Varian Soto

Background

Varian was born in a remote forest sacred to their people. Their clan was devoted to protecting Silkytigers—hybrid creatures that produce rare, highly-valued textiles as younglings. Though hunted nearly to extinction, these creatures were believed by the clan to be avatars of a forgotten god from which the Katari line was born. Protecting them was a sacred oath.

As a youngling, an organized hunting party from a royal court—suspiciously well-informed and prepared—cut through the woods. The party navigated the forest as skillfully as any clan member. During the chaos of the assault, the clan sorcerer began casting a spell to move the clan and the creatures they protected. Varian was separated from their parents, and when the smoke cleared, everyone Varian knew and cared for had vanished, along with the Silkytigers. Only the Royal Hunt remained.

For years, Varian was used as a tool by the crown—caged on the castle grounds, treated no better than the King’s hunting dogs, and forced to map the woods inch by inch in search of their clan.

Varian eventually escaped and wandered the wilds, developing their skills as a wayfinder in hopes of tracking down and reuniting with their family.

GM’s Extra flavors

Your first kill almost killed you, too. What was it, and what part of you was never the same after that event?

Coming of age in their clan requires the youngling to stalk and kill their first prey - not as a trophy, but as nourishment for the clan itself. Varian was gangly as a youngling, the biggest of their age-group, and as such, it took them a while to learn some coordination. Their size made them feel out of place, and they spent more time slouching and trying to seem small than actually learning how to use their body for the hunt.

When their clan disappeared, they still had not managed their first hunt, and as such never had their coming of age ceremony with their family. Instead, their first hunt was /for/ their clan, under the hand of the King. Their first kill, however, that was entirely different, and a bastardization of what it should have been. They didn’t kill to nourish, they killed to survive.

Simply for the amusement of the guards, Varian was thrown into a fight with a vicious creature, some mix of scorpion and wolf (Scorpiolf) that still haunts their nightmares. It forced them to use their form intelligently, they had no choice. But by the time they brought it down, half their body was paralyzed, and the rest bloodied and bruised. Varian still carries the physical scars, but what’s worse, the mental ones. Not only was it a harrowing experience, surrounded by soldiers, yelling and placing bets on their life, but their first kill was supposed to be a celebration, the clan would help them prepare the meat, they would feast. As it was, they were left in the blood of their rival’s corpse until someone dragged them to be seen by a cleric, so they’d be fit enough to resume tracking the next day.

Ever since then, they’ve felt broken in some way, fearful that if they did find their clan again, they’d see that this ritual had tainted Varian.

Personal Drives

• Finding signs of Silkytigers to help track down and reunite with their clan
• Helping Marlowe Fairwind free herself from her position
• Gaining vengeance against the king and the crown

Personality

• Poorly socialized; struggles with unwritten social rules and norms
• Finds it difficult to form relationships with people
• Has an odd sense of humor most people don’t understand
• Tends to act first and ask questions later
• Doesn’t outwardly emote much
• Far more comfortable hunting and in nature than in social situations

Connections

Khari Nix

“I want to be more like you.”

You found me when I was weak—blood staining my fur as you approached in moments between slow blinking eyes. I didn’t have the strength to reach for my bow, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, you didn’t take advantage of my weakness. You chose to show me kindness.

As I recovered under your watch, I found it more and more difficult to understand your motivations. When I asked, your responses usually swam around the idea of “well, why wouldn’t I?”

The longer I spent with you the more I learned. You are a rarity—how you smile so easily, how you laugh when I speak but not with cruelty. You seem to enjoy what I say. Others usually pick a fight or give me a wide berth. You have a genuine curiosity about you, and while I might grab my bow first, you use your words.

Spending time with you has been the first time I’ve felt like I was home since they vanished. I want to be more like you. I want to be home for someone. Maybe someday I can give this feeling back, and I can be home for you.

Garrick Reed

“I’m worried you’re better than me.”

We met almost two years ago in that tavern—the Old Stone Tower, I think it was. There were rumors it was haunted, but I suspect it was just a nest for a sweet old owl hunting the fields nearby.

I wasn’t much for card games, but the only empty seat was around that huge oak table at the back, away from the brisk winds. I asked what you were playing—Queen’s Knees—but with me there you finally had enough players for Vicious Nine. I admitted I had no idea how to play, and a few eyes glistened at that, but I’ve always been a quick study.

A few hours later, only three of us remained: you, me, and a Ribbit called Barnacle, who eventually bowed out reluctant to leave. While drinks kept coming and money ran dry, your knowledge of the North proved as interesting to me as my tales from the South. Our currency changed to stories. You have a way with words, and I found myself caught up in them. Eventually the cards stopped mattering and the conversation became our final game. When the sun came up, we parted ways—or so I thought. Your stories lived with me.

I never forget a face.

A year and more later, I saw it again. The Druid Ashwood sent me to retrieve a relic from the Barrow Clan that had been stolen—a conduit for the magic of that area. On its return, he promised to help guide me in locating my clan and the Silkytigers. I was willing to accept. What I didn’t know was that you were after the same thing.

In the sunken depths of Barrow Woods Lake, after struggling through cavernous grottoes below, we finally got our paws on the relic. But upon arguing who should have rights to it, we disturbed the very creature we were standing on—who had used the relic to decorate its back. In the ensuing fight, the cave systems collapsed.

We barely escaped with our lives, but the price was the relic, which remained buried below with the crab.

Later, I had to explain to Druid Ashwood that I had not only failed his quest but made it even more impossible for someone more capable to retrieve. He told me he had lied about knowing how to find my family and had only used my desperation. It makes me sad to think he assumed I wouldn’t have helped him had he simply asked and told the truth.

But you, Garrick… from all your stories, I wonder if I had not quarreled with you and just allowed you to complete the mission, maybe you would have gotten it out just fine. Maybe I was the problem. I’m worried you’re better than me.

Marlowe Fairwind

“We tell each other everything”

You seemed so small and in need when we met. It picked at a part of my past that wouldn’t allow me to just leave you in need. It was already too late once I learned who tugged on your leash, but even as it made me angry to be deceived into helping the crown, I saw too much of myself in your eyes to abandon you.

I told you of my pain, my loss, and how the King’s greed pitched my life into this endless tormented quest. I hoped you would see then that you should leave your post and spend your goodness on better things. Since our quest ended and we parted ways, I still send my little birds your way with letters and information that I hope will help you crumble the King’s hold from within should you act on them, or at the very least, allow you to cut your leash for good.

Your freedom is important to me, as I realize now—that’s because it also represents my own.