Name: Seren Meredydd (SEH-ren Meh-RED-ith)
Age: early/mid twenties
Ability: Vidient (Golden Glimmer)
Previous Life: Lilith

Biography in brief (full Bio is on her wiki)

Seren grew up in Aberaeron on the Welsh coast, raised alone by her mother, Eira, after her father left when she was a baby. She knew she was different from an early age because no one else saw the golden sparks of light which danced around every person’s heart; and the world knew Seren was different, too, because people’s desires always tilted around her. Even as a baby she unknowingly emanated a subtle amplification which often changed the people in her presence. Around Seren, desires became harder to deny and easier to enact. Friends quit clubs abruptly. Teachers confessed inappropriate ambitions to empty rooms. Parents in her neighbourhood divorced out of nowhere.

As a small child Seren saw the gap between what people said and what they truly wanted, and didn’t understand why the world seemed obsessed with hiding the truth beneath a veneer. Practically everyone lied. Adults laughed off her strange phrasings and oddly insightful questions, but they grew uneasy too. So she learned not to speak about it. Her mother called it the Yr Awydd. The Wanting. Their family line had deep roots, but she always talked about it like it was a folktale. It was only much later that Seren realised her gift was something different, something more than the old wives tales of Meredydd women who had an uncanny way of reading people, and a particularly sensitivity for people’s longing.

By thirteen Seren was learning to listen to the world in layers: what people said, what they tried to want, and what they actually wanted. Puberty sharpened everything, including her perception. She began to recognise distinct architecture in the golden motes: the way they clustered, the density of the glow, the movement itself. Eventually she started identifying the patterns, connecting them to meaning.

Later, she realised she could control them too, to inflame or douse, and had been doing so unintentionally all her life, just by looking. She detested the idea of influencing people that way, though. Her mother raised her to be fiercely independent, and to understand that everyone has the right to define their own inner life. Seren welded that lesson to her nature like iron. So she practised early self-restraint, teaching herself to observe what she could not avoid seeing without pushing or pulling by mistake. It was exhausting, and control alone could not erase the truth of who she was. Sometimes someone’s longing just stretched towards her like a flower turning to light. Seren called what she did in those cases illumination – not control, not ignition, but an ability to reveal hidden desire to those ready to receive the truth.

At school she had a reputation for defying authority. When adults demanded obedience, she asked “why”, and when their response did not match what she saw in the motes around their hearts she simply… didn’t comply. People rarely said what they meant, especially those in charge. Others called her stubborn, but Seren called it truth. She wasn’t trying to lead, but students were drawn to her all the same. She was magnetic, but it was the Gimmer that did it. Friends idolised her or drifted away. Crushes became obsessively attached without cause. In Seren, people often saw a reflection of what they wanted. That was another thing she didn’t mean to do, but couldn’t turn off.

“People get weird around you,” a friend once said.

Seren didn’t disagree.

When she was eighteen she chose Cardiff University, enrolling in Psychology. The city was noisy with desire, and Seren entered her new world like a tuning fork struck too sharply. She was brilliant at the subjects she cared for, but clashed with lecturers when she questioned theories they treated as gospel. She’d wanted a fresh start, but the patterns of change followed her despite how hard she tried not to influence those around her. A flatmate ditched medical school after an emotional midnight conversation in the kitchen. A study partner’s admiration grew into something bright and unsteady within days, and Seren had to pull away before he mistook reflection for reciprocity. Even one of her tutors — a man in his forties — abruptly left academia mid-term, claiming he could no longer ignore the novel he’d abandoned a decade earlier.

Then came Elin, a friend in the year above, and the first person Seren ever met whose desires remained still around her. They became friends slowly, then intensely. Seren fell in love quietly, with the kind of deliberate awareness she applied to everything in her life: she felt herself going under, and kept her eyes open. But though Elin liked her deeply as a friend, the way she wanted Seren was not romantic. For the first time in her life, Seren discovered something she had no right to want. And for the briest moment she wondered what would happen if she nudged, just a little, to tilt the world in her favour.

The thought shocked her, not because she could act on it – she already knew she couldn’t create something that wasn’t there – but that she had wanted to, no matter how fleetingly.

She withdrew from university soon after.

What followed was a journey of discovery. For years Seren has moved from city to city, country to country, job to job, never settling even when she may have wanted to. She stays until things begin to change around her, as they inevitably do no matter how careful she is. Her nomadic lifestyle has become a mosaic of experiences — love and loss, chaos and calm, observation and participation. And through it all, her mother’s lessons have been her compass: truth first, autonomy always, desire to be observed and guided but never owned. Relationships have shaped Seren along the way, two in particular since Elin. It has tested her, too. She fears, sometimes, what she might one day become.

Now she wants to know what she is, and if there are others like her. Finally, she is headed to Moscow.

Desire, for Seren, is the only true language. And truth is the only thing that matters.

Appearance: Seren is one of those people who doesn’t immediately command attention, but becomes unforgettable once you’ve spoken to her. She looks like someone you almost know, but cannot quite pin down, and it makes her simultaneously approachable and disarming, ordinary yet otherworldly. Her presence hints at the fire within, though no one would guess the depth of insight, the untamed autonomy, or the latent power she carries. People often realise hours later that they remember her eyes more vividly than her face.

She's in her early/mid 20s, though the energy she carries feels older, wiser, and untamed. 5’7" – tall enough to move through a crowd with quiet presence, yet unassuming until you notice her. Her eyes are her most defining feature: hazel that shifts between gold and green, depending on the light. Her gaze is steady. People often feel as though she “looks through them,” even though she’s only seeing their desires.

Dark brown hair, almost black in winter, and sun‑lightened with faint copper streaks in summer. Thick enough that wind off the Welsh coast tends to rearrange it for her. Pale complexion with a coastal undertone — a natural pinkness on her cheeks and nose from years of wind and sun, and freckles in the summer. She carries a faint, permanent warmth to her skin tone that makes her look alive even when tired.

Seren dresses like someone who prioritises truth and comfort: soft jumpers, dark jeans, slightly oversized coats. People think she dresses plainly, but she dresses intentionally. Nothing constricts; nothing demands attention. She speaks with a soft Welsh accent. Her expressions don't hide what she feels because she values clarity too greatly for masks, and her quietness is never passive — it feels like a choice. There is an almost imperceptible magnetism around her. People notice subtle changes in motivation or mood when she is present — restless energy, sudden inspiration, fleeting ambition — even if they can’t explain why.

Personality: Seren rarely reacts impulsively. She watches, listens, and studies the gold motes of longing around people, mapping their patterns before speaking. Her presence is calm, intelligent, and quietly intense. She notices when someone’s desire is fractured, when ambition is bruised, when longing is buried. This perception makes her slow to judge and quick to understand. She will comfort someone who is lost, but she will not let them lie to themselves.

She does not command. She does not impose. But when she decides something is true or right, she is immovable. Seren’s quiet voice becomes a boundary. When she says no, it is final. When she says this is wrong, she means it. Her defiance is gentle but absolute. If someone tries to force their will on her or others, she sharpens into moral iron.

Her insight is honed, and she tends to ask questions that land like revelations. Seren is the friend who notices the dream someone never said aloud, or the goal they secretly gave up on. She doesn’t push — she invites. People confide in her instinctively, even when they don’t want to.

She distrusts institutions, rigid hierarchies, leaders who demand allegiance, and rules that exist “because that’s how things are done.” But she is not a rebel for rebellion’s sake. She simply believes no one should be given power over another person’s inner life. When responsibility falls onto her, she accepts it — on her terms. If someone tries to control her, define her, limit her, or idealise her — her entire being recoils.

Powerful, ambitious figures always notice her. Some are inspired. Some become obsessed. All become dangerous.

Flaws: Because Seren sees desire so clearly, she constantly holds herself in check, and is not fully cognisant of the cage she has placed around herself. Seren’s restraint is iron: her anger is rare, her passion is suppressed, her desires are quieted. When she finally does want something for herself — truly, fiercely — it may be explosive. Her own ambition has never been fully born. The day it is, the world will shift.

The irony of her perception is that she cannot truly view herself. She thinks she wants a quiet, free life of her own: stability, purpose, understanding. Secretly, she longs for an equal to match her; a reference point outside her influence, a relationship where she can stop self-monitoring, and a person she doesn’t have to protect from herself. But she’d never admit it out loud. Her true, most buried desire is to choose her own fire — and let it burn. She doesn't ant to be muted or managed. This is what she fears. This is what she avoids. This is what the world has never allowed her to do. She does not want to be neutral, she wants to want.

But she can’t trust herself with it.

The Golden Glimmer: Seren is a Vidient who sees and can influence the spectrum of desire-ambition.

She sees desire as golden motes of light around each person, and is adept at discerning the cause via their intensity, density and movement. But its interpretation. She cannot read minds, and she doesn’t feel emotions the way a Sentient does. So while she might describe someone’s desire as buried by fear, for example, she’s reading what she thinks she sees and diagnosing a cause based on that. She calls the sparks Glimmer.

She can control desire by changing the patterns of someone’s Glimmer, either to amplify, douse, or redirect. Currently she refuses to do this, though. She’ll only illuminate and let the person come to their own conclusions, and only when she thinks she should. She cannot create a desire from nothing. Any changes she does make lasts only as long as the person is in her presence, so nothing is permanent unless the person themselves wills it afterwards. People always return to their “natural” state, though of course the consequences of any actions remain. She cannot fundamentally change a person’s core.

When desire is strong, and especially when its ambition, Seren sometimes finds it bleeds into her. This is especially dangerous in close relationships, where she can struggle to discern which desires are her own. When the emotions are intense, this proves addictive. She’s still learning to navigate the risk. The journal she keeps helps her discern patterns and strengthen her own self-identity, as does her relationship with her mother.

OOC note: Seren amplifies desire/ambition on a low level just with her presence. Players can decide how this affects their characters, if at all – it depends very much on their susceptibility at any given moment. Just because someone is tempted, doesn’t mean they will act. But it does make any “wants” harder to deny.

Marta had been working hard and it was beginning to pay off. Marta wasn’t typically book smart, but when she was excited about something, she worked hard. Marta had poured most of her free time into learning how to code and program. She had done some hacking too, but it had been with Sage’s help, and it had been to get access to his information for her job. 

Today she was working on a text-based fantasy game. She knew not many people played those anymore. They were popular around sixty years ago, but she figured it would be a fun way for her to work on her coding skills in a fun way. She liked telling stories, games, and coding, so why not make a “choose your own adventure” game. 

Everyone seemed to be focused on their work. He wasn’t there often, but today Sterling’s crush, Liam, was here. He seemed to be inattentive at times as he worked on whatever it was he was doing. Marta sighed as she finished what she was working on. Now she needed to test it. She started up her program and smiled as it came up on her screen. So far so good. She went into the introduction to the game and tried an option. It just repeated the first screen. She tried a different option and found the same thing. Something was off. 

She went back into her code and tried to troubleshoot. She thought she found it, but upon testing, she was getting the same thing. She had no idea what was wrong. 

”Ugghhhhhh,” she intoned, frustrated and began to lightly bang her head on the table, accentuating every word.  ”Why. Won’t. My. Code. Work. What. Am. I. Doing. Wrong?” she gave one one bang on the table and then just lay there, feeling a little discouraged.

Constantine Harroway

Age: 32

Abilities: Vidient - The Luminous Thread

Past lives: 

• 6th Age - Eros (Cupid), 
  
• 4th Age - Kai (From the Fairy Tale of the Snow Queen)
  
• 3rd Age - Dalenar 
  

We have another new character class! 

They are called Vidients and are characterized under the umbrella of "The Sentic Orders" according to Atharim scholars. Meaning they are related powers to Sentients and Furia. 

Read about Vidients here. Their powers are distinct from Sentients and Furia, and there are some rules and boundaries that confine their abilities. 

If you have any questions about them, post here or PM me. There are quite a few related wiki pages hyperlinked within the above wiki pages for more information and lore. 

The character class is now available on profile fields. If you need/want to retcon a current PC to fit one of these powers, I'm sure we can work it out.

Name: Grace Ambrose

Age: 24

Origin: New York

Psychological Description: Grace Ambrose is, at her foundation, an emotional intuitive—a person whose primary mode of understanding the world is through affective resonance rather than logic, language, or observation. Even without her supernatural ability, Grace would have been an unusually sensitive and empathic individual; with her power, this sensitivity defines every domain of her psyche. She orients herself by emotion the way others orient by sight or sound. Her internal compass is calibrated toward connection, caretaking, and attunement. This can lead her to form attachments quickly or feel grief when people disconnect and makes it difficult for her to receive help because others can’t understand how much she emotionally feels.

Physical Description: Grace is 5’4” tall with dark brown hair kept long and blue eyes

Supernatural Powers: Sentient

Reborn God: Paregoros

Biography:

Grace Ambrose was born to a middle class family in New York. There was nothing inherently special about her family. Her father was a chef and owned his own restaurant. Her mother worked as a public school teacher, but from an early age, they knew their lone daughter was special. Even as an infant, it was apparent that she was emotionally aware. Grace was born with a sensitivity that defied explanation. She cried only when the person holding her carried sadness, and she would settle instantly the moment her mother touched her, absorbing the woman’s emotions like a balm. What others dismissed as an unusually perceptive child was, in truth, the earliest manifestation of a rare and powerful gift.

As Grace grew, so did her understanding of her abilities. Emotions brushed against her like changes in air pressure—subtle when she kept her distance, but intense and vivid when she touched another person. Physical contact opened a channel she could not ignore; with a single hand on someone’s skin, she could feel the full spectrum of their inner world. Grief. Anxiety. Relief. Resentment. Hope. Touch translated feeling into knowledge as intimate and clear as memory.

Driven by an instinct she never questioned, Grace gravitated toward those in pain. When a family member passed away or a friend suffered heartbreak, she was always the first to reach out. She would take their hand and let their emotions wash through her—heavy, raw, and human. And then she would soothe. Words flowed from her naturally, shaped by a maturity far beyond her years, as if she had lived centuries longer than she had.

Grace knew of no others like herself. Where most people, even other sentient or magically gifted individuals, would retreat from overwhelming emotional noise, she hungered for connection. She craved touch not out of neediness, but out of purpose. Touch was how she understood. Touch was how she helped. Touch was how she found herself.

But craving came with danger. As she grew older, the emotions of others threatened to overtake her, overwhelming her with intensity she was not built to carry alone. To survive, she developed mental defenses—a disciplined inner landscape constructed through trial, instinct, and determination. These boundaries allowed her to remain herself even as she stepped into the minds and hearts of others.

Mastery followed naturally. The more she used her gift, the more she learned about its subtleties. Grace discovered she could do more than simply understand emotions: she could influence them. With a steady hand and a compassionate heart, she learned to nudge emotional currents, guiding someone gently toward acceptance, clarity, or self-understanding. She did not erase pain or force calm; she redirected feelings just enough for people to process them without drowning.

Her ability was neither manipulation nor dominance—it was guidance. A quiet, deliberate shaping of emotional truth. Grace does not simply feel emotions. She understands them. She shepherds them.  And through the touch of her hand, she helps others carry what they cannot face alone.

Given her unique gifts, it was supposed by all that Grace would go to college and become a therapist, and for a time she did as well. Try as she might, she felt that therapy neglected something she felt was important: connection.  The more Grace studied, the more she felt like she would have to distance herself from those she served. She dropped out of college, eventually finding a job as a server with a catering company - a decision that would cause a rift to build between her and her parents. 

It was in this endeavor that Grace first came into contact with Evanya Myshelovna Tarasovich. Her company was catering one of Eve’s parties. A guest at the event recently found out she had lost a loved one, and Grace, with her gift, felt drawn to this woman. She took the woman aside, and with a touch, began to speak with her, soothing her emotions and helping her find a sense of peace.  Eve saw this and approached Grace after. The two would begin a friendship.

Grace felt that something was off with Eve as well. Shortly after meeting, Grace approached her, asking if everything was okay. Eve told her of what had happened with Guillaume, and Grace, with her delicate touch, helped walk her through it.

As the friendship continued, Grace confided in Eve as well. Grace was unhappy. Her life was stagnating. It was clear to Eve that Grace had a gift (even if she was unaware of how strong that gift was), and Grace told her that she wanted a way to utilize that, but she wanted to connect with people. She also mentioned her desire to leave the States. With all the changes happening and the growing instability of the United States, Grace was beginning to get overwhelmed - even with her mental barriers. Eve was leaving - returning to her home. Grace was upset to be left alone, and hurt more than she showed, but understood and asked Eve to keep in touch.

Grace knew she had to do something. The time to leave was now, but she had no idea where to go, until one day. She got a phone call that would change everything.

For awhile after the fight at Almaz, Tatyana had been elated. She was going to be living her dream - fighting on stage for people. But soon enough she was reminded of what time of year it was. It was hard to escape it. Christmas was everywhere, and Tatyana fucking hated it. A Christmas party had been the catalyst for Sofia turning into a complete vindictive bitch and blaming her for all her rich girl problems. Then dad had died and things just got worse. She couldn’t even go see his grave - it would take her into Konstantin’s territory. They could go fuck themselves. 

People said mixing drugs and alcohol was something you shouldn’t do. They could fuck themselves too. Tatyana had a pill earlier and had been saving her thievery earnings for her yearly bottle. Most people celebrated this time of year. Tatyana tried to forget. Her wandering took her into the red light district, bottle of rum in one hand. She couldn’t remember for sure what day it was - December 23, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, or the day after. It didn’t really matter. It was also dark, which in Moscow during this time could be anywhere from 4;00 Pm to 9:00 AM. That didn’t really matter either. 

Tatyana kept feeling like something was following her, but anytime she looked it was gone. It could be paranoia. It probably was. A moment later she thought she saw some drones flying around. Maybe that was it. She didn’t know. Strange enough though, she found her power. She’d been unsuccessful at embracing it, but now under the influence, it came to her naturally. She grabbed it just in case, even if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

Tatyana turned a corner and the world spun. She leaned on a building to keep from falling, then turned her back to it and slid down the wall to sit. She had to sit for a bit. At least until the world around her righted itself. It would probably be awhile. She took another drink from her bottle. Christmas sucked and all she wanted to do was bury it.

Adam and Ephraim hadn’t spoken much after he mentioned the field testing. He had simply wanted to check in. That had meant a lot. Adam didn’t get much contact. Ephraim was really the only person he interacted with. Him and Victor that is, and Victor didn’t really count. Victor didn't really see him as a person anymore. He was a commodity. Maybe Victor had always seen him this way. He had always been rather cold as an adoptive father. 

The LUMA had arrived the next day. Calibration it seemed didn't take a long time. Either that or Ephraim had anticipated the need beforehand and already had it prepared. That was acceptable. At the very least it didn’t bother Adam at all. Adam put the device on his bedside table. He didn’t know if it was on, but that first day he really didn’t pay attention to it. He did everything as he had before, just knowing that this device was (maybe) watching and listening. 

It was the next morning that the LUMA first spoke to him.   ”Good Morning, Adam.” as it spoke a pastel blue light appeared from the device. 

Adam had no idea what triggered it. Perhaps some algorithm knew he wouldn’t speak until it did. Maybe it had gotten tired of waiting. Ephraim had said that it would be calibrated to him. ”Ummm…good morning…” he wasn’t sure what else to say. It was a little weird speaking to an AI.

”How are you, today?” the response seemed generic and mechanical, but from what he knew of the tech, this would change as he spoke and it learned his patterns. 

”Umm…okay I guess. How are you?” his own response was automatic. Why ask an AI how it was doing?

”I'm very well. Thank you for asking!” the voice, despite coming from a machine was very human. Ephraim had said they were indistinguishable. 

”I'm glad to hear that. You called me Adam?” he asked, surprised it hadn’t been his code name. Then again, it hadn’t been Victor that had ordered the LUMA.

”Of course. That is your name isn't I? Adam?” it paused, but the light didn’t go out. Was it thinking? ”Would you like me to call you something else?”

Adam actually smiled a bit at that as he pulled a Coke from his fridge and sat down on his bed. This thing (even thinking of it as a thing was already beginning to feel wrong) was supposed to be a friend. ”No - Adam is fine. What do I call you?”

”You can call me LUMA.”

Adam paused. It just seemed too generic a name. ”Do I have to? I mean, can I call you something else?”

”Of course you can! I can be customized. You can change my name, color, and even my voice. I can present as male if you would like as well. Would you like to change any settings?”

Adam was quiet for awhile. Part of him still felt weird talking to it, but it also felt natural and it felt a little good knowing he had a companion with him - even an artificial one. It didn’t even occur to him that it might be a little sad. ”Can you change the light color to the color of the sky, but leave the voice the same. It’s…comforting.”

The light changed immediately to sky blue. ”Awww - thank you! That’s very kind. Settings saved! Would you like to change my name?” the LUMA actually sounded excited. 

Once again, Adam went silent, thinking. The light stayed on, anticipating. ”Yes, please. Change it to Eva.” Adam said it with the long “e” sound. He was Adam - the first of his kind. It only made sense that his friend be named similarly.

For Faith Devere mornings always started with the same routine; an early wake-up, followed by showering and brushing her teeth. On bad days – usually when her insomnia flared – she cleaned the apartment until the chemicals stung her hands raw. On good days she listened to the low hum of Cadence Mathis while she was getting dressed and combing her pale hair into a bun. She always made herself a cup of green tea, brewed for exactly three minutes, and held it fragrant and warm between her palms, but somehow she never managed to finish drinking it before she left.

She lived in one of the single-occupancy domiciles Paragon supplied for its employees, a privately owned corporate neighbourhood designed entirely for its tech professionals: simple square dwellings, one stacked atop the other, each one clean, sleek, and identical. It didn’t matter to her; her private life was as sterile as the four walls which boxed her in. And it meant the commute to her office was only five minutes.

At the start of her day Faith always ate her meals in the company cafeteria, alone but somehow less lonely than eating at home. This early it was always quiet, which is how she preferred it, and those faces which she did happen to ever recognise – such as Dr Muller, who she suspected might sleep sometimes in his lab – she did not speak to, nor they to her. Today the tables were all entirely empty though.

Good morning Dr. Devere.

The voice of the LUMA was hers. Its default, anyway, and that’s the one the company used in all its buildings. The strange disconnectedness of hearing herself greet her entrance so warmly each morning had long since reached a point of numbness, though. When Dr. Audaire had suggested to her several years ago that her voice was perfect: calm, soft, the ideal pitch and temperance, it had made her glow to think he had noticed those small things about her. The recognition meant something, the same as it had meant to her when he swept her under his wing as a lost and awkward twelve year old at Mindworks. But now that pride was no longer warm and sustaining; it was a leaden bullet in her chest.

Your usual table is free. Shall I order your usual breakfast?

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Luma.” She murmured it on rote; she was always polite to the AI. As formal as she was with her flesh and blood colleagues.