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* Plot Information for Askavi Terreille

For nearly two centuries Askavi floundered, brought low in the wake of the Red Queen’s war. The institution of one court with its Two Queens and the end of restitution payments promises a brighter future. Still, War knocks on the Eyrien’s door from all sides and the people fight against the need to meet it.
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Author Topic: Cynairian Yzairas  (Read 2247 times)

Description: Queen. Rose to Purple Dusk. Played by Mischief. TW: Self-Harm

Offline Cynairian Yzairas

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Cynairian Yzairas
« on: Apr 29, 18, 05:10:58 AM »
The Basics

Character Name:  Cynairian Yzairas
Nicknames:  Cyn
Age and Birth Year:  21, born Late Spring, 173 Years after the Purge
Race:  Long-Lived
Caste:  Queen
Birth Territory:  Askavi, mostly raised in Pruul
Home Territory:  Askavi

Birthright Jewel:  Cynairian was blessed with a cut Rose at her Birthright Ceremony
Offering Jewel:  Cyn rose from her Offering graced by the Darkness with a cut Purple Dusk.

Role:  Fledgling Queen
Faction:  Undecided - Cyn is walking into unknown territory with no prior knowledge of the state of things other than 'very bad'. Which way the wind will blow is still up in the air. (Pun not intended, but I'm keeping it.)


Appearance

Play By:  Rima Fakih Slaiby
Distinguishing Features:  As a result of being trapped within a burning Eyrie, pinned beneath a fallen pillar, Cyn sometimes walks with the very slightest of limps, though she often covers that weakness with a gentle use of her Craft to make her gait seem even. The same injury causes the skin of her left leg to be somewhat wrinkled near her knee, as fire-kissed flesh is wont to be,  and that joint moves stiffly. Her ribs are marred too, half a dozen small tear-drop shaped white scars where molten metal had dripped onto her. Though not naturally shy, these old scars tend to cause her to cover her body, even when she might otherwise be inclined to reveal it.


Personality



Personality:  Cynairian was called many things as she grew up. Adventurous. Impetuous. Kind. Daring, bold and brave. Brash. Gentle Foolhardy. None of these things are untrue.

Cyn is young and passionate - about everything - and finds herself unable to sit by and watch another be hurt by cruelty, though she has much less concern when it comes to letting fools suffer the consequences of their poor choices. After all, she had certainly suffered consequences aplenty for her own actions growing up, and the witch who was her governess and Craft tutor could attest to the number of times a switch had been taken to Cynarian’s backside as a child and young teen, if anyone sought proof. Now, as a young woman just at the age of her Offering, she strongly believes that if you let it, life teaches you what you needed to know.

Cynairain is driven by an (often unmet) need to strengthen and protect those around her. Despite her skill at sensing and understanding the land, Pruul is not her land, and neither the desert nor the people in it will let her forget that. The land just won’t take to her Queen’s Gift like she knows it should, and the people rebuff her every attempt to connect, to form a community, to reach out. It pains her to her core that she cannot be what she needs to be to the people around her, to the land itself. The result of this is that Cynairian is somewhat mercurial in nature. Most frequently, she is outgoing, sometimes verging into effusive, and to all seeming a very pleasant companion for conversation, enjoying the arts, or a day of shopping. Sometimes, though, something stokes a fire within her, and then all in her path are best served to find somewhere else needful of them.  Her words could shift from sweet to scathing from one moment to the next, though few knew why, and she could deliver a tongue lashing at the tender age of almost-twenty that left those older and wiser somewhat worried what a few centuries of skill would do to hone that ability.

For her part, though she does her best to hide it, Cyn is just tired of So. Many. Things. The quiet looks of pity. The conversations in hushed voices that falter when she draws too near and resume after she passes by. She knows what they see in her, what thoughts flicker behind those gazes. A queen who couldn’t Gift to the land without risking her very life. An unlucky girl whose family was destroyed in the Jhinka raids. Among the few Eyriens she met, she is an Eyrien woman who thought for herself, who asserted herself, who refused to back down and bow before the wishes of a man just because he could wield a knife and happened to have a cock. And among the Pruulians, she is an Eyrien at all. In short, their eyes told her, she is a failure.

The worst of it is, what burned like salt and lemon rubbed in a gut wound, is that they are right. They have to be - so many could not be so wrong. So she suppresses her anger. She shields her emotions away and effects a sweetness and a calm she doesn’t feel she has any right to. And sometimes, well, her mask slips.


Likes:
  •   Walking in Rain-showers -

Growing up in Pruul where rainwater is more than scarce, her love of taking a slow walk in the cool rain on a warm day stems mostly her memories of early childhood rain-showers, but each of those memories she treasures greatly. Walking hand-in-hand, sometimes with her mother, others with cousins or on the rare occasion perched on her father’s shoulders, the warmth and loving embrace of Mother Night and family alike cast a psychic glow that fills her with a peace she knows at no other time. Simply put, this small pleasure is when Cynairian feels the blessing of the Darkness most fully.
  •   Flying Dangerously -

Cyn has always flirted with danger. Something about the pain in her early life made her need to seek an outlet. She turned to cutting first, when she was barely ten, which is when they found out that she suffered from hemophilia, so much so it was almost like her blood wants out of her. She lies to this day about how the cut happened, as she did when she woke up two days later in the Healer’s care. After that, Cyn turns to branding and burns, nothing that couldn't be tended with the most basic of first-aid Craft, until Abenar catches her in the act. That nets her two years of much needed mental and emotional healing sessions - and a blasting rant from her guardian that she still winces from years later when she recalls that night. Then, one afternoon, soaring above the desert sands surrounding Onn, a young Cynairian catches an updraft of hot air off the hotter sand, and finds herself so high that she cannot make out the details of the ground below. Something clicks in her brain, and she folds her wings, and dives. She pulls out of her plummet at the very last second, wings snapping open, straining, almost breaking. Her nose brushes against the sand and she rises again into the skies. This becomes her new outlet for all her heartache - Cynairian never feels more alive than when testing her body and will against gravity and the pull of danger. In that moment and in the many like it to follow, Cyn knows. She is going to fly the Runs one day, tradition be damned.
  •   Dancing -

The closest thing to flying one could do on the ground, the more flips and tricks and spins, the better. Cynairian doesn’t just dance. She all but becomes the music itself, given form and shape by the sway of her hips and the patterns of her feet on the dancefloor. Sometimes, when the music is high and the air is just... right... she forgets everything that was not the moment here and now, the rhythm and the motion and her partner, and the world falls away. It is the same delight she feels sinking into her Purple Dusk, and it makes her feel whole, though she would never phrase it that way, herself.

Dislikes:
  •   Jhinka -

To say that she dislikes the mortal enemies of the Eyriens of Askavi would be an understatement so strong as to be almost a lie. She hates them. With every fiber of her being. The mention of them is enough to make her wary, and their presence causes her to manifest the Cold rage of her jewels. She is a Queen. The People are hers to protect, and the Jhinka, who had taken everything from her once already, are a direct opposition to that.
  •   The scars of her old injuries being seen -

especially by accident, or by someone she does not trust. Cyn is sensitive about her appearance, not because she isn’t pretty, but because she is - She knows first hand how petty people could be if they decided they wanted to find a flaw to pick on, and for her, growing up, it is the minor flaws in her appearance that were used to give her the most hell by children her age. Some insecurities burrow their way in deep, and never let go.
  •   Queens who are cruel to their Bonded -

Abenar. Her Abenar, though she is unwilling to think those words any more. She keeps her distance from her guardian. He is aloof and gruff, and when she was younger, he scared her something fierce. But he is hurt, and badly, in a way that makes her need to help him. Still, he rebuffs any attempt on her part to get close to him. So, she asks questions of those who know him, who know his past. She finds out why he had fled to Pruul. Learns about the Queen that he had served before the Purge. And Cyn learns a new kind of hate as she does so, each wing-scar and lash-mark on the Warlord Prince’s body defining a new flavor of vengeance that she would never get to have against a long-dead Queen who had been wholly unworthy of her Caste.


Fears:
  •   Small spaces -

Children are cruel and never is that truer than when one child looks different from the rest. Eyriens are not a truly rare sight in Pruul, but nor is there one on every block.

In the heartbroken weeks after the death of her family, Cynairian sought to get to know the other witches in her tiny village nestled on the outskirts of Onn. The children, as sometimes happens, were less than receptive to her overtures of friendship. Childish teasing gave way to harsher tormenting in the course of a few afternoons, which ended up with the young ones getting in a fight. Ever conscientious of her duty as a Queen not to hurt those who might one day be her subjects, she did not resort to using her Jewels to aid her in defense. Her tormentors were not so genteel. In short order she found herself stuffed into an empty grain basket, with the lid stuffed on and sealed up with the Summer Sky of one of the bullies. They put the basket on a cart tucked in among a dozen full grain-baskets that looked just alike, destined for market. When the poorly crafted shield unraveled, it had been no more than twenty minutes, but that was a small and terrifying eternity to the young Queen as the cart bumped along the hard-packed road.

The damage is done, and anywhere she cannot spread her wings never again feels anything less than terrifying to the Eyrien Queen.

  •   Failing as a Queen -

The Pruulian Blood had made her feel unwelcome enough as a child. That does not lessen as she grows older. She receives only the barest of training, in an outer circle of her village Queen, and nearly all of her duties and training focus on honing her ability to Sense the Land as only a Queen could; to know what secrets it holds. She leaves service there with little in the way of useful practical knowledge of how a Queen should rule. Of course, given Abenar’s history, she has her own very particular ideas of how a Queen ought not to rule. Between these things, Cyn grows a very healthy fear of being a useless Queen, or worst of all, becoming twisted into one of the kind that Witch herself tore from the fabric of existence.
  •   Thunderstorms -

Cyn loves the rain. But there is nothing she fears in quite the same soul-wrenching way she fears a thunderstorm. Cynairian had never really liked them as a child. But the night that the Jhinka had taken everything she loved from her, it had been storming. The screams and the sharp cracks of thunder blended in with one another in horrific harmony, and those two sounds are forever intertwined in her mind.

Craft Strengths:
  •   Land Sense -

She might have been an Eyrien, but she was also a Queen, and that meant she could be a useful commodity in a poor village. From her ninth birthday onward, Cynairian trains and relentlessly drills until she can sense the land nearly as sharply as her long-practiced teachers. Her particular skill is in sensing changes in stone and soil composition, which is useful for finding hidden veins of minerals as well as knowing what the land was most suited to grow.
  •   Queen’s Gift -

Cynairian is blessed with a wider channel to the Darkness running through her veins, pooling in her blood. When it comes time to Gift to the land, she can hear it sing what it needs to her, knew what to give and how in her bones. A starving land could need much, however, and with her hemophilia, this becomes more than a little dangerous if Cyn is not very careful.


Craft Weaknesses:
  •   Emotional healing -

Most Queens could reach out and provide some care for deep wounds that the life of the Blood could leave, not on the psyche, but on the heart. Not so, Cynairian. Her own heart and mind are too convoluted, to damaged for that, and even attempting to do so can only end poorly.
  •   Power Bolts -

There’s a thing that happens for some people when you come close to harming yourself in some manner that your psyche recognizes on a deep level as unacceptable. It’s kind of like how some people eat a bite of rancid potato salad once and can never force themselves to try it again, or having a nasty dog bite makes someone unable to so much as be in the same area as a hound without fleeing the scene. For Cyn it is, as so much of her short life had been, a moment defined in the Jhinka raid that killed her family. She was pinned beneath the fallen column. Her mother was half crushed beside her. She saw a Jhinka approach over her mother’s shoulder, blade raised. Something wild in her stirred, and she started casting desperate bits of unrefined craft. Bolt after tiny bolt of untrained, unrefined hate-filled Rose. She drew deeply of her brand new set of Jewels. She fired in pure rage and wild, protective instinct. Until her jewels were drained. Until they were strained. Until she nearly felt them begin to crack. That was when she blacked out. She doesn’t remember this, but her body does. Her mind does. How she didn’t break her own jewels is nothing short of a miracle, some might say a blessing from Mother Night herself. But even to save all the lives in the world, Cynairian’s psyche would forbid her to throw another Bolt of Power. She had come too close, and would never be allowed by her inner self to approach that particular precipice again.



Life Story

Family:
Mother:  Sarolian Yzairas, Tigers Eye to Purple Dusk Healer/Priestess, deceased 2463bp-180ap
Father:  Tarenvar Yzairas, Summer Sky to Opal Prince, deceased 3211bp-180ap
Sibling:  Elder brother, Dorinar Yzairas, Purple Dusk to Blood Opal Warlord, deceased. 601bp-180ap

Guardian and Bonded:  Abenar Vimeren, Summer Sky to Green Warlord Prince. Was in the same Hunting Camp as Dorinar, and at the behest of her dying mother, became Cyn's guardian after the death of her family.

History:

Early Life

Cynairian Yzairas was born the second child of Sarolian and Tarenvar Yzairas in a quiet little border village in Askavi, whose name she doesn't quite remember.   Cyn was a charming, outgoing girl, a quick study under the priestess who taught the village children their schooling in craft as well as the usual maths, sciences, reading, and writing. She saw her elder brother twice a year when he would visit, but it was her parents who were her whole world. It was a place that saw the occasional fighting between the Eyriens and the Jhinka, but never did those fights come to the village itself, until the night of Cynairian's Birthright ceremony.

That day, her brother came home to celebrate and brought his best friend, Abenar, who was like a second son to Cyn's parents, though Cyn had not met him before. The moment she laid eyes on him, cradling her newly gifted Rose Jewels as she walked into the Eyrie, Cyn knew. *Mine.* The velvety-dark thought was echoed a moment later in her child's voice. "Mine!"

Throwing caution to the wind, she ran towards the complete stranger who stood next to her brother and did not understand when his golden tones paled and he backed away, hopping over a sofa to put it between him and the girlchild who made his stomach lurch to see.

In that moment, everything in Cynairian's life changed. That was when the Jhinka, who had been building up numbers in secret nearby for months, attacked.

Cyn's memories of that night are single fragments of crystalline clarity. The storm that had rolled in during her Birthright Ceremony finally broke with a peal of thunder. Screaming from the communal Eyrie nearby. Her mother grabbing her and dragging her back into the shadowed corners of the guest bedroom. Her brother and father and the one who was HERS leaving, weapons called to hand, shields falling around the Eyrie behind them.

The screaming, the sounds of metal on metal, her mother's prayers to the Darkness, and endless thunder of an early summer storm made up most of the rest of her memories of that night.

She didn't remember the lightning striking their Eyrie. She didn't remember the pillar that fell and caught her and her mother beneath it. She didn't remember the fire, except in her nightmares. She didn't remember the Jhinka that she murdered to defend her dying mother.

She didn't remember Abenar being the only one alive when dawn came. She was unconscious by then. She did not hear her Mother's last words. "You have always been a son to us. Take her. Keep her safe."

She woke up in Pruul.

The rest of her Birthright year was a blur of mourning and pain as she healed from the injuries she sustained in the fire. She didn't see Abenar during that time at all.

Pruul was a cruel place to a young Eyrien girl who loved the rains. The arid surroundings were nothing like her beloved homelands, and she made no friends among the Pruulian children, who firmly rebuffed her first overtures of childish friendship. Her kind, she was made aware, was not welcome.

Cyn was primarily raised by Abenar’s housekeeper, Ulyaa Fares, who became her governess and instructor in Craft while Abenar traveled on business. It wasn't until she was almost nine that he returned home for the first time since bringing her to Pruul. Her gut twisted when she saw him again, his psychic scent proceeding him into the house. *Mine?* Her inner voice just was as strong, but a bit unsteady this time. There was fear attached to that knowledge, that he belonged to her. She had dressed nicely to greet the master of the house upon his return and was hopeful that perhaps he would not flee her this time. She was sorely disappointed. He did not so much as acknowledge her; just brushed past her and into his office, summoning Ulyaa in shortly after. It was not the first night that she cried herself to sleep, nor was it the last, but it was one that stood out strongly in her memory.

The next day, at Abenar’s insistence, Cynairian was apprenticed to an outer circle of the court of the local village’s Queen. The court was cold towards her, but she grew used to such things. Her natural skill to intuit the makeup of the lands around her was put to immediate training and hard work there, to the detriment of all else a young queen should be learning.

But no matter how she threw herself into her lessons and work, she was unable to forget the fact that her Abenar had shunned her again, arranged her to be apprenticed, and then left on his business once more.

The Implosion

The pattern of Abenar’s infrequent appearances to enact some change in her life and then leave again lasted two more years, driving the young Queen half into the Twisted Kingdom with uncertainty and madness.  Each time he came home, she tried to approach him, and each time, she was rebuffed further. By the time she was eleven, the pain clawed its way from her soul into her mind, and she was able to bear it no longer. One night, after Abenar left on yet another “Important Business Trip”, a sharp kitchen knife became her first tool of self-harm.

Alone in her room, she carved her pain into the flesh of her thigh, and as the blood welled up, it eased her heart some. This, this she could understand. The cut was right there. The reason she hurt was visible. And for a moment it was enough to wash the pain from her heart with the blood in her veins. When the cut wouldn’t close, however, she began to panic. No matter how she applied the simple first aid spells she had learned, she couldn’t slow the bleeding and as she grew more distressed, the blood only came faster, for she had not made a shallow cut. She passed out.

Unknown to her, the only reason she didn’t bleed herself out was that Abenar had returned for a forgotten piece of correspondence and the scent of Queen’s blood had him smash through her Rose-locked bedroom door. He took her straight-away to a Healer - where he left her to recover, Ulyaa at her side as he once again went off, assured that Cynairian would be fine. That adventure netted her a diagnosis of hemophilia, and was the end of her excursion into cutting. She was not, however, discouraged in her desire to self-harm as a release from the pain of Abenar’s continual abandonment, and the emptiness of her family’s loss.

The next two years were more of a blur. Abenar came and went more frequently, his hunting trips (the nature of his ‘business’ was as a hunter and trapper for leather and meat both) ranging less far from home. Yet he made no more time for Cynairian in his life. She made a habit of being where she could watch him, though, whenever possible. It eased the ache in her heart. When he was home, she could overlook his training and exercise routine through the gauzy curtains which hung over a small window that overlooked the dusty yard where he trained.

The scars on his body were impressive but seemed to make no sense to what she understood of how Eyriens fought. She asked him once or twice, on the rare occasion he would be somewhere she could speak with him, which he rebuffed with a gruff “Haven’t you some studies to attend?” She gave up, refusing to reach out a third time, her own Eyrien pride stung time and time again by his holding her at arm’s length.

Burns became her next outlet of pain, small ones she could heal herself, made with a paperclip and a candle flame. This did her well enough until the scent of burnt flesh caught Abenar’s attention one night when he returned home unexpectedly. Her door wasn’t even locked this time, as she grew careless, and when he barged in, fearing the worst, the psychic scent of her pain drove him wild with fury. He slapped the hot metal from her hand and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, raising her from her ground as he laid into her for her idiocy. The things he said, the way his voice shook the room that day as he lectured her seared into her mind, but none so pointedly as the words Abenar hurled at Cynairian as he dropped her on her bed and left, slamming the door. “This is why I will never serve a Queen again. Too damn caught up in yourselves to care how you might hurt someone else.” Those words echoed in her mind, whenever she let her thoughts wander, whenever her mind grew quiet

The Fallout

The next morning began her regular and very needed visits to a mental healer. The next afternoon began her search for answers to what had happened to Abenar in his past, and the name of the woman who had hurt him so much that he couldn’t accept the Bond that the Darkness had fated for them. The next night, Abenar left and stopped coming home altogether. It took her four years, but when she found her answers, when she learned from those who knew Abenar what had been done to him before the Purge, Cynairian’s blood near boiled in her veins. But she knew, too, that she could never do anything to hurt him again. So, she began planning how best to remove herself from his life. He didn’t want her, that much he had made painfully, agonizingly clear over the course of almost a decade. So she would go.

When she was seventeen, Cyn resigned from her studies in the Court she was apprenticed to and began teaching herself at home. She scoured the city of Onn for every book on Queens and their Craft she could find, every treatise on Protocol for a Queen and her Court, everything she could get her hands on. She read voraciously, committing whole passages to memory. For three years more, she taught herself everything she could though she felt inadequate about it in every way.

One week before her twentieth birthday, she wrote a letter, addressed to the Queen of Askavi, full of questions.

Five days later, a letter was returned, full of answers. Yes, she was welcome to come home. Yes, she could be trained in the court there. Yes, a coach and an Escort would be provided. Yes, that Thursday was an acceptable time to arrive.

That night, Cynairian Yzairas made her Offering to the Darkness.

Two days after that, with her heart full of regret, and a letter explaining her choice left in her office, Cynairian left Pruul behind her, to start a new life in Askavi, the land of her birth.



Show Us What You've Got

Character in Play:
Cynairian paced her small office restlessly, listening keenly to the sounds of the house as the small number of staff Abenar kept in his employ settled for the hottest part of the day. Cynairian and those who shared Abenar's house with her had a long-established pattern of napping through the hottest and most uncomfortable part of the day, and today was no exception - except for Cynairian herself.

She called in one of the pieces of her newly earned Purple Dusk. She held the strangely warm Jewel in her palm and smiled at it, still a bit in awe. She had turned twenty two days ago. She had made her offering the very next night, and now she waited. She used the Purple Dusk to lock her office door and called in her two packed bags from her psychic cabinet. She went over everything in them a fourth time, and then a fifth, mostly to calm her nerves.

Her wings fluttered with anxiety as she vanished the bags again. Everything was packed. Everything was ready, except perhaps herself. Cynairian shook her head. Now is no time for the shakes, girl, she told herself sternly. If you wanted to back out, you should have thought of that before you sent that missive to Queen Kriat. Get ahold of yourself. And so she did.

She was bringing with her only those things she had purchased with coin she had earned herself. Her vast collection of books would have to stay behind. So would her bed, most of her favorite clothing, her desk and chair. All that would travel with her was a single black dress, nice enough for meeting the Queen of Askavi in, a few more plain dresses for daily life, as well as pants and shorts and a few tank tops for working and exercising in. A sweater for cool evenings and a shawl that had belonged to her mother completed the inventory of her clothing. Beyond that, a stuffed unicorn, and a ragged doll nestled together to cushion a snowglobe that held an image of her family, an image from before. A comb and a brush. A few things for her feminine needs, a small bottle of healing salve that would stop the bleeding on fairly small wounds, and a tiny silver dagger filled out the rest of her second bag.  Her purse, which she combed over next contained everything else she might need short-term, including what money she had left after purchasing that dress.

The house finally fell quiet. She pulled out the letter, and read it again. She glanced at the sky through her window and nodded. It was time. She set the letter addressed to the man who had cared for her in all the material ways since her childhood on her desk. Ulyaa would find it when she came to see why Cyn hadn't attended dinner.

Cynairian climbed out the second-floor window and launched herself towards the landing web. There would be a coach for her there. The Queen had promised.

Home. She was finally going home. She didn't even realize there were tears until the wind made them cool on her cheeks.




Player Name:  Mischief


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Re: Cynairian
« Reply #1 on: Apr 29, 18, 05:11:56 AM »
I would like a General roll for jewels, please and very much thank you!


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Re: Cynairian
« Reply #2 on: Apr 29, 18, 08:32:08 AM »
Weighed by Mother Night...

You've risen from the Darkness twice blessed with a cut Rose Birthright Jewel, and were gifted with a cut Purple Dusk Jewel at your Offering.

&

Congratulations!
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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #3 on: May 15, 18, 09:09:18 AM »

Registry Cleanup Notice

This character sheet has been inactive within the Keep's Registry for over 2 weeks. If you wish to keep this character sheet (including the Jewels rolled) you will need to reply to this thread within 2 weeks or else you will forfeit the character and the Jewels.
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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #4 on: May 15, 18, 10:14:27 AM »
Please keep, almost done! Thank you!


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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #5 on: May 30, 18, 05:44:52 AM »
Ready for review, I think.


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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #6 on: May 30, 18, 08:10:16 AM »
Added to the queue.
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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #7 on: May 30, 18, 09:18:13 AM »

This application has been reviewed!

Check your private messages for feedback. When you have made the requested changes please reply to this post and let us know you are ready for the next round!

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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #8 on: May 30, 18, 06:30:08 PM »
Ready for second Review, pending Phedre's stamp of approval.


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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #9 on: Jun 01, 18, 11:15:05 PM »
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Offline phinneas

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Re: Cynairian Yzairas
« Reply #10 on: Jun 01, 18, 11:33:15 PM »
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