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Rainier Oxi
Adherent of Oschon•
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Race
Miqo'te
Clan
Seeker of the Sun
Free Company
None
Introduction
Rainier Oxi has a reputation as a kind wayfarer—crafting free antivenoms for snake bites, tonics for warriors, and poultices for adventurers. All else is mere hearsay, making this man enigmatic, even for those with renowned information networks.
Player's notes
No additional notes provided by the player.
Character Information
Basic details about Rainier Oxi
Approx. Age
Early Twenties
Race
Keeper of the Moon
Gender
Male
Relationship Status
Married
Vocation
Priest of the Wanderer
Body Type
Lean and Muscular
Birthplace
Unknown
Preferred Lands
Dravania, Ilsabard, Vylbrand
Background
The story of the character's origins
A land of which Dragon and Man had peacefully coexisted, ages ago. Historians and scholars commonly came to the agreement that the abandoned ruins here, upon which held the desiccated remnants of that fallen civilization, belonged to that time. It was said to be an era of prosperity and brotherhood with the elegant, flying wyrms that still occupy Dravania. A Miqo'te Keeper, white of hair and fair of skin, kneeled at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Dravanian Forelands. He bore humble clothes fit for travel, the sleeves of his Sharlayan-style coat being pulled back, as his jade eyes glanced behind him, towards a brown leather rucksack.
Parchment stuck out of it like a sore thumb, rolled up into a long scroll—charcoal rubbings of the destroyed architecture, a memento of his time spent among the land of dragonkind. He ilmed back some, angling his left hand for the bag. His hand was gloved, yes, but bare at the index finger, which was a wooden clockwork prosthesis. The wood was sanded down, smoothed and polished, matching the rest of his skin color, though nothing could hide the subtle noise of turning whirlycogs inside it. A masterwork that markedly few on Hydaelyn could make, especially with such ease of movement for the impaired. Grasping at the backpack, he tugged it close to his side.
Deftly undoing the buckles keeping it secure and shut, the traveler opened it and began sifting through it. He saw a closed, transparent jar filled to the brim with fine-cut leaves of green herbs he had collected along his travels; Lover's Laurel. It had a minty, aromatic scent that made it appealing to him for several reasons, and he had plans to distill it along with other ingredients into a special perfume for his lover. Inspecting it for any cracks to the glass, he pawed through the rest of his pack, past his whittling tools, to the strong jadeite bowls he had inside. Gently taking them out, the two bowls were separated, one set to his left, the other to his right.
He took in the midnight air with a deep inhalation through his nose, holding it in his lungs for a moment, before breathing out through his mouth. Paying special care to his breathing pattern in this manner, his shoulders lowered by a half-ilm, and his white bottlebrush of a tail rested on the stone beneath him. The wayfarer had a soft smile tug at his lips, pleased by the serenity that was slowly enveloping him, and took out a few things he needed from his travelpack. A tied bundle of pine needles were set into each bowl, along with a tithe of sand to hold it upright at its foundations. A phial of crimson fluid was popped open by the cork, the young wanderer putting a droplet of it atop the makeshift incense sticks. The red dew ran along the dried needles, infusing into them with moisture.
Picking out a small unique square tool from his pack that was aesthetically appealing in design, made of polished metal and wood weaved together, he'd bring it close to each bundle. Pressing a button on the top in both instances, a soft orange flame came out from the top. It caught on the red liquid, the incense igniting into a more powerful flame. It had a weight to it, with a dark, resonant red hue at the center. The flame turned purple around it, bleeding off into a soft ocean blue at the top. As a soft breeze came by, threatening to snuff out those flames entirely, they remained stalwart, not budging an ilm. Stowing away that device back into his pack, the Miqo'te drew his legs underneath him and closed his eyes.
As his meditations began, with the aroma of pine caught by his nose, he finally allowed himself to smile.
Tranquility, at last, was his to enjoy.
𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜
Voice
Grainy with a shadow of his past youth, his baritone was clearly once pleasing to hear and wouldn't have been out of place on the famed stage of the Majestic Imperial Theater Company. These twelvesmoons, it is husky and a little strained; something that seems to be the result of his long-term smoking, rather than any chronic disability or lasting injury. It's more prone to voice cracks, turning to whistles and rocks after spending several bells speaking and on his feet, the fatigue seeming to bite him in his vocal cords sooner than most others.
(Reference: Joshua O'Brien from Armored Core 4 )
Mannerisms
His gait is lazy and unprofessional on first glance. The slow fall of his steps belies the truth—how fast his eyes lock onto the people around him in a given room, the gunslinger twitching of his callused fingertips. There are more than a few times where one might catch him staring off into the emptiness of a nearby wall or fireplace, snapping out of it only as he's spoken to with a heavensward flinch of his shoulders. Fast to smile with close friends, whilst being just as swift to sass and tease compatriots, if you're being verbally prodded by the priest in good humor; chances are, you've done something right.
Scent
In the cities and more populous areas around Aldenard and other continents, there is a comely aroma of levin mint and pine wafting from his neck from a past spritz, a unique cologne that he prefers to use for more social outings. In the wilds, he spares little expense towards himself beyond general cleanliness, his natural fragrance more subdued than most others, a biological quirk. Dragons and those heavily associated with them in their bloodline would be able to take in something altogether different—Rainier Oxi carries a striking parallel in his redolence to dragons that hail from the Meracydian brood.
Prosthesis
On this Miqo'te Keeper's left hand, his index finger appears to have been lost down to the knuckle from the result of a past amputation—an infection or venom of some sort must have taken hold, such that its removal was necessary. In its place is a polished whitewood prosthetic replacement with a full range of motion. The hue of the wood chosen seems to match his skin color, but in between the nature-like frames that make it outwardly appealing, there is the occasional click of whirlycogs. Tiny, bronze and numerous; in the quiet periods when this man is nearby, one might hear the ticking of a clock.
Accessories
On his middle finger is a thin carved wooden ring, with braille whittled across its surface, looking more kin to uneven bumps to the untrained eye. Treasured and loved like the perennial grass, is a lovingly crafted wedding band made out of jadeite. On his left hand's ringfinger does it rest, warded with a slight shimmer of aetheric energy to ensure its durability during times of stress and conflict. It is sculpted to resemble breezy clouds, which go all around the band. From time to time, the priest could be witnessed pressing a chaste kiss against it, like it were a person he cared deeply about. It is never taken off—another indication of his sentimentality and idealism at play.
Aethersight
A flowery, innocent magenta hue encompasses his soul. The elements comprising him are in perfect balance, a normal sight to see for anyone on Hydaelyn. Occasionally, when focusing on his hue up close, those blessed with the magisight of the Paragons can witness the wispy shape of feather plumes rising up to the surface of his soul. Reminiscent of the phoenix, they don't last long, dissipating and falling back into the depths of his most intrinsic self.