1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Name starts with: G
Genres: Post-apocalyptic/Fantasy/Mystery
Traits: Pointy ears, has a tell when lying, piercing(s)
No: Himbo/bimbo

Sometimes, there *are* no prophecies to warn anyone that something is amiss. There are no *Chosen Ones* to save the day. There are no epic, climactic fights where good triumphs over evil, where the power of love and friendship prevails, where the world is saved just in the nick of time.

Sometimes there's just..... darkness. Silence. Eternity. Night falls, and there will never, *ever* be another dawn. Will there?

Life as everyone knew it is *over*, in a sense. It isn't the kind of world-shattering apocalypse that the cultists were *hoping* for, though. Maybe it could have been, in the beginning--it certainly *seemed* to be back then, when not even the moon or stars shone to pierce the blackness, when not even a candle flame could stay lit. It was cold, and still, and *nothing* could change or grow. Not the days, not the seasons, not the plants and animals, not the people.....

But darkness has *never* been inherently evil, and even the gods are not truly omnipotent. The heavy darkness of the grave is but steps away from the gentle peace of sleep. As The Dark One's power was channeled and bled out by their cultists, they managed one last miracle, before they succumbed to their exhaustion and slipped into a deep slumber. They *dreamed*. They dreamed of truly being able to *rest*.

Glyndal isn't entirely sure what's going to happen to him, once that dream is either fully realized or forever out of reach. Maybe he'll disappear, simply fade away like the details of a dream lost with the morning sun. Maybe he'll rejoin the divinity that created him, and be subsumed into something far greater than himself. Maybe he'll wake back up, and realize this isn't who and what he is--maybe he's simply a cultist turned forcibly claimed avatar, memories overwritten in sheer desperation, shaped and filled with what little power The Dark One could still muster. But whoever and whatever he is, if he does a good enough job, maybe he'll be rewarded and keep his shape--every light *does* cast its shadow, after all. And he rather *likes* this body, if he does say so himself; how often do you come across an elf that *sparkles* like the starry night sky? Every silver stud, every arcane rune tattooed on his skin seem to shine with their own faint inner light.

It's strange, though--now that The Dark One's power is so drained, shouldn't The Radiant One easily be able to rise up and correct this injustice? What's *stopping* them? And where *are* the cultists? Why hadn't they tried to stop him before he had fled the temple? He doesn't know, but if he talks to the right people, makes the right allies to help him along the way, surely he'll get closer to the truth, one step at a time. Just..... don't expect him to be a powerhouse, or to talk his way out of anything without backup. The more he magically exerts himself, and the further he strays from the truth, the more he starts shivering--until eventually it's all he can do to stay awake, weak and exhausted and icy to the touch.