Ember Harlan

Faceclaim: Sydney Sweeney

Pronouns: She/her
Height: 5’3”
Build:
Occupation: Short-order cook

Apparent Age: 26
Date of Birth: March 30th, 1974
Date of Escape: January 20th, 2025

Fetch: Hannah Grace Carter
Relations: Jesse Walker

Description:
Mask: Ember Harlan looks like she belongs in Gatlinburg—a Southern girl with tired eyes, calloused hands, and a face that looks like it’s seen too much. She has the kind of soft, delicate features that might’ve once made people call her pretty, but there’s something about her now that pushes people away—something too sharp, too worn-down, too smoldering beneath the surface.

Her blonde hair is always a little messy, like she just ran her hands through it instead of brushing it. Her blue eyes should be bright, but they’re too distant, too knowing, too old for someone her age. There’s a lingering exhaustion in her expression, a weight she never puts into words.

She wears cheap denim and old boots, her Waffle House uniform stained with grease, her sleeves often rolled up to reveal burn marks that no one remembers her getting. She smells like smoke and coffee, like something burnt a long time ago and never fully went out.

Mien: Ember is fire that never went out and ash that refuses to be forgotten.

Her skin is cracked like coal, fissures running along her arms, her throat, her fingertips—glowing embers smoldering beneath the surface, pulsing brighter with every sharp breath, every flash of anger. Her veins burn like molten ore, glowing faintly beneath the skin, flickering when she moves. Her breath is always warm, always carrying the scent of soot and scorched metal.

Her hair is no longer blonde—it flickers and shifts, strands curling like smoke, edges glowing like dying coals. Sometimes, it’s wisps of embers on the wind. Other times, it’s the dark, sifting remains of something that burned too fast, too hard.

Her eyes are twin furnace-coals, glowing dim when she’s calm, flaring white-hot when rage takes her. There’s something hungry in them, something that remembers the factory, the endless heat, the way she used to stand at the exits, burning too bright to let anyone leave.

Her hands—blackened at the fingertips, like she’s been reaching into fire her whole life—leave smudges of soot wherever she touches. The air around her wavers like heat over asphalt, making her edges seem unstable, like she might flicker away in the right wind. When she stands still, flakes of ash drift from her skin, disappearing before they hit the ground.

And when she’s angry—truly angry—the fire inside her catches, and for just a moment, she looks like what the Baron made her to be.

Personality: And then there’s her temper. It flickers like a flame, quick and sharp—never fully out of control, but always close. People don’t always know why they don’t mess with her, why they don’t hold her gaze too long, why they get the feeling that if she ever really let herself go, they’d get burned.

Keeper: The Gluttonous Baron
Seeming: Elemental
Kith: Fireheart/Sandharrowed

Court: None
Mantle: None

Visible Effects:

  • Presence 4
  • Striking Looks (Volatile)

Those with a shared Keeper may remember: A sweltering, oppressive heat, sweat dripping from their brow. A towering inferno that sprung to life just as they reached the exit.

Roleplay Hooks:

The following may not be known IC, but can be used to help determine what our characters have in common or for setting a scene.

  • Good Food Fast: Ember works the night shift at the Waffle House off of East Parkway. The food is cheap, hot, and nobody asks any questions, perfect for a Lost looking for a bite of “real” food. But don’t make any trouble while you’re there, or you might find yourself on the wrong end of a thrown spatula, or worse.

  • You Wanna Take This Outside?: Ember works the night shift. At Waffle House. The Elemental’s temper is exactly what you would expect from someone with a literal fire burning in their chest, and she has the skills to back it up (most of the time). Maybe you managed to get on her bad side (not difficult), or she doesn’t like the way someone else is speaking to you.




Lost Baron