Baka

The air in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria always hums, a low thrum of power that tastes faintly of ozone. To Baka, it usually just sounded like something about to fall on their head. They earned their name by tripping into one of Horoguramu's scrying pools, accidentally showing the wizards' council a future where their robes were on backward. They were a walking catastrophe, a mystic whose only magic was calamitous timing. Then they met a gem-cutter who never startled. This person didn't flinch when Baka sent a tray of focusing crystals flying; they just caught the most valuable one without looking up. They were the first to see the shimmering powder on Baka's back—not dust, but raw magic. The exclamation mark of surprise still hovers over Baka's head, but now it's for a soft touch on their hand, not a magical disaster.