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Mute Empath Puuka
Status Active
Race Halfling
Gender Female (for now)
Guild Empath
Instance Prime


You are Painforged Puuka, a Halfling.
You have a round face with a handful of large claw marks scarring the jaw and neck, black eyes, a small nose and dimples. Your black hair is long and straight. You have translucent skin and a thin figure.
You are tiny for a Halfling.
You have a stud of polished glaes nestled into the groove underneath your lower lip.


This is what I can piece together between my memories and stories from others:

My mother was an Empath, and my father a Necromancer; my memories of both are distant, fragmented, and fuzzy. My mother healed those who were in need, and my father was kind from what I can remember. He had the ability to make a construct that was my size, a friend for me to play with since I didn’t have any siblings. When I was little – well, even smaller than I am now; I’m tiny even for a halfling – we were attacked by a stray Leucro. Its type varies with the storyteller. My parents weren’t prepared for such an attack and of course neither was I. The attack took my mother, and by all accounts I should have died too. The leucro sliced my throat and I quickly fell unconscious. Enraged, my father turned to the magic he quelled for so long, growing the construct I used to play with to enormous size. It devoured the leucro leaving only bones behind. Then something happened that nobody had ever seen before: an aura came from him as he touched my sleeping body, and as I like to remember it, my father “raised me.” I woke up with scars on my neck where the claws sliced, scars that to this day have never healed and wounds so deep they have left me speechless. I could feel my father’s warmth, hear his thoughts and see his memories of the three of us together as things once were. I slipped back under for I don’t know how long, and when I woke my father was gone. I was all alone in the world, unable to speak, unable to find help as nobody knew what to think of me. Fending for myself I acquired a fondness for bones and spiders, blood and tobacco, and of course what halfling doesn’t like tarts. In searching for information on my father, I heard many things – that he died, got killed, is hiding – but never a straight answer. On my journey to figure out who I am, what I am, I went to the Empath Guild so I can make my own way and try to help others as my mother did. Salvur took pity and taught me a skill, nervous at first since my spell prep reminded him of a Necromancer’s. The spell worked as intended, though, and he took me under his wing and I officially became an Empath.

I have gained some ranks from Salvur and I am still striving to help people that need healing. With my penchant for the more macabre it’s hard for me to make friends, but with my trusty slate, several sheets of paper and stationery kit, I try to communicate with those that can understand me; those that want to anyway.



443-01-04 :

I met Mol (which in itself wouldn't normally be significant, but it's what he said), friend of Amarillys from what I gather. Amarillys is the adopted daughter of someone my soon to be adoptive mother knows. Due to being mute and my gewth being broke its hard to communicate to others right now, my slate works for the most part but it seems there are some that either cannot read it or pretend they cannot, the following though is Mol's side of the conversation as I had to keep erasing my slate to write new words:

Mol quietly asks, "May I ask?"
Mol quietly asks, "The slate?"
Mol quietly asks, "Did something happen?"
Mol quietly says, "Ye don't need to tell me."
Mol quietly says, "Not a problem. I read quite well."
Mol quietly asks, "The empaths could do nothing?"
Mol quietly says, "Dumb question, I am sure."
Mol quietly says, "Please disregard. Ye don't need a voice to be heard, anyhow."

This made me really happy, someone I have just met, helped me with some insecurity. I have never had a voice, and from now on I can hold onto the notion that I don't need a voice to be heard.