ProcaPro

MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Character's Name:

         Naya Al-Jabir Aldor

Character's Age:

         51

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         Human

Transformed form:

         Darkstalker

Creator's MC Name:

         The Snake, Fo'Lithren, Elliphas, Silarus

Creator's RP Name:

         Meteor__Dragon , Kanapes , sapphic_spidy , Pancholl

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Darkstalkers are the result of binding a soul to a vessel, in this case a corpse. They appear as a husk of their former self, with body of bone and notable features of undeath clad around their form. Due to their undead nature, they are required to feed every 2 OOC weeks in order to maintain their strength. Failing this, armor becomes cumbersome to wear and they are diminished physically.  While fed, they maintain peak strength for their original race, and are unable to grow stronger.

While they have no magic, they have a progression system within the CA that allows them to grow from ‘regressed’ to a paramount through rituals and the consumption of life force. This grants them additional abilities such as flesh facades and abyssfire.

They are unable to be truly killed. Unlike draugars, they do not require a phylactery. As undead, they are weak to aurum. In addition, direct exposure to sunlight results in substantial pain. Destroying the skull of a darkstalker will kill them instantly. This requires 2-3 hits of a blunt weapon. 

Finally, they are controlled via the creation of a ‘memento mori’. This particular item is a reminder of the emotions they once felt in life, and when presented to the darkstalker; causes incredible pain. Unlike a phylactery, the goal of the darkstalker is eventually to destroy the mori.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

Made from a corpse, torn from death, this creature is made of blackened bone that seems near charred by fires, the dark color baked into the bones unevenly. The sockets are wide and empty, stained lines of burgundy faintly marking around them. Smattered around the joints of its bony frame lie small protrusions, tiny dull bumps like developing horns that are also present like a chaotic crown of dulled spikes around the top of its head. These are too small and not sharp enough to bear any benefit past aesthetics. The fingertips, feet, and top of the sternum (manubrium) are the darkest colored of the bone, blending into a deeper charred black in those areas. The teeth of the creature’s skull are oddly spaced, and more closely resemble the spacing and shapes of a dog’s teeth, though the teeth are mundane. and no better than a descendant's teeth.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/235125-naztherak-ma-procrastinatepro/ https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/234594-kani-ma-procrastinatepro/ https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/234282-housemagery-and-culimancy-ma-procrastinatepro

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No

"Think Of Me Once In A While, Take Care" - Take Care

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~~-~-~-~

“When you die, you will die with nothing.”

Naya had long forgiven her father for those words. He was angry. She was too, and people do things when they’re angry. It had rung hollow then.

But here, and now, there was no hollowness in those words. She knew from the moment Athri had blocked the stairs that this was it. This was the moment, the edge of life, the end of her existence. Every moment had led here, to this office. This office where she’d first seen the Ak’vei, the office where she’d comforted others, where she’d cried, where she’d assured Athri that she was alright if she died, that she didn’t mind the thought. Once again, she reassured him. Once again, she’d offered him a smile. And now, she was faced once more with the disappointed face of a person she’d considered a father, and Naith’s biting words. This was the place where her life had once changed for the better. Once.

51 years.

She’d made it longer than she was supposed to. She was supposed to die in her twenties, fighting in the Coalition War, some sort of virtue still in her heart. She was supposed to die on the battlefield. She was supposed to die in that little boat in Balian. She was supposed to do it to herself a long time ago. And yet, she had never had the strength, not even when she had been given the choice to kill herself rather than be killed. But she was supposed to die a good person, proving her father wrong, dying with everything she could grasp and hold and keep dear to her heart.

“And you will look back and regret all you have done.”

‘Ah,’ Naya had thought, in those fleeting last moments of life, her neck broken open and blood pouring in a torrent, her life flickering out of existence like a flame. She had burned herself out, her candle having grown too fiery, her wick run out, the wax of her existence melted away. ‘He was right.’ The horror of it, now acceptance. She thinks of her child, her baby in soul if not flesh. Her husband, Aithwin. Her brothers, Godwin, Sydney, Sariel. Her only sister, Malna. Her killers, once friends, once family. In her very last moment, her very last thought, she wondered if she had left the fireplace lit.

Naya Al-Jabir Aldor, born Naya Barakat to unknown travelers in SA 130, a wanderer of the world, a hoarder of knowledge, five times a sister, twice a mother, once a wife, always a soldier, had died how she knew she would: Violently, angrily, coated in blood and regretting, and alone like her father had predicted 38 years ago. She had died like her mother, and she had died alone.

Her soul would never see the skies. In death, the hells clawed at her, her existence torn into Moz Strimosa, doomed to the eternal climb as she reached and cried out desperately for anything else to claim her in the depths of her soul. She’d sought to escape the climb, first by running, then by embracing. She had fought, she had bled, she had bargained… But chaos claims all, in the end.

And so, the Wheel turns.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~~-~-~-~

In several parts of the world, a high elven woman would simply disappear, as if she had never existed. Her homes would go untouched, and unpaid, not a fleck of white hair or veil to be seen. Adya, a doctor, an alchemist, a scholar, was gone. Her concept was torn from the world as Naya was, the idea of her going with the mind that created her. Nobody would ever see her again, and nobody would ever see a body. A woman would be missing her doctor, a magister her alchemist, a teacher his student. The last shreds of kindness had been kneaded into Adya’s existence, poured in from Naya, used as a last way to give to the world instead of take.

But she had never been her own person to exist past Naya in the first place, and so Naya took her with her, never to tell or explain.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~~-~-~-~

Settled in Naya's study, several letters would be found.

Given to those who knew Naya, these letters are not public information.

Aithwin:

Godwin:

Sydney:

Malna:

Sariel:

Athri'annyer:

Naith:

Iolas:

Dame Gwenyth:

Viktoria:

Katherine:

Ilya:

O'zen:

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~~-~-~-~

MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Character's Name:

         Naya

Character's Age:

         52

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         Human

Transformed form:

         Klone

Creator's MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Creator's RP Name:

         Naya

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

A Klone is a Tawkin's creation made to subvert mortality. Acting as a form of immortality, the soul of a person travels to the created Klone, reviving them outside of the influence of the monks.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

N/A

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         N/A

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No

Naya, the very same in the letter, nurses her broken bones in a somewhat discrete location. Her ribs hurt, a chill still sits in her chest now and again. When she reads the missive, she merely sighs.

She forces herself up from her place of rest, dragging herself to a nearby desk to begin writing, slowly. A retort, letters, other things. Some to kind people, some to those she despises. Yet, despite the ache in her torso, there's a satisfaction. She hurt Juniper in some way, it seems. A goal she'd long had.

The writing continues long into the night.

Adya takes a pause in setting up her shop to read the brochure, smiling under her veil. She folds it up, tucks it away, and goes back to expanding her shop.

Adya really hopes they didn't rip open the doors and break the windows of her windmill...

A white haired elf frowns deeper with each "kill on sight" she saw, names she knew, one she didn't. "How do they expect these people to be able to be good, to cause good, if they are to genocide them?" She tosses the codex aside onto a nearby table. Long had the Lorraine left her walls, or her heart, and yet when remembering what it once meant to her, she grimaces.

"The church, their orders, their people... a people of hypocrites. To collude with warlocks, to ask their help then spit on their footprints when the Princes grant it, to indiscriminately hunt a cursed people, many of whom had no choice....  Liars. Thieves and Heretics in their own right... They will rot themselves from inside out."

The elven woman leaves the codex there to feed her ridiculous amount of pets.

MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Character's Name:

         Naya Al-Jabir Aldor

Character's Age:

         48

Character's Race:

         Human

Link to your accepted MA:

         https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/232451-alchemy-fa-procrastinatepro

What magic(s) will you be teaching?

         Basic Alchemy

Describe this magic or a creature as a whole:

Alchemy is the process of using signs & symbols (referred to as the Material Alphabet) in addition with different reagents (Such as herbs, blood, or even bile) in order to create different potions. These can range from the mundane, such as an Air Purifier. To the extraordinary, such as potions capable of extending the lifespan of mortal creatures. 

In order to process the reagents used, an Alchemist must first learn how to identify and extract what is within the used substance. Different methods of extraction exist, the five primary being: Aether/Mundane, Fire, Earth, Water, Air. In addition to this processing, they must also know the recipe. Each potions requires a different set of symbols to create, and some require particular extraction methods (I.E - Aether over Mundane).

Recipes are not known innately, and must be taught. This is normally through Further Alchemy, with any ‘rare recipe’ having to be shown to the character in roleplay. This includes potions such as Null Arcana.

Are there different sections or subsections of magic? Can those be elaborated upon?

Basic Alchemy tends to be split into "Common Knowledge" and "Rare Knowledge", with common knowledge becoming known at final tiers while rare MUST be learned under any sircumstances, IRP. An example of this is, again , Null Arcana. Whereas a common recipe such as Luminosity could be self taught or learned once the alchemist hits T3.

On top of this, many different subsections of alchemy exist, in the form of ‘Alchemical Feats’. This includes Animii (Use of clockwork & alchemical blood), Smoggers (More advanced clockwork, focused on machines and automation) , and Tawkins. (Fleshcraft for mutations, homunculi, and kloning) These require extra FA’s, and extra teaching to learn under a teacher with a TA for those subsections.

Can you give an example of a casting emote, of a spell of your choice?

(Making a Will’o Bottle)

Pulling on a snug pair of leather gloves, the alchemist turns to check on a Drake’s Tail hung at a window, noting its process in dehydrating while she sets aside two mortars and a measure of Beardweed and Jailor’s Moss each. Under the knife the two reagents go, cut into small and fine pieces before the alchemist places the minced reagents into their own mortars, then she crushes them, and sets a filter over the mortars.

The alchemist pours over the filters just enough Aqua Vitae to saturate the crushed reagents underneath, creating a boggy mixture. Onto a newly lit burner these go, held on wire above the flames. She watches them burn carefully, removing the bowls with a pair of tongs once the liquid has boiled away to powder. She then turns and turns off her burner, then carries these bowls back to the nearby table and retrieves a sieve.

The two bowls of powder are sifted through the alchemist’s sieve into two separate piles of shining symbols. She turns then to the window, reaching up to retrieve the now-dehydrated Drake’s Tail hanging at it. She takes this reagent to a small plate, and using a flint and steel, sparks the reagent to a fire. As it burns away, she takes a pair of tweezers to her mundanely extracted reagents and withdraws x2 Chaos, x1 Growth and x1 Instability. The alchemists set these aside, and from the ash of the burned Drake’s Tail she draws out x3 Fire: Heat.

The alchemist fills a small bowl with aqua vitae, and mixes into this her withdrawn symbols one at a time. The concoction, shifting mildly in color as symbols are added, settles, and the alchemist uses a funnel to pour it into a bottle that she corks, and then labels with the words: Will’o Bottle. Satisfied with this creation, she sets the bottled potion aside.

Can you give an example of a teaching-emote (interacting with another) of a spell of your choice?

Naya sets two Blissfoil down on the table in front of her student with gloved hands, smiling slightly. “Today we go over the process of mundane extraction, the method you will be using most in your practical applications.” She taps her gloved palm then, drawing attention to the leather covering. “These will be one of your most important tools. When handling any reagent like we will today, you must always wear gloves, lest you handle something dangerous and hurt yourself. We’re going to work practically today, and I want you to take notes as we go. You will need these.” From the side she slides over a pair of gloves to the student.

(Student puts on gloves and prepares for lesson to continue.)

“Blissfoil,” Naya starts, “Is a versatile reagent best used for medical creations. I want you to do what I do, as I do it.” She sits at the table, motioning for her student to do the same as she withdraws a knife and begins mincing one of the Blissfoil on the table. “To mundanely extract one needs to cut the reagent. Reagent, not herb, when using it for alchemy. Once cut-” Naya pulls out a mortar from the edge of the table, picking up her minced Blissfoil to drop it in. “We crush it.” She pauses, allowing her student to catch up.

(Student (preferrably) repeats actions, taking notes in the pause.)

Leaving the table for a moment, Naya returns with a large jug of Aqua Vitae. “This is Aqua Vitae. In every mundane extraction, we filter this into our crushed reagent.” She sets the jug down and demonstrates crushing the cut Blissfoil in the mortar. Then she sets a filter over the bowl and carefully pours the Aqua Vitae over it, filtering it through. The Aqua Vitae mixes, creating a greyish, boggy concoction. “Then, we want to boil it.” She grabs a small bowl and pours the mixture into it, then walks over to a nearby burner, waiting for her student to follow.

(Student repeats again, takes notes needed, and follows to the burner with their own bowl.)

Naya sets her bowl aside to light the burner, and onto a wire circle above the flame goes her bowl. She then lights a second flame in a nearby one, and motions for the student to set their bowl onto the wire circle. “Then we wait. Never leave a burner unattended, else you may burn the lab down. I want you to finish your notes for now, while we wait.” She motions vaguely as the boggy mixture boils, slowly.

(Student finishes notes as instructed, then observes boiling mixture.)

“Now I’ve noticed that some people do this differently,” Naya notes to her student, going to grab a pair of tongs to lift her bowl away from the burner. Within was left a powder. “Some people dry it, there are different methods to filter… do what feels comfortable. For now, this is what we’ll do.” She carries her bowl back to the table and sets out a sieve. Pouring her powdery mix into the sieve, she gently taps it until the powder filters through onto the table, leaving a shining pile of symbols. Then, Naya settles back into her seat. “Go on, do the same. I’ll count these symbols while you do.” She grabs a pair of clean tweezers and picks through her symbols, creating 3 neat piles.

(Student repeats actions, sitting nearby and observing the piles.)

“Each of these is what counts as a single measure of each symbol… Peace, Coldness, and Silence.” Naya points to each small pile she’d made, and out of those sets in front of them one of each of the symbols in them. “I want you to search through your own symbols, and make your own piles… Make sure to write this down too.”

(Student does so, with some guidance.)

“Perfect!” Naya smiles and clasps her hands. “I’m proud of you, very much so. We’ll make something good out of these later. For now, I want you to study and take the time to remember what you learned today. Next lesson, we’ll go over creating something that takes mundane extraction only.”

Say your student powergames during or after teaching, how do you reprimand that?

Prevention is the key. My focus would be on trying to prevent the situation from occurring in the first place, trying to ensure that they know there is no such thing as a silly question. It’s far better to spend a few moments double-checking a redline, then potentially crossing into a situation of powergaming.

If there was powergaming despite this, the first step is a warning. If they persist, a reprimand. If the instances are minor, they would have some chances. If necessary, or on multiple offenses, ST would be notified and the student may be dropped depending on severity of the issue.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         N/A

Do you agree to keep the ST updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes

Have you applied to teach this magic on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app.

         N/A

A woman once loved, thrice broken had stared at Sermi through the bars of a cell and said that she had been tormented enough. Sermi had smiled at her. Moments later, black blood had splattered her face and her shackled hands. An end, decades in the making, had come. They had been tangled together for years; their threads stuck and tied together beyond helping. Even there, even as she watched a devil who had tormented her beyond saving die, there was grief in her heart. Grief, pity, and guilt. This was her fault, after all.

"What will be done with the body?" She'd asked. "Am I freed then?" She held out her shackled wrists to her captors. But she wasn't free and would never be. That was assured long ago. So, a woman thrice-broken stumbles her way out of the prison that had held her and Sermi, calm as can be. Perhaps she was too numb to be anything else. She turns her eyes to Leoni, the red devil next to her, and she makes an ever-familiar offer. 

"If you ever need alchemy or medical help, ask me." Something she'd said a while ago had flickered across her mind of familiar offers and extended hands given to the woman whose blood now dried on her face. She turns away from Leoni, going to the nearest aviary. Jade eyes look over the black blood still wet on her gloves. After a moment of thought, a digit is lifted to her mouth and the ichor is tasted for no reason except for that it could be.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"If you ever need me, just ask." She had said this while handing a cozy blanket to the purple devil across from her. The most she could offer the hunted woman was a couch to sleep on and access to a stocked pantry. She hadn't known, then, what lurked underneath. If she had, perhaps she wouldn't have offered such a thing.

In hushed whispers, she'd spoken of a recent missive. "Del-Mar lives in the same boat... Odd for someone to take a position so quickly..." She'd muttered at a tiny dining table as she and the devil discussed, two people bonding over a mysterious death that'd broken the heart of a mutual friend. 

"My son is missing," She'd wept in some small room in Valdev to the devil, who had once been her friend. "Help me," she'd requested, grief-stricken. A year later she'd told the devil something else. "He's dead." They had never spoken of it again.

Her hand had settled on the devil's shoulder under a night sky, sat on eroded stone in the middle of nowhere. A peaceful place, hidden away. She'd brought plenty of drinks to take anyone's mind off anything. She'd listened as always to anything she was told, accepting and quiet. "They burned all the good out of her." The devil had said of an old friend.

She was beaten by infernal hands, in pain and hurt. Her mind was cursed to lack remembrance; a concussion was building. She'd heard a familiar voice. "If I have to shatter every bone in your body so you finally realize the truth of my words, Naya, I will. I will break you, and break you again, until you learn to love your leash. You will learn your place." She'd seen familiar feet trail to the sink to fill a kettle. She'd screamed. She begged for mercy in a mother tongue, she had begun to die watching a familiar smile on the devil's face, the same smile given before the devil herself had died.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Naya removes her finger from her mouth, having tasted and remembered enough.

Aleksey de Knowles reads the paper with an interest, scanning over word of all the recent events. He tucks it into his bag after a while to bring to his twin.

Aleksey, firstborn son of Anatoliy, twin to Camellia, looks at the missive with a deep frown. He, himself, looks to the paper with a growing sneer, a hatred in his heart for a place he had once begged not to be taken from. "Lies," says the teen, a recent 14. "Lies, and slander. On mea papej, beforehand even on mea mamej. Now they claim they killed papej, that his head is..."

When Camellia approaches him, he wastes no time in helping her put quill to paper.

"Damned be a kingdom of the self righteous."

While I understand this take, Naz already does have a form of that in late stage. Naz are still descendants, and a good element of that is the slow descent into becoming a monster/madness/demonology.

I don't think completely barring people from their characters experiencing love is going to provide anything to people in their roleplay but a complete stonewall on certain character elements. Naztherak are still descendants. If this is implemented at all, it's best for it to be T5, or for the Zar'Akal element to simply remain as the element that sucks the love out of a person.

Naya reads the missive with a frown. She knew there was a lot she didn't know about her friend, she was usually fine with that... but this would cause trouble and she knew it. With a flick of her gloved hand, the poster she holds goes to the fire, to burn. Any more she finds meets the same fate.

Meanwhile, a little boy's hands grip onto the poster in front of him. Aleksey Godunov, Ilya's own son, takes to ripping up the poster in his hands with all the rage an 11 year old can muster. Not just the slander of his father, but his mother as well. This, the child couldn't stand.

An "Anonymous"  Cursed One sits down at a makeshift table of barrels, her seat her bed, with missives in hand, and a cup of tea. Slowly do her gloved hands sift through the papers before her, humming. "Ailmere... mm. Dwarves... Ah. The Pontiff." She plucks out the Field Chronicle from her pile, reading through with a calm upon her blankets. Then, suddenly, does a section cause her to spit her tea to the side, to choke on the drink.

"... Caius...."  Any and all calm the Cursed One had is flung out the window. "Anonymous... ANONYMOUS??? YA IBN-" And so does a torrent of curses break the peaceful silence of her room, a flock of birds outside startled away.

Another reason to look over her shoulder. To those that were a danger to her, this was all but anonymous, and she knew it.

Naya Barakat Al-Jabir holds the missive in gloved hand. Rememberance comes to her, a soft hum in her throat. She reads it once... then twice. Thrice, before the missive is gingerly folded in her hands. She tucks it into her pack, alongside other missives -some so old they near crumble at touch- safely cradled in the leather. "No doubt. Yera will deny, as always. But she cannot forever... Trouble on every end these days."

Naya grabs a couple more, perhaps to distribute, then continues on. She keeps what she knows to herself, for now. She isn't a traitor, Yera still grants her a place to live, though not close as they were once. But still, Naya remembers.

A cold sweat overtook the awoken woman, staring at the ceiling. Alone. Her eyes wide as she tries to process what she has seen. Her mind, forever plagued with thoughts of people and places she both is in awe of and terrified of. Shaky hands come to her face, covering her vision. Dark. Comforting.

Naya Barakat Al-Jabir knew that cat. One she had seen. She knew its master too. She wondered what would become of her, there in forced darkness behind her hands. Of those she cares for, those she loves. Those she misses near violently and yet wants to run from. Hitches come to her breath, and the Angel weeps. Such a cruel and fitting name to be called.

Naya composes herself, and pulls herself to write letters from her bed, haunted, internally empty. She can still see the faces in her mind.

Naya Barakat Al-Jabir retrieves the news with a somberness.

She hadn't really liked Poppiya. She was not family, she was not truly a friend, she had disappeared for years, abandoning people Naya herself cared about with seemingly, little care herself.

But still, Naya had seen Anatoliy search for her. She had helped in the effort, she had seen him tear himself up over Poppiya's disappearance, assured himself she was alive despite Naya trying to get him to move on. So, she sits, and she writes. Condolences were to be made, even if she hadn't cared much for the woman. For Ilya, at least, she could be kind to her memory.

Aleksey Godunov was nearly 6 when he had fully met Poppiya, his own mother. Now, at the mere age of 10, she was gone again. For a short time did the boy know her beyond statuettes, letters and paintings. He vaguely remembers, once, being told he could meet her through a painting, that he could pick anywhere to hang it just a few Siant's days before he finally met her. 

And now she was gone again, and this time she wasn't just "far away", under disguise unbeknownst to her own son and trying to live a new life. Something Aleksey still doesn't understand. No, she was gone, and though Aleksey had adjusted quickly to her coming home, he wasn't sure how he'd adjust to her leaving it.

MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Character's Name:

         Naya Barakat Al-Jabir

Character's Age:

         39

What feat(s) will you be learning?

         Tawkins

Teacher's MC Name:

         WhatASithuation

Teacher's RP Name:

         Athri'annyer Tinuviel

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your feat app?:

         Yes

Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No

Are you aware that if this feat is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?

         Yes

MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Character's Name:

         Naya Barakat Al-Jabir

Character's Age:

         37

Character's Race:

         Human (farfolk)

What magic(s) will you be learning?

         Kani

Teacher's MC Name:

         WhatASithuation

Teacher's RP Name:

         Athri'annyer Tinuviel

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         N/A

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes

Are you aware that if this magic is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?

         Yes

MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Character's Name:

         Naya Barakat Al-Jabir

Character's Age:

         37

Character's Race:

         Human (farfolk)

What magic(s) will you be learning?

         Housemagery and Culimancy

Teacher's MC Name:

         _Unni_

Teacher's RP Name:

         Glorier Maiheiuh-Delevoye

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

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Naya Barakat Al-Jabir rolls the news of death around in her head, her single eye cast upwards towards the sky as she lay in a field of roses. A secluded place, a place of peace and contemplation. And now a place to wonder.

Her eye closes. There's a moment, a singular spark of a moment, where an emotion bubbles up other than satisfaction at hearing of the man's death. It takes a moment for the older woman to identify the emotion. Sorrow? No. Not worry either. Then it clicks. Pity. She felt pity, and the realization made her scowl to the sky.

"Wherever you are, Lanre," She begins, a metal hand lifting from the grass by her side to rest over her heart. "I am sorry that I still wish you misery. I wish I could say otherwise." With that, the grizzled soldier gets to her feet and whistles for her horse, off to write letters, and offer hollow condolences.

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Anatoliy speaks no words, yet silently pins the poem up in Verskaya all the same. Yet another, beautiful piece of rememberance, for the love he had lost.

Aleksey sits on the floor at the library in Verskaya, surrounded by books and yet reading only one poem out of a collection. He doesn't fully understand what it means, too young to understand the battle or the loss, but he memorizes the description of his mother either way.

A young Aleksey Godunov gazes up at the paper tucked away in the corner of a little garden. Barely five years old, he reaches up to grab it, but simply can't. As such, he runs off to tell his father about the paper with pretty handwriting.

FULL NAME: Naya Barakat Al-Jabir

AGE: 35

PRIOR EXPERIENCE: (if any) 12 years of experience as a soldier.

METHOD OF CONTACT: ProcrastinatorProfessional (discord) ProcrastinatePro (Minecraft user)

MC Name:

         ProcrastinatePro

Character's Name:

         Naya Barakat

Character's Age:

         29

What feat(s) will you be learning?

         Alchemy

Teacher's MC Name:

         WhatASithuation

Teacher's RP Name:

         Athri'annyer Tinuviel

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         Yes

Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         N/A

Are you aware that if this feat is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?

         Yes