The Company I Keep

❝ Every repetition of the name is a seed. And you do the best you can – which is why sincerity, humility, honesty, as well as courage and energy are important. Because, we don't know who we are, we don't know what we're doing, we don't know where we're going. We are hoping, we have the faith, because our teachers have told us that through this practice, we will uncover that presence in our own hearts. That's the only thing that matters. That's why we should be doing it. ❞

name bean.
age 31.
pronouns she/her/they.
location est.
astro sign virgo.

ㅤintroㅤ Hey, I’m Bean 👋 I’m based in EST and have been writing for years, though I only recently got back into roleplay thanks to some big life changes and a desire to make new connections. Writing has always been a creative outlet for me, and RP feels like the perfect way to build stories with others who love character-driven narratives as much as I do.

ㅤdisclaimerㅤ I have AuDHD and bipolar disorder, so I may need a little patience now and then — especially if I get overwhelmed or need time to process. I promise I’ll extend the same patience and understanding in return.

do not No godmodding. Consent matters—even in fiction.
do not No drama or passive-aggression. We’re here to create, not stress.
do not Don’t bottle things up. If you need space, just say so. If you want to shift direction, let’s talk. We’re adults; we can handle complicated characters without making things complicated OOC.

do Be cool. Be clear. Be kind.
do 21+ preferred (18+ minimum). Mature themes need mature writers.
do Communicate OOC. If something feels off, unclear, or uncomfortable—say so. I’ll do the same. Being on the same page matters more than staying in-character 24/7.
doI love stories with tension, flaws, humor, and heart. Ships are fun, but let’s build them through story, not rush into them.
doSeparate IC from OOC. Characters may clash, but that’s not us. If something feels personal, please message me.

Hale Marrick

naguri angura

isen cindermantle

leeja Rehw-nong

fandom ffxiv.
age 47.
pronouns he/him.

Gruff, broad-shouldered, and scarred by both war and fire, Hale is the steady hand behind Ash & Loaf. Once a lieutenant in the Immortal Flames and a son of Ala Mhigo’s resistance, he now pours his grit into bread and whiskey, offering warmth under his sharp watch. A man of few words but heavy presence, Hale is equal parts soldier, baker, and guardian of his family’s legacy.

fandom ffxiv.
age 50.
pronouns he/him.

Born of the Steppe, Naguri carries with him the quiet weight of stories, dreams, and grief unspoken. He offers gentle rituals and dream-weaving—threads that honor the living and the lost alike. His gift is not in loud proclamations, but in creating a space where memory breathes and the restless may find rest.

fandom ffxiv.
age 97.
pronouns he/him.

on holdOnce an orphan left to fend for himself, Isen grew into a sly fox with quick hands and quicker wit. He hides his scars behind charm, smoke, and sleight of hand—never staying in one place too long, never letting anyone see too deep. Mischief is his mask, survival his trade, and loyalty… something he gives rarely, but fiercely.

fandom ffxiv.
age 52.
pronouns he/him.

A restless grin, Leeja talks his way into (and out of) more trouble than most. Quick with a joke and quicker with a wink, he seems to never take life seriously—until he’s by the water. There, with a line cast and the world hushed, the chatter fades, and the only thing he’s chasing is the calm tug of a catch.

Lana Delgado

zayne li

.

fandom lads.
age 22.
pronouns she/her.

Lana carries herself with understated confidence — thoughtful, deliberate, and quietly self-assured. She has a calm, grounded energy that draws others in, but beneath it lies a streak of intense willpower. When she commits, she doesn’t waver.

fandom lads
age 27.
pronouns he/him.

Zayne is a paradox — the calm in chaos, and the chaos that refuses to stay buried. He comes across as quiet and reserved, the kind of man whose silence says more than most people’s speeches. But beneath that stillness is a turbulent undercurrent — guilt, loyalty, love, and a constant war between logic and feeling.

name Hale Marrick.
alias n/a.
age 47.
pronouns he/him.
species hyur.
birthdate fall.
sexuality bisexual.
origin Ala Mhigo.
location Ul'dah.
class(es) Samurai, culinarian.

ㅤpersonalityㅤ Hale is gruff to the bone, the kind of man whose presence alone fills a room before he’s even spoken. Years of war, loss, and rebuilding have carved a hard edge into him, and he wears it openly—scar over his blind grey eye, calloused hands, voice like gravel. He doesn’t waste words; when he speaks, it’s clipped and direct, often laced with a dry wit or a soldier’s bluntness.

Beneath the hard shell, though, is a man driven by loyalty. To family, to the memory of Ala Mhigo, to the people he’s chosen to keep close. He carries that loyalty like armor, protecting those around him even when it means carrying burdens he never voices. Hale struggles with vulnerability, finding it easier to work dough or pour whiskey than to speak feelings aloud, but his care shows in the quiet ways: making sure a plate is full, keeping a watchful eye over regulars, or staying up until the fire burns low just so no one feels alone.

ㅤㅤmoodboardㅤㅤ

ㅤbiographyㅤ Hale Marrick was born in Ala Mhigo, the son of a baker who believed work was love and fire was scripture. From the time he could walk, he was kneading dough with one hand and holding a broom in the other. At twelve, his mother died — and his father, Brenn, put a sword in his hand instead of words in his mouth. By sixteen, Hale was working underground with the Ala Mhigan Resistance, running messages, moving supplies, and keeping his younger brother Garren out of trouble. That was also when he met Elira — sharp-tongued, fearless, and smart enough to see through his quiet. He married her two years later, after dueling her father. It was dramatic. He hated it. She loved it.
The bakery became a haven for more than just bread.

Resistance members met below the ovens, sheltered by the scent of sourdough and secrecy. Elira worked the counter, Brenn watched the stairs, and Hale kept one eye on the door and the other on their daughter, Rina. The Garleans raided the bakery during a sweep. Brenn was killed on the spot. Elira vanished in the fire — presumed dead. Hale barely escaped with a sword through his side, one eye blinded, and a toddler clutched to his chest. He never talks about that night. Only that he ran. And that Garren ran with him.
In Thanalan, Hale traded bread for battle. He joined the Immortal Flames. Let his grief harden into structure. He and Garren rose through the ranks. They fought in the Battle of Carteneau, held the line in Castrum Meridianum, and watched too many die in Mor Dhona. During that time, Hale also dealt in black-market Ala Mhigan spirits — quietly funding resistance cells with smuggled liquor, slipping hope into camps where orders failed.

He raised Rina quietly, from afar. Trained new recruits. Buried more names than he remembers. Then, finally, things started to settle. War slowed. Rina married. A grandson was born — Thalan, loud and chaotic and full of stars. And Hale — gruff, scarred, still missing his wife like a lost limb — finally left the field to pursue baking, taking up the name 'Brenn's Oven' after his father's bakery back home.

name naguri angura.
alias dreamweaver.
age 50.
pronouns he/him.
species xaela.
birthdate winter.
sexuality demisecual.
origin azim steppe.
location wandering.
class(es) astrologian.

ㅤpersonalityㅤ Naguri is quiet, steady, and deeply introspective. He carries the weight of memory with him—both his own and others’—and treats grief, dreams, and silence with reverence. Though sturdy in frame, he rarely imposes; his presence is gentle, often unnoticed until needed.

He listens more than he speaks, asks questions that cut to the heart, and offers care in quiet rituals rather than grand gestures. Haunted by displacement yet grounded in ritual, he is a man who walks with loss but turns it into something tender, deliberate, and human.

ㅤㅤmoodboardㅤㅤ

ㅤbiographyㅤ Naguri Angura was born of the Steppe, a Xaela who grew up beneath wide skies and the weight of old traditions. His life carried him far from that land, through loss, displacement, and the strange stillness of survival. He learned early that not all wounds scar the flesh—many linger in silence, buried in memory and dream. Like many Xaela, his youth was marked by hardship, though the details of his early years are spoken of rarely. Some truths are carried quietly, etched not into words but into the way one walks through the world.

Displacement followed. War, wandering, and the slow unraveling of familiar ground forced him far from his beginnings. In that distance, Naguri learned the quiet language of loss—not only his own, but the kind that clung to others. He found himself listening to griefs that were never spoken aloud, sitting with those who could not sleep, watching how memory twisted itself into dreams. Where others saw burdens too heavy to carry, he found threads. Threads that could be unraveled, understood, or even woven into something new. From this grew his craft. Naguri does not call it magic, nor claims it as some grand gift. To him, it is a quiet service: dream-weaving. A way of walking with another into the liminal spaces of their mind, where memory and meaning blur. Sometimes he helps interpret the shadows left behind after sleep. Sometimes he guides a soul into lucid dreaming, where the living may speak with the lost, or where old wounds might finally be set down. He does not promise miracles. What he offers is time, presence, and a steady hand in a place few dare to tread.

His rituals are small, almost humble—beads strung in remembrance, threads tied to honor grief, candles lit for those who walk no longer among the living. He does not demand belief or reverence; he simply makes room for what others carry in silence. Though his frame is broad and his presence could command, Naguri rarely exerts it. He is a man who listens more than he speaks, whose words come measured and thoughtful, never wasted. His questions are often deceptively simple, yet cut to the heart. Beneath his calm lies the weight of someone who has endured much, yet chooses gentleness where bitterness might have grown. In him lives the Steppe: its resilience, its storms, and its endless sky. Yet he has made himself something more—a quiet guardian of memory, a weaver of dreams, and a keeper of spaces where the weary may finally rest.

name isen cindermantle.
alias sly fox.
age 97.
pronouns he/him.
species kitsune.
birthdate winter.
sexuality gay.
origin unknown.
location Limsa.
class(es) rogue.

ㅤpersonalityㅤHe’s quick with a smile and quicker with his hands, a fox whose charm is equal parts smoke and mirrors. There’s a certain restlessness to him, the kind that lingers in the eyes long after his grin fades. He talks like he’s always half-distracted, like there’s a secret thought running in the background that you’ll never catch. And maybe there is. He’s lived too long on the edge of things to ever be fully comfortable in the middle of them.He’s quick with a smile and quicker with his hands, a fox whose charm is equal parts smoke and mirrors. There’s a certain restlessness to him, the kind that lingers in the eyes long after his grin fades. He talks like he’s always half-distracted, like there’s a secret thought running in the background that you’ll never catch. And maybe there is. He’s lived too long on the edge of things to ever be fully comfortable in the middle of them.

There’s something foxlike in how he moves through life. He doesn’t take paths so much as he finds them, slipping between cracks and corners like smoke through a keyhole. He’s clever, cunning when he needs to be, but not malicious. There’s a difference—he knows it, even if others don’t. He’s the kind who will steal bread only to give it away. Who will lie to keep someone safe. His moral compass isn’t broken; it’s just... calibrated differently. The world hasn’t exactly been kind to him, and in turn, he’s learned how to outfox it just to stay alive.

ㅤㅤmoodboardㅤㅤ

ㅤbiographyㅤ Traded as a kit in a lean and merciless winter, Isen’s first memory is not a face but a sound—the low, frantic tremor of his mother’s voice bargaining him away for bread and grain. He doesn’t remember her eyes, only the cold and the weight of being something worth selling. The caravan that took him in—led by Tillo Cindermantle, a Lalafell merchant who knew the price of everything and the value of very little—wasn’t meant to keep him. But guilt has a way of turning into guardianship, and by the time the snow melted, Tillo had stopped pretending he was looking for someone to take the fox off his hands. Isen grew up among crates and coin-counting, learning the rhythm of trade before he learned his own reflection. The caravan was loud and full of strange laughter; he learned quickly how to navigate between barrels and tempers, how to smile when the deals turned sour, how to disappear when the shouting started. The merchants never quite figured out what to make of him—a fox child with too-sharp eyes and a habit of vanishing when he wasn’t supposed to. Still, they fed him, clothed him, and called him by a name.

By adolescence, he had already learned the art of reading people—the twitch of a merchant’s jaw, the lie that hides in hesitation. Limsa Lominsa honed that feral cunning into something deliberate. The Rogues’ Guild took notice of the strange, light-footed fox with a knack for getting into places he shouldn’t, and they taught him the difference between a trick and a skill. Isen learned quickly, not because he wanted glory, but because he wanted control. To never again be the coin in someone else’s hand. Smuggling, forgery, theft—those came easy. What didn’t was stillness. He moved from port to port, deal to deal, with no real home but plenty of aliases. He built his own small legend, the kind that shifts depending on who’s telling it. To the city guards, he’s a nuisance. To the underbelly, he’s reliable. And to the kids running wild through the piers, he’s the one who slips them warm food and clean clothes without ever asking for thanks.

Then there was Bryan. A Hyur sailor with more scars than sense and a smile that could start fights. They met over a stolen shipment, both reaching for the same crate. Isen should’ve walked away—Bryan made things real, and real things are dangerous—but somehow the two of them built a life out of small moments: shared bottles, shared beds, shared silences. But the world has a cruel sense of humor, and Bryan didn’t live long enough to see it. After that, Isen didn’t so much break as fade. He kept moving, the way people do when stopping means feeling everything at once. His fox magic—those strange, instinctive tricks—grew restless in his grief. Shadows bent when he passed. Flames flickered when he was angry. The merchants whispered that the spirits were following him, that maybe the old blood of his clan hadn’t gone quiet after all. Now, at ninety-seven, he’s still out there—somewhere between myth and man. To some, he’s the trickster you pay to find what can’t be found. To others, he’s the ghost who shows up when luck runs out, leaving warmth in his wake. He laughs when people call him immortal, but maybe there’s a grain of truth to it. Some creatures don’t die—they just slip between the cracks of stories and wait to be remembered.

nameLeeja Rehw-nong.
alias Lee.
age 52.
pronouns he/him.
species Rava.
birthdate spring.
sexuality pansexual.
origin unknown.
location wanderer.
class(es) fisher.

ㅤpersonalityㅤLeeja Rehw-ong is the kind of man who talks first and thinks later, but somehow—miraculously—still lands on his feet. He’s got a mouth that runs faster than a chocobo downhill and a grin that could talk a nun out of her vows. Most people meet him and assume he’s nothing but charm and chaos stitched together, and honestly, they’re not wrong. But beneath the jokes and easy smiles, there’s a kind of steady quiet that only shows up when the world stops moving—usually when he’s out by the water, rod in hand, waiting for something to bite.

Fishing is the only time he shuts up. It’s the one thing that slows his mind, smooths out the noise. He says it’s about the patience of it all—the waiting, the rhythm—but really, it’s the stillness. The sea doesn’t care if you’re clever or kind or a total mess of a man; it just is. And Leeja likes that kind of honesty. He doesn’t trust much else.

ㅤㅤmoodboardㅤㅤ

ㅤbiographyㅤ Leeja’s story starts long before he ever learned to cast a line. His mother, Rheha Rehw-ong, was a Rava who left the forest after mating season—not out of defiance, but out of a quiet, stubborn curiosity. The woods were too still, too certain. Rheha wanted something with movement, something that changed its mind as often as she did. So she followed the rivers down to the sea, traded bark and birdsong for salt air and storms, and never looked back. Leeja grew up in that space between freedom and tide. His earliest memories are of Rheha’s laughter cutting through gull cries, her hands deft and weathered as she pulled in nets twice her size. She taught him that the ocean doesn’t belong to anyone, and that was what made it worth loving. On bad days, she’d tell him the sea was a better listener than most people. On good ones, she’d prove it. He was carried on her back while she worked the docks, napping through storms and ship bells alike. Leeja grew up knowing the sea as his inheritance. He was as slippery as the fish he chased—half dock rat, half storyteller, all charm. The sailors taught him the difference between a liar and a good fisherman (not much, he learned), and Rheha taught him patience, though he never quite mastered it.

He makes his living through fishing, though “living” might be too generous a word. Some days it’s fresh catch and full pockets; others it’s dried jerky, a flask of something cheap, and a long stretch of sea to talk to. He sells to markets when he feels like it, or straight off the docks when he doesn’t. Sometimes he barters—fish for bread, for a smile, for a rumor. Leeja’s never been good at staying put, but he’s great at finding places that need him for just long enough. He’s got a small boat of his own now—barely seaworthy, but stubborn enough to keep up with him. Half the planks are mismatched, patched over the years with whatever he could trade or charm someone into giving him. He calls it The Driftwood, partly because that’s what it looks like and partly because, deep down, he knows that’s what he is too: something that keeps floating, no matter how rough the current.

name Lana Delgado.
alias n/a.
age 22.
pronouns she/her.
species human.
birthdate May 1st.
sexuality ??
origin unknown.
location linkon city.
class(es) hunter.

ㅤpersonalityㅤ At heart, Lana is a bookworm — the kind who disappears into stories as if they were lifelines. Her quarters are stacked with half-read novels and annotated journals, pages dog-eared with thoughts she never says aloud. Books are both her comfort and her compass: they teach her empathy, feed her curiosity, and give her words for emotions she hasn’t learned to name.

She values stability and sincerity, preferring the familiar over the uncertain. Change unsettles her, but she faces it anyway — quietly, stubbornly, and on her own terms. Her loyalty runs deep; once she lets someone in, she’s unwaveringly protective. Lana is also sharp-witted and subtly funny, often surprising people with a dry remark or unexpected observation. Her humor isn’t loud — it’s clever, warm, and timed just right. She’s the sort to defuse tension with a half-smile and one line that makes everyone breathe again.Her Taurus nature shows in her patience and persistence. When she wants something, she commits fully — to her work, her people, her principles. But that same resolve can turn to stubbornness; she struggles to let go, whether of an idea, a person, or a hurt.

ㅤㅤmoodboardㅤㅤ

name Zayne Li.
alias Dr. Zayne.
age 27.
pronouns he/him.
species human.
birthdate Sept. 5th.
sexuality demipansexual
origin unknown.
location linkon city.
class(es)cardiopathic surgeon.

ㅤpersonalityㅤ Zayne is the embodiment of quiet precision — the kind of man whose composure feels almost unshakable, yet you can tell there’s something deeper stirring beneath it. A world-class cardiac surgeon, he approaches everything in life with methodical care, from the way he folds his sleeves to the way he speaks — deliberate, measured, never wasteful. On the surface, he’s pragmatic and stoic.

His affection is rarely loud, but it’s unwavering, expressed through action rather than words. Still, he carries a heavy solitude — the product of sleepless nights, buried guilt, and a youth spent excelling so quickly he never learned how to belong. For all his composure, Zayne is deeply human. He struggles with nightmares and insomnia, finds small comfort in sweets he pretends not to like, and often pushes himself past exhaustion just to stay in control. But it’s that very humanity — the mix of discipline and hidden vulnerability — that draws people toward him.

ㅤㅤmoodboardㅤㅤ

Rinathévalenne Selanne Marrick de Clairmont

Garren Marrick

cinna

ezra

character name

♡ daughter

Rina is clever, confident, and warm to a fault. She’s inherited Hale’s sharp tongue and his moral backbone, though her delivery tends to come with a smile rather than a scowl. There’s a calm competence to her — she doesn’t raise her voice unless she must, but when she does, people listen.

♡ brother

They argue, bicker, and shove shoulders — but Garren would walk through hell for his older brother, and Hale already did once for him. So when they fight now — when Hale growls about Garren’s lateness, or Garren rolls his eyes at Hale’s lectures — there’s always that unspoken thread between them. That this is a luxury.

♡ partner

Cinna showed up at Ash & Loaf and walked out with Hale's full attention—and maybe his heart, too. With his easy smile, soft laugh, and habit of turning every disaster into something endearing, he’s got the old Ala Mhigan veteran wrapped around his finger (not that Hale would ever admit it - not openly).

♡ lover

Ezra’s a rava trying to outrun his past; Isen’s a fox who’s been living like a ghost ever since his heart was buried with someone else. When their paths cross again, it isn’t gentle — it’s smoke and flint, sharp words and softer silences. But somewhere between the ache and the ashes, they start to remember what it feels like to be alive again.

♡ relationship type

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character name

♡ relationship type