Fav. Food: Kaz would likely enjoy the Earth equivalent of roasted Parsnips, fresh sliced Jaicama (very sweet), other various sweet potato's, gourds and tubers.
Hated Food: Fatty Meats; she's a lean, mean, plant eating machine. She'd rather suck pine-sap than eat a rat.
School/Occupation: N/A
Hobbies:
Scrying and Cards: (It's all lies, a complete shill, but she'd probably be the kinda person to set up three card monty on a cardboard box sidewalk side. Or tell lovers their dreams in a smoky room after praying over some chonky crystals.)
Painting & Carving: Little tiny faces on little tiny things. Kaz's secret hobby is whittling scraps; pressing faces into the skins of oranges with her nails. Carving a ribbon out of an apple skin just so to make a fruit bow for the orange's tiny smiling head. She also likes to paint dice, dolls, and little bones or wooden beads.
Virtues:
Devout: Kaz is committed to her beliefs vehemently, unswaying from her self-imposed cause. She's rather open-minded in spite of this, not necessarily accepting? But definitely 'Open' to the possibility of things existing that she knows not ******** all of and so shouldn't be opinionated on; knowing that it is a wide and wacky world and that she's not here to cast stones nor pass judgements. People can give themselves over to anything they want to, they can also suck trash from a tailpipe; doesn't mean she's going to join them.
Diligent: If Kaz is anything? She's clear about her intents. At least with those to whom that clarity matters, and hell, maybe to everyone at this point, really. And maybe an age ago she would've tried harder to obfuscate what she's doing -- her goals -- her purpose. But now? None of that really matters anymore, does it. Why put a capstone on her resolve to see the world redone anew when her metaphorical veil has been ripped clean *off* (her literal veil too). Kaz carries out all of her actions with a rather single-minded intensity to them, and since she can't be smacked any further down the proverbial totem pole? Her desire to persevere no matter the obstacle is at an all time high.
Detached: Kaz remembers being greedy, once. Power hungry and clawing for non-existent heights; palms always out and open, belly never full even after a feast. She doesn't know how to place herself in this world anymore, nor how to reconcile with those final hours that weren't truly final; the end that became another beginning. She doesn't crave the way she used to, doesn't hoard the shiny's or fight for finery. She is in many ways detached from it all, and for some strange reason? She finds it freeing. To not want. To not need (nearly). To be divorced from the material world, because it's all ash and dust and she is above her own desires for such things now. No, what she truly wants? More than money, more than beaded lace and fine face powders---
What she wants is immaterial. It's a feeling. And she would give her own skin off her bones to get that feeling back.
Flaws:
Stubborn: Just because Kaz hears someone out doesn't mean she's feeling them. She always had a fear of being wrong that has stunted her ability to collaborate and adapt. Kaz is a lover of knowledge, a hunter of tomes, her ability for 'openness' has an endpoint that exists within herself, even now. It leaves her privately seething, and potentially seeming rather aloof or arrogant to others. She was, afterall, once considered a symbol of aid and worship. One who could connect the disconnected with any number of powerful deities whether or not she believed the bulk of it? Somebody did. This often left her with an inflated sense of self-importance (important enough to sacrifice to a dying world, amiright?!) leaving her struggle to accept feedback that wasn't inherently positive or acknowledge her own mistakes.
Rageful: People-pleasing was definitely a flaw Kaz used to have, it was her way of life before, it buttered her tofu, it blessed her wafers with honey. The need to constantly seek approval or avoid conflict, she had no boundaries. She was a body of the people and struggled to assert her own will because that wasn't her place. The feelings of resentment and unfulfilled desires remain in the emptying wake of it all. Kaz, beneath her flat face, and squinting lashes, is angry. Well and truly full of rage of the quiet kind. It's old, and festered, and sealed beneath a wound she'd like slice through the keloid thickness of and bleed free, but it is definitely there.
Insecure: Let her count the ways...Kaz has always had a lack of self-confidence which often manifested itself in a constant need for reassurance, what used to be a long held fear of being judged. She played her cards close to her vest, she kept her headspace buried in fine, tiny-print and frequently burned journals. She rarely took risks or expressinged herself authentically. She learned to suffer rather prettily, in support of others, with great understanding! She shed real tears, and fake ones, and empathied herself into emptiness. A cup always pouring out, never truly full, cracked up the sides.
After over a millennium of entombment Weywot should've known better than to expect everything would work perfectly well straight out the box; the hinges need greasing, the calibrators calibrated, the alignments aligned. Weywot suffers amidst all the sun infused, vibrancy injected life of Earth. She fears she may 'tan' some horridly healthy color, or worse; burn to a blackened crisp like scales peeling off a fire-charred trout. It's her magic that's being the biggest b***h about it all though and seems to pick the worst times to act up.
Prolonged usage of/maxing out Weywot's magic can cause backlash wherein her vision whites out and she suffers temporary pain and blindness akin to that of experiencing an aural migraine.
Dice Mechanic Also For Me: After the first two uses one 6 sided die is rolled, even's are safe, odds are ********.
Homeworld Advantage:
"Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those peepers? Oh, those weepers, where'd ya get those eyes?"
Weywot can, while on her homeworld, see better in the dim/nigh non-existent light. It's what her weary eyes were made for after all; taking all available light in and making use of it. It was easier, of course, when her planet was inhabited and there was more light around. It'd be easier *still* if her magic didn't already put such strain on her vision (Gods, but she misses the veil she'd earned as an eternal!). Regardless, it's one of the few evolutionary remnants she's grateful for, when it one day fails her she hopes her hearing will pick up where her sight leaves off.
Attacks:
Sailor Scout Attack: Once Warned
Weywot's eyes white over as she makes intense eye contact with her chosen target. Once the target is within range, her bone-chilling gaze will lock them into a state of near exhaustion. They will feel a heavy pressure on their chest, which may cause anxiety and the sensation of suffocation. They may begin to sweat, and attempting to struggle will worsen their symptoms. Her target will be temporarily trapped in a drowsy state where they are unable to rouse themself or truly awaken. All the while, they are plagued by sinister illusions: her own face melts away to become an ominous vision, a horrid nightmare, the death mask of someone close and beloved. Her magic reaches for buried fears so that she may be draped in the form of another's personal terror.
Effect: Instantaneous Upon Making Eye Contact Range: 10 Feet Duration: 30 seconds Number of uses: 3 Number of targets: 1
Super Sailor Scout Attack: Twice Warned
Weywot's eyes white over as she makes intense eye contact with her chosen target. Once the target is within range, her bone-chilling gaze will lock them into a state of near exhaustion. They will feel a heavy pressure on their chest, which may cause anxiety and the sensation of suffocation. They may begin to sweat, and attempting to struggle will worsen their symptoms. Her target will be temporarily trapped in a drowsy state where they are unable to rouse themself or truly awaken. All the while, they are plagued by sinister illusions: the visage she wears as she does this is no longer her own; but it is someone or something the target knows personally, intimately. Someone the target loves and trusts.
And they are attacking.
The illusion is far more convincing at this level. She can speak very simply in the conjured images voice (one or two words) and may adopt some of their mannerisms; a particular stance, a tonal inflection. Players can choose for their characters to take optional lasting damage in the form of self inflicted injuries done while experiencing the illusion, including: scratches/cuts/bruises/damage done by their weapon, etc.
Effect: Instantaneous Upon Making Eye Contact Range: 15 Feet Duration: 35 seconds Number of uses: 2 Number of targets: 1
Eternal Sailor Attack: Thrice Damned
Weywot's eyes white over as she makes intense eye contact with her chosen target. Once the target is within range, her bone-chilling gaze will lock them into a state of near exhaustion. They will feel a heavy pressure on their chest, which may cause anxiety and the sensation of suffocation. They may begin to sweat, and attempting to struggle will worsen their symptoms. While using her magic, the world around the target will darken and appear as an illusory space they cannot escape. They may hallucinate enemies of all shapes, sizes, and familiarity. Because the character is trapped in a hallucination, they are unaware of those around them, but they can snap out of the hallucination prematurely if physically attacked
Effect: Instantaneous Upon Making Eye Contact Range: 20 Feet (Think Cone Effect) Duration: 45 seconds Number of uses: 1 Number of targets: Anyone Caught Within Weywots Field of View (The Cone)
Deep Space Senshi:
The Physical Creature Features of the Weyans:
Skin: Many varieties of pale, pitch, sallow, sickly. The natives of Weywot are as sunfearing as they come. They drape themselves in shrouds and veils, in clothing that stretches from fingertip to toe; tattoos of the face, throat, and hands to obscure ones features are commonplace. Tattoos that cover the body are seen as a little more risque. Many were the type that would get their 'makeup' permanently done. Eyes: Have you ever seen an aye-aye? That jaundice yellow, that wolf moon orange, that old-cataract blue? That chemically blinded *white*. There's the iridescence of a reflective pupil shrunk to a pinprick, the potential for a third eyelid (a mutation only some of the population cary). Ears: The native people of Weywot have large ears, pointy and rounded at once, droopy where it connects naturally at the jaw. A little like a bats, or aye-ayes. Ear clipping and ear stretching are common practices for beauty and aesthetic.
Weywot’s species doesn’t produce melanin except in the eyes. They're all similar ghostly colors, ashen, blueish. The blue in her hair is due to a protein structure that, like bird feathers and human eyes, uses Rayleigh scattering to appear blue. The species happens to have higher rates of some cancers or due to their susceptibility to uv radiation (as well as their cloistered nature.) Their population size appears to go through booms and dips, but this is only due to 'tourism', and the people that come are not true residents, and they are often not of the Weyan species.
Much like a mecca, or a pop-out concert, or a seasonal shift, there are times when their planet becomes overloaded with people coming in, they linger through cycles and flood out in just as careless a frenzy as they flooded in. Often with little or no regard to the state they leave Weywot in, because while it is mostly a place of worship; to find it, make it, throw yourselves into the throes of. That 'worship' has become tainted by commerce over time. Sanctity and sacredness are commodified to supplement the long months in which there are no visitors or only the scarcely few true devout making their little pilgrimages. So the best blessings go to the highest bidders, the most beautiful priests to the one who buys the most beads, the purest unblemished oracles in the beds of the biggest sinners.
Their tiny moon being such a far distance from the sun, and the Weyans so often living in the flitting shadow of the Father Planet it ellipses; is both a blessing and curse in one. They lived a shadowed life, in perpetual nocturne, and what little rays may pass through are mitigated by their smoggy atmosphere. Much of the 'cloud cover' is manually created by long years of their cultural practices ruining their own atmosphere.
Staples of Weyan Life:
Lace Braiding: Extravagant embroidery and filigree was reserved for the buyer, the holy, those in power.
Tattooing: A way of adding darkness to pale skin, pigment to translucency. The Weyans took to covering themselves not only in full swaths of protective clothing, but also in ink. It served many purposes, to make one more attractive, to hide unsightly blemishes or cancers, to denote beliefs or affiliations.
Worship: Its their bread and butter, no one can trace how far back the practice began, but it certainly at some point spread. The rumor that a Weyan temple could right all cosmic wrongs because somehow they were in touch with even the most out of touch deities, as though their wide, all seeing eyes were portals into a multiverse of gods souls. No better than a Weyan priestess was there one to serve penance under. No better offering to make than to one of their many well maintained 'churches'. There were no shortage of beings to pay homage to, and it seemed that anyone going to Weywot could find any one -- no matter how obscure or macabre. There was likely a spiritual guide hustling for it around a corner, knitting mourning shrouds in a pitch black pit, polishing beads with the kinds of oils that would make even the most over-saturated devotee see a new spectrum of colors behind their closed eyes. The larger places of worship certainly had mor glitz, glam, appeal. But? There was no faith too big or too small to be catered to as far as they were concerned. Much of the run-off into the bay and the smoke that clouds the atmosphere is produced simply from heightening *this* singular aspect of their culture into a money machine churning artform.
Managing Space: The only other other races intermingled en-mass with the locals of Weywot (Both Weyans and the few mercantile outsiders who chose to call it home year round) was when making bi-yearly pilgrimages from the nearest Dwarf Planet with a large travel port to Weywot. Often tourists and temporary travelers alike began their journeys on the landing port seated on the edge of the Bay of Smokes. Guides were often assigned to particular worship groups to ensure they didn't get 'lost' on the tiny yet dangerous moon; for though it was little it was also maze-like, stacked, tunneled out, in order to make up for its lack of wide open space. Within the bowels of Weywots oldest architecture were laid ever-winding labyrinth's, all existing with singular entrances and exits. Fibonacci sequence spirals with pausing alcoves and walls that would not open into a way forwards until a repetitive task was complete; the sort of places that forced those intent on seeing their worship through to its conclusion.
Weyans were masters of utilizing nill space geometry, something that became quite necessary when the use of simple escherian illusory was no longer sustainable at managing their surmountable space crisis's during the ebbs and flows of population growth periods.
Phosphors + Hallucinogens + Deliriants: Weywot produced many raw materials of this nature. It is part of what led to their tiny home-moon being so hollowed out. All that digging, all the refinement of plants and elements in little to no light areas. They eventually became nearly entirely dependent upon imports from their Father Planet. But the trade off was coarse minerals and a few chemical variants in which they were famous for.
Significant Places on Weywot The Moon:
The Bay of Smokes:
Let it be known that there is no water in the bay.
It is a deep crater full of hot chemical runoff, heat releases, waste dumps. Everything runs into the bay; bodies, scrap, unheard prayers. Sometimes? The mixtures that fall into the pit briefly catch fire; just a poof of it! Before being snuffed by the smoke. Everything that falls below is hidden by thick sublimate gases that produce an eerily beautiful, yet suffocating layer atop it. Some say the mist along the Bay almost appears like iridescent fog on the water, or morphing spirit lights that twist into yearning white figures, beckoning and moaning for company.
Making promises of eternal peace.
It's just the chemicals talking---
The lack of breathable air--
There is No water in the Bay of Smokes.
And nobody ever goes looking for those who fall in.
The Furrows: (I'll probably fill this part in later, etc.)
'to go off the furrow'
Phosphorus reservoirs,
The Manit plants with five serrated teeth around a delicate looking petal rim, the more hearty, potent varieties have up to ten. Their seed pods are spined, deliriants and halucinagens.
Weywot Herself:
Skin: Blueish/Grayish/White Eyes: A light jaundice yellow sclera, a slightly darker orangeish iris. Her pupils are often a reflective white; like a hunted animal. Hair: White-to-blue ombre'd, spaghetti-strand waves. She's got more oil than an olive factory. It keeps her hair shiny, hard to grab. It's partially her own making; having a naturally greasy scalp, and partially an occupational hazard. There's a lot of 'anointing' and 'purifying' and 'essential diffusing' going on around her.
Backstory/History:
"Where does blackened worm turn once there is no more fruit to feast on? On the stems, the leaves, the limbs; the bark and trunk and roots. It is a worm, my love. It eats because it is hungry, not because it thinks of where the fruit comes from."
To eat one's own fruit
The Chaos spread like a slow leak in an old well, a steady trickling of poison so utterly unremarkable in taste when compared to all the rancid, scopolamine laced flavors the denizens of Weywot had greedily swallowed before in the name of endless worship to innumerable gods, beasts, men, charlatans dressed in fancy cloaks. In fact? They hardly noticed the changes in those around them when they first started, and why should they have?Can anyone truly tell if the honey is cut with sugar so long as it's still arsenic sweet while sliding over the tongue. When they did finally begin to notice, the non-existent sun had long since set on any chances at them saving themselves. What became known as 'Night-Blindness' ran rampant across the population, with it's sudden onset came a horrid type of madness. The typical blights and cancers that seized the weakest of their own seemed to have inexplicably spread to even those from healthy bloodlines.
The people however, did not act. No, they did as they had done for countless unknown generations and they, along with those stranded with them prayed. They prayed to the Sky Father, to the Great Invisible All and his many Sons. They tore themselves apart as offerings, tearing their city apart in penance for whatever wrongs they must have commited to bring this sort of terrible fate upon themselves. And as the dwarf planet they'd orbited frantically for an age finally went dark above them, and the ships stopped coming, and the communications died down into staticy, unintelligible content. The Weyans and their moon spiraled. There was suddenly nothing going out, nothing coming in, any attempts to make leave were in vain as the dead silence of the nearest port was akin to a singular castle drawbridge at the beginning of a long passage; the holder of the only known space-way onto Weywot's worshipful moon. The darkening from beyond cemented their feelings of being doomed, the Wayans watching on from afar as the God Planet they'd succored from like veal-calf on teat eventually disappeared beneath a cold red haze cottoning over their own skies in obscuring plumes of impossible to comprehend clouds; heavy, roiling, bubbling in waves unnatural even to them.
And then it started to rain.
Acidic, oily, hot.
But rain nonetheless.
The Bay of Smokes had never had water in it. Never. Not once. The first drop shattered their only port of exit, inactive as it had become, phosphine fires licked across the bay as a colourless, flammable, extremely toxic gas with a disagreeable garliclike odour. Parts of the city began to alight, and yet were utterly unable to be put out. They crowded into the last standing tower of worship; gnashing their teeth, wailing their grief. Demanding a final sacrifice of the highest order as they ripped brick from mortar and dark-window from inlaid stone.
There was no more sense of order. No attempts to keep it. They had devolved into trapped animal hopelessness and their aim was to gnaw themselves free at any cost.
They called for Weywot.
They dragged her from her tower. They had her immurated, sealed,
The seal has since crumbled.
Kazimier awakens, veiless, wide eyed, screaming.
As a wild-eyed, nerve-flayed Basic once more--
And that might be the most accursed part of it all. Not the ominous silence, or the yawning dark, or the incessant tugging at the furthest end of her senses telling her to *leave* at speed towards *where* she didn't know but gods did she feel the pull of it against her dry veins and achy skull....
How all of that paled in comparison to the feeling of being truly powerless once more.
Being cast down to a Basic.
Not that Kaz had time to do more than hiss about it before she pulled the weakest remnant of power on and gave in to the growing urge to be herded elsewhere by some unknown force---
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