘special’, called him ‘difficult’, called him ‘stupid’.

Alex never cared too much about the names. He preferred to be left alone anyway. He often found himself taking long walks on his own, working separate from the others, seeking out solitude at every opportunity. It was that trait which landed him in the company of a faerie. She was an older fae, motherly. And while their kind tends to resolutely avoid any and all contact with humans, Alex was not a mere human. He was a witch, a very gifted one, and a creature as magically gifted as a fae could see that. He took himself a little too close to the woods, to a faerie ring, and she allowed him to see her.

With his particular giftings, Alex knew that she meant no harm. He allowed himself to be lead into the land of the fair folk, and from there on his life changed. He learned about magic, about himself, about how to control it in a way that would not do such damage to himself. Armed with that knowledge, it quickly became clear that Alex was not half as stupid as people had made him out to be. He still preferred to be alone, and he took regular trips to see the faeries who had become his friends.

That was not enough for him. Alex wanted to help people. He wanted to be a part of something, and as such, he joined a regiment at the first opportunity. He spent only a small amount of time as a foot soldier, his talents noticed not by a ranking officer, but a doctor. His duties were shifted and Alex began studying medicine, quickly overtaking his mentor. He was gifted and sharp, and his gift of empathy gave him the ability to understand how his patients were feeling better than anyone else. As such, he was sent to the front lines against Traynia.

Training had been one thing. The work itself was something entirely different. Battle was a bloody, hungry thing that he did not have the stomach for. Death became a permanent fixture in his life, sleep a phantom. Days were a blur of stitching wounds, patching up dead men to go and die all over again. It took nearly two years for him to lose his mind. He wandered away from camp, the night before a battle in a haze. He made it all the way to the desert before he was caught. He took them first to be the Swialia people of the desert, but it was quickly apparent that they were much more cruel than the gypsy people he had heard stories of.

They made him a slave in their camp. The treatment there was brutal and several repeated head wounds destroyed any ability he had to shut off any of his powers. It was harsh work that seemed without end most days, and he was grateful for that. The harder he worked, the less he had to think about the men he had left to die. The less he dreamed of their screaming. In his mind, it seemed a fitting punishment for a traitor like him.

It was two years later, or so he was told, when he was rescued. The Western soldiers had not been seeking him, it was only a happy accident when the two groups stumbled into one another on the outskirts of Rethar. Somewhere, stories had gotten twisted and convoluted, and they called him a war hero. Alex never had the heart to tell them the truth. He was supposed to go home to his old village, his family. If they were still there. He never made it.

Instead, he found another faerie ring when they made camp one night. The others had steered far clear of it, casting only shaded glances in the direction of circled wildflowers in a field. They made camp on the opposite side of it, all of them jumpy as they all avoided the subject of why. Alex waited for them to fall asleep before he ever dared approach it, stumbling through and finding himself once more in the realm of the fae.

Of course some did not care for his presence, insisting that as a human, he ought to be put to death. Others did not agree. It was one in particular who stubbornly advocated for him. There had been an instant and inexplicable connection between him and Addie, a fae who shared his empathetic abilities. She had a way of making the world go quiet for him. And while it is the only peace Alex experienced in years, he fought it. He is still fighting it, still burdened with guilt for deserting and a self-hatred that has only increased over the years. The idea of someone loving him seems wrong.

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CHARACTER: Rowan OTHER NAMES: AGE: Unknown CURRENT RESIDENCE: Queen Anne’s Revenge OCCUPATION: Captain

Rowan was a daughter of Tiger Lily, a woman who was originally a slave. Tiger Lily was rescued from a slaver ship by Captain Hook and rather than return to her homeland or start a new life on the mainland, she accepted the offer to start a life on Neverland. There were other slaves before her to choose it and more after her. She found love, she had a daughter, her lover chose to go to the mainland shortly after. With the support of her village, she raised Rowan alone. When Rowan was eleven, her mother died in a hunting accident (there are many dark things in Neverland).

Rowan was angry at her tribe and angry with her mother for dying. She left them and joined the Lost Boys instead. This decision did not last long. The Lost Boys were immature, unfocused, childish. They wanted a mother and Rowan was not made for any maternal role. After only a couple months spent with them, she turned to Hook instead. To accept his help was to make a permanent enemy of Peter, but that didn’t bother Rowan much. She told Hook she wanted to leave and he had an open invitation to anyone who wanted off the island. The intention was passage to the mainland and a chance to begin a new life in the South.

However, as soon as she got a taste of the sea, there was no throwing her off the ship. After much pleading, she convinced Hook to take her on as a cabin girl. As the crew was already unconventional, the presence of a girl on board was not near as hard to swallow as it might have been on other ships. Ambitious as she was, Rowan moved up the line as the years passed. For a short time, she was even the first mate.

She was, however, more bloodthirsty than Hook. He’d been alive too long, had a name made for himself and was content to solely attack slaver ships and the odd selfish merchant. She wanted her own ship. Hook assisted her in that, recognizing the time for her to move on, and helped her to take a ship when the opportunity presented itself. A portion of the crew followed her, seeking more adventure. And so the Queen Anne’s Revenge became hers and Rowan began creating a name for herself.

Wearing a flaming handkerchief (magic can do many things) over her mouth into battle lead to her being dubbed Captain Blackbeard. The second most feared pirate of the seven seas. It is a matter of respect that she does not attack Captain Hook. The man was a mentor, almost like a father to her, and he is the only one out there whom she still holds a healthy fear for.

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CHARACTER: Rosewood OTHER NAMES: Benjamin Lucas Rosewood AGE:  CURRENT RESIDENCE: Queen Anne’s Revenge OCCUPATION: Pirate

Born in The West, the only child of a prominent doctor and a well renowned seamstress, Benjamin Lucas Rosewood grew up in relative luxury in a comfortable home, with comfortable clothes and good food. However, even as a child it all seemed very hollow to him. He had an insatiable wanderlust. We would go on 'adventures' in the nearby woods on a nearly daily basis and return home covered in dirt with twigs in his hair. As he grew, he discovered books, and tales of daring deeds and mighty heroes. This, combined with his schooling in history, and being taught the art of swordplay, only exacerbated his desire for adventure.

After much begging and pleading, and a clear desire not to follow in his father's footsteps to become a doctor, Benjamin Rosewood purchased a commission of rank. At the age of 18, he joined the 74th Light Regiment of Foot as an Ensign. He served with the regiment for nearly a decade, rising in the ranks to that of Senior Lieutenant. He was well liked amongst his fellow officers, and respected by his troops. In battle, one could call him excessively brave; he toed the line between bravery and stupidity, and received reprimands from his commanding officer on more than one occasion. He led by example. He never told men to 'go,' he only ever told them to 'follow.' His teaching of swordplay had been adequate, but his skills were honed razor sharp on the battlefield. He relied on instinct as much as skill to kill the enemy before they killed him and was reputed to be one of the best swordsmen in the regiment.

While on campaign in his sixth year of serving, he found an odd trinket at the base of a tree. Curious, he picked it up and inspected it. His Staff Sergeant looked at the object over his shoulder and muttered quietly to him, “You know me, Sir, I don’t right care for the old stories, but it’s just better to leave the old things lie.” Rosewoood gave him a sceptical look. What was he talking about? It was just some trinket. And besides, those stories were just that; stories. He pocketed it and thought no more about it.

Two weeks before he was due to be promoted to Captain, he was chosen to lead his company and a company of skirmishers in a daring diversionary attack that was intended to delay enemy reinforcements while the rest of the regiment attacked the enemy's flank. Sadly, a mixture of hubris and betrayal saw the utter destruction of Rosewood's company: Eager for glory, Rosewood led his men much deeper behind enemy lines than he had been ordered to, intending to catch the reinforcements much further away from the battlefield. There was a grander plan than he had been made aware of, and marching his men beyond the planned interception point meant that they were unable to be supported by the cavalry that was supposed to rendez-vous with them.

The fighting was fierce and bloody, but Rosewood's small force was eventually outflanked. As he was about to call a retreat, he was struck from behind. The vicious blow to the head knocked him to the floor, and left him in a concussed daze. He faded in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of his men being mercilessly cut down. Before blacking out completely, a figure squatted down in front of him. Even through blurred vision and a splitting headache, he recognised the Lieutenant of the skirmish company. “I would finish you off,” the traitor said with a smirk, “but you're as good as dead anyway. It'd be a waste of a bullet.” He stood and gave Rosewood a swift kick to the face, knocking him out cold.

It was dark when Rosewood came to. The pungent smell of congealed blood filled his nostrils, and he almost choked on the dust that had filled his mouth. Painfully pushing himself to his feet, he found his sword and pistol were gone, and the bodies of his soldiers lay all around him, already being pecked at by carrion birds. His head ached. He forced himself to walk, but he was still dazed and disorientated. He only managed a few hundred meters before he collapsed. Before passing out again, he pulled the fey trinket out of his pocket and held onto it tightly.

He awoke to the sounds of strange birds and the creaking of wood. The floor moved beneath him, which he attributed to his aching head. Finding his feet once again he discovered, to his horror, that he was on a ship. At sea. With no land in sight. The rolling deck, fear, and the blow to his head all voiced themselves in a violent emptying of his stomach into the nearest bucket. Some of the crew, so noted of his awakening, gathered around him. The assured him that he was in no danger, that neither the crew, nor the sea meant him any harm, and that his injuries had been taken care of. They invited him to stay on board their ship. Not that he had a choice, of course; they were far out to sea, and none of them would tell him how he got on board.

For the first few days on the ship, he was wrought with terror. He was not supposed to be at sea. The sea was dangerous. People died at sea! Eventually though, he started to get used to the open water. It did not take long for the crew to reveal themselves to be pirates. The first few fights he avoided, but he was forced to take up a sword when the ship was counter-boarded. He helped repel the boarders, chasing them back onto their ship and inadvertently helping to capture it. To reward him (or possibly to encourage him to further acts of piracy,) he was made part of the prize crew. As the ships parted, an odd thought struck him; this is what he had been looking for his whole life. The sense of adventure he had craved as a child, and read about in books. Sure, being an officer in the army gave him a chance to travel to distant lands, but it had been structured and disciplined. This... this was freedom. A good wind, smooth seas, and the opportunity to go wherever he wished. His wanderlust was stronger than ever, but he felt at odds with his new companions. Over the next few years he jumped from ship to ship, sailing with them for a few months before taking his leave and finding another ship to join. He expected this would be the way of things now, but Fate was about to deal him a new hand.

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CHARACTER: Declan  OTHER NAMES: The Duelist AGE:  CURRENT RESIDENCE: The Sea OCCUPATION: Pirate  

Like many pirates, Declan did not set out to become one. Born to a moderately wealthy merchant family, he was destined to an education of trade routes, ledgers, and economic scholarship. To his parents chagrin, he cared not for such things. Like many privileged young men, he was enrolled in a fencing school. After all it's only proper for an aspiring merchant to be able to defend himself if he happens to accompany a trade caravan or ship to do business. He took to swordplay like a fish to water. Quickly he began to care for little else, and not satisfied with tutelage and structured sparing of the school sought out back alley fights and enrolling in duelling tournaments. He lived for the adrenaline rush of outwitting an armed opponent and placing the tip of his blade to their throat. One of his instructors described fencing as “chess at lightning speed” and Declan loved every moment of it.

His love, some would say addiction, to dueling got young declan into more trouble than he realised. A man in fine clothes with an ornate rapier was lounging in the city square, Declan rushing to a late appointment with an economy instructor shouldered his way past the man. Angered the wealthy man hurled an insult at Declan. To which he challenged the wealthy man to a duel. After a brief clash, Declan mistepped, dropping his guard. His opponent stepped in and slashed at Declan’s face. Suddenly half his vision was dark, and searing pain tore into his face. Blood covered his cheek and soaked the collar of his shirt. Almost instinctively declan channeled his anger and pain into the fight, knocked the other man’s rapier from his hand, and before he could get in a rational thought, pierced the man’s throat with a smooth thrust. His opponent fell choking on blood. “You fool!” someone in the crowd hissed, “that was the duke's son!” 

As word got out of the ill fated duel in the square Declan knew that if he remained in the city, he would be hunted like a dog until the Duke had him hanged. Only stopping long enough to grab some gold, and bandage his eye the best he could, he ran to the docks, desperate for a way out. He signed with a merchant vessel, and left with the tide. In his desperation to flee he payed little mind to why a merchant ship would be short crewed just  before their scheduled departure, or even took time to read the contract of his employment. Something he later berated himself about later, if learned anything from his merchant upbringing, always read a contract thoroughly…

Life aboard the ship was miserable, the owners of the vessel were cruel, and the pay was hardly enough for a man to survive once the voyage was over, forcing new crew members to stay on for the next voyage in hopes of better prospects back home. After weeks of intolerable conditions for a man used to a measure of privilege, he and the other cremates met in conspiracy. That night they stormed the officers quarters, and took the ship. Not being a seasoned sailor, declan was happy to let a more experienced seaman to take charge, upon arrival at their destination, Declan was able to use his education to sell their stolen cargo for a profit, quite pleased with the results, he decided to attach himself to a pirate crew as soon as he could, not only for the gold, but because he never felt more alive gambling with his life at the edge of a blade. He lives now for little else but the rush of his favorite game, this time with no rules to hold him back. Though it can be said he is often disappointed with some of the sailors and pirates he fights, too sloppy, too easy, he seeks experienced fighters to challenge him. Maybe the next mark will have a satisfying opponent.

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CHARACTER: Gendri OTHER NAMES: AGE: Unknown CURRENT RESIDENCE: The Queen Anne’s Revenge OCCUPATION: First Mate  

Gendri does not remember his parents. As far as he’s concerned, his beginning was at an orphanage. Or more aptly put, his beginning was when he left the orphanage. He had grown up there, only knowing the small portions and cold care of those who ran it. He was especially young the night that Peter appeared, in search of more lost boys. There was no telling why Peter decided to take him, but young and impressionable, Gendri did not understand enough of what was happening to resist or question.

In Neverland, he was still the smallest and youngest of the group. It made him out to be the target of the rest of the lost boys, all of them happy to have a smaller one to pick on. Gendri never cared much for Neverland. Then came Rowan. It wasn’t that she was less violent or mean than the rest of the lost boys, she was just less concerned with games or picking at people for the fun of it. In the short time she spent as a lost girl, Gendri spent by her side. Her leaving was the final straw for him, the boost he needed to gain the courage to leave.

He snuck onto Hook’s ship the next time it was in Neverland. As small and practiced as he was at going unnoticed, he made it all the way to the mainland without being caught, and slipped off too freedom. Still, he was just a child and too small to do real work, and so he resorted to pickpocketing strangers and stealing from street merchants. It would be decades before he found Rowan again, as he finally grew into adolescence and found that she had become a pirate to be feared. He took a position on her ship, quickly discovering that she was hardly different than she had been on Neverland.

In time, his fierce loyalty and willingness to do whatever she asked won him a spot as her first mate. He was still considered the runt of the crew, not quite reach six foot, a particularly odd thing for anyone who grew up drinking from the fountain in Neverland. But he had learned to make up for his size in speed and ruthlessness, sleight of hand learned from years living as a pickpocket.

The scar he earned in battle. Ever loyal and protective of his captain, he thought he was stepping in front of a blow meant for her, the sword catching the side of his mouth and slicing open his cheek. All it really earned him in the end was a boot to the head and a second scar from Rowan as she explained to him in painstaking detail just how stupid he was for doing such thing, all the while dragging him to the ship doctor by the back of his collar.

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CHARACTER: James Hook OTHER NAMES: Captain Hook AGE: Unknown CURRENT RESIDENCE: The Jolly Roger OCCUPATION: Pirate  

James was born in a small, humble village. His job, his life was protecting his younger brother. They never had much, nobody in their village did. Every day was a struggle to make it to the next, to get enough for a little food. James did what he could, but it was never enough. And people never lived long in their time, much less at their class, so nobody was surprised when their mother got sick and didn’t get better. When their father passed shortly after, they called it a broken heart, or maybe just too many years of working too hard and not getting enough food. James’ responsibility towards his younger brother was suddenly far more daunting. He took his brother, and everything they had, which was far less than it should have been, and they started walking. Somehow, they made it to a port town in the south. James was ten, his brother six, but the orphanage couldn’t take them both, and James was really too old anyway.

He left his brother there, promising to return with more money, enough for them to live off of. Then he went to the port and found a foreign ship willing to take him as a cabin boy. The work was grueling, unrewarding, and offered a pittance in return for it. He didn’t really know where they were going, only a few of the men speaking broken Welsh or Gaelic, and some days he didn’t know if the rest of the crew knew where they were going either. He knew that days blended into weeks, into months, broken up only by occasional stops at different islands to gather any food they could find and freshwater. But James learned. He learned his job well, until the ship became like an extension of him. He learned their language, becoming adept with Italian and Darija. He learned how to navigate, how to use the stars to guide him, and he learned to love the sea.

By the time he returned, James was a sailor down into his blood, a young man that had a future. It was years later, but he found the same port town with enough coins to jingle when he walked, looking for his brother. Peter, now eight, was not at the orphanage. James found him spending his time with a gang of boys that stole and caused trouble around the town. James dragged him away and spent most of the night yelling at his younger brother, who in turn yelled at him for leaving for two years. They were both different people, and Peter was not the boy James had left behind. James’ promises of returning with a life for them to live had faded over the years, and Peter had eventually lost faith in him and done what he had to do to survive.

James knew he should stay. His brother needed him. But he needed the sea. He found an apprenticeship for Peter instead, agreeing to it without telling his brother first and leaving Peter there where he would be unable to leave. It felt like the right thing to do, it felt that it would be the right choice. He left on a ship the next morning. They made it a day out to sea before a stowaway was discovered, Peter dragged above deck to face judgement. When it became clear who he was, James was restrained while Peter was tied at the ankles and wrists and tossed overboard. James was young and small, but determined enough that he was able to get free and dove in after his brother. The ship left the two of them behind, and while James was able to untie Peter, there was no denying that the two of them would only be able to tread water for so long.

It was a mermaid who took pity on the two of them. Only boys, she could not leave them there at sea, but was still unwilling to get close enough to the mainland to take them there. Instead, she brought them to Neverland. During the day, it was a place of dreams. During the night, it was a place of nightmares. And again, they were rescued, this time by a pixie. Most of those in pixie hollow avoided the humans, but Tinkerbell was fascinated with them. She taught them the secrets of the island, showed them the fountain of youth, she took care of them. James and Peter did not fight. Time was a twisted mess on Neverland, but it seemed to be a few years that everything was perfect. Then Peter retrieved his ‘lost boys’. He fetched the gang of boys from the mainland, with Tinkerbell’s help and excess pixie dust. They fought again, and in the end, it wasn’t worth it to James to keep the fight going.

And so the Lost Boys made a home for themselves in Neverland. Time lost all meaning and years blurred together. Every day was a new game lead by Peter, each one more dangerous than the last. It wasn’t until one of the boys died that James realized something was wrong. Peter had lost all comprehension of the difference between games and reality, even death was an ‘adventure’ to him. They were too young to be drinking from the fountain and it had twisted reality. James tried to stop and there was where he found the real danger of the fountain.

The withdrawals were unbearable. Hours turned into days, turned into weeks of shaking and sweating and doing his best to avoid being seen by Peter. When it seemed the worst of it was over (or at least that he had gotten used to the thirst and the pain) he begged Tinkerbell to help him back to the mainland. She refused at first, not wanting to lose one of her ‘her boys’, but relented in the end. The mainland was not as he remembered. Almost a century had passed, far more time than he had realized. All he had to offer were outdated sailing skills, and he was forced to start all over. It didn’t take long to get the sea into his blood again. This time though, he was noticed by the ship doctor, becoming an apprentice. He spent a few years on the ship before the doctor warned him to move on. The fountain was still in his blood and he wasn’t aging, a face which people would begin to pick up on sooner or later. James moved to the next ship. And the next. And the next. Two hundred years passed before he looked like a teenager, finding himself second in command on a wealthy merchant ship.

The world entered a new age. From the land across the sea, slaves were imported to the South, to be sold all over Ustrya. James never meant to find himself on a ship used for for such a thing, but he did. He tried his best to live with it and in the end, he failed. While he looked like a boy, he had more years of experience than any of the others on the crew and he dispatched the captain without mercy, taking the ship. He there was enough money saved in the Captain’s quarters to pay the crew for the portion they would have received for selling the slaves, but there was still the matter of what to do with them. There would be no safety for them on the mainland and their home was no place to go back to. James knew of only one place they might be safe. Neverland.

Even after centuries, he could remember the way to his old home. He brought the would be slaves there, told them to take reign of the island but to avoid the fountain if at all possible. No sooner had they set foot on the shores, Peter appeared. To say he was angry was an understatement. It was a fight fit for the ages. In Peter’s eyes, James had betrayed him, left him all over again. Before long, the fight moved from words into physical. James did his best to not hurt Peter, his brother not having the same compassion. In the end, James lost his hand and Peter vowed that he would someday kill his brother.

James left Neverland a different man. He replaced his hand with a hook, earning himself a more colorful name and a path that felt clear. The life of a merchant was no longer a noble one with the introduction of slavery, and he turned instead to piracy. The first years of it were spent falling into every terrible thing a pirate might be accused of doing. It didn’t take long for that life to grow old. James was already old. He had made a name for himself already and and as time tempered his anger, he learned to direct it where it belonged. When it came to slaver ships, he had no mercy, burning the ships with the captain and most often, the crew. He gave the would be slaves options of the mainland, their home, or Neverland once they were free. He learned which merchants, which countries supported the practice and took the ships of those as well, though he was more merciful to those crews.

When it came to people, Hook learned the art of ensuring the belief that he was every bit the villain everyone thought of him as. It was easier that way, keeping himself from being burdened with people wanting his help. As for Neverland, he did return. His anger couldn’t burn forever and worry for his brother returned. The trip was nearly as fruitless as the previous, ending in another fight between him and Peter, and an unpleasant visit from a deity who took form of both woman and crocodile and had taken the wristwatch from his hand after Peter had cut it off and thrown it into the sea. She claimed he had a destiny, a responsibility to the world, and Hook left Neverland once again, unnerved by the encounter.

He found his own stowaway, one of the Lost Boys who had grown tired of the life and was looking for an escape. Smee became a part of the crew, and through the years, rose to first mate. Life went on in that sort of routine. Centuries passed, building him into a myth, gathering more Lost Boys with each visit, filling his life with countless fights with Peter as he tried to convince his brother to finally grow up. Now, Hook is tired, used up, softened with age. With a past full of constant adventures and a slow accumulation of powers, he still appears to be in his prime. He’s become adept with book magic, been gifted with abilities from different races, become dependent on the sea.

At some point, he began to bleed green. At some point, he began drinking salt water with his liquor. The crocodile still chases him down at every opportunity, filling his ears with nonsense about divinity and responsibility. Hook has had more responsibility than he can already bear in his life and he has reached a kind of tired which cannot be cured with sleep. His crew is nearly all Lost Boys now, besides a few trusted others. Few people are able to break past his crusty exterior, the short list involving Rowan and a young storyteller named Wendy, both of which he will never admit to feeling fatherly affection for.

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CHARACTER: Anastasia Tremaine OTHER NAMES: AGE: 19 CURRENT RESIDENCE: Unknown OCCUPATION: Sorceress   

Anastasia’s childhood was a simple one. Well, as simple as life could be for a child of a noble couple in the West. Her parents were the picture of what a powerful couple ought to be; her and her sister the perfect, well-behaved daughters. They were as average as a family in their position could be, and in the West, average is the best thing to be. It was, in the end, Anastasia who set things wrong in that sense. Her gift of magic manifest early on. The official stance of the West is that magic doesn’t exist, and they will do whatever it takes to keep that pretense up. Anastasia received only on, very firm and very clear warning that if her magic was not controlled, something terrible would happen to her. She was a child. She learned to grow up.

Through a force of pure will, Anastasia controlled her magic. Her family, against their better judgement and the advice of peers, lived only a few miles from a coast. Of course the stories of gods and magic and other supernatural things were nothing but stories, but still. To live near the sea was asking for trouble. For Anastasia, it was a blessing. She could walk, or run, or ride out to the beach where she was sure to be left in solitude and be able to practice her magic freely. Even her younger sister who copied everything she did, didn’t follow her to the beach. It was her place, and she didn’t believe any stories about gods or dragons.

At least, not at first. Books of magic pilfered over the years gave her a set of spells to practice and things to learn, until one of them went wrong. She managed to summon, if not the goddess herself, some mirage of the goddess Fire. The gods were real, and they were trapped in the sea off the coast of the West. Every story that had been dismissed as myth was true, and Anastasia found herself staring in the face of one of the gods who had tormented the citizens of the early Western civilization for centuries.

They struck a deal. Fire would teach her magic, if Anastasia would search for a way to free her. The two of them continued to meet, to learn, to work together. Weeks turned into months, turned into years, and tragedy struck. Anastasia’s father died. That was not so much the tragedy; they were not a close family (excluding Drizella, with a heart tender enough to wholly love anyone she met). The tragedy was the day that Anastasia’s mother remarried. They were moving up, she said, marrying a man from the opposite side of the West. He was a king, of a small province the West had recently taken between them and the desert. They would be leaving the coast and the sea, and Fire. Anastasia left reluctantly, and with many promises, spoken and unspoken. To return. To follow through with her promise. To be together. To remember.

And abruptly, Anastasia was a princess among dull, simple people who called themselves Retharians. Gone were the breaking waves of the ocean on a cliff face, all she had were rolling waves of golden wheat and hay and grass for as far as the eye could see. She was a girl with a price on her head, and the first man to come along and pay would own her, and her life would be over. And yet, by far the worst thing about her new home was her step-sister. Ella. The girl was…everything that Anastasia was not. She did not fit the mold of princess, and rather than pretend, she fought. She fought with her father, she fought with Anastasia’s mother, she fought with Anastasia and Drizella. She fought with words and she fought with swords, and she fought with herself. When told to back down and be the lady that she was expected to be, she fought even harder.

Anastasia hated her for it. Ella did as she wished and never hid who she was, she was blunt and abrasive and so painfully honest, that Anastasia couldn’t help but hate her. And so she did everything she could to make Ella’s life miserable. She told lies to her mother, she forced Drizella to join in on barbed taunts, and when that wasn’t enough, she stirred up a spell and influenced the King, Ella’s father, to turn even harsher on his daughter (it took very little encouragement, he was already a harsh man). All the while, Anastasia searched for a way to free the gods. In the end, she supposed the simplest way would be to make the dragons cease guarding them. The only way to do that, was to make them too disgusted with humanity, with the West, to continue to help. So Anastasia encouraged war. She pushed the King to wage war against Traynia, the country north of them. She spread seeds of discontentment among the Retharians. When the opportunity came, she planted it in the King’s mind to sell his daughter off to the prince of Traynia in marriage, then turn on the truce.

The North was weak, Traynia small, and sure to lose. Once the West broke into the rest of the North, using the stronghold of Traynia, a war of the ages would erupt, and in that chaos Anastasia was sure to be able to break the chains holding down at least one goddess. But Traynia rallied and even Drizella assisted Ella in stopping the war in its tracks, bringing about a fragile peace to the land. The king died at his daughter’s hand and Anastasia was sent back westward with her sister, everyone still convinced that she was innocent in the matter. Anastasia dealt several hands of revenge in small manners, including cursing Drizella to an eternal sleep and slipping away from the party they traveled with. She stopped trying to hide who or what she was. She took to solitude and made her own way.

She spent nearly two years away from people, traveling and searching for answers until she found what she needed; a spell to release the gods. It was only supposed to set Fire free, but something went wrong. Every single god, locked away in the sea for good reason, was set free. Even as Fire did finally rise out of the ocean to meet her, it was with a warning; “They will bring this world to ruin”.

[ustryaocs]

CHARACTER: Drizella Tremaine OTHER NAMES: AGE: 16 CURRENT RESIDENCE: Unknown OCCUPATION: Princess  

From the time she was a child, Drizella’s head was full of ideas of romance and love. It was no easy thing for a girl like her to grow up in a love-starved place like the West. She was a fountain, always overflowing and running out into nothing. That didn’t stop her. Her parents were distant and cold, but that didn’t stop her from imagining the grand love story that they must have once had, or hanging on their every word for any ounce of affection. As for her older sister, Anastasia, there were no words to describe Drizella’s love for her. She followed her sister wherever she went, save for those strange times when Anastasia had a habit of disappearing.

Apart from family, Drizella was forced to find inventive ways to entertain herself, while still remaining the picture of nobility she was expected to be. Every interaction she had, with anyone, lasted just a little longer than it should have as she sought out the affection that was so lacking in her life, seeking approval around every corner. She was always eager to please, always devastated should she fail. Then came the first disaster of her life. Her father passed. Drizella was left heartbroken and mourning, while her sister and mother hardly seemed to notice the loss. And still, all too soon they were up and moving again, dragging Drizella away from those that she knew into a new life. Away from the West that had been her home, and into Rethar. Her mother had remarried, and while Drizella had protested the speed of it, it didn’t take her long to find the romance in all of it. It didn’t hurt that her mother had remarried a king, making her a princess. That part, at least, was a dream come true. On top of that, the man she quickly assumed as her new father was easy for her to please. He always told her that she was exactly the kind of daughter he had always wanted. Deep down, Drizella really knew that it wasn’t really fair to his own daughter. But Ella was hard to get along with. Even Drizella, full of unconditional love, struggled at times. It always felt like Ella didn’t want to be happy. She couldn’t say that she really made it any better, still following Anastasia’s example and copying rude comments or nicknames. Anastasia hated her, for reasons Drizella was always too afraid to ask. It was easier, sometimes, to pretend not to notice. She wasn’t always as dumb as she acted. There was a war, of course. It was something that Drizella never paid much attention to, as it had nothing to do with her. Only the country she was living in and another country. She didn’t pay attention to it until Kit. He was another name in a long list of boys she had fallen far before having her heart broken (by the soft age of sixteen) and he was altogether charming. He was also betrothed to Ella and the crown prince of the country Rethar was at war with. It was a treaty meant to bring peace about and so on, and all Drizella knew was that it should have been her. She would have been much happier about a marriage than Ella was, and she wouldn’t have thrown such a fit about it, and Kit was wonderful. But it was Ella that married him, as the ‘eldest’. From there, things got a bit confusing for her. Ella was gone off to the other country for a while, then brought back, along with Kit, who was locked up in the dungeons. Then they escaped and the King, Percival, was dead. Everyone went on shouting about how Ella had killed him and the war was begun again and there was talk of sending her and Anastasia back to the West. Here was what Drizella knew. She knew that, despite Ella’s temper, her step-sister wanted only the best for her country. She knew that, as much as she had loved Percival, he had been a difficult man to please and he had done some terrible things to his daughter. She knew that war meant people dying and that wasn’t a good thing. So when she was approached by a servant (bastard son of the king, half-brother of Ella) asking her to help, she did. For once in her life, Drizella was more than a pretty face and she took a wagon (first time attempting to direct horses) and rode all the way to the enemy camp to find Ella and tell her that the armies of Rethar would fight for her, and not for the king, or for Drizella’s mother who had taken charge. It was, as it turned out, what changed the tides of the war. It was Ella who rode in victoriously, leading the troops herself and claiming Rethar as her own. It seemed as though there was a happily ever after to be found, ignoring all the loss and pain that had happened along the way. Drizella was sent on back to the West to stay with family, along with Anastasia. The most difficult part of it was leaving their mother behind to answer for the things she had done while acting as queen of Rethar (something Drizella was not so happy with Ella for). They traveled with a large, trusted caravan with soldiers to watch them, and safety was not a question. At least, not safety from bandits or thieves. Nobody had ever expected danger from a member of the party. Anastasia turned. The truth came spilling out, the same truth that Drizella had always felt, but never been willing to put words to, the truth that she had always feared. It all happened to fast, an explosion of anger and yelling before Drizella herself became the target. It was Anastasia, as it turned out, who had coordinated the entire mess, and now blamed Drizella for helping Ella. And it was Anastasia, Drizella’s closest friend and confidant, to leave her cursed in a remote tower till kingdom come.

[ustryaocs]

CHARACTER: Zaryn OTHER NAMES: AGE:  CURRENT RESIDENCE: The Queen Anne’s Revenge OCCUPATION: Pirate  

She was born a slave to a rich family where she grew up. The family controlled every aspect of her life, wanting her to be the perfect servent. Zaryn was forced to be human sized and when she’d stopped growing, they cut off her wings. She was taught basic magic, a lot had to do with household chores, some was for people’s amusement. 

Zaryn was timid and always kept her head down, always doing what she was told. She’d seen what happened to those who disobeyed and never wanted to be in that situation.

It wasn’t long into her young adult life that her fmaily grew bored of her, wanting younger and prettier fairys. They sold her off and the next thing she knew she’s on a ship, chianed to other slaves, being shipped off to who knows where. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been on the boat when she heard the sounds of fighting, which ended up being Captain Hook and crew.

Zaryn was freed with all the others and they got onto Hook’s ship, watching the one that had just been holding them captive burn and sink with the vile crew who’d been on it.

For the first time in her life, Zaryn was given a choice with no consequences. She could stay with Hook’s crew, stay on Neverland, or return to the mainland.

The mainland had no good memories and what family was left were still slaves, which she refused to become again. Neverland was an odd place an hearing about the pixies who lived there made her nervous. Having lost her wings, she didn’t think she’d be held in high regard by the others who did. So she stayed with Hook and his crew.

Zaryn was terrified at first as she had no idea what to do with herself and the choices she had. She sort of fell into a house keeper role, cleaning the best she could and cooking. Eventually the crew broke down her walls and her actual personality started to show, which some regretted.

Zaryn was fiesty and became quick witted. She was also rather smart, being able to learn quickly. The only thing she wasn’t that good at was fighting with a sword, but once she learned fire magic and defensive magic, that didn’t matter.She earned a place on the crew and really enjoyed the life she had there, but eventually wanted more and looked to join Rowan’s crew.

 Zaryn looks like a typical human woman with short brown hair that sticks out everywhere, deep eyes that are almost black, and a charming smile. She uses magic to adorn her face with makeup, generally bright red around her eyes. She’d seen it on some other fire fairy’s when they were in port once and loved the look. 

She typically wears red and black, mixing the typical fairy and pirate fashions together. She always wears a top that covers her back and does her best to avoid situations where no top is required.

[ustryaocs]

Character: Ella Tremaine  Other Names: Cinderella Age: 19 Current Residence: Rethar Occupation: Queen

Ella had a very happy beginning. She was born in Rethar to a Retharian woman and a Western man. Perhaps better stated, a Western king. As a princess, she had everything she could ask for at the tips of her fingers. Her father always had a short temper, but her mother had a way of calming it before he could ever really get himself worked up. It was helpful, as Ella never really fit the mold of what a princess ought to be. She hated crowds, strayed away from anyone she didn’t already know and couldn’t be wrestled into a dress if her life depended on it. But they were a happy family. Their happiness did not last long.

Ella’s mother grew ill and no amount of riches could pay to make her better. She was gone, before they really had a chance to prepare themselves for it. In losing her mother, Ella might as well have lost her father as well. Percival had always been a difficult man, but he became more demanding, his temper grew shorter. He expected perfection in everything she did, even as a child. Ella had never so much as visited the true West, yet she was expected to live up to the standard of a perfect Western lady. For a while, she tried. She tried to make herself softer, to wear the dresses, to act the part. In time, she realized that it would never be enough for him, and so she gave up.

Growing into her early teens, she began escaping to the armory. After much pleading, she convinced the keeper of the armory (and the leader of the small Retharian forces) to teach her to fight. That became her release. When the castle became unbearable, when her father’s words grew too harsh or his fists too heavy, she turned to fighting. It was an easier way to cope with the fear that balled up in her stomach, and it cut through the feeling that her body wasn’t her own. When the fighting itself wasn’t enough, she pushed herself until it hurt, until she bled, until the pain could remind her that she was alive.

She did everything that she wasn’t supposed to do, just to spite her father. She wore pants, visited the people of Rethar, spent time in the kitchens and the armory and with the servants. She acknowledged her half-brother, the bastard son of the king, going to him more often than not when things got bad. In all the pain and anger that had invaded her life, Ella found a way to, if not thrive, survive. That didn’t last either. Her father remarried, to a nerve-frayed woman with two daughters. Anastasia was the same age as her, Drizella two years younger. To say they didn’t get along was an understatement.

They were everything her father had wanted for daughters. Two perfect princesses, who always followed the rules and knew how to act. They never seemed to get nervous in crowds and always said the right thing, as opposed to Ella who could always, miraculously, say exactly the wrong thing. Their differences settled them into an ugly rivalry, Anastasia spearheading the worst of it and dragging Drizella along with her. They had countless taunts, the most infuriating being Cinderella. Anastasia had an art for speaking the name under her breath, low enough only for Ella to hear and react to, her reaction typically getting her sentenced to dinner in the servants quarters (not that she minded that punishment - it was better than the bad nights where a goblet was likely to be thrown). As if Ella didn’t already know her failings, her step-family made them clear to her at every opportunity.

Then, really, her step-family was the least of her concerns. She reached marrying age. Rethar went to war against Traynia. Ella was swept up in a process of doing whatever she could to frighten off suitors (it didn’t take much effort, she wasn’t the picture of Western beauty in appearance or personality) and attempting to glean information from her father about the war. Years of running off to speak with the common people had ruined the carefully built walls to keep nobility separate from the rest of the people, in her case. She loved her people, her small country with the rolling grassy hills and simple, easy people. She wanted to fight for them, despite the abomination that would be in the eyes of the West. A woman, a noble one no less, fighting?

Percival did his very best to beat the notion out of her. He failed. When he left to view a battle, he locked Ella in a dungeon for ‘safekeeping’ to keep her from following. Here, Ella finally met her ‘Faerie Godmother’. Orlaith was a fae who had known her mother and promised to keep an eye on her, not that she had done a spectacular job on that account. Most fae hated humans, but Orlaith was one of the few who was willing to break rules for those she considered worthy. She slipped into the cell as a mouse and, against her better judgement, supplied Ella with escape and a set of armor, along with a warning that she would have until the sun set before the spell wore off. That was all Ella needed, immediately riding for the battle.

Of course, the battle wasn’t really what she expected. The Northern Barbarians seemed less like barbarians and more like people while she was fighting them. Then, she found herself faced with the prince of Traynia himself, the battlefield clearing around them as though the other warriors instinctively knew that this was not a fight to involve themselves with. In the end, Ella had a shallow cut on her neck and a gash in her thigh, but she left her mother’s dagger in the Prince’s side before the trumpets blew and the sun touched the horizon and the Prince, poised to strike, faltered. The spell fell away and she was left without armor or weapon, surviving only by the grace of a fellow Retharian soldier who pulled her up on his horse and took her out of the battle. The battle itself, was over.

Ella rode for home, knowing if she could get there before her father, no one need be the wiser (her step-family wouldn’t be paying attention to her whereabouts so long as she wasn’t around them). She made it home, dressed in her best and went to her father when she was called on, expecting the worst. What she got was far worse than she had ever imagined. A forced betrothal to the Prince of Traynia, a false peace treaty that she knew would never last. Ella spent the next two weeks locked in her room, refusing to come out for the Traynian visitors and claiming to be ill. The wedding a pompous affair (made only a little more bearable by the outrageous customs of the Northerners who took over the instruments at a certain point and took to dancing in such a wild manner that it drove every proper Westerner off the floor). Then she was leaving, carted off to the North with a people she didn’t know.

As time and trial would have it, Ella found she was much more suited to Northern life. For the first time, she found friends, women who fought alongside her and with her, men who actually respected her and a shocking lack of verbal abuse. She took no less than a few months to fall in love with the people who had accepted her as one of their own as soon as she came into their midst, and only a little longer to, possibly, slightly, develop a certain fondness for her husband (she had taken him for an intimidating, brooding sort, only to find he was an oaf in the most endearing and impossible manner). For the first time, she thought she might have found happiness. As usual, it was torn away from her all too quickly.

She had expected her father to break the truce, but not so quickly. She also hadn’t expected him to do it through kidnapping her and Kit and claiming that the ‘barbarians had stolen his daughter’. Kit was thrown in chains in the dungeon (she tried not to think of what was done there) and Ella was treated as the prodigal child coming home, as though she had chosen to leave. But she was not the same girl who had spent a life trapped there. In the few months she had spent in Traynia, she had learned new worth and new resolve.

Realizing that there would be no more peace until it was done, Ella ended her father’s life and escaped in the confusion. She got Kit free with the help of her half-brother and they rode North with the intent of warning Traynia. Kit, of course, was a broken shadow after the time he had spent in the horrors of the dungeon and it was Ella who was forced to drag him along with her. But they made it North, rallied troops and returned again with the expectation of a battle that could wipe them out. It was Drizella, against all expectations, to ride to their aid (soft Drizella never was much help when it came to important things, but even Ella couldn’t help but feel a certain fondness for her at times). Still, it was Drizella to deliver the new that those in the Retharian forces would fight for Ella, against the mercenaries the West had hired. (It was also Drizella to bring Kel’s body, the half brother, the bastard son, to her. It was always unclear how he passed, only that he had gone too far in trying to help Ella).

They went to battle. They won, the mercenaries refusing to fight once they saw Rethar turn against them. The war, for once, was truly over. Ella sent Anastasia and Drizella back West where they could live the sort of life they expected, keeping her step-mother in Rethar to answer for sending the armies against Ella. It was only when things settled that the truth began to unfold. Isabele (the step-mother), had not been the coordinator. Kel was not dead, though he was missing. Anastasia was the kingpin of it all, and Ella had sent her off alongside poor Drizella. Now the whole country holds its breath, waiting to see the next move of the West (as Rethar works to regain independence) and, more importantly, the next move of one step-sister who proved to be much more manipulative than anyone had expected.