⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

A ten-year-old human girl with long, flowing silver hair and piercing blue eyes that seem far too old for her face. Her skin bears faintly glowing arcane tattoos—elegant scripts and sigils coiled around her forearms and shoulders like remnants of a spellbook etched into flesh. Her robes are regal and arcane in design—stitched with silken moons, faded constellations, and symbols of Mystra and Eilistraee, half-forgotten beneath grime and time. The fabric never tears, the hems never fray, and the air around her carries a faint scent of ozone and old parchment, like a spell just cast and half-remembered. She travels around with a fey familiar chicken named "BaCock."

Alo is sharp-tongued, independent, and bristling with a restless pride. Though she often acts like any curious ten-year-old, there's a deep and simmering irritation behind her eyes—an anger at being treated like a child when she knows, knows she was once something greater. She hides her loneliness with confidence, and her confusion with sarcasm. She hates being patronized and snaps at those who talk down to her. Still, she has a soft spot for Tak-tak, who never asks questions she can’t answer and always listens without judgment. Beneath her bravado lies a deep fear: that she’ll never get back what she’s lost—or worse, that it was taken for a reason.

Alo Veledorn remembers her name—Alo—and the sensation of once being powerful, though the details scatter when she chases them. She awoke in a crater of shattered stone and silver dust in the Murkmire wilds, her limbs aching and her magic all but gone. Tak-tak, a half-orc with a crooked grin and a surprising talent for kindness, found her wandering, dazed and barefoot, clutching a blue ring and wrapped in robes no child should wear. He brought her back to his shack by the bog and took care of her. Though she pretends otherwise, Alo knows she is not a normal girl. The tattoos on her skin aren’t decorative—they hum with latent energy when she’s frightened or angry. Sometimes, words of power spill from her lips before she realizes she’s speaking. She forgets the incantations moments later, but the frustration gnaws at her. The worst part is the hollowness where her magic used to live. She remembers being more, and the world treating her like less infuriates her.