Name: Dahnnae Marfinn
Physical Description: A Wood Elf, he keeps the characteristic sharply pointed ears of his kind. As elves often are, he is tall, with a slim, hard frame that comes from hard-earned wire muscle, light bones, and not much else. His hair is red-brown and wiry, and can curl a bit when he remembers to wash it. His eyes are a light green, and his skin is tanned and sun-burnt. He slouches, most of the time, with his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched over.
Abilities: Elves have an innate magic much stronger than what humans have, though theirs is bound much more closely by words rather than intent. Dahnnae's magic tends towards fire, which accounts in no small way for his expertise with explosions. By Elvish standards, he's of average competence with his magic, and can call small to mid-sized fires.
Dahnnae also talks to things. Inanimate things. The kind that don't normally talk. This, however, is not an ability; he's just insane.
Chosen by: Mudd
Gift: Mudd gave the function 'Communicate' to his scarf. The scarf can talk now, and not just to Dahnnae. We don't know what else it can do, not yet.
Likes: Fire, extreme weather, food, horses, open crowded places, lazy days, blowing things up, whittling, and singing. Off-key.
Dislikes: Foul-mouthedness, formalities, warm drinks, goats, closed-in crowded places, houses, following rules, climbing trees, and buttons. He really hates buttons.
Personality: Dahnnae is kind of (kind of a lot) an airhead. He's easily distracted, and flits from idea to idea like some sort of floaty insect. He's very observant, and little escapes his attention, but nearly all the information he gathers is discarded as unimportant or trivial--he has a mind-frame suited to battlefields and adrenaline, and not much else. Perhaps a side affect of growing up in the Hills, where everyone is a friend, he can be very naive. He trusts everyone and everything implicitly, taking things at face value as often as he can. He is carefree and easy-going, and can chat up a storm when he's given the chance, though he also makes an excellent listener.
History: Dahnnae is one of the Children, the elves who call the Eastern Highlands Home and Haven. Unlike their elegant cousins, the elves of the great Forest and the forgotten Caverns, the Children are as wild and earthly as the races of Man, if not more so. Dahnnae’s mother was a Watcher and a Weaver—her line had always tended the goats—and his father a Shield, who guarded Haven from the world. For a race that might hope to live half a dozen hundred years, marriages are rare and treasured, and theirs was a sweet one. They had two children, a son and a daughter, as it went—Ehrianna, the eldest, and Dahnnae, who was two and a half decades younger.
Dahnnae spent his first twenty years running wild in the Hills, as the Children are wont to do. He grew strong and swift of foot and mind, if not of tongue. He ran with foxes and climbed with squirrels and spoke to the hawks and the falcons, and he kept his distance from Haven. Ehrianna was the only of the Children who could even get close to him by the time he passed his ninth summer, but the siblings were close as could be.
When Dahnnae reached his twenty-seventh summer, his mother summoned him back to Haven. Ehrianna, she told him, made an excellent Weaver, but was ill suited to the Watching—Ehrianna hated the goats, and the goats hated Ehrianna. So the son took up the training where the daughter had failed, and was found to get along very well the goats. The mother was thrilled, and set the matter aside as settled, and all was well. For a time.
With Dahnnae, it was not a problem getting him to speak, as it often was with the Children who ran in the Hills. He would chatter happily to anyone who’d lend half an ear to the boy, and listened even better. Tehvaen the Elder, who was five hundred and forty-seven, jested that more secrets had been told in Haven those first few weeks that Dahnnae was home than had been in half a hundred years. At first, the Children thought this was only because of Ehrianna, as the two were practically attached at the hip. It took the time for the moon to wane to black in the sky, and then to wax almost full again, before the Children realized what was wrong.
Dahnnae spoke not only to the elves, but also with everything. Trees, animals, furniture, pebbles in the road, a scrap of cloth caught in a breeze. It went beyond the (not terribly unusual) ‘Good morning, Cat, has the hunting been well?’ one might hear from an early-rising housewife. The boy held conversations, as if the things spoke to him, and asked questions, and told stories. As if they were people.
The Strangeness was not a common thing, but it was not so unusual that the Children did not know it. It happened to a few of the elves that ran in the Hills, once in a hundred years or more. It might not have been a terrible problem; Ahllaeyi the Baker had some of the Strangeness in her, and carried along happily with no trouble for anyone. Had that been the only thing different with Dahnnae, he might have stayed in Haven for six hundred full years.
But the Children come into their magic in their thirtieth year. Almost always, this magic is attuned with the Hills—with the flowers and the trees or the rivers and the clouds—and is suited to little but growing or creating. Dahnnae’s was not green like the earth, or blue like the water, but red, like the fire, and was too hungry by half for Haven. His mother and his sister and even his father struggled to help him tame his magic, to little avail. When he scorched through half the goats’ pasture and nearly the entire second floor of the disused Inn, he was asked—politely, and with all the custom of the Children—to leave the Haven and Hills, and not to come back.
Dahnnae wandered the Red Road until he reached Harth, the city in Southern plains of Llevae, the greatest Kingdom of Man (and the closest to the Childrens’ Hills). Harth was an enormous hulking city, squatting like a beast in the middle of the red plains, but Dahnnae found his way among men fairly easily. He got work at a large inn, as the horses talked just as well as the goats had and he could keep a warm fire going in the hearth quite easily. He also fell in with a clockwork engineer, and the two men happily went to work experimenting on explosives and machinery, and there he remained for almost seven years.
Steam-power overtook Harth is it had overtaken all of the Kingdoms of Men, and the city changed nearly overnight. Machinery took over the heating of the fire, and men began riding horseless carriages rather than horses, and Dahnnae was turned out of the inn. But the Steel Dancers—the pride of Harth, the Dancers were a mercenary company famed in all Mens’ cities and beyond—had created a new faction, of engineers rather than soldiers, to keep up with the times. They welcomed Dahnnae with open arms, and he settled in easily with the wildly diverse mercs.
It was among the Dancers where Dahnnae met Bechen, after serving for a few years himself. Bechen joined up as a head-strong twenty-three year old, and latched on to Dahnnae as a mentor, before discovering that the elf probably shouldn't be mentoring anyone. They've a strange relationship, halfway between friends and business partners and family members, but it works for them. They’ve traveled and fought (in their own fashion) with the Dancers for ten years, and were presently hired to help the King in the Eastern Vale put down a rebellion among the noble houses.
Relationship Notes: Dahnnae has difficulties forming lasting relationships with normal people, by which we mean, of course, people who are not mercenaries. Normal people are quite sane and are, thus, a bit put off by Dahnnae being pointedly insane. Mercenaries couldn't care less, and are well on their collective way to the same diagnosis. All of his close friends are in the Steel Dancers with him, and he only has a few civilian acquaintances. Dahnnae will, if given the opportunity, happily sleep with anything that moves, man or woman or some curious happenstance between. It's usually comprised of one-night stands, as lovers aren't much obliged to stay after you start talking to the bedstand. He does not sleep with anyone he works with, as that is bad form, entirely, and would make things much more difficult emotionally than he knows how to deal with. It's a survival technique, really.
Further Notes: Dahnnae's bag has had as many magical fiddlings sewn in as his goggles. Subsequently (and entirely by happy accident), it's much bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, holds a great deal more than it should, and always weighs about the same. The Speculative Magic Mage he let play with it for a few weeks was very excited about it. He called it a pocket dimension, and rambled about the possibilities for a few hours, though Dahnnae tuned him entirely out. He just knows it's good for keeping everything he needs, now. These days, his bag holds the following;- Spare changes of clothes (2)(D)
- Spare changes of clothes (3)(B)
- Sweater, no buttons (1)(D)
- Jackets, lots of buttons (3)(B)
- Knit blankets (3)
- First aid kit (1)
- Assorted explosives (?)(D)
- Hammer (1), Knife (3)(B)
- Boots (2)(B)
- Sewing Kit (1)(B)
- Whittle knife (1)(D)
- Soft wood (5)(D)
- Vial of embers (1)(D)
- Vial of ash (3)(D)