Mazelost

Name: Jasmine Iralis, Wayward
~Heartstring, Mazelost
Age: 85 +/-
Exaltation/Caste: Lunar: No Moon
Affiliations: The Denzik Merchants, The Neck, The Silver Pact, Swords of Luna, Court of the Lover clad in Raiment of Tears, accomplice of Kirsath Dravere 

Bio:

In the West is a great flotilla, a virtual armada of tens of thousands of ships roped together to brave the seas. This floating city is home to the Denzik Merchants, a largely peaceful (for the West) group of opportunistic sailors and traders who make a circuit from the Blessed Isle to the islands of the West. So many are their number that even the Sea Mothers are largely dissuaded from interfering with the movements of the Denzik, although their wives and daughters still feel the reach of Western cultural values. Jasmine Iralis was one such daughter, a slight girl with vibrant blue hair and marked beauty. Had her father his way, she would have been wed to a landlubber for a hefty dowry and the safety of being kept from the sea, but Jasmine was... broken, as he would put it.

Whether by Wyld-touched mutation, Shadowland affliction, or some other factor, the girl was unhealthy in temperament and unsound of mind. She was unresponsive to the warmth or scorn of her peers and seemed to have almost no ability to focus or retain most knowledge. Jasmine was incapable of conducting herself like a normal person, hardly capable of even looking after herself, and although her condition grew less debilitating with age, it was fairly clear to her family that Jasmine would be a hard sell as a bride. It was clear to anyone who had to suffer through her numerous vocal tics that she was not normal. Her mother helped her the bulk of the time, but when she was lost to the predations of a shore-bound attack in Coral, Jasmine's care fell to her father. Surprising to nobody with a general knowledge of Western sailors, within weeks he cast his now-starving and beaten teenage daughter overboard in sight of land and never looked back. 

More the result of luck than any real swimming ability, a very confused Jasmine washed ashore on a small, unpopulated island somewhere in the Neck. Aboard the merchant fleet, the constant hubbub and noise, endless social cues and activity had paralyzed Jasmine in a haze of sensory overload. Here, on her tiny little island, Jasmine was at least able to focus... if poorly-equipped to survive for long. Still, the girl went about surviving with admirable skill and resolve. Her memory had always been nearly flawless and, in her own right, Jasmine was as clever as anyone when given time to work through her own condition. The first few weeks were hard, the first year grew a little easier, the next few were downright idyllic. Jasmine did not want for company, because she did not want company. For the most part, she was content to talk to herself and watch the waves, tend her garden and fish from the sea. Tradition in her family had always been for the women to wear their hair at a modest length; Jasmine kept track of how long she'd been alone by her hair, which eventually reached her ankles. She took to fashioning it into braids, another stylistic luxury denied to her under her father's roof. It had become her favorite vanity, measure of the passage of time, and a fun distraction.

Jasmine doesn't fault the hurricane that came through a few feet of hair later and washed her island clean of virtually everything. She had enjoyed at least five feet of hair before it came, and they were the best five feet of her life to that point. That, itself, was pretty comforting as she slowly starved to death on the pile of sand that had become her grave. Ready as she was to die, however, Jasmine... didn't. She went about her routine as best she could, slightly puzzled with her own actions. Delirious with hunger and thirst, she fashioned a new spear to hunt shore-fish with, dragged driftwood and leaves to form a new shelter, and the like. Even if Jasmine was essentially ready to die, it seemed her body - or her compulsion to act out her habits - was not. 

Still, a robot drive to survive only means so much when you're stuck on a pile of sand with a couple sticks and little more. On death's door, Luna herself visit Jasmine - and imbued the confused young woman with purpose, or at least power. As enigmatic as she'd arrived, Luna departed soon thereafter, leaving Jasmine even slightly more perplexed than she'd been - especially since she now enjoyed the ability to turn into a cat with a heavy winter coat and even less ability to swim than tropical Western sea she already possessed. It wasn't long before a retrieval pack, the Falling Swords, came to pick Jasmine up. She was fed, she was inflicted with tattoos, she was foisted off onto a slightly older woman who called herself Broken-Mirror, and was otherwise initiated into the Silver Pact. While she never quite stopped being perplexed by the whole ordeal, at least Jasmine was learning a thing or two. Thankfully, Broken-Mirror was, herself, a Loremaster. She began teaching Jasmine to become the same, as the Western woman stumbled through her trials.

The other Lunars that Jasmine met seemed to carry on as though they were sad for her, though Jasmine had no idea it was even happening until it was pointed out to her - and even then, only when it was actively pointed out. At first, she attributed it to her 'condition', which had persisted through her Exaltation. She later learned that one of the previous carriers of her Exaltation was something of a cautionary tale for young Lunars, and Jasmine had (for whatever reason) become associated with her past life's sad story. As a budding young Loremaster, Jasmine maintained only an academic interest in the follies of Radiant Soul's dogged and ultimately tragic devotion to her glorious Solar Mate. She was nearly twenty feet old, and a budding scholar atop that. There was no way she would-

And then, while roving abroad with her pack one day, Jasmine caught sight of a ship on the horizon; made of bone and leather, crewed by the dead, helmed by a ghostly figure in cloth and plate. She knew immediately that she needed to be on that other ship, even with the understanding that it would cause her death. That spectral was whom she was to stand beside, by any cost. The ships passed in the night without any real event, but the moment thundered in the front of Jasmine's mind, as debilitating as her condition had ever been. She abandoned her pack immediately, seeking the aid of an elder who was known for his knowledge of the Underworld. After some convincing, he gave Jasmine a basic education in how a Lunar - a beacon and force for Life and Growth - would conduct herself among ghosts. After all, she was an aspiring Loremaster, her curiosity was most likely academic. Little harm could come of it.

Jasmine immediately threw herself into a Shadowland, found herself in the Labyrinth, and wandered it's endless corridors and pathways for nearly ten and a half feet of hair. She learned all sorts of fun and interesting (mostly horrifying and disgusting) things, until discovered by servants of the Lover Clad in Raiment of Tears - who took Jasmine back to their Deathlord Master. The Lover could have easily killed the slightly-mad Lunar, but saw potential in a shapeshifting courtesan to favor her servants with. Jasmine was 'promised' knowledge of the person she'd seen that day in exchange for a hundred years of service. She may as well have offered Jasmine the ability to breathe, for how readily she agreed to the terms. Realistically, even The Lover would have a little difficulty locating one spooky sailor from several feet of hair before - if she even cared to try - but the chance at finding that person was enough to justify the chance as far as Jasmine was concerned.

Several degrading and brutal feet of hair later, Jasmine was something of a chewtoy for whichever undead thing the Lover wished, and doing decently at it. She'd developed - though a tenuous friendship with one of the more treacherous members of the Lover's Court - had developed a small measure of capability with Necromancy to better serve her 'temporary' masters. It was an auspicious day, indeed, when the Abyssal Exalted came to be in the service of the Neverborn. Jasmine become an even more valuable token of the Lover's favor, although her sanity was beginning to fray even before this point. 

It was in the service of one such Abyssal that Jasmine found herself 'rescued' by a glowing, golden woman named Kirasath - a Dawn Caste, set upon a crucial task for the good of many. Jasmine's desire to preserve Creation barely and finally won out over her need to find her mate, though this decision was helped slightly by the fact that Kirsath was a good friend and Jasmine doubted the fearsome myrmidon would let her wander into a Shadowlands alone in any case. For the time being, she was in Creation and doing things. It was a nice change of pace. 

Barely two inches into her adventures with Kirsath, Jasmine helped lay a Chimera to rest, met some Mountain Folk, was launched into a necropolis, where she finally met her mate - the Raven-Tressed Exile of Life and Death - a renegade Abyssal. Now they're on a quest to do the things and save the other things; Jasmine is mostly just to be where she feels she belongs and have at least one friend besides. Everything else is just icing on the cake. 


Appearance:

Jasmine is a shapeshifter, and not at all shy about it - with her mastery of her own form, she can become a man or woman of nearly any manner and dress with no notice. With that said, a few things remain constant, the first being her Tells; pointed, fluffed ears belonging on the head of an arctic cat, the characteristic pupils of a cat, and a thick tail. The second is a combination of her condition, and representative of her time spent in the Underworld. Jasmine has unmistakable vocal tics, a habit of failing to express herself in understandable ways, and an almost complete inability to understand subtle or nonverbal cues - even among intimate friends. She rarely if ever makes eye contact with anyone, unless forced to or under similar duress. She tends to wear braids of some sort in nearly every form she takes. Changing Plumage Mastery makes this terribly easy to do.

In her true human form, Jasmine is an unobtrusive and modest woman with bold blue hair and generally gentle demeanor - but she rarely if ever takes her true human form. As with most Western women, she was taught half of this and inherited the other half. It isn't uncommon for her to babble at a rapid pace once she begins talking, but coaxing more than a few words of deference from her can be a challenge. In most human forms, regardless of gender, Jasmine prefers to dress and behave in accordance with Western traditions whenever it'd make sense for her to do so.

However, Jasmine has been recently favoring white hair and a more Northern appearance in general. Half of the East is looking for a Western woman with features similar to her, and she wouldn't want to bring more trouble down on Raven than Raven has already brought down on herself.


Potential Plot Hooks:

-Jasmine was an aspiring Loremaster who disappeared into the Underworld for decades and has actively served alongside some loathsome creatures. She isn't well regarded or even trusted by most of the Silver Pact, though it isn't unusual for Lunars seeking knowledge about the Underworld, Necromancy, or much more rarely, how to handle an Abyssal mate to come to her.
-The Lover Clad in Raiment of Tears sure would love to get her pet cat back someday soon, you guys.
-Jasmine is much older than she looks (nearly forty feet, total!) and has a famously keen memory. Unfortunately, she's got her own mental static and the gleeful taunting of the Neverborn pushing all those smart thoughts out of her head. She's still a great repository of knowledge, if you're prepared to spend awhile deciphering her nonsense. 


Character Sheet (30BP, 0XP)

Past RPs:

As you role play, it would be advisable to put the threads you've participated in here, and link to them.