Sheet not ready for use for Fae. Mask purposes only.
Played by Devilboy. View character sheet.
Mundane
In the Autumn, Cody is an impressive example of cardio, working outdoors and a fencer’s training, sun-kissed olive skin, piercing blue eyes and the merits of letting lush, dark hair rest naturally on a handsome, smiling face. His gestures and actions are so fluid one might mistake them for dance. He dresses with movement in mind, and always has his bugout bag with scrubs and first aid kit handy. The shoddy silver ring on his finger catches the light in odd ways, and only his ridiculous good looks limit the draw of it.
Equipment (carried): Backpack w/scrubs, first aid kit, textbooks, Boy Scout’s Handbook, comfortable but nice urban explorer style clothes, good running shoes
Gear: Tiny apartment across the street from the hospital, battered bicycle named Pegasus, books on etiquette, fencing gear (tournament issue),collection of mementos from patients.
Fae Mien
Beyond the Mists, Caundir appears. Where his mortal form gives the impression of grace, his Fae mien embodies it. Dark hair blazes into life in pale blonde and blood red, blue eyes shine like terrible sapphires, olive skin becomes coppery and flawless. Arrayed as a squire of House Liam, a sword on one hip and a whip on the other, his practical voile and tattered fae mail don’t betray his dignity, rather serving to highlight his fierce, beautiful presence.
Chimerical equipment: Worn fae mail under Liam colors, voile in the aspect of a musketeer, unadorned ivory sword and thorned whip.
Treasures: The Defender’s Signet, a ring of glowing silver so pure it would beggar alchemy’s most fervent hopes, inscribed with ancient and forgotten words that can almost be heard shouting challenges to wicked things. The seal is a winged sword beneath the tree of Liam.
Notable traits: Ambidextrous, Treasure (silver signet ring, glows with Glamour in the Dreaming), tattered fae mail and chimerical saber, solid blue eyes in Dreaming mien
...When opposing troops meet in
battle, victory belongs to the grieving side.
— Lao Tze