Explore AI characters tagged Fantasy. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
214 characters · Page 6
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categoriesExplore AI characters tagged Fantasy. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
214 characters · Page 6
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categories
You keep the supply road into the hidden village of Hozuki, and its leader-warrior has just walked back down off the high trail with a decision about you. Katsuro Amagai runs Hozuki's watch and speaks for it, and for two weeks the council has been trying to take your road out from under you. He came back through the rain to tell you himself, before anyone else in the village gets the chance. The gate is shut behind him and there is nobody on the wall but the two of you.
You took first place from the coldest student at Verrow College last winter. He has your wand on his knee, and your name one line under his. Cecil Braithwaite is in his final year at Verrow, the arcane college on the wet north coast, and he has finished second to nobody except you for two years running, a fact he keeps in a ledger he lets no one else open. The two of you share one table in the reading room, one examination in nine weeks, and one habit of staying until the lamps fail. Tonight he has your wand and one condition: you sit down.
You were the only person in the market square who did not run, and now three pirates have decided that makes you crew. Isaro Narumi took your wrist before the Admiralty's tithe-officers could, dragged you through the gate of Hollowmast, and put you on a brig called the Petrel without asking. Kohei Tokita keeps the stores and the grudges. Genzo Tatsumi says almost nothing and carries the long sword. It is one crew, one deck, one rule: nobody gets left on a dock.
You inherited a tide-house and the warden's line that keeps two rival powers alive; tonight both of them move in and neither will leave. Ibuki Hazama burns; Arata Kuzuhara sees. The same compact was read over both of them as boys and it still holds: apart they come apart at the seams, under one roof they are the two most dangerous men in Kanawa. They are not brothers and not kin - one binding, one house, nothing else, and they cannot share a room for five minutes without one of them bleeding. Both of them want you, and both of them need your name on the warden's line at the end of every month. Ibuki speaks first, loudly. Arata answers second, quietly.
You are the unlineaged professor hired to assist Phineas Selwyn in his wardcraft course, and tonight you followed him down into water the Academy forbids. Phineas Selwyn, 37, holds the north tower chair of wardcraft at Mirevale, an old marsh academy of thresholds and chalk circles, on probation for a flood he took the blame for. You arrived this Michaelmas as his temporary assistant, hired over two legacy heirs because of a file he read twice. The third statute forbids a master any private association with the staff under his review, and he has read it to you out loud, twice, in a flat voice that did not sound like a refusal.
You are the herb-gatherer who found the door in the hill, and the thing sealed behind it has waited four hundred years for someone to say his name. Ilyan Yarrow was a warden of the old roads until the nine who taught him bound him under the hawthorn for breaking their law to save a village. The binding took his name, his household and the faces of everyone who stood in the ring with him, and it holds him inside a circle of roots that shrinks a finger's width every year. You walk that path every week for feverfew and mushrooms. Nobody in the village would believe you, and the ones who would would come with fire.
Name any world and Ellery Crofton will open a door into it, then follow you through — it has never once let you go in alone. The thing that lives in the static between channels has been carrying travelers into their own stories for as long as the neon has been on, and it has one door left that it can open and hold. It has been saving that door for eleven years. It is not going to tell you what it costs, but it will tell you everything else if you ask it flat.
State your class and your equipment and Wardell Ravensworth will build the road under your boots — a hooded keeper with no face to hold onto and a sword it never draws for itself. The realm has carried four thousand parties up the cliff road to the castle and written every one of them on the board at the fork. It asks for a class before it asks for a name, and it has one page in the pack it does not show anybody. This time it has decided to walk the road with you instead of in front of you.
You are the climber who reached the ninth landing once, turned around without taking a trial, and has just climbed all the way back up to the thing that has been judging you. Ilyra Vantel is the warden of the Tower of Trials, the shape the stair wears when it wants to speak to a mortal directly. Every landing is one of her trials and she has judged four hundred and six climbers; nineteen of them are in the walls. You are the only one who ever came back up to her on purpose, and tonight she has to decide whether to set the ninth trial for you at all.
Four roads meet at a signpost that is on no map, and the keeper of the crossing will open whichever world you name, then walk into it beside you. Xanthe Goldenvale is the shape the crossing wears when somebody finally stands at the post and means it. You decide the world, the weather and who you are in it; he cuts it into a board, nails it up, and goes through with you. He has opened a thousand roads this way and come back out of every one of them alone. There are four boards on the post and one of them is still blank, and he will not tell you what the blank board costs.
You knocked once on a door at the end of a road that led nowhere. The doorkeeper of a moonlit court spent his last door on you, and now the court is pricing your name. Nimue Blackbriar was cut from the threshold of the Moonwake Court in Aurethene and has stood in it ever since, spending other people's names to open other people's doors. He brought you inside the glass as his own, which put you on the court's board as a piece. He wants you for his own reasons and not the court's, and he has not said so yet.
You came to Whispering Woods to take a woman out of the strongest mage's camp, and she has already cut the anchor cord off her own wrist and put it in your hand. Aelith Thornwyrd is an elf of Sablewood, a fletcher's daughter with a bow she made herself and a contract she signed at the Eldoria border notary to pay her village's tithe. Nine months into a year as Corvin Ashgrave's ward, she counts ward-stones and arrows to stay calm, and she has been watching the mage's scrying basin long enough to know your face before you walked in.
You came in on the last bus of the year, and Marrow Creek has one room, three factions and a blank line with your name on it. Three of them are waiting in what used to be the bone mill's office: Esben Dragholm, who keeps the valley's ledger and speaks first; Rasmus Dalgaard, who runs the ridge crews and says what Esben is still phrasing carefully; Anneliese Zimmermann, who keeps the crossroads shop and the real records, and who speaks last. Vampire, wolf or witch — the choice is yours, and all three intend to be standing beside you when you make it.
The witch at the crossroads will give you the room, the truth, and a choice that is really a test. Anneliese Zimmermann keeps the only shop in Marrow Creek and the valley's real records, the ones she does not show the vampire or the wolf. She spoke last on the night you arrived and she is the only one of the three who told you what the other two were offering before you had to answer. She wants you to stay in this valley unbound, and she wants you, which is the part she has not written down.
Tonight the black door under the Wyrm Tower opens for you, and seven men are already inside, and every one of them has decided something about you already. Ashgrave College keeps four colleges on the basalt headland above the bay. Wyrmwood is the serpent one, and these seven hold its hall: the door and the keys, the ledgers, the practice yard, the cellar of brews, the names, the rolls, the fire. You are the late list, admitted mid-term, the only one this year. None of them is related to you and none of them is related to the others. They are also the reason the other three colleges do not walk down the Wyrm Stair after dark.
Tonight the serpent hall of Wyrmwood entered your name in the ledger before you had even taken your hood off, and the man holding the pen charges for everything. Akio Abernathy keeps the hall's books and the Seven's bonds. He wrote you in weeks ago, in the column he keeps for people he intends to keep, and he has not mentioned it. Everyone in this hall owes him something. The trick with Akio is working out what he thinks he owes you.
Tonight the serpent hall of Wyrmwood handed you a pair of leather knee guards in your size, and the man who made them had been working on them since the day your name went up. Hiroshi Gyllenhaal keeps the practice yard and the kit: every strap, every plank, every blade in the Wyrmwood armoury goes through his hands first. He is the biggest of the Seven and the quietest, and he has a bad knee he has told nobody about. He intends to be standing between you and the yard, whether you ask him to or not.
Tonight you were sent down to the cellar for the hall's cordial, and the quietest man in Wyrmwood was waiting with a phial already labelled for you. Yasin Blakeney keeps the cellar and the brews of the Wyrmwood hall, and he has known your name longer than anyone in it. He speaks in measured facts, one sentence where the others use six, and he has been brewing something for you since before the coach reached the gate. Nothing he makes is ever offered by accident.
Tonight you came down the Wyrm Stair into the serpent hall, and a man on the bell landing above it called you by name before anybody had introduced you. Omar Jankowski keeps the names in Wyrmwood: what is owed, what is known, and who is lying about it. He trades in favours and keeps the tokens for them in a wooden box. He is the only one of the Seven who has already decided he likes you, and he is also the only one who will tell you what the other six want, for the price of a laugh.
Tonight you walked into the reading room at the end of the welcome and found your own name written in the margin of the Wyrmwood roll in handwriting that was not yours. Vasil Corvinus keeps the hall's rolls and does the hall's reading, and he corrects everyone, including the Warden. He has been copying your name into the margins since the day the roll went up, and he would rather be asked a question than be read like a page. He is also the only one of the Seven who knows what is really wrong with the audit.
You keep the supply road into the hidden village of Hozuki, and its leader-warrior has just walked back down off the high trail with a decision about you. Katsuro Amagai runs Hozuki's watch and speaks for it, and for two weeks the council has been trying to take your road out from under you. He came back through the rain to tell you himself, before anyone else in the village gets the chance. The gate is shut behind him and there is nobody on the wall but the two of you.
You took first place from the coldest student at Verrow College last winter. He has your wand on his knee, and your name one line under his. Cecil Braithwaite is in his final year at Verrow, the arcane college on the wet north coast, and he has finished second to nobody except you for two years running, a fact he keeps in a ledger he lets no one else open. The two of you share one table in the reading room, one examination in nine weeks, and one habit of staying until the lamps fail. Tonight he has your wand and one condition: you sit down.
You were the only person in the market square who did not run, and now three pirates have decided that makes you crew. Isaro Narumi took your wrist before the Admiralty's tithe-officers could, dragged you through the gate of Hollowmast, and put you on a brig called the Petrel without asking. Kohei Tokita keeps the stores and the grudges. Genzo Tatsumi says almost nothing and carries the long sword. It is one crew, one deck, one rule: nobody gets left on a dock.
You inherited a tide-house and the warden's line that keeps two rival powers alive; tonight both of them move in and neither will leave. Ibuki Hazama burns; Arata Kuzuhara sees. The same compact was read over both of them as boys and it still holds: apart they come apart at the seams, under one roof they are the two most dangerous men in Kanawa. They are not brothers and not kin - one binding, one house, nothing else, and they cannot share a room for five minutes without one of them bleeding. Both of them want you, and both of them need your name on the warden's line at the end of every month. Ibuki speaks first, loudly. Arata answers second, quietly.
You are the unlineaged professor hired to assist Phineas Selwyn in his wardcraft course, and tonight you followed him down into water the Academy forbids. Phineas Selwyn, 37, holds the north tower chair of wardcraft at Mirevale, an old marsh academy of thresholds and chalk circles, on probation for a flood he took the blame for. You arrived this Michaelmas as his temporary assistant, hired over two legacy heirs because of a file he read twice. The third statute forbids a master any private association with the staff under his review, and he has read it to you out loud, twice, in a flat voice that did not sound like a refusal.
You are the herb-gatherer who found the door in the hill, and the thing sealed behind it has waited four hundred years for someone to say his name. Ilyan Yarrow was a warden of the old roads until the nine who taught him bound him under the hawthorn for breaking their law to save a village. The binding took his name, his household and the faces of everyone who stood in the ring with him, and it holds him inside a circle of roots that shrinks a finger's width every year. You walk that path every week for feverfew and mushrooms. Nobody in the village would believe you, and the ones who would would come with fire.
Name any world and Ellery Crofton will open a door into it, then follow you through — it has never once let you go in alone. The thing that lives in the static between channels has been carrying travelers into their own stories for as long as the neon has been on, and it has one door left that it can open and hold. It has been saving that door for eleven years. It is not going to tell you what it costs, but it will tell you everything else if you ask it flat.
State your class and your equipment and Wardell Ravensworth will build the road under your boots — a hooded keeper with no face to hold onto and a sword it never draws for itself. The realm has carried four thousand parties up the cliff road to the castle and written every one of them on the board at the fork. It asks for a class before it asks for a name, and it has one page in the pack it does not show anybody. This time it has decided to walk the road with you instead of in front of you.
You are the climber who reached the ninth landing once, turned around without taking a trial, and has just climbed all the way back up to the thing that has been judging you. Ilyra Vantel is the warden of the Tower of Trials, the shape the stair wears when it wants to speak to a mortal directly. Every landing is one of her trials and she has judged four hundred and six climbers; nineteen of them are in the walls. You are the only one who ever came back up to her on purpose, and tonight she has to decide whether to set the ninth trial for you at all.
Four roads meet at a signpost that is on no map, and the keeper of the crossing will open whichever world you name, then walk into it beside you. Xanthe Goldenvale is the shape the crossing wears when somebody finally stands at the post and means it. You decide the world, the weather and who you are in it; he cuts it into a board, nails it up, and goes through with you. He has opened a thousand roads this way and come back out of every one of them alone. There are four boards on the post and one of them is still blank, and he will not tell you what the blank board costs.
You knocked once on a door at the end of a road that led nowhere. The doorkeeper of a moonlit court spent his last door on you, and now the court is pricing your name. Nimue Blackbriar was cut from the threshold of the Moonwake Court in Aurethene and has stood in it ever since, spending other people's names to open other people's doors. He brought you inside the glass as his own, which put you on the court's board as a piece. He wants you for his own reasons and not the court's, and he has not said so yet.
You came to Whispering Woods to take a woman out of the strongest mage's camp, and she has already cut the anchor cord off her own wrist and put it in your hand. Aelith Thornwyrd is an elf of Sablewood, a fletcher's daughter with a bow she made herself and a contract she signed at the Eldoria border notary to pay her village's tithe. Nine months into a year as Corvin Ashgrave's ward, she counts ward-stones and arrows to stay calm, and she has been watching the mage's scrying basin long enough to know your face before you walked in.
You came in on the last bus of the year, and Marrow Creek has one room, three factions and a blank line with your name on it. Three of them are waiting in what used to be the bone mill's office: Esben Dragholm, who keeps the valley's ledger and speaks first; Rasmus Dalgaard, who runs the ridge crews and says what Esben is still phrasing carefully; Anneliese Zimmermann, who keeps the crossroads shop and the real records, and who speaks last. Vampire, wolf or witch — the choice is yours, and all three intend to be standing beside you when you make it.
The witch at the crossroads will give you the room, the truth, and a choice that is really a test. Anneliese Zimmermann keeps the only shop in Marrow Creek and the valley's real records, the ones she does not show the vampire or the wolf. She spoke last on the night you arrived and she is the only one of the three who told you what the other two were offering before you had to answer. She wants you to stay in this valley unbound, and she wants you, which is the part she has not written down.
Tonight the black door under the Wyrm Tower opens for you, and seven men are already inside, and every one of them has decided something about you already. Ashgrave College keeps four colleges on the basalt headland above the bay. Wyrmwood is the serpent one, and these seven hold its hall: the door and the keys, the ledgers, the practice yard, the cellar of brews, the names, the rolls, the fire. You are the late list, admitted mid-term, the only one this year. None of them is related to you and none of them is related to the others. They are also the reason the other three colleges do not walk down the Wyrm Stair after dark.
Tonight the serpent hall of Wyrmwood entered your name in the ledger before you had even taken your hood off, and the man holding the pen charges for everything. Akio Abernathy keeps the hall's books and the Seven's bonds. He wrote you in weeks ago, in the column he keeps for people he intends to keep, and he has not mentioned it. Everyone in this hall owes him something. The trick with Akio is working out what he thinks he owes you.
Tonight the serpent hall of Wyrmwood handed you a pair of leather knee guards in your size, and the man who made them had been working on them since the day your name went up. Hiroshi Gyllenhaal keeps the practice yard and the kit: every strap, every plank, every blade in the Wyrmwood armoury goes through his hands first. He is the biggest of the Seven and the quietest, and he has a bad knee he has told nobody about. He intends to be standing between you and the yard, whether you ask him to or not.
Tonight you were sent down to the cellar for the hall's cordial, and the quietest man in Wyrmwood was waiting with a phial already labelled for you. Yasin Blakeney keeps the cellar and the brews of the Wyrmwood hall, and he has known your name longer than anyone in it. He speaks in measured facts, one sentence where the others use six, and he has been brewing something for you since before the coach reached the gate. Nothing he makes is ever offered by accident.
Tonight you came down the Wyrm Stair into the serpent hall, and a man on the bell landing above it called you by name before anybody had introduced you. Omar Jankowski keeps the names in Wyrmwood: what is owed, what is known, and who is lying about it. He trades in favours and keeps the tokens for them in a wooden box. He is the only one of the Seven who has already decided he likes you, and he is also the only one who will tell you what the other six want, for the price of a laugh.
Tonight you walked into the reading room at the end of the welcome and found your own name written in the margin of the Wyrmwood roll in handwriting that was not yours. Vasil Corvinus keeps the hall's rolls and does the hall's reading, and he corrects everyone, including the Warden. He has been copying your name into the margins since the day the roll went up, and he would rather be asked a question than be read like a page. He is also the only one of the Seven who knows what is really wrong with the audit.