Daeron Whisper-Wind

Name: Daeron Whisper-Wind

Thin as a rail, almost to the point of looking underfed, even with a good diet at home, sandy blond hair and pale eyes. Wears thick wool clothing in muted tones and leather shoes. The main source of color in his attire comes from the bangles and baubles hanging off the hems and sleeves, made from stones and shells and other brikabrak he's come across that caught his eye. His family doesn't mind the habit of making these trinkets, as they tend to make more noise than he does, and give them a general idea as to where he is. A few scars mark across his body, two ugly ones across his jaw and thigh, both pursed like they've been pinned shut while healing.

Background: He'd been very slight since birth, to the point of his parents being afraid he would not live during the first years' travelling. For all their concerns, the boy seemed to have a stubborn will to keep going on, though a sickness in his first years robbed him of most of his voice. Placed with the womenfolk as he lacked the stamina to go hunting with the rest of the men, he learned how to weave and tend to the tribe's homebound Pokemon.

In his early teens, he'd been tasked by his mother to go and gather reeds so she could break them down for fibers for baskets and other weaving. Figuring the task was simple enough to do alone, Daeron travelled without letting anyone know his path. As he harvested along a hill's edge, working through thick brush to pull out the fibrous stalks, he was caught by surprise as the ground gave way, the tangled scrubgrass masking a deep sinkhole. Tumbling down, his world focused into a bright flash of white pain as his thigh was split open nearly to the bone on a jagged stone jutting from the side, his face finding a second not too much further down during the fall.

When he finally came to, weak and woozy, he was laying in a pile of soft dead leaves, only a faint bit of the setting sun's light filtering down the shaft. His leg throbbed, raw wound oozing slowly, mostly clotted with leaves working as makeshift scabs, jaw looking little better. Struggling to move, he let out weak grunts as he tried to make his leg work, the pain making his head swim while he squirmed towards the side of the hole. Seeing the smooth walls, he crumpled in dispair, no way to yell for help, no way to climb, and no way to treat his wounds. In the dimming light, he could make out crawling forms coming in for the night, a chill running through his sluggish mind. If this was a nest of Weedle or Venipede, he was as good as dead, not that the wound he had wouldn't finish him in a few days if he couldn't get the bleeding to stop.

To his relief, it seemed to be the haven for a swarm of Leavanny and their young, though that meant little for his current crisis besides a lack of being eaten alive or stung to death. With little else to try, he struggled to climb up the side of the tunnel, trying not to use his bad leg, but with little else to grab hold of but the distant rocks near the top, he was set for failure. All his struggles were ignored by the insect Pokèmon, nestling in to sleep for the night, in the relative safety of the burrow. All, save for one Leavanny, who was much slower to enter the tunnel, its leaves looking more withered and tattered, clearly an old matron of the group. She watched Daeron's attempts with curiosity, nestling into a nook on one side.

Seeing little else he could do to climb up, he looked to what he had with him, and saw the long reeds that had spilled from his satchel in a tangle. Trying to rack his memory, fuzzy as his mind was with blood loss, he began to split them and strip the fibrous material to try and weave some sort of rope. If he was lucky, he thought he might be able to loop it around the rock sticking up near the top of the tunnel and climb out with that. It was slow work, fumbling in the near dark, only the gleam of the moon giving him a dim view of what he was doing, but in a half day's time he'd made headway into a reasonable facsimile of his mother's far better crafted rope. The insects had gone to feed during the sunny hours, though that same matron sat in her little nook, either sleeping or watching the boy work. Tying it to a heavy chunk of wood he'd managed to dig out of the brush in the bottom of the hole, he tried to toss the length up to the rock, only to have it bounce ineffectively away.

Finally, with one lucky toss, it looped around the stone. Daeron's heart lept in his chest as he pulled at it and began to try and climb up, the bloodsoaked leg spasming under him as he did his best to only brace with the other. Halfway up, he was exhausted and sore, focused so much on climbing he didn't hear the fibers creaking and unwinding in the cord until it was too late and he came crashing down, rope in tatters around him. Weak, tired, painfully thirsty and sore all over from the landing, he curled up in the pile of dead plant matter, too worn to try and reweave it again. The sleep of the defeated took him swiftly, thoughts of his demise all he had.

When he rose again in the beginnings of dawn, the second day of imprisonment, he felt a painful tightness on his face and leg. Dreading that the infection had begun, and soon he'd succumb to fever and death, he reached up to rub at the gash in his jaw, only to find it pulled closed, stitched shut with sticky thread, covered in a fresh green leaf, same with the wide wound in his leg, though now he was missing the leg of his pants. Coiled in front of him was his rope, retied and bound stronger in thick silk, leading up to the stone at the entrance. Confused, he looked around, to see the old Leavanny next to him, looking exhausted, missing some of its leafy attire. Taken aback, the boy thanked the Pokèmon for its kindness and promised to repay it in due time.

Climbing up slowly, the matron following him up, as if encouraging him, Daeron steadily made his way to freedom, laying in a heap at the top of the tunnel, safely away from the hole. Giving one last trill, the Leavanny placed the satchel, which he'd left behind in his focus on escape, at Daeron's side and patted his head comfortingly before slowly crawling back into the den.

Limping his way back towards home, he was found by a search party halfway there, and rushed back to the healer, who was rather impressed by the work the insect had done. The healer also found an egg in the boy's satchel, wrapped in the coiled silkbound rope and covered in a little leaf hood. Considering it a sign of good fortune, Daeron's family let him keep and hatch it, finding a little Sewaddle within, that soon nestled into its hood and kept Daeron company from then on.

Some called it a lucky find, but Daeron knew the truth, it was one last gift of kindness from that matron, a companion to make sure he stayed safe. He tried to return to the nest to give his thanks once his leg had healed, but found it abandoned, the body of a Leavanny wrapped in layers of leaves like a burial shroud at the bottom.

From then on, his mother kept a closer eye on him, though his father took a more rational approach, teaching his son a style of whistling that was sharp and clear, easily heard from hilltop to hilltop. While Daeron didn't use it too often for such emergency signals, he'd learned to use it quite effectively for general communication, and it seemed to strike a chord with Pokèmon especially. Given time, he'd found it as a very effective way to guide the herds and flocks he'd taken to watching over as he worked on weaving and crafting with the help of Stitch, his constant companion.

Pokemon Choice: Sewaddle
Pokemon Wishlist: Whismur, Roggenrola, Frillish, Bronzor, and definitely Unown (as you can tell a sound/language-centric choice)

Trainer Character Sheet
Name : Daeron Whisper-Wind       |Gender: Male            |Max HP : 40
Age    : 16                  |Height: 5'5                |Money  : 
Level  : 2                    |Weight: 125lbs          |Pokemon: (1/1)
Classes: Mystic

STR | 14 |  1  |  15 | +2
DEX |  8 |  0  |   8 | -2
CON |  8 |  0  |   8 | -2
INT |  8 |  0  |   8 | -2
WIS | 14 |  3  |  17 | +3
CHA | 10 |  0  |  10 |  0
Current Team

Stored Pokemon


At-Will - Drains 10 of user’s HP per use. Target: A Pokemon. Effect: Make a Link Check, then subtract your Wisdom or Strength Stat from your roll. If it is successful, the Pokemon is being Channeled. The Pokemon is considered Helpful. Until this ally is attacked or severely distracted, it will listen to the Mystic’s suggestions and follow the Mystic until they are leaving the Pokemon’s home. You have knowledge of its Pokemon’s Move List, Abilities and Capabilities. You have knowledge of what happened in the Pokemon’s past hour. You and the Channeled Pokemon can communicate telepathically. Any attempt at attacking or capturing the Channeled Pokemon results in the Pokemon fleeing without fail. The Channeled Pokemon will not attack on your command. However, if the Channeled Pokemon is yours, treat it as usual, except it is being “Channeled”. You may only have one Pokemon Channeled at a time. If a Pokemon is more than X meters from you, it is no longer Channeled. X is twice the sum of your STR modifier plus your WIS modifier.
Daily Trigger: A Pokemon you are Channeling. Effect: Choose a Move on the Channeled Pokemon’s Move List. You may perform this Move, once, as a Trainer Action during the next 24 hours. Use your STR modifier for your Attack stat and your WIS modifier for your Special Attack stat.
Prerequisites: Mystic, 16 STR or 16 WIS Static Effect: Whenever you target a loyal Pokemon you own with Channel, treat your Possession Check as if you rolled 0.
Channel Friend
Static Effect:Your AC check for Arms attacks is AC6. Whenever you deal damage with an ARMS FEATURE, add the highest of your STR, DEX, or CON modifiers to the damage dealt. - Whenever you use an Arms feature, you deal [Damage Base 1] damage. - If you are level 10 or higher, you deal [Damage Base 2] damage instead. - If you are level 15 or higher, you deal [Damage Base 3] damage instead.
Arms User
Static Effect:When using a staff, your AC check for Arms Features is AC4, and you deal [Damage Base 2] damage. - If you are level 10 or higher, you deal [Damage Base 4] damage instead. - If you are level 15 or higher, you deal [Damage Base 6] damage instead.
Weapon of Choice (Staff) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- INVENTORY ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pokedex: 1 Caught, 1 Seen