If the RP tag is up, Walk-Ups are welcome!!!

Aether: Adamantoise

Private House:
Lavender Beds Ward 11 Plot 29

FC House:
Shirogane, Ward 11 Plot 60

Vesryn Advaris was born in the Eastern Coerthas Highlands in a small artisan village nestled between the snowy ridges and the flowing rivers near Ishgard. His parents were craftspeople, his mother a woodworker and his father a carver of small devotional figurines, each shaped with reverence and steady patience. Vesryn grew up surrounded by the scent of sawdust, resin, and woodsmoke, an upbringing that left him with a quiet love of handwork and a regard for creation as an act of devotion.

He was the elder of two children, protective of his younger sister Émeline, who trailed after him with a curiosity as sharp as the mountain winds. They grew up sharing stories, chores, and a tiny loft beneath the sloping roof where they whispered dreams at night of seeing the world beyond their own.Vesryn left the Highlands in his early twenties, claiming to wish to learn more about woodworking and carpentry from the Guild in Gridania. But the truth was that he longed for a world less rigid than the one around the Holy See, a world where artisanship was not merely livelihood but art. Gridania’s gentler forests and music of the Twelveswood felt like another life entirely, one he’d barely dared to imagine growing up in the shadow of dragons and stone.

It was there he met Ilbryen, a formidable mage with sharp features, sharper humor, and a gentleness reserved only for those he chose to protect. Vesryn liked him instantly.

Vesryn’s life in Gridania was meant to be a quiet one. But between hours at the Carpenters’ Guild he found himself lingering near the Conjurers’ Guild, drawn by something he could not name. The guildmistresses noticed the way he listened when the elementals whispered, how his hands were steady, how his magic, though modest, flowed with instinctive grace.And so they accepted him.He learned slowly at first: basic wards, simple cures, how to coax the aether of the forest without disturbing its balance. He was patient. Devoted. Kind. Healing came to him easily. It felt natural, familiar, as though he had done this before though he certainly had not. And his world was, for all intents and purposes, peaceful.

When the Garleans advanced and Bahamut’s waking shattered the earth below, Gridania called its fighters - and its healers. Ilbryen took up his staff. Vesryn, though far from a battlefield healer, refused to remain behind. As an apprentice conjurer, he was assigned as a medic and courier, responsible for stabilizing the wounded behind the front lines. It was dangerous work, but Gridania needed any hand capable of channeling even a flicker of Cure.

Grief tore something inside him.Aether howled through the breach.And from somewhere deep in his soul - somewhere older than conjury, older than Gridania, older than Eorzea itself - light erupted.Not the forest’s green light, not a conjurer’s soft glow, but ancient white radiance, violent and pure, too raw to control.It flickered. Failed.And Ilbryen died with the last of it.
The spell collapsed. Vesryn did too.

He staggered from the battlefield changed. In the moons that followed, Vesryn found himself altered in ways he could not explain. Healing came to him with unnatural ease, as though he were recalling an art long forgotten.

The shock of loss and the storm of aether tore open a boundary he never knew was there. The light he had called was not learned; it was remembered. It belonged to a soul-fragment within him, one that had slept in silence since long before he was born.

His dreams filled with images not his own: a library lit by drifting lanterns, fields of violet flowers humming with aether, long hair brushing against ceremonial robes, an expansive library humming with magic. The memories were blurred, but in dream, achingly vivid.

He returned home only to find his village was one of the many swallowed by ruin; his parents dead, and Émeline vanished amid the collapsing frost and falling skies. Her disappearance remains a wound he rarely speaks of, a grief separate from all others.For years he wore his hair long, remembering the sense of his lover carding his fingers through it, remembering longer hair woven with unfamiliar flowers. When he finally cut it, it was a quiet ritual of mourning: for Ilbryen, for Émeline, for the version of himself that had died on the Carteneau Flats, and for the man he once was on another world. And he tried to carry on.And though he does not yet know it, a fuller truth is beginning to emerge.

Now, at thirty-six, Vesryn Advaris of the Source is a healer shaped by two lives; one lived on the Source, the other lost with a vanished shard. He walks with a gentleness born of devotion and a sorrow that seems older than he should be. He searches for meaning in the helping of people who need and in the hope that he can carry on and ease the suffering of those around him.

And so - Vesryn carries two stories in one body, the conjurer who loved a mage in Gridania, and the healer who died defending a world the Source will never know. Seven fragments of his Ancient soul lie within him, though only one speaks loudly enough to shape him.The line between them is becoming blurred.

Though he knows his time on this star is limited and growing shorter with every passing day, he is beginning to remember what it is to live, and to love - and that those things are worth the fear and the fight he must endure to persist.

Boundaries

Romance

Vesryn is open to romance, even has a new partner, but he is grieving a past lover and will not seek romance immediately. If something grows, it will be slow, intentional, and earned. Also he is Poly, so please don't try to fit him into a monogamous lifestyle.All chemistry is IC, not OOC.
I’m always happy to be friendly OOC, but it’s not a requirement or expectation.