Chavi

• Search and Rescue
• Adviser
• Beastclan Resistance Liaison

The earth remembers.

Chavi has known this from the moment she was born. The earth remembers. Every living thing, every soul, every sentience, every action leaves its mark. If you listen, close your eyes and spread your claws and point your ears, it whispers the truth.

She is an Earthseer mage. So much of Sornieth is imbued with life, and Chavi was born with the ability to sense it. She can feel, like a sixth sense, like a vibration travelling down the branch of one of the great trees of her home, the magical energy of living things--emotions, intentions, auras. If she concentrates she can warp that energy, draw it into herself, and use it to do things like manipulate objects, augment her own abilities and reaction times, and influence others' perceptions. But it's, like, totally not the same as being Force-sensitive. It's definitely a completely different thing. Shh.

From a rather young age, she struck out on her own. She had no particular goal in mind, exactly, but she wasn't quite wandering, either. She just felt...right. She was always drawn to other dragons, always curious; but always just a little odd, just a little too different to ever settle down. That didn't bother her. Tundras might not have been created for the Labyrinth; but Chavi was. Using claws, wings and tail, coiled muscles and her own instincts and abilities, she spent her adolescence stepping through shifting trees graceful and silent as a panther. Or, alternately, whooping a joyous battle cry as she bounded over and among the twisting boughs, swung off hanging vines, kicking off tree trunks as she leaped between them with a certainty and precision that was just on the wrong side of natural. She was a teenager, after all.

And with the earth singing in her veins she was a very happy one. Why shouldn't she be? She never wanted for food, and by breathing slowly and letting herself become still and centered she could always listen to the earth and find sources of water, places to shelter herself. It warned her of danger, too, and helped her to gauge whether or not other travellers, or clans chance-met in the forest, could be trusted or not. As she grew older and more capable, it told her of other things. The pain of others. Their suffering. Their fear. Their courage and love.

It told her to tread softly and hide herself as she approached a military checkpoint in a particularly violent section of the jungle. It told her of the hard-eyed Skydancer's suspicion, the hate boiling in the beautiful Imperial guard's heart as her lip curled at the sight of the bound, exhausted Beastclan prisoners. Told her of the love between two Talonok brothers, the dull agony of a Serthis duellist's recent wounds being reopened by her forced march.

It told her, as her ears pricked with sudden interest in the bush, that the ten-treasure Wildclaw merc casually swatting one of the less cowed prisoners with his tail was filled with none of the contempt his voice suggested. That there was a clarity and courage in this one, energy and burning love flowing between him and his charges. This one was special, it whispered. This one was different.

It told her she could help.