<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/2WGXV4O.jpg)<br/>(https://i.imgur.com/96vBEQq.png)<br/>(https://i.imgur.com/2vtQHDS.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Artemis Fellbrook<br/><strong>Age:</strong>32 [Young for an Aasimar]<br/><strong>Race:</strong>Aasimar [Musetouched]<br/><br/><strong>Gender:</strong>Male<br/><strong>Sexuality:</strong>Pansexual<br/><br/><strong>Appearance:</strong><br/><br/>Perhaps the most striking feature Arty has going for him is the fact that, despite being a male and identifying as a male, he looks indistinguishable on a superficial level to a female (by design, of course). He doesn't have any immediately visible scars or tattoos, but does enjoy wearing various pieces of sparkly jewellery that – he thinks – accentuate his best features. He also tends to employ his makeup-applying abilities to disguise the more permanent scars from his history; he has a jagged scar beneath one of his pectorals, a crescent-moon shaped scar on his lower back and a series of small, circular burn marks on the inside of his left thigh. Though he has attempted to heal these in the past, whatever they were made with resists all kinds of magic-fuelled healing. Thankfully, he is skilled enough in applying makeup to disguise them most of the time. Arty stands at a paltry 5' (152.4cm) tall and weighs a mere 45kg, with a willowy, slender build that is more akin to a supermodel than an athletic exemplar; he is not muscular, being more on the "toned but soft" side despite his surprising physical strength, and he has been known to be able to put on a sudden burst of speed when sprinting if necessary.<br/><br/>He has long, waist-length dark-flame-red hair that spills over a gracefully curved, smooth face and then downwards in a coiled, intricate braid that he takes great pains to maintain and care for. Whilst most of his hair is this shade of deep red, he does have a single wide streak of white running down the left side of the top of his head, starting at the top and ending at the edge of that collection of hairs that hang with the rest of his fringe. His skin tends to be meticulously cared for in both complexion and cleanliness, and he takes pride in his delicately attractive features, mismatched eyes - the right eye being a deep purple and the left eye being a dark forest green - and his plush, soft, faint pink lips. His wide doe eyes are almost always sparkling with flirtatious mirth and his lips are nearly perpetually pulled into a mischievous, suggestive smile. Despite his short height, he has deceptively long, slender legs and a well-shaped, firm and toned bubble-butt, but has nothing in the chest department since – obviously – he is not actually female and has no desire to be consciously referred to as such (unless he decides to take the form of a female, for whatever reason). He tends to favour more feminine clothing options and actively enjoys wearing things like high heels, even if they do have a tendency of hurting his feet after a long day.<br/><br/><br/><strong>Brief Biography:</strong><br/><br/>Artemis Fellbrook was born just over three decades ago in exceptionally unfortunate circumstances; as if being an Aasimar in a place as grim and unforgiving as Karsoluthiyl wasn't bad enough in and of itself, he found himself coming from a very particular lineage. Centuries ago, Artemis's grandfather - Celadariel, an Angel from the Celestial Plane - found himself defeated in battle and bound to a particularly powerful Drow Noble House, used as a plaything by the Mistress and Master both. They had their way with him every way they could conceive of, often inflicting the kinds of twisted, perverse fetishism on him that would normally be reserved for a very specific circle of the Infernal Plane. Indeed, occasionally they went so far as to summon a minor demon or devil to force the Angel into all sorts of twisted and humiliating acts for their amusement. When they inevitably bored of him - broken and catatonic as he was - they decided to do what Drow did best; plan for future debauchery. So, they trotted out a number of their most prized slaves and used Celadariel like a prized breeding stallion, having him copulate with the various slaves until one of them managed to get pregnant from his seed.<br/><br/>From this pregnancy arose Artemis's father, who - as an Aasimar - was highly sought after and eventually bought by another Noble House for an eye wateringly massive sum of gold. His father - never really given a name, just referred to as "Boy" for the entirety of his life - served his Drow masters with all the cowed, fearful subservience you would expect from somebody born and bred into servitude, with never so much as a raised eye or an angry tone leaking into the edges of his being. But every man and woman alive has some form of rebellion in them, some spark of resistance and forbidden desire that makes things...sticky. And so it was with his father. His rebellion wasn't shouting or screaming or raising arms to fight his oppressors. It was a simple love affair instead, an allure that pulled him towards one specific young Drow woman in particular. A scion of the noble house who had abandoned her family to serve a "Higher Calling," as it were, whose unusual kindness and tenderness stole "Boy's" heart. In turn, his tempered disposition and his unearthly beauty captivated her, too, and it wasn't long before their mutual attraction turned into stolen nights of passion in whatever secret place they could find.<br/><br/>But of course, in the Underdark, any happiness for a slave is fleeting and brief, and so too was this true for "Boy." His Masters found out, as they always did, and put the slave to death for defiling their daughter, and for making fools of them by lying with an estranged family member without their knowledge. Their daughter, they exposed; she was no ordinary clergy member. She was a heretic, a Priestess of the Order of Eilistraee, the Drow Goddess of beauty, goodness, song and dance and the church of Lolth was quick to make an example of her. But they were too late to stop one thing; the birth of her son, Artemis, to whom she attached a small bracelet with his name to be identified by the slaves who found him. She cast him in with the rest of the newborn slaves before capture, managing to keep his existence a relative secret even up to the point of execution. Artemis never got to know his family, instead being raised with the other slaves.<br/><br/>His life from there was what you might expect; he was identified as inhuman early on - though his true Aasimar heritage was not discovered until much later, as he aged - and was as such given a particular focus both by the other slaves and the Slavers themselves. Whilst compliance and submission was beaten into him at every turn, thanks to the influence of the slaves he grew up with, he never quite lost that independent spark that told him that he didn't always have to bend his neck as they passed. It was also helped by the fact that one of the slaves had happened to know his parents - if only in passing - and told Artemis the story of their lives and deaths. Of course, the fact that his family had been torn from him before he'd ever gotten to know them and that their murderers were now trying to cow him into submission too...well, it rankled, and he spent many dark nights muttering his plans for vengeance into the dark, the sweet, innocent looking face hiding a lurking, roiling darkness that thirsted for satisfaction. Even when his effeminate, ethereal beauty was recognised and he was purchased to be a pleasure slave for House Tanor'Thal, he never lost his secret hatred for the Drow masters and the system that they propogated for their own twisted gain.<br/><br/>His chance for escape came upon the advent of his twenty-fifth year; he was sleeping in the slave pens when a trio of women entered the room with a cloth wrapped bundle. They wore plain clothes, but held themselves like women of power and authority, and it didn't take them long to reveal their identities. They were Priestesses of the secret faith of Eilistraee, old friends of his mother who had been trying to discreetly track him down since they learned that he was actually alive several years prior to gift him with the heirloom his mother had bequeathed him; the bundle was revealed to be an Estoc, his mother's favoured weapon, set with a glowing white stone that called out to Arty from across the room. They told him of his mother and father, what little they knew and could speak of, but the answers he craved about the full extent of his parents life and love were never answered; Inquisitors of Lolth broke down the door the minute the priestesses revealed themselves, drawing steel to execute every heretic in the room. In desperation, Artemis heeded the call of the pulsing white stone and took hold of the silver-sheened, inscribed Estoc, unwilling to be dragged back to the slave pits now that he had his mothers weapon within his grasp.<br/><br/>As soon as he touched the blade, the dark power of Kiaransalee pulsed out from within him, coating the sword in an inky black shadow that radiated malice and corruption. With a desperate swing of his blade towards the nearest Inquisitor, the smoke billowed outwards and consumed the room in darkness, flooding into each of the Hunters bodies, forcing its way in through nose and mouth, both of which were pulled open in a horrified silent scream. Then...they stood still. The eyes that had previously held hatred and bloodlust were now filled with a dim, obedient spark...and were all staring at<em>him.</em>This was not a power of Eilistraee, but of some other, far darker entity that had taken an interest in him - that much was obvious from the expressions on The Faithful's faces - but they did not have time to argue. Artemis sent his new Juju Zombie servants out into the city to cause mayhem and destruction, alongside the now-revolting slaves who had witnessed the divine intervention and were raising a wild cheer for their "Chosen Savior." Of course, Artemis knew that he could not win, and though it pained him to do so...he turned and fled, using the distraction to slip from the city, through a portal into Skullport, and then out into the wider world.<br/><br/>His life since then has been a constant fight to learn and master his newfound powers, honing his skills and making connections wherever he can get them. Whilst his adventures have given him a great wealth of experience and information - including several forays into undead-infested crypts that taught him the finer points of control - it's his freedom that has thrilled him the most. In the near decade since his escape, he has seen and done things he never even dreamed possible in the Underdark, seen sights and met people and fought foes that he'd only ever heard tell of in stories, and he has loved every moment of it. Every day is a new town, a new inn, a new bed to share and if there is one thing that burns brighter than his thirst for vengeance against the people - nay, the system - that has made his and so many others lives miserable, it's the need for new experiences and new tastes of freedom on a weekly basis. He's been everywhere from deep caverns to the highest mountains, he's sailed on board vessels to fight sea monsters and even crossed blades with a Drow Hunter or two sent to bring him back to the Underdark. And yet, every experience has left its mark, made him stronger and surer in his path and his own ability to get there. He doesn't understand the dark power that has leant him its strength yet, but he will unravel that mystery too in time...but for the time being, it doesn't matter where the strength comes from. Only that he has it in the first place.<br/><br/><strong>Arty's Mythweaver</strong>(https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2331359)<br/><strong>Patches' Mythweaver</strong>(https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2331894)<br/>