F A I N E
Race ⚘ Fae'ethalan
Sex ⚘ Depends
Age ⚘ 80
Height ⚘ 5' 10"
Weight ⚘ 145lbs
Birthdate ⚘ Unknown
Birthplace ⚘ Unknown
Titles ⚘ Perfumist
Fluencies ⚘ Valasren & Common
Conversationals ⚘ None
Ineptitudes ⚘ None
Appearance
There is no mistaking Faine for what they are. Though there are many ways to hide and blend, they wear their heritage plainly to honor their mother. That, and being a hermit affords the luxury of not really caring how they are seen.
Leaves grow alongside hair through the seasons, unfurling new and green before maturing into deeper shades. When the climate warms, small, white clusters of flowers blossom, eventually turning into berries that hang ripe and heavy. As is with most plants, pruning is necessary, sometimes to promote growth, others to harvest ingredients for various concoctions and experiments.
For years, Faine has slowly adjusted. Strengthening here, reshaping there. Spending so much time, alone, amongst rock and tree taught them that certain traits served better than others. For instance, if they needed a particular kind of mushroom that grew deep in caverns, Faine would devote a full day in preparation, narrowing their shoulders and limbs, elongating their fingers, and enhancing their eyes. If, however, it came time to harvest special moss from the lofty branches of trees, they would instead widen their hands, legs, and shoulders, then shorten their center of mass to make climbing easier. Whatever the flora and fauna around them imposed, Faine would adapt.
Every now and then, the reclusive Fae will alter patches of their skin. Even the purest of scents can react unexpectedly and, having never fully understood the chemistry of it all, Faine figured mimicking different skin was as good a solution as any. As a child, they once lamented their lack of bark or sheen. But Mother, quick as always to nip any self-doubt in the bud, pointed out how unique human skin was and all the ways it could serve to better their craft.
It was through her that Faine learned the importance of purpose, of finding function within form.
Personality
Faine is, under no uncertain terms, intense. The word "limits" is one they have long since forgotten.
Though they have never set foot in their homeland, the Fae was very much raised on the ideals of the Court of Fall. They travelled with their mother as nomads for decades, searching for knowledge and ingredients, a new adventure forever shimmering on the horizon. They were taught songs and poems, skills in self-preservation, and most importantly of all, the value of ingenuity.
Faine is as determined as they are creative. What they lack in outer flair, they make up for with inner richness. Words for their emotions do not come easily for the perfumist, but give them a chance, a sincere moment of patience and attention, and they will surprise.
To most, the leafy Fae may come off as eccentric, aloof, even rude. Their reservation, however, is meant to protect rather than deter, as Faine's emotions run deep and their loyalty to truth deeper still. Not all have met such a combination with open arms, and it is because of their inability to truly assimilate that they now live in isolation, away from prying eyes. Faine enjoys how easy it is to breathe in the mountains, having always despised the overwhelming sounds, colors, smells, and textures of a bustling city life.
Though perfumery is their main craft, Faine pursues many offshoots of interests, including but not limited to botany, gardening, and most potent of all, alcohol. Liquors, spirits, wines, mead--every possible variation of booze fascinates the Fae. Of course, there are many practical uses for alcohol in their line of work. Whether Faine sticks to pragmatism, however, is another matter altogether.
History
Like many of their kind, Faine's story is bittersweet, woven with golden memories and dark days alike. Their childhood was certainly blissful. A kaleidoscope of laughter, discovery, and unconventional education. Even with the mystery of their father looming nearby, shrouded and ominous, like some distant promise of thunder, there was always a healthy distraction at hand. A challenging task to throw themselves into, a new plant to study and understand.
Inevitably, somewhere along the way, Mother's time came. Though the loss of her would never not ache, one of the benefits of living such long lives was that it made parting only slightly less painful.
Their years together had been well spent. Differences were set aside within the first few decades, then true comradery and respect as equals filled the rest. Faine's last memories were ones of laying Mother on bare earth, hands gently wrapped around hers. They watched their elder surrender herself piece by piece, love lingering in her eyes, until all that was left in the younger Fae's fingers were the branches and leaves from whence their family came.
Elderflowers, Mother had explained long ago, were unassuming at first glance. Nothing about them was extravagant--their blooms were small, their scent subtle, their presence common enough. But they were hardy and difficult to stop, growing and spreading without limits. And their essence, be it in leaf, flower, or berry, could heal as easily as they could poison. Truly underestimated in its potential, she mused often, a wicked glint dancing in her eyes.
But now the glint was gone. And in its place, a cold, dark vacancy that left Faine feeling, for the first time in a long time, alone.
Years blurred by as they wandered, trying to fill the emptiness, desperate for direction. It was during this aimless search that they realized they had drifted to the Northlands. Kalzasi gleamed and beckoned, but Faine turned away from the promises of cosmopolitan knowledge and wonders. Instead, they settled themselves closer to the wilderness and mountains, content with being on the fringes. The pressing need for survival, then eventually the desire to return to their craft, finally drew Faine out of their spiritual slumber.
With their awakening, Mother's voice also returned, coaxing curiosity when least expected.
Why not, little leaf? her words would echo, always with a hint of mischief. You never know what new adventures tomorrow might bring...
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