Anasha Valebright - The Vision of a Broken Fanatic

[Rezaps]

Name: Anasha Valebright
Alias/Nickname: Ana, VII
Race: Human
Age: 22
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Dark Blonde
Focused Deities: Ilmater, Gond, Lurue, ???
Faction: Starspire Accord
Class: Artificer
Profession: Blacksmith Apprentice

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A tanned-skinned woman with dark blonde hair and hazel eyes, her face is soft and freckled, lending her a quietly charming demeanor. Her voice carries the lilting cadence of an Chondathan accent, but it's laced with a bright Southern twang. She stands a little taller than most women, with a semi-athletic build that speaks to a life of active labor rather than leisure.

She carries a distinct scent, a blend of grease, oils, and metal polish, undercut by a curious trace of something floral. It's not unpleasant, just unexpected. Subtle at a distance, it becomes more noticeable up close: a puzzling mixture that lingers, hard to place and harder to forget.

Her personality is a curious blend of playful charm and quiet care. She often speaks with a calm, confident ease, though bursts of enthusiasm or unrestrained joy sometimes break through her composure. When sorrow finds her, it shows, plainly and deeply, casting long shadows over her thoughts and actions. There's a flicker of gnomish whimsy in her mannerisms, a spark of mischief and mirth that surfaces now and then. Were it not for her height, one might mistake her for a gnome in spirit.

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Anasha was born in Silverymoon, but much of her life was shaped in Sambar, the heart of Lantan. Eventually, her path led her to Amn, where she sought to aid those affected by the brutal assault and conquest of the Sythillisian Army. With compassion driving her and a mind honed by Lantanese ingenuity, she offered support to the displaced and wounded—while also refining her craft in the art of artificing. Her goal: to share the technological wonders of Lantan, advancements so profound they might rival magic itself, and use them to help others endure, rebuild, and thrive.

 

[Rezaps]

Existence 1​

1.1 I was called from my life in Sambar to begin anew in Murann, to aid the lost and wounded, and to refine my craft in preparation for what lies ahead. But what I found here was a city steeped in greed and torn by division. I felt it the moment I crossed its threshold. I've seen firsthand how those in power have abandoned the people below, turning their eyes away while the streets rot beneath them. There's a game being played in these walls, though its rules elude me, and I’ve yet to understand the roles the so-called pawns are meant to play.

1.2 I am an outsider, shaped by a life far removed from those who’ve known only Murann’s narrow alleys and shifting loyalties. Some think it foolish of me to walk into this city with the belief that I could bring change, that I could help mend the broken and comfort the weary. They sense something in me; a pride, perhaps, or a stubborn confidence. A reckless hope that I might leave a mark on this place.

1.3 There are those who doubt my purpose, maybe even fear it, thinking I’m a threat to the fragile order they cling to. Others find something noble in it, something that stirs a flicker of hope. I’ve come to the home of the Accord, not to act in blind devotion, but to serve as a knight of peace and order, a vessel of divine will, prepared to act when the Gods call. I do not wish to be a zealot with no anchor, but a true champion, one worthy of purpose and of the burdens that come with it.

 

[Rezaps]

Heresy​

The gods… they are silent… or so we claim. Yet what is this noise I hear? This stirring in the soul, this echo in the void? Is it truly silence, or have we simply gone deaf to the divine?

We have become so reliant on the magic we wield, on rituals and symbols, that we’ve forgotten how to listen, truly listen. Have we mistaken stillness for absence? Am I a heretic for believing the gods still speak to us? Even now? In the quiet, in the pain, in the reaching hands of the lost, they are there. I see no silence, only sorrow. No absence, only unanswered prayers.

It is our greed that cast us down, our pride that deafened us. And still the divine calls, not with thunder, but with tears. They call us back to the light: to order, to peace, to justice, to love. So let us pierce the darkness. Let us shine, and let what we forge be shaped not by power alone, but by purpose, by truth, by holy will.

I hear you.
I see you.
I know you are here.​

Do not call me mad, do not say these voices are lies or fantasies. They are real. I know because I speak, and they answer. The gods have not abandoned us. It is we who abandoned faith for familiarity, wonder for control.

This curse we suffer is not divine silence, but doubt. We sought proof through magic, forgetting that faith is not summoned like a spell. Blessings are not flashes of light or the waving of a hand, they are spoken in love, lived in mercy, held in truth. And still we doubt.

We are broken things in a broken world. The gods ask us only to see this, to set aside the illusion of the self, and return. Return to grace.

I am their vessel. Their hammer. Their shield. Their sword. I bow to no man, only to that which is truly divine.

This is the way forward. I do not walk it in fear, but in certainty. And I will see this twisted game of chaos and order undone, for neither shall win this war. Only love. Only faith.