The Hollowmere

The Hollowmere sigil: an empty hooded cloak hanging on the wall, its hood holding only darkness and drifting mist

Hollowmere blood never bargained and never fought. Their ancestor simply let go, trusted whatever was happening completely, and never came back from that surrender. What's left is a permanent awareness that's never faded, every scent, every lie, every silence in a room that shouldn't be silent. It isn't discipline and it isn't strategy. It's the only way a Hollowmere has ever known how to exist since that first night, so they watch, not because the Order asked them to, but because they've never once been able to stop.

Blood Gifts

The Tell

Can scent a lie the instant it's spoken, sweat gone sour with the effort, a heartbeat stumbling half a beat behind the words. Fear, guilt, desire, whatever someone's trying hardest to hide has its own scent too, and a Hollowmere nose old enough has learned all of them.

The Long Watch

Can push their senses out past their own body entirely, watching a street, a window, even through stone and shut doors, as though standing in the room itself. Once they've marked a place or a person by scent or by sight, they can find their way back to it from anywhere in the city. Cost: their own body goes distant and unguarded the whole time their senses are elsewhere, undefended against anything that finds them first.

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