Rhystantion Hwael, Ardent of Wands
Pronouns: She / Her
Height: 5’ 10”
Build: Lithe, athletic
Occupation: Fencing instructor
Apparent Age: Mid to late twenties.
Date of Birth: December 7th, 1996
Date of Escape: March 2nd, 2025
Fetch: Arlene A. Davenport
Description:
Mask: Pretty, though just a little intense to be considered classically beautiful by society’s standards. Her green-eyed gaze is sharp as a waiting paper to an unwary finger. Her coal-black hair is long and straight, often pulled back into a sensible braid or tail worn long down her back or flipped over her right shoulder. She speaks in a high alto that carries with ease, but rarely raises her voice beyond a calm speaking cadence. Rhys seems to use only the barest minimum of makeup, enough to define her features but not enough to change them.
Her scent carries a touch of wood smoke and evergreen, as though she spends quite a lot of time in the great outdoors, but otherwise is nearly neutral. Only the most sensitive noise could pick up the trace of raw heat — like the waft from an open blast furnace.
She trends towards sensible, sturdy clothes and hiking boots, though even in cold weather she would rarely be seen to wear a jacket - just a shirt, or a t-shirt when the spring thaw comes in full. Oblivious to the slings and arrows of fashion, she often bears either a fanny pack at her left hip. Should she be openly wearing her rapier - a definite oddity, but possible - it would switch to her right, to offset the weight of blade and scabbard. She seems like the sort to always be carrying a first-aid kit and some flares, whether or not that is actually true.
Mien: Hot as a hart in a forest fire. Her features follow the same general contours as her mask but are sharper, more severe. Beneath her skin burns fire in her veins, manifesting as a dull low red radiance when she is calm and flaring to incandescent heat when she is stirred. Her hair is strands of fire, hot to the touch but bound by the contract of her existence not to burn or singe another. She gives the impression of teetering on the edge between Fairest and Elemental, with the difference mostly decided in her control only extending to her own fire, and her light being used to guide others.
Once crowned with jagged horns of obsidian, Rhystanion has regrown them into coal-black antlers that grace her head with a bit less of an infernal influence. Still, the smell of heat and wood smoke is intense about her mien, and the faint crackle of burning woodlands. Though not completely the creation of her Keeper any more, Rhys bears a form sculpted to remind her of her greatest failing.
Personality:
Despite having an imposing first impression, Rhys readily smiles (even if they tend to have a hint of teeth) and laughs (with only the slightest tinge of bitterness). She seeks life’s joys with zest, glories in the triumphs of others, and is always happy to make new friends… even if, after a time of carousing, she must withdraw to nurse social exhaustion. She shows ready interest in the passion of others, and even if some of the eagerness has weathered from her own urge to learn, seeing what gives others joy makes her life that much better too. Rarely will Rhys contend head to head before she is ready, preferring to make cutting observations and quick jabs - but when it does come to confrontation, there is nothing that gives her life quite like a one-on-one struggle, whether hers or someone else’s.
Keeper: The Devil at the Crossroads
Seeming: Fairest
Kith: Bearskin
Court: The Court of Wands
Mantle: (••)
Visible Effects:
Presence 4, Striking Appearance (Intense) 1: Even in her mask, Rhys tends to turn eyes towards her. There is a driven energy in her movements, a sense that everything on which her eye falls receives her total attention. Despite her minimal use of cosmetics and her nondescript clothing, Rhys gives the impression of intentionality in her choices.
Dexterity 4: Precise, quick, lithe and surefooted. A predator in whatever guise she wears. A very experienced eye could tell that only missing self-trust is keeping her from near-perfection — an unwillingness to trust herself without thought.
Mantle 2: Rhys’ growing affinity for the flame of the Court of Wands has accentuated the fire in her veins, making her glow all the brighter when she is stirred for any reason. When she draws her weapon it flares with inner firelight that dies over the next minute, and the scent of evergreens around her grows distinct and powerful as her fire builds.
Those with a shared Keeper may remember: With a summoned flaming blade in hand and precious little other equipment or clothing, the Soul of Char fought in numerous exhibition matches. The Lost and Damned threw their tokens, gems, contracts and seals at the fights and the Man in the Suit made sure that the house always won. Those who passed through the accursed casino at the crossroads might have seen those fights, participated in the betting or the cleanup, or viewed the wracked participants on wretched display afterwards. Nothing livens up an evening at the tables like a bit of live entertainment.
Plot Hooks:
Comforts of Civilization: Though no moneybags, Rhys has a small amount of disposable income and a great desire to help her fellow Lost. She also has a complete set of credentials for her ‘new self’, is from out of town so no one immediately knows where she is, and is willing to step out of her comfort zone if someone is in need. Any Changeling lacking food, clothing, shelter or basic blocks to rebuild their life, she will help for only a token exchange of story or lore.
Faecurious: Though all the Changelings around Gatlinburg are recently returned, Rhys has stepped out later than most of them and shows it in her awkwardness of approach to fae society. She would love to discuss Contracts, Courts, Seemings and Wyrd with anyone who will share. Alternatively, someone who knows the lay of the Hedge better could probably get one over on her.
While You Were Partying…: There’s a new instructor at the Knoxville Academy of the Blade, a raven-haired beauty from out-of-town who put her interviewer on the mat and then, very cheerfully and professional, broke down exactly how she did it and practiced with him until he could do it too. Any one of the Lost who seeks a spar to test their armed or unarmed combat, or anyone who wants to learn self-defense from basic to advanced, Rhys will be happy to oblige.
Out-of-Towner: Is everyone in the Freehold from Gatlinburg? It seems so at times, but Rhys arrived from out of town, speaks with just a bit less Southern and has referred with nostalgia and longing to various locations in Virginia. Anyone looking for an outsider’s perspective, or to commiserate on Gatlinburg’s good and bad points, may find her a kindred spirit.
Runnos, the Ardent’s Steed
As is tradition for an Ardent, the next time Rhys entered the Hedge after her entitlement she came upon her fated mount. Runnos exists halfway between hedge-ghost and summoned creature, a translucent form that wanders freely until appearing at Rhys’ whistle. He is not as powerful or developed as others of his kind, bound to her Mantle with the Court of Cups. However, the relentless magic of the Mantle means that no matter how many times he is felled or throws himself in the way of harm, he will return again to aid his master with her ambitions.
When a rider sits astride him or his master commands him, Runnos grows more solid and tangible. He takes the form of a mighty stag of albino coloration, though discolored by soot and flickering with internal fire. Rhys wonders if Runnos is somehow the hedge-ghost of one of the creatures that perished in an unfortunate Thing many years ago. Surely, though, the Wyrd is not as devoted to rubbing her failures in her face as her old Keeper, so it’s likely just a passing anxiety given flesh. Whatever his origin, Runnos serves with unquestioning loyalty and only the occasional snide snort or impatient stamp of the hoof.