Circe
Profile
Basic Information
Name:
Circe
Nickname(s):
Cici
Age:
Birth Date:
???
Height:
4'10" (147 cm)
Gender:
Female
Race:
Earth Oriad
Class:
Mage
Occupation:
Layabout/cryptid
Guild(s):
Enhancement(s):
Likes
Dragons, most living things
Mornings
Learning about the new and obscure
Gaining possessions
People-watching, especially of craftspeople or laborers
Dislikes
Prohibitive rules, especially if they were designed for her
Being condescended
Getting snagged on things
The prospect of cutting her foliage
Being too short to see over u anime giraffes
Personality
✓ : passionate, affable, corrigible, independent
x : clumsy, headstrong, self-indulgent, tunnel-visioned
Like the tree whose flesh she borrowed, Circe is sturdy but adaptive. She is naturally the sort of person who requires a sense of due north; so long as she has one, no matter how intangible, she might deviate but will never stray. This quality is only magnified under her amnesia, which makes her anxious to gain an understanding of her purpose, dreams, and desires. Circe feels their lack keenly and knows she must have had all of that once, just like everyone else. It troubles her to be a stranger in her own skin.
To rediscover her roots, Circe hunts new experiences and entertains her curiosity to others’ exasperation. Her fixations are often inconveniences for even those she minds the most, since she will actively ignore guidance in favor of personal exploration. Coupled with a forgetfulness for consequences, Circe spends much of her new life cleaning up failed escapades in thoughtful (but rarely shameful) retrospection.
Humility comes readily after the fact, however, and a lesson learned is a lesson never forgotten. As trigger-happy as Circe is to dive into danger, she is equally willing to admit wrong. Life holds her in its thrall, and she is disquieted by the idea of having nothing or no one to return to. Therefore, if one of her behaviors drive others away, she will make an effort to temper it. Flaws, as with all things brought into the world, exist as a right - she feels no reason to disguise them, but is willing to adapt them.
History
Her first memory was rain, and its song delivered her. The way darkness retreated for color was the first of many things she noticed, like how with light came warmth - or how the swathes of plants beside her attracted buzzing black-striped yellows, or how the marching of black dots never strayed from the root’s grain, or the way the plump thing with a long bushy rear considered her with a nervous nose.
By that time, she was able to consider it back - there was a creature on what she knew was her shoulder.
Her curiosity began to burn, and little by little, it seared her from her tree. She was entirely free by the time she heard faraway cries. A gaggle of small two-legged creatures surrounded her, jabbing a stick at her face while chattering to one another. It didn’t bother her - her face had been footholds for many bushy ones - so she let them continue and watched with wide eyes, unable to register that they were not inspecting her like the other forest denizens did. No, these children were confused, and when they saw that the elven-shaped growth had trained her gaze on them, the one poking her dropped their stick.
It was quiet. Were they waiting for her? A deep rasp ballooned from her lips as she tried to mimic them - the children would swear up and down that it sounded like a word: oriad - and suddenly they bolted, taking their sounds with them. She tried to follow these creatures, the first she had seen to stand on two like her - her brethren, undoubtedly! They were even a similar size! Then her newborn legs gave way and she only got far enough to slam onto the ground. But the pain of her impact did something, and when she lifted her head, her mind was clear.
She turned to the green before her, savoring the sensation of being. Breathing, smelling, seeing, feeling. Even the unpleasantness that stung her when she crudely swiped at her wet nose was something new.
Yes. Yes, how wondrous it was to be!
Now then. Who was she?
Current Story
She took her time venturing into the world. Through dense groves, into the midst of traveling performers, and at last toward the grand city of Belport she went, longing to be a part of it all. The people were surprisingly amenable and allowed her to walk among them and learn their ways - but only as an amiable (if visually unsettling) guest. Not knowing how to traverse this frontier, Circe contented with her place alongside...
Until she began to remember.
Dragons.
The newly unearthed aurornis dragons stirred something from within. She chased it down, and realized that she knew them without having to learn them. And she would do anything to discover why, even if it meant leaving Belport to monstrous waves and deserting her kindly patrons. She would come back, she promised. But this is for her. She had to go.
The dragons led her to their queen, and a stranger who felt more familiar than anyone ever had. And with their hand in hers, she races toward the past with dizzying fervor.
Additional Info
The flowers are creeping myrtle (blue) and bridal veil (white)!
When she curls into a fetal position, she apparently looks like an overgrown moss ball. It seems to amuse people, so she enjoys showing off her skill.
If she stands still for long periods of time, animals will perch on her body.
She made friends with three dragoos she has named Pebbles, Meatball, and Justin. They're currently still with her as of Maelog's awakening. at this point she probably calls every dragon her friend but i'll keep the names here for posterity
Core Memories (tm):
From the War of Ancients event: Despite the dire situation of the world, Circe finds herself feeling energised by the new flurry of activity in Belport. In particular, seeing the newly discovered aurornis dragons roaming streets and working alongside people is somehow delightful. Her eyes are drawn to every detail on their glossy hides and shining feathers, and when they fly she recalls the thrilling rush of wind upon her face. If she could learn more about them, maybe even ride upon one, perhaps she could trace where this feeling comes from.
From the Playing Gods quest: The moment Circe’s hand touches the shining scales of an aurornis, a strange comfort washes over her. She can’t put her finger on it, but there is something deeply right about this. As the dragon takes off into the sky, her heart soars - not just with the thrill, but with a warm, pure happiness that feels a lot like love. She finds herself rubbing the neck and plumes of the aurornis with a fond, familiar vigour, and words spill suddenly into the front of her mind. She remembers speaking these long ago, when she was perched upon a creature’s back exactly like this. “Beautiful child. Clever daughter. We will show them everything that we can do, won’t we? Yes, of course. Lovely child. Let’s go show them how exactly much they should regret crossing us.”
From the Beginning of the End interval: For all dragons, all serpents, all scaled creatures who bask in the sun belong to the goddess of the day, Aurea.
These words echo in the mind and mouth of the oriad Circe. Amidst the floods of Belport, a giddiness overtakes her and her blood burns with a warmth at once familiar and new. The thoughts keep bubbling unbidden to her, as if the soul of someone else has broken through in excitement.
They are back, a voice inside her exults. All twelve of Aurea’s generals are back.
---
Circe’s heart feels like thunder in her chest. A feeling she can’t put into words overflows inside her, setting her thoughts alight. It’s excitement, exhilaration - and again, something much like love. The brilliant glow of Maelog in the sky is beautiful to her, as are the flashes of bright wings as aurornis dragons dump their riders to flock northwards. Only hers does not abandon her. Instead, it tilts a canny look at her with one bright yellow eye and Circe knows without doubt that it is posing her a question: will you come with me?
An old life beckons to her from the dragon’s back. Should she take it, she knows she will leave her new life behind.
---
The moment Circe’s dragon alights upon Aurea’s shining aurora, she feels a strange yet blissful familiarity wash over her. This is right. This place, this warmth, this army - it is all right. As she looks around, the vivid wings of the dragons - not only aurornes now but also cindens, maels, all kinds - continue to spark a deep delight in her heart. But somehow it is not a dragon that ensnares her attention, in the end.
It is another oriad. She learns that they go by Ninny, but some part of her buzzes with objection. ‘Ninny’ doesn’t suit them. Or does it? There is suddenly a different kind of thundering in her heart. She remembers warm hands around her waist and emptiness beneath her feet. She remembers looking up into eyes that were the colour of wild roses. It’s dangerous here, her saviour had said, softly, before setting her down. You should be more careful.
This memory is burned into her, too precious to ever let go. And that’s why, now that it has returned to her, she knows for certain that those eyes, that voice, had belonged to Ninny - or whoever they used to be.
Memory Shard 1: Back in Belport, several well-meaning people had taken turns at teaching Circe how to write. The lessons were mostly straightforward and hadn’t felt too different from the multitude of other little things she had tried to learn from the locals… until one idle day, when she was left unattended with the ink and paper. On a whim, she had freehanded a few senseless shapes, and some part of her found this deeply pleasing. Chasing the feeling, she soon covered the page in intricate patterns. Familiarity blanketed her the more she focused on lining every detail. She was good at this, she suddenly recalled. In the past, she drew all manner of things - animals, buildings, motifs - and received praise for all of it. Circe is a master of illustration.
Memory Shard 2: It comes to Circe in a nightmare one morning, in the murky hours before dawn. She had been dreaming pleasantly of soaring through open skies and golden sunlight, when the clouds in her mind’s eye had darkened. Black smoke billowed in frightful shapes around her and she had swerved downwards, urging her dragon to skim across the ground in search of something. Where? Anxiety tightened her chest with every passing second. Where? Where was–
A glint of light in her eye turned into an explosion of red. She had screamed, a memory of pain tearing through her body as she tumbled from the sky. Through the blur of agony, she had seen the one who struck her - seen their familiar, pleased gaze and cold eyes, while behind them lay the limp body of–
“No!” Circe jolts awake, back in the present, but the anguished words tumble from her mouth before they die. “No, give him… back…”
