Mizuki
Figure made using HeroForge ©Sky Castle Studios LLC
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Street Smart
Class: Druid Species: Half-Elf Alignment: Chaotic Good Player: Tracy Weapon: Scimitar She's a Druid who was raised on the streets and doesn't take 'no' for an answer Known Family: Beatrice Sullivan (Grandmother [Deceased]) Ka’lian Auvrealyth (Father) Kaida Sullivan (Mother) Campaigns: Something Wicked This Way Comes |
About:
My name is Zuki. It’s short for Mizuki. My grandfather was from Japan, some sort of double-agent for British intelligence or something, and my mother and I each had names that honored him. He disappeared while my grandmother, a WWII nurse, was pregnant with my mother, and she returned to her home in Boston. As an adult, my mother returned to London in search of information that would lead to her father. This search was unsuccessful, but led her to the love of her life, the man who would become my father, Ka’lian Auvrealyth. Unfortunately, the women of my family seem to be doomed to relationships beautiful but brief.
In my early years, she would tell me stories of their brief months together. We would curl up under the covers, my grandmother’s quilt pulled up to our chins, and she would tell me of my father, a handsome magical prince from a faraway land. Duty called him back to his kingdom before he even knew my mother was with child. When I was six, my mother went in search of him. She left me with my grandmother and told me she would be back soon. She never returned. Two years later, my grandmother passed away, and having no other family to speak of, I went into the foster system. I didn’t last long there. My powers were manifesting and becoming harder to hide. I frightened my foster families. Eventually, I ran away. I found ways to stay alive. I was happier without having to hide half of myself.
You probably wouldn’t even notice me on the street. My brown, scraggly hair is generally pulled back from my face, though I’m told in the right sunlight, it has a glint of the red that was my grandmother’s. I have to be careful when I pull it back, because I like to keep my ears covered. They are the only physical sign that I am...different. They have an unusual point to them, enough to cause a second glance if strangers get too close. My eyes have only a hint of my grandfather, and I suppose a little of my father’s, but I suppose these things together give me a look that belongs to everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
I’ve almost always had a companion of one sort or another. Right now, it is a rat named Scritch. Scrawny, despite an endless supply of snacks pushed in his direction, dirty, and a bit mangy, he is still my constant, and quite useful, little friend. He spends a good portion of his time perched on my shoulder, and can generally find a pocket in my sweatshirt when he needs to stay out of sight.
I know every inch of this city. The foster system and I never got along well, and so I found something better. I’m not a people-person. My friends are alley cats, stray rats... The wild nature of the city at night. I spend a lot of time at Franklin Park zoo. There, I can always find food and shelter when the days are cold. I am, of course, aware of BEN, but I’ve mostly stayed off their radar. I try to stay off everyone’s radar. I suppose that’s why I’m useful to Reggie. When he has to track down someone, I can generally find them. I know enough people and places, and it brings in a bit of cash here and there. If I’m lucky, I can even wrangle a comfortable bed and a shower. Oh - it’s not like that - Reggie is old enough to be my dad. Plus, he’s stuffy and British and thinks he’s better than everyone.
Other than my ears, I have one other thing left by by father. He actually left it for my mother, not knowing at the time that I even existed. She left it with my grandmother to give to me. Perhaps that should have been my first clue that she thought she might not return. It’s a bracelet - silver, flat, about two inches wide, and covered in intricate scrollwork, patterns and swirls, in what I imagine to be ancient magical lettering. I used to keep it covered with a sweatshirt sleeve or a dirty piece of cloth tied around my wrist. Didn’t want to invite muggers. A few years ago, while practicing the focus and meditation exercises my mother had insisted on from an early age, I discovered it had a hidden secret. When you see me carrying around a scimitar on the streets, it’s thanks to my father’s very unusual magical bracelet. I don’t often utilize it. A two-foot sword generally stands out a bit too much on the streets of Boston. It can be useful in a pinch, though.
For the last few years, Reggie has often been there in the shadows, not a coach but a watchful presence. He would throw work my way. Perhaps it was his way of training me. Perhaps he felt sorry for me and knew I needed the money. Maybe it was both. He was never benevolent and he was never one to coddle or hold me by the hand. He made it clear that our arrangement was business, but there was always something behind his eyes that I couldn’t quite identify. I don’t know, maybe he saw a little bit of himself in me.
My inspiration was my father. Wielding his scimitar, slaying the evil of the city, I saw myself as the unknown princess, a warrior of the Boston wilds, to be someday reunited with her elven father and fight for the good of the realm. He was my inspiration when I found the leather medieval vest at a thrift shop. Probably some discarded remnant from King Richard’s faire, I wore it under my baggy sweatshirt so it didn’t stand out in a crowd. It was a useful piece of armor, but it was also another way to imagine I was closer to him.
I used to spend my days surviving. Now that I’m more experienced, it’s a lot easier. I can take care of myself, occasionally even do a bit of good. Reggie helps with that. So does Sam, the bartender at the Plastered Dragon. I don’t go in there a lot, at least not through the front. He was one of the first people to take care of me when I was on the streets. He knew me for who..or what I was.
My name is Zuki. It’s short for Mizuki. My grandfather was from Japan, some sort of double-agent for British intelligence or something, and my mother and I each had names that honored him. He disappeared while my grandmother, a WWII nurse, was pregnant with my mother, and she returned to her home in Boston. As an adult, my mother returned to London in search of information that would lead to her father. This search was unsuccessful, but led her to the love of her life, the man who would become my father, Ka’lian Auvrealyth. Unfortunately, the women of my family seem to be doomed to relationships beautiful but brief.
In my early years, she would tell me stories of their brief months together. We would curl up under the covers, my grandmother’s quilt pulled up to our chins, and she would tell me of my father, a handsome magical prince from a faraway land. Duty called him back to his kingdom before he even knew my mother was with child. When I was six, my mother went in search of him. She left me with my grandmother and told me she would be back soon. She never returned. Two years later, my grandmother passed away, and having no other family to speak of, I went into the foster system. I didn’t last long there. My powers were manifesting and becoming harder to hide. I frightened my foster families. Eventually, I ran away. I found ways to stay alive. I was happier without having to hide half of myself.
You probably wouldn’t even notice me on the street. My brown, scraggly hair is generally pulled back from my face, though I’m told in the right sunlight, it has a glint of the red that was my grandmother’s. I have to be careful when I pull it back, because I like to keep my ears covered. They are the only physical sign that I am...different. They have an unusual point to them, enough to cause a second glance if strangers get too close. My eyes have only a hint of my grandfather, and I suppose a little of my father’s, but I suppose these things together give me a look that belongs to everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
I’ve almost always had a companion of one sort or another. Right now, it is a rat named Scritch. Scrawny, despite an endless supply of snacks pushed in his direction, dirty, and a bit mangy, he is still my constant, and quite useful, little friend. He spends a good portion of his time perched on my shoulder, and can generally find a pocket in my sweatshirt when he needs to stay out of sight.
I know every inch of this city. The foster system and I never got along well, and so I found something better. I’m not a people-person. My friends are alley cats, stray rats... The wild nature of the city at night. I spend a lot of time at Franklin Park zoo. There, I can always find food and shelter when the days are cold. I am, of course, aware of BEN, but I’ve mostly stayed off their radar. I try to stay off everyone’s radar. I suppose that’s why I’m useful to Reggie. When he has to track down someone, I can generally find them. I know enough people and places, and it brings in a bit of cash here and there. If I’m lucky, I can even wrangle a comfortable bed and a shower. Oh - it’s not like that - Reggie is old enough to be my dad. Plus, he’s stuffy and British and thinks he’s better than everyone.
Other than my ears, I have one other thing left by by father. He actually left it for my mother, not knowing at the time that I even existed. She left it with my grandmother to give to me. Perhaps that should have been my first clue that she thought she might not return. It’s a bracelet - silver, flat, about two inches wide, and covered in intricate scrollwork, patterns and swirls, in what I imagine to be ancient magical lettering. I used to keep it covered with a sweatshirt sleeve or a dirty piece of cloth tied around my wrist. Didn’t want to invite muggers. A few years ago, while practicing the focus and meditation exercises my mother had insisted on from an early age, I discovered it had a hidden secret. When you see me carrying around a scimitar on the streets, it’s thanks to my father’s very unusual magical bracelet. I don’t often utilize it. A two-foot sword generally stands out a bit too much on the streets of Boston. It can be useful in a pinch, though.
For the last few years, Reggie has often been there in the shadows, not a coach but a watchful presence. He would throw work my way. Perhaps it was his way of training me. Perhaps he felt sorry for me and knew I needed the money. Maybe it was both. He was never benevolent and he was never one to coddle or hold me by the hand. He made it clear that our arrangement was business, but there was always something behind his eyes that I couldn’t quite identify. I don’t know, maybe he saw a little bit of himself in me.
My inspiration was my father. Wielding his scimitar, slaying the evil of the city, I saw myself as the unknown princess, a warrior of the Boston wilds, to be someday reunited with her elven father and fight for the good of the realm. He was my inspiration when I found the leather medieval vest at a thrift shop. Probably some discarded remnant from King Richard’s faire, I wore it under my baggy sweatshirt so it didn’t stand out in a crowd. It was a useful piece of armor, but it was also another way to imagine I was closer to him.
I used to spend my days surviving. Now that I’m more experienced, it’s a lot easier. I can take care of myself, occasionally even do a bit of good. Reggie helps with that. So does Sam, the bartender at the Plastered Dragon. I don’t go in there a lot, at least not through the front. He was one of the first people to take care of me when I was on the streets. He knew me for who..or what I was.