Kaelyn Wymond is a clever, half-elven ex-guard drawn to rhythm, magic, and self-made purpose. Loyal to those he loves, he hides pain behind charm and wit. Guided by his celestial familiar, he walks a path shaped by loss and quiet hope.

Age: 25
Species: Human
Alignment: N
Gender: male
Eyes: Sea Green
Hair: Black
Skin Tone/Pigmentation: tan
Height: 5'11
Weight: 165

Appearance

Physical Description

Kaelyn Wymond stands at 5'11" with a lean, athletic build shaped by years of guard training and an active lifestyle. His frame is wiry but strong, with a dancer’s balance and a fighter’s reflexes, making him agile both in battle and on his feet. He carries himself with an easy, confident grace—never imposing, but always ready to strike or step aside in a heartbeat.

Body Features

Kaelyn doesn’t have any unusual or supernatural body features—no scars that draw attention, no tattoos, no odd markings. His most notable trait is how ordinary he appears at a glance: clean-cut, well-kept, and quietly confident.

Mentality

Personal history

Early Childhood

Kaelyn was born into a complicated kind of love. His parents’ union wasn’t celebrated—more often whispered about in alley corners, where the word bastard drifted like smoke. Still, he remembered his mother’s warmth: her voice like velvet, her arms strong, her laugh a balm against his father’s silence.

When Kaelyn was just three years old, everything changed. His father, grim-faced and desperate, arranged for a powerful spell to be cast—one that would displace Kaelyn in time. Whether it was done to shield him from scandal, danger, or some shadowy threat, no one ever said. What Kaelyn knew was this: he went to sleep in a small wooden room surrounded by lullabies and woke up in a world that had moved on without him.

He returned to Greenbough, the same village he’d left, but not a day older. The world, however, had aged by decades. His mother—his anchor—had died just days before his return. There was no reunion. No chance for goodbye.

More disorienting still, he had siblings now. Two sisters, both older. One human. One half-elven. Born after his disappearance, they had grown into adulthood while he remained frozen in childhood. Kaelyn was now the youngest in a family that had grieved, rebuilt, and learned to live without him. When he appeared at their door, his father didn’t weep with joy—he stared like a man seeing a ghost.

Teenage Years

Greenbough no longer felt like home. His sisters viewed him with confusion, sometimes pity. His father avoided long conversations. And without his mother, the house felt cold, carved from grief.

Kaelyn took to the streets, finding companionship in alley games and tavern scuffles. His quickness and wiry frame made him a natural fighter—not a brawler of brute strength, but a survivor. He didn’t fight for victory. He fought so the world wouldn’t forget he existed. With every scrape and bruise, he felt closer to his mother's memory.

It was in this rough life that he crossed paths with an Arcane Trickster—a clever, unpredictable mage-thief who saw potential in Kaelyn’s speed and spirit. Under their tutelage, he learned to blend magic with motion. Booming blade, create bonfire—spells not hurled from books, but spun from rhythm, channeled through movement. It was secret, sacred, and entirely his.

But secrets have a way of surfacing. His father found out. Whether from misplaced notes or whispered rumors, the reaction came swift and without discussion. His apprenticeship was ended. His arcane mentor was banished. And Kaelyn was conscripted into the Lakehaven Guard. His father believed discipline would set him straight.

It didn’t.

Recent History

Life in the Lakehaven guard was demanding. Routines, drills, endless commands—none of it suited Kaelyn. But he adapted. His agility let him breeze through obstacle courses. His wit got him reassigned from punishment duty more than once. When strength failed him, he leaned into improvisation—flipping tables, vaulting fences, charming his way past protocol.

Despite everything, he wasn’t disliked. His fellow guardsmen enjoyed his presence, and his captain—though exasperated—respected his heart. Somewhere along the way, Kaelyn met a mercenary. Not a hero. Not a villain. Just someone who viewed the world through the lens of balance. To them, every act had weight. Every choice, a cost. Their philosophy of trade and equity stayed with Kaelyn. Not because it was noble—because it was real.

Eventually, Kaelyn made the choice to leave. With tact and timing, he convinced his captain that his departure was a step toward personal growth. He wasn’t the best guard the unit ever had—but he was among the most memorable. He left with honors, a handshake, and an open door should he ever return.

Now, he’s seeking something more. Drawn to rhythm, to movement, to something between spellcraft and stagecraft, Kaelyn has begun training at the College of Dance. His combat skills now weave through choreography. His magic pulses with tempo. He is no longer just surviving—he is becoming.

He refuses to vanish again. Not into time. Not into shame. This time, Kaelyn is writing his own rhythm.

Education

Kaelyn Wymond's education has been a patchwork of practical training and unconventional mentorship. He received formal instruction during his time with the Lakehaven guard—learning discipline, tactics, and the basics of law and civic duty. His deeper, more arcane education came from his apprenticeship under a roguish arcane trickster who taught him magic through misdirection, rhythm, and improvisation. While not traditionally schooled, Kaelyn is clever, observant, and learns quickly through doing—especially when it comes to blending magic with movement.

Employment

Since leaving the Lakehaven guard, Kaelyn Wymond has pieced together a humble but steady living by leaning into his agility, local knowledge, and growing web of relationships around Greensbough. His main source of coin comes from assisting Pip Longstride , the village’s resident courier and forest-sprinter. Though the Harengon’s work is irregular—dictated by unpredictable requests and weather patterns—Pip has taken a liking to Kaelyn’s quick wit and nimble feet. When a message or parcel absolutely must get through the tangle of the Terithor Forest, Kaelyn is often at his side, learning shortcuts and survival tricks from the veteran scout.

When Pip has nothing for him, Kaelyn picks up work at Strongbranch Woodworks , a central pillar of Greensbough’s economy. Though he lacks the calloused hands of a seasoned woodworker, Kaelyn’s strength and reliability make him a valuable delivery runner. Whether it’s hauling carved cart wheels to local farms or ferrying elegant tables to merchant outposts, he moves goods through the forest paths with a respectful deference to the timber they’re carved from.

Kaelyn also takes the occasional job as a freelance scout, offering guidance to visitors unfamiliar with the dangers and secrets of the ancient woods. One frequent client is Willow Quickfoot , a teenage Harengon with a sharp mind and an insatiable curiosity for maps and terrain. Though their work together is professional—surveying root-woven clearings, navigating glade mists, noting seasonal shifts in wildlife—Kaelyn suspects Willow might request his help less for the weight of her gear and more for the conversation along the way. He doesn’t mind.

Though none of these jobs offer steady wealth, they keep Kaelyn moving, engaged, and connected to the rhythm of the forest and village alike—something he never truly had while wearing the guard’s tabard.

Mental Trauma

Kaelyn Wymond carries a quiet burden of unresolved grief and dislocation. Having returned from magical displacement to find his mother dead and two sisters he never knew, he struggles with a lingering sense of loss, guilt, and not belonging. He avoids certain emotional closures—like carving a token for his mother—because accepting her death feels like erasing the last hope that she might still be part of his world. Though outwardly witty and charming, he often hides a deep fear of forming attachments that might end in more pain.

Morality & Philosophy

Kaelyn Wymond lives by a practical, self-driven philosophy: help when it serves a purpose, protect those he cares about, and seek joy where he can find it. He values honesty and fairness, not out of altruism, but because trust and clear expectations make life simpler and safer. Though not cruel, he doesn't feel morally bound to aid strangers without reason—he prefers to weigh the benefit before acting, yet resents manipulation or exploitation, especially from those in power. To Kaelyn, doing good is worthwhile when it means earning respect, strengthening bonds, or creating opportunity—not because virtue alone demands it.

Personality

Motivation

Kaelyn is motivated by a quiet need to belong and prove his worth—both to a family he barely knows and a village he’s only recently begun to feel part of. Beneath his wit and charm lies a desire to matter, to be remembered not just as a curiosity or a returned mystery, but as someone reliable, skilled, and present. Whether chasing coin, dancing in battle, or helping a friend, he’s always seeking a place where he fits—and a future he can build for himself.

Quotes & Catchphrases

"Is it worth it? Guess we’ll find out."

Social

Birthplace

Greenbough

Current Residence

Greenbough

Family Ties

Nireth Wymond
Race: Half-Elf (strong elven traits)
Age: Late 20s
Relation: Youngest sister

Appearance:
Nireth bears the unmistakable signature of elven heritage. Her silver-blonde hair falls in elegant, intricate braids; her features are finely sculpted—high cheekbones, delicate brows, and long, slender limbs. Her skin is smooth and pale, and her eyes gleam violet with a quiet intensity. She carries herself with unspoken pride and is often mistaken for a full-blooded elf.

She dresses in elegant earth-toned robes, often embroidered with Greenbough’s signature leaf and vine motifs. Her accessories are minimal—usually just a carved wooden talisman passed down from their mother.

Personality:
Nireth is reserved, disciplined, and self-possessed. As a village historian and spiritual caretaker, she deeply values tradition, ancestry, and discipline. She speaks with deliberate grace and always chooses her words carefully. She believes knowledge and composure are the keys to purpose.

@mar

Race: Human
Age: Early 30s
Relation: Oldest sister

Appearance:
Mara has the look of a well-weathered craftswoman—sturdy, sun-kissed, and always on the move. Her thick auburn hair is usually tied back with a carved comb she made herself. Her eyes are wide and brown with flecks of gold, and her arms are strong from years of woodworking. Her clothing is practical and covered in sawdust, ink, or paint depending on the day.

She keeps a small sketchbook tucked in her belt, filled with both blueprints and doodles of everyday life in Greenbough.

Personality:
Mara is warm, humorous, and grounded, but she carries a quiet temper beneath her cheerful exterior. She leads with heart, and she doesn’t trust easily—especially when it comes to protecting those she loves. She is fiercely loyal to her sister, to her village, and to the memory of her mother.

Agandaur
Race: Elf
Age: Appears to be in his Early 300s
Relation: Father
Appearance:
Tall and lean, Agandaur carries himself with quiet precision. His long silver-blonde hair is always tied back in a tight cord, and his slate-gray eyes hold a distant, appraising quality. Lines of grief and restraint trace faintly across his otherwise youthful elven features. He dresses simply but immaculately, usually in earth-toned tunics that bear subtle wood-carved ornamentation—symbols of his craftsmanship and heritage. There is a natural grace to his movements, measured and exact, like someone used to working with fragile things that must not be broken.

Personality:
Agandaur is a man of principle and control, someone who values structure, discipline, and silence over spontaneity or emotional expression. He believes in duty above personal comfort and has built his life around responsibility—to his craft, his family, and his village. Though respected in Greenbough for his skill and composure, few know him well. The sudden loss of his wife carved a hollow space in him that never quite healed, and Kaelyn’s unexpected return stirred up more internal conflict than he’s willing to admit. While he accepts Kaelyn as his son in name and blood, his emotional distance and cold formality reveal a deeper uncertainty—one he keeps buried under layers of reserve and tradition.

View

Age 25

Lyra Lyra in the hall

by Kælyn Wymond

The morning sunlight poured through the slanted shutters of Kaelyn’s room, breaking into warm ribbons of gold across the wooden floor. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and smoke from last night’s revelry, and somewhere outside, the distant clatter of wagons and the chatter of townsfolk signaled the start of another busy day.

Kaelyn, however, felt unreasonably alive. He sat cross-legged on the edge of his narrow bed, boots half-laced, a small hand drum resting in his lap. He turned it over in his hands, studying the surface with curious detachment. Its rim was smooth cherrywood, finely polished, with a faint scent of lavender oil clinging to it. He tapped it once, the sound was crisp and pleasing.

“I don’t remember buying this,” Kaelyn said, more to himself than anyone else. “Or stealing it. Which seems… improbable.”

From the rafters, a soft flutter answered. Ahaiah glided down, landing gracefully on the edge of the armor stand where Kaelyn’s armor gleamed—clean, polished, and notably untouched.

“Some gifts arrive without transaction,” Ahaiah said cryptically, tilting her head. “Perhaps the drum found you.”

Kaelyn raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so that’s the explanation this morning? Magical serendipity?”

Ahaiah gave a small hum. “Would you prefer I tell you who left it on your desk when I may or may not know who it was?”

He chuckled. “You don’t know either, do you?”

She looked away. “A celestial’s memory is beyond mortal linearity.”

“That’s a no.”

“That’s an elegant no,” she corrected primly.

Kaelyn laughed, standing and stretching, the motion fluid and confident. He turned to his armor, hands brushing over the polished metal once before stepping away from it.

“You’re not wearing it,” Ahaiah observed quietly.

Her tone was measured, but not accusing. “You usually never leave without it.”

Kaelyn nodded. “Too heavy. Too stiff. It’s like fighting from inside a chest of drawers. I can’t breathe properly, can’t move the way I want to. Besides…” He stretched his arms, the motion loose and fluid. “I’ve been faster without it lately."

Ahaiah fluttered closer, hovering near his shoulder. “You seem more alive this morning.”

“Do I?” he said with a faint grin. “Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the company....”

Ahaiah folded her wings, her voice soft and knowing. “You’ve been speaking her name in your sleep, you know.”

Kaelyn’s cheeks colored faintly. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“Only for you,” she teased. “For her, I imagine it would be flattering.”

He tried to look annoyed, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You’re not helping.”

“I think I am,” Ahaiah said gently. “It’s good, Kaelyn. The world can be heavy; it needs people who still inspire light in others.”

He gave a small laugh, running a hand through his hair. “She’s clever, I’ll grant her that. Impulsive, sharp-tongued, quick to roll her eyes. But underneath all that noise…” He trailed off, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “There’s someone worth knowing.”

“So you do like her.”

“I like that she doesn’t fawn over me,” he countered quickly.

Ahaiah’s silvery eyes gleamed with amusement. “You mean she challenges you. That’s what you’ve always been drawn to.”

He looked at the drum again, tracing his fingers over the stretched hide. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe she just reminds me what it feels like to want something impossible.”

“Romantic words from a man who swears he’s not in love.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied with mock seriousness. “I only said she hasn’t given me a reason to think she feels the same.”

“Then give her one,” Ahaiah suggested, wings flicking lightly.

Kaelyn smiled. “Maybe I will. Something simple. A song, perhaps.”

“A song?”

“Or a poem,”

Kaelyn sat cross-legged at the small desk in his room, a quill hovering over a blank page. Sunlight filtered through the window, brushing the edges of the parchment in warm gold. His hand hesitated, fingers twitching once, twice—then he sighed and leaned back.

Ahaiah hung upside down from the ceiling beam above him, her golden eyes half-lidded, watching quietly.

“Poem?” she asked, her tone equal parts teasing and curious.

“No,” Kaelyn said, dropping the quill. “A poem feels too… obvious. She’d see straight through it.”

“She already sees through most things,” Ahaiah replied with a faint smile in her voice.

“Exactly,” Kaelyn said. “So I’ll give her something else. A story.”

He reached for his hand drum, testing the tone. The sound was gentle and low, like the pulse of something waiting to be born.

Ahaiah’s wings shifted, catching a stray beam of light. “A story, then. For Lyra.”

He nodded, his smile softening. “A story about someone who reminds me of her. Someone clever, stubborn… and maybe just a little more powerful than she realizes.”

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Once, in an age when stars burned closer to the earth, there lived a wizard named Merilon the Grey-Eyed. He was a man of vast knowledge and quiet obsession—a scholar who had devoted his life to the pursuit of a single mystery: the Heart of Understanding, a gem said to hold the pattern of all magic within its core.

For fifty years he searched. Through ruined towers and forgotten libraries, through deserts that whispered spells into the wind. And though he gathered knowledge beyond measure, the truth he sought always slipped between his fingers like water through stone.

Then, one autumn morning, a girl arrived at his tower—a village child named Lirael. She came not seeking tutelage, but employment. “I can clean, fetch, and keep quiet,” she told him. “And if you’ll let me stay, I’ll learn something worth more than coin.”

Merilon, amused by her bluntness, took her on as his apprentice.

Lirael swept the halls and fetched his reagents. She copied dusty pages and mended his robes. But she also watched. She noticed which books he lingered on, what symbols made him frown, what stars he gazed at most often through the tower window. She asked no questions, only listened.

And when Merilon left one morning chasing another rumor, Lirael went her own way. Not to some far-flung ruin, but to a small, moss-draped pool in the nearby woods—a place where the air always felt expectant, as though holding its breath.

There, she saw a faint shimmer beneath the surface, a soft pulse like a heartbeat.

She dove.

The water was cold enough to still thought. But her hands found stone, then silt, then something smooth and warm—a jewel no bigger than a walnut, pulsing softly with blue light.

When she returned to Merilon, soaked and shivering, she placed the jewel before him.

He stared at it for a long time before he spoke. “This… this is not the Heart of Understanding.”

“I know,” Lirael said. “But I think it wants to be.”

"It seems you are ready.”

“Ready?” she asked.

“For the next step,” he said. “You’ve already learned everything I could ever teach you. It’s time you went where your gift can grow, where it can be challenged, tested, and sharpened. The world will be smaller if you stay here, and I would rather lose a helper than waste a future.” he placed the jewel in her hands. “You found what I could not. May the world now find you.”

And as she stepped beyond the tower gates, the jewel in her palm pulsed once more, not blue now, but gold.
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Kaelyn let the final rhythm fade from the drum, his voice settling into silence.

Ahaiah watched him from her perch, wings drawn close. “A fine story,” she said softly. “And you told it well.”

He smiled faintly. “You think she’ll like it?”

“I think,” said the bat, “that she’ll recognize herself in it—and that’s more powerful than any confession.”

Kaelyn chuckled. “Then maybe I’ll tell it to her on the road.”

Ahaiah tilted her head. “You already will. You just don’t know which words yet.”

And for once, Kaelyn didn’t try to puzzle out what she meant. He just smiled, tucked the drum under his arm, and stepped into the sunlight, where the road to Lakehaven waited.

Kælyn's Journal Ordered oldest to newest

Kaelyn's Musical Journey
26 Jun 2025 01:47:07

The Boy at the Door
Age 8

The Knife and the Branch
Age 10

Cracked Eggshells and Blunt Truths
Age 12

The Weight of the Wreath
Age 13

Forced Military Service (Part 1: Quiet Footsteps)
Age 15

Forced Military Service (Part 2: Blunt as a Mallet)
Age 15

Forced Military Service (Part 3: One Foot Forward)
Age 15

The Promise in the Grain
Age 18

A Walk Through Stone and Smoke
Age 18

The Wind in the Trees
Age 21

Taking his Leave
Age 25

The Night of the Vampire Beetles
Age 25

Aftermath of the Firestarter
Age 25

A Splintermaw Tale: "The Drum That Followed"
Age 25

Rumor has it
Age 25

Lyra Lyra in the hall
Age 25

The major events and journals in Kælyn's history, from the beginning to today.

Session 10/11

03:16 am - 31.12.2025

Session 10/11

03:16 am - 31.12.2025

Session 9

11:57 pm - 04.11.2025

Session 9

11:57 pm - 04.11.2025

Session 8: The Ironclaws' Ambush and a Forest's Gaze

03:24 am - 22.10.2025

Session 8: The Ironclaws' Ambush and a Forest's Gaze

03:23 am - 22.10.2025