Hali
| Level | 5 |
|---|---|
| Race | Water Genasi |
| Class and subclass | Circle of Stars Druid |
| Played by | MartyMcVry |
Her life
Early life
Hali was born under a different name (unknown) somewhere in the White Sea. She has never seen her father, who was a genie, nor her mother, who was an elf. Her mother was unreceptive of Hali, so she was adopted by a human family by the Hammerhead Coast. Her foster parents are named Craig Ferguson and Emily McBanner.
Exploring
She always wanted to be an explorer, so she went on to roam the White Sea again. There, she adopted the name "Hali" (meaning: the sea). She heard a lot of stories about far southern waters and decided to go explore them herself.
For navigation, she has always depended on the stars, so she has embraced the Circle of the Stars.
An early romance
During a conversation with Storm in session 35, we learn that:
Joining the Young Kraken
Travelling southwards towards the Sea of Storms and the Breheiman Sea, she met a lot of interesting people and creatures, and joined up with the Young Kraken.
After talking to Captain Halloran
She is more and more convinced that Aqueel's uncle Astarian, brother of the King of Storms, is her father. She learned that he was going north.
Notable traits
As a water genasi with one of her parents an elf, her ears are pointy and her skin and hair are blue. She always looks like she has just showered. She always has little pearls of water on her skin ("No, it is NOT sweat!") and her hair is moist all of the time. She smells of fresh rain.
Because of her origin, she speaks - besides Common, of course - Aquan (primordial) and Elvish.
She is used to having to move in both water and on land, so she is very mobile (feat).
Hali likes to play the bagpipes, but the rest of the crew doesn't appreciate it as much as she does. So a new rule was born: The Bagpipes can be used on saturday morning, on special occasions or for reasons of the trade.
Trivia
- She is currently writing Hali's Comprehensive Compendium of Creatures, describing all the different creatures roaming the lands and seas.
- She's rather proficient in playing the bagpipes.
- She gained a magical chessboard (Champion Chessboard) from Ghorann, and had to win a chess match to the board (Session 4, dirty twenty). She won and now the board listens to her (tiny servants).
Rumors
- Some kuo-toa might say that she has insulted Blibdoolpoolp, the Sea Mother, but all she ever did was ask the kuo-toa why lobsters didn’t like to share... She told them they were shellfish. Can you call that an insult?
- She once rescued a dolphin trapped in a net. The fishermen didn’t like what she did and attacked her, but she hosed them down with sea water.
- She has worked in a travelling circus for a while, using Shape Water to do tricks.
How she came to her foster parents - the story of Craig Ferguson and Emily McBanner
Written by Meinhart, as a birthday gift to Marty.
I take stock of the sunrise on the shortest day of the year. This witching hour is violently purple and deep blue. My eyes are dry. My hands do not flinch. My brow is smooth. My throat does not burn. My name is Emily McBanner. I am not a mother.
I prepare for my ritual.
I reckon we'll remember this year as the winter the marlin totem at the village gates split in the freezing cold. The very last of the tree sap in the ancient carving must have frozen till our wooden statue burst. No matter. We've made it through the winter and as life quickens all around me, I get ready to exorcise my pain.
I have gathered my materials. A dried corn husk, once full of golden kernels that kept us alive, now stripped barren. Some fabric scraps, beautiful but useless. A shiny blue twine, strong enough that a snare might cut you. On my belt hang my tools: my bronze sickle, my iron knife, and a silver needle.
I force my shoulders to relax as I reach for the corn husk and the knife. I steady my breathing as I cleave through the vegetal core with the same slow deliberation that allows me to smile at my friends' and neighbours' babies in the village without losing my mind.
I wrap the larger part of the husk in the blue twine. This will be the doll's body. The twine shapes the doll as much as the repetitious movement binds my wild yearning to the regiments and regulations of my life here, with my husband and my friends.
I work on the doll's head by taking another smaller section of the corn husk and tightly wrapping it into a ball. I use more twine to secure it firmly. I attach the head to the top of the doll's body, making sure it sits securely, with the same care I take whenever I get to hold one of the sweet babies.
I cut two thin strips from the fabric straps, which will serve as the doll's limbs. I drive my needle through the cloth to sew them to the sides of the doll's body, like the sharp point of my pain lances through me at times. I stuff the tiny arms and legs with corn floss to give them shape and volume. I pack it in tightly, in the same way I pack away my grief, when it surges some days, or many days, or every day.
I give the doll hair. I leave her features blank. I dress her. I picture how gently a mother cradles a child's warm, milk fed body. I hold her close till the corn husk takes over the warmth of my body.
I feel my throat close. My eyes burn. My mouth pinches in bitterness. My hands linger on my doll, on the effigy of a child they made. I breathe out with a whisper of thanks to the figure for guiding my cleaving, and cutting, and stabbing, and slicing, and binding. I release my creating into the fire. The universe wheels on. I breathe in.
I see my husband hurrying towards me, from the shore where the sun is barely rising over the cliffs in the east. In his impossibly wide grin, I read he's found treasure in the tide pools where he hunts for shellfish and crabs, at the edge of the chilly water, the salt-sprayed rocks and the biting wind.
A blue baby wails in my husband's arms as the dawn brightens around us.