People

Thorn

Master Corwin Hale mid

char-013 — "C.H." on the note, and to Vaelira, always "Sparks," a nickname from her first successful casting that she pretends to hate.

Cael Dunner minor

The one who came down the rope first. ancestry-014 — sharp, tufted ears, a lean and quick build — wearing what is clearly some kind of a uniform: dark brimmed hat, khaki, a crimson neckerchief, a gold emblem. He didn't ask who you were before deciding he already knew. *"Nobody move. You're coming with me."* Young, running on adrenaline, not looking to hurt anyone — this is an arrest, not a fight. He didn't fully let go of his read on you, but he mentioned someone else was on the way. Someone he answers to.

Fenn minor

Young, quick to startle, part of the crew working the pool when you arrived. Didn't fight — didn't seem to want to. By the time the dust settled he was on his knees by a cracked container, saying nothing, looking at what didn't survive the morning.

Mera Chevale mid

Met the party at env-007, riding out alone from the traveling camp — five-seven, dark skin, dreadlocks pulled back off her neck, the Watch's dark brown hat and khaki field jacket, a crimson neckerchief that's the only thing on her that isn't strictly functional. Short sentences, no sentiment.

Sable Rook mid

The first person who saw you arrive. Forties, weathered in the specific way of someone who's spent years working a hard job in open desert — a tool belt, not a weapon belt, though something at her hip could double as either. You showed up out of nowhere but she didn't panic — just sized you up and gave you a warning: *"You're going to want to step back from that pool."* Blunt, not cruel — a crew leader with a job to finish and no patience left for surprises. When you didn't back down, she and her crew, assuming you were competitors, fought to defend their haul. **Corrected 2026-08-21, as-played:** Vaelira put her to sleep and bound her mid-fight, taking her revolver. Once things settled, she was searched and questioned — she cooperated, answered plainly, and was untied and let go. She and char-102 then broke off, hauling what they'd salvaged south toward the Follower Camp. Last you saw of her was her back.

Solven Vell major

Vell came down the staircase into loc-008's Common Room the way someone descends stairs they've used for centuries and stopped thinking about — tall and slight, careful in his movements, like someone who's learned not to startle people. His clothes don't belong to any one era: a high-collared jacket in deep burgundy, faded soft across what must be centuries, over a shirt with a row of jeweled studs down the front, several mismatched layers underneath. Small, pale shelf mushrooms grow naturally at his collar, as if they'd always been part of the outfit. Threads of silver-grey run just beneath the skin at his wrists and temples, catching the firelight. His eyes shift slowly through colors — brown, amber, grey, then back to something warm.

Wick major

Wick is a small clockwork figure — barely half the height of the long table in loc-008's Common Room — built from brass and dark wood, moving on a single ball bearing at his base rather than walking, almost silently. One eye is fixed amber glass; the other is a telescopic lens that extends slightly when something has his attention.