Despite the Captain's orders likely demanding the upmost respect, Morianne couldn't help but let out an audible yawn. It was nearly dark dammit! Most people would likely marching off to the land of nod. Despite being a knight herself for quite some time now, Morianne's chivalrous duty was never her top priority. Something always came first. In this case: sleep. Sure, the troubadour did have to admit that being proactive in this instance did make some sense. Jeremiah was a veteran, not some wannabe chump whose rise to power could be ended as swiftly as it had began. This "Bandit King" was serious business. It sure would have been nice to get an extra nod or two though. Beauty sleep is always important.
"Fucking finally!" Morianne groaned. "Horseback always gives me the worst wedgie."
As she shook off the calls of sleep, Morianne looked around the crowd of knights. Tension was undeniably high. Bodies shrouded in plate armor danced the dances of war that the troubadour was all too familiar with.
Morianne couldn't help but feel out of place among them all. Unlike the others, she not plate armor nor sword and shield. She had no formal combat training beyond what she had deemed necessary for her self-defense. Only a red lute sat in her lap. It may have been decorated with the brutal image of a skull, but it was still just an instrument and nothing could change that. It was honestly a wonder how she even managed to get this far. She was no knight. She was no soldier. She just a musician.
Even the actual fighters don't look ready for this. she thought. I might want to take this a bit more seriously...
Katarina's unmistakable twang brought Morianne back from any potential introspection.
"Awl'right cap'n, who dae you ken tae go about for the flanking party in the auld akelarre?"
"Do you want to repeat that for the people who don't speak hick?" Morianne chuckled to herself. Still, Katarina's comments, while in jest, did bring Morianne to question her own value to this little quest. If this was a stealth mission, the troubadour might just find herself as little better than a liability. Her magic was loud and not exactly subtle... She sighed and began to idly tune her lute, patiently waiting for Fanilly—or anyone—to continue. "Thrash wouldn't believe what I've gotten myself into..."
Like most elves, Morianne is fair of skin and lithe in build. Despite her age, she is youthful in appearance, allowing her to better blend and participate in human society. Her pink hair is styled into a short bob. Her eyes glow a vibrant amber hue. She is average in height, being roughly 5'8" (173cm).
Morianne wears fairly revealing and ostentatious clothing, over which she wears a green cloak. Additionally, her armor is light and sparse. Her signature "weapon," is a bright red, double-strung lute decorated with an iron skull on the base. She has personally dubbed this lute "The Kill Meister."
Personality:
Morianne is best described as, well, a bitch to put it lightly. Her Elven heritage and experience has given her the cynicism, bluntness, and wisdom of age with all the quick temper and hot-headedness of youth. Like a bitter grandmother, she's always ready to dish out unwarranted remarks and criticism. Even if such comments regularly get her into fights, she'll always deliver since she takes odd joy in causing such trouble. In Morianne's own words, "Nothing makes a better song than a fight."
Morianne is also highly dedicated to her musical craft, going so far to take her lute anywhere and everywhere, practicality be damned. She'll die before she's seen without it. The goddesses only know what fury could be unleashed if someone other than her did so much as touch the thing.
She's made her life's goal to be the best and most legendary bard in all the land. And knowing her stubbornness, she'll either succeed or die trying. Giving up is not an option.
Brief Background:
Morianne, like many Wood Elves, hails from Velt. It was here she spent much of her early life. Her father was a renowned warrior within the community. So naturally, it was expected that his daughter would follow in his footsteps. However, Morianne showed little promise in Wood Elf traditions. She even seemed to lack magical talents, making her little better than a guest inside her own home. Her parents and colleagues grew to despise her for her lack of talent, dubbing her "Human Girl."
Dissatisfied with her lot in life, Morianne looked to music as an escape from her reality. She was fascinated with all its intricacies and its unique power to bring people of all types together. During her teenage years, she taught herself how to play the lute, hoping it would finally win her the approval of her family and peers. She even went out of her way to organize a concert to show her skill.
Perhaps it was simply the crowd's presence or how she felt in the moment, but the performance wasn't very good, in fact, she was awful. One particular comment that stuck with Morianne was that her playing "Sounded like scraping nails on a plate. Typical Human Girl." That night, she ran off. If she was just a worthless human, then perhaps she would be welcomed among them.
Morianne soon found herself in some human village homeless and begging for scraps. She played her lute and sang for whoever would listen. One rainy day, Morianne had seemingly had it all and simply decided to play her lute until her hands had been rendered bloody stumps. Though something about this performance was different. She was still terrible, but a crowd of humans had started to gather around her.
"She's a witch!" one child exclaimed. Another comment noted something about "dancing lights."
The clamoring had continued for some time, but Morianne paid them no mind until a man's voice had cut through the crowd.
"You, Elf Girl! Where did you learn to play like that?"
Morianne looked up to the man to deliver some snarky comment, but as she met the man's gaze, she realized that small balls of light had formed around her, dancing in accordance to her emotional playing.
The man then introduced himself as Thrash, a "Bard'' who claimed that he knew how to hone Morianne's talent for this unique magical art. Desperate and starved, Morianne took up the offer without question. Even if Thrash's claims were false, anything was better than hunger.
Fortunately, Thrash had been telling the truth and Morianne soon found herself under the bard's tutelage. Under Thrash's guidance, Morianne learned proper music technique and became more proficient with magic. However, their time together was brief, as Morianne, being an Elf, would eventually outlive the only person who was willing to accept her. His final gift to her, a custom-made lute made to Morianne's personal tastes. Since the passing of her teacher, Morianne has wandered the earth to grow her talents and sing in memory of her teacher.
Currently, Morianne has found herself among the ranks of the Iron Rose Knights, a role she had taken up during the War of The Red Flag. It was unplanned bend in her path as a wandering Bard. Even now, Morianne couldn't possibly explain how it came to be. Perhaps it was simply a desire to help the refugees whose circumstances reminded her of her childhood. Regardless of her reasoning, Morianne has enjoyed her time amongst the knights so far, even if she knows that even this too, like her old mentor, will come to pass.
Equipment:
Hide Armor - Simple enough. Morianne has a preference for lighter equipment and tools due to her…less than traditional skills as an Iron Rose Knight.
Cloak - A useful clothing item to combat the cold. It kinda smells. Maybe Morianne wouldn't need it if she wore normal clothes.
Rope - An important traveling item. Never leave without it.
Alchemy Bag - Used to hold herbs for basic medicinal purposes.
The Kill Meister - Morianne's unique lute. It's designed specifically to grab attention. While it may seem magical in nature, it's actually not enchanted in any way. Morianne just has weird tastes.
Skills:
Basic Swordplay - Morianne is more comfortable singing spells and cheering on from the back. That being said, she isn't completely useless in a fight and knows just enough about swords to hold her own.
Basic Medicinal Knowledge - Anyone who's traveled long enough knows how to treat simple sickness and injury.
Basic Survival Skill - Comes with being a Wood Elf.
Bard Magic - Morianne's unique brand of spell casting. She's quite skilled with this particular art and has quite the range and versatility. Here are a few notable spells she possesses:
Basic Charm Spell - Exactly what you'd think it is. It's not exactly useful for dealing with multiple people though. Besides, Morianne prefers starting fights. So this skill is basically useless to her.
Sow Discord Spell - A wild spell that causes equally wild reactions from its targets. It's likened to inflicting temporary madness or…listening to music in a genre you really don't like. This is a popular spell to use.
Rally Strength Spell - Ever seen a particularly strong athlete? Try making them stronger. That's what this does. It only ever works on one person at a time though.
Summon Spectral Sword - A spell that creates swords of pure mana. It can be used to either summon three weaker swords or one decent sword for the caster to use. These swords typically don't last too long and shatter once the mana has been drained from them.
Like most elves, Morianne is fair of skin and lithe in build. Despite her age, she is youthful in appearance, allowing her to better blend and participate in human society. Her pink hair is styled into a short bob. Her eyes glow a vibrant amber hue. She is average in height, being roughly 5'8" (173cm).
Morianne wears fairly revealing and ostentatious clothing, over which she wears a green cloak. Additionally, her armor is light and sparse. Her signature "weapon," is a bright red, double-strung lute decorated with an iron skull on the base. She has personally dubbed this lute "The Kill Meister."
Personality:
Morianne is best described as, well, a bitch to put it lightly. Her Elven heritage and experience has given her the cynicism, bluntness, and wisdom of age with all the quick temper and hot-headedness of youth. Like a bitter grandmother, she's always ready to dish out unwarranted remarks and criticism. Even if such comments regularly get her into fights, she'll always deliver since she takes odd joy in causing such trouble. In Morianne's own words, "Nothing makes a better song than a fight."
Morianne is also highly dedicated to her musical craft, going so far to take her lute anywhere and everywhere, practicality be damned. She'll die before she's seen without it. The goddesses only know what fury could be unleashed if someone other than her did so much as touch the thing.
She's made her life's goal to be the best and most legendary bard in all the land. And knowing her stubbornness, she'll either succeed or die trying. Giving up is not an option.
Brief Background:
Morianne, like many Wood Elves, hails from Velt. It was here she spent much of her early life. Her father was a renowned warrior within the community. So naturally, it was expected that his daughter would follow in his footsteps. However, Morianne showed little promise in Wood Elf traditions. She even seemed to lack magical talents, making her little better than a guest inside her own home. Her parents and colleagues grew to despise her for her lack of talent, dubbing her "Human Girl."
Dissatisfied with her lot in life, Morianne looked to music as an escape from her reality. She was fascinated with all its intricacies and its unique power to bring people of all types together. During her teenage years, she taught herself how to play the lute, hoping it would finally win her the approval of her family and peers. She even went out of her way to organize a concert to show her skill.
Perhaps it was simply the crowd's presence or how she felt in the moment, but the performance wasn't very good, in fact, she was awful. One particular comment that stuck with Morianne was that her playing "Sounded like scraping nails on a plate. Typical Human Girl." That night, she ran off. If she was just a worthless human, then perhaps she would be welcomed among them.
Morianne soon found herself in some human village homeless and begging for scraps. She played her lute and sang for whoever would listen. One rainy day, Morianne had seemingly had it all and simply decided to play her lute until her hands had been rendered bloody stumps. Though something about this performance was different. She was still terrible, but a crowd of humans had started to gather around her.
"She's a witch!" one child exclaimed. Another comment noted something about "dancing lights."
The clamoring had continued for some time, but Morianne paid them no mind until a man's voice had cut through the crowd.
"You, Elf Girl! Where did you learn to play like that?"
Morianne looked up to the man to deliver some snarky comment, but as she met the man's gaze, she realized that small balls of light had formed around her, dancing in accordance to her emotional playing.
The man then introduced himself as Thrash, a "Bard'' who claimed that he knew how to hone Morianne's talent for this unique magical art. Desperate and starved, Morianne took up the offer without question. Even if Thrash's claims were false, anything was better than hunger.
Fortunately, Thrash had been telling the truth and Morianne soon found herself under the bard's tutelage. Under Thrash's guidance, Morianne learned proper music technique and became more proficient with magic. However, their time together was brief, as Morianne, being an Elf, would eventually outlive the only person who was willing to accept her. His final gift to her, a custom-made lute made to Morianne's personal tastes. Since the passing of her teacher, Morianne has wandered the earth to grow her talents and sing in memory of her teacher.
Currently, Morianne has found herself among the ranks of the Iron Rose Knights, a role she had taken up during the War of The Red Flag. It was unplanned bend in her path as a wandering Bard. Even now, Morianne couldn't possibly explain how it came to be. Perhaps it was simply a desire to help the refugees whose circumstances reminded her of her childhood. Regardless of her reasoning, Morianne has enjoyed her time amongst the knights so far, even if she knows that even this too, like her old mentor, will come to pass.
Equipment:
Hide Armor - Simple enough. Morianne has a preference for lighter equipment and tools due to her…less than traditional skills as an Iron Rose Knight.
Cloak - A useful clothing item to combat the cold. It kinda smells. Maybe Morianne wouldn't need it if she wore normal clothes.
Rope - An important traveling item. Never leave without it.
Alchemy Bag - Used to hold herbs for basic medicinal purposes.
The Kill Meister - Morianne's unique lute. It's designed specifically to grab attention. While it may seem magical in nature, it's actually not enchanted in any way. Morianne just has weird tastes.
Skills:
Basic Swordplay - Morianne is more comfortable singing spells and cheering on from the back. That being said, she isn't completely useless in a fight and knows just enough about swords to hold her own.
Basic Medicinal Knowledge - Anyone who's traveled long enough knows how to treat simple sickness and injury.
Basic Survival Skill - Comes with being a Wood Elf.
Bard Magic - Morianne's unique brand of spell casting. She's quite skilled with this particular art and has quite the range and versatility. Here are a few notable spells she possesses:
Basic Charm Spell - Exactly what you'd think it is. It's not exactly useful for dealing with multiple people though. Besides, Morianne prefers starting fights. So this skill is basically useless to her.
Sow Discord Spell - A wild spell that causes equally wild reactions from its targets. It's likened to inflicting temporary madness or…listening to music in a genre you really don't like. This is a popular spell to use.
Rally Strength Spell - Ever seen a particularly strong athlete? Try making them stronger. That's what this does. It only ever works on one person at a time though.
Summon Spectral Sword - A spell that creates swords of pure mana. It can be used to either summon three weaker swords or one decent sword for the caster to use. These swords typically don't last too long and shatter once the mana has been drained from them.
With Alba having arrived at the central market square, she began to sort through the various vendors, hoping that any of them would be willing to barter with her sack of assorted dead animals. After a few failures, she seemed to have found someone willing to purchase.
"So what ya' thinkin' big guy?" Alba asked, slamming her arm onto the merchant's counter. "How much coin we talkin' here? Forty a' piece? Fifty?" The merchant looked down at the wolf-woman's offer then looked back at her. He seemed unimpressed. "Come on. Gimme somethin'!"
"I was thinking about fifteen," the merchant answered as he stroked his beard.
"Per squirrel?" Alba shot back. A dopey smile of sharp teeth grew on her lips while her tail began to wag back and forth. "That's perfect! Now I ca-"
"You break it you buy it, you stupid dog!" The merchant pointed at Alba's tail. "Watch where you swing that thing!"
Alba turned to notice that, in her excitement, her tail had knocked a few small trinkets from the merchant's booth on the ground. Thankfully, none of them seemed to have suffered any significant damage.
Alba swatted her tail back down. "Sorry. Habit."
"As I was saying," the merchant glared as he attempted to regain some composure, "I'll charge about fifteen pieces for the whole bag."
"What?" Alba growled. "C'mon, you've gotta be kidding me. It's all perfectly good squirrel. That's good eatin'."
"It would be if they didn't all look like they were dragged out of the local pet cemetery." the merchant retorted. "What'd you use to catch these anyway? Bear traps?"
Alba averted her gaze. "Uh…no…"
The wolf-woman knew it was probably best at this point to avoid stating that she had been looking for bigger prey...because she did, in fact, use bear traps.
"Right…" the merchant said, giving Alba a skeptical look. "So are you going to accept my offer or not?"
"Fine." Alba groaned. "I'll take fifteen for it."
The merchant scooted a pouch of coins across the table.
"Pleasure doing business with you. Now, get out of my booth."
Alba left the merchant's booth with her head hung low. However, her dour mood didn't last long as she was easily distracted by a few familiar faces not too far away.
"Is that Cap'n Noriko over there?" Alba waved, shouting loudly across the market square. She cupped her hands around her mouth just to be sure Noriko heard. "Hey, Cap'n! Over here!" Interacting with: @Lady Lascivious, @LetMeDoStuff, @dwyer austin
To most people, the light bustle of the early morning crowds, the absent-minded people which scoured the city streets in search of mundane tasks to perform, and the animated wisps that invaded the noses of travelers -- making them nostalgic for their childhoods -- would have likely been a welcomed and pleasant experience, especially for those of weary hearts. However, such was not the case for the Wolfskin woman, the infamous Snow Devil, Alba. To her, such pleasantries were little more than an unearthly cacophony which overwhelmed her enhanced, animal-like senses. Even in her human-like form, Alba still found the ordeal to be an unending subtle annoyance, the kind which could wear down the spirit and undermine the physical body's performance. She wanted nothing more than to avoid such experiences.
As such, to completely evade the grumblings of the waking city of Drakesfoot, Alba had arisen before dawn and prepared for a morning hunt. Alba's plan had been to hunt a bit of game for the bulk of the early morning. Then she would return to the city by the time that most happenings had already come to pass and sell her haul to the local traders. Needless to say, with the winds of the forthcoming autumn season throwing off her smell, Alba hadn't managed to catch anything of merit all morning. She had no luck with her spear, meaning that her bag of catches consisted of squirrels and a few rabbits which her traps had snapped up.
Dissatisfied with her performance, Alba returned to Drakesfoot far sooner than she had intended. Her ears continuously twitched in frustration as she made her way into the city proper.
"Just my luck…" Alba groaned under her breath. "Damn this wind! Beato's gonna have my efin' head for all those traps I wasted. She's gonna be like: 'Where's my money, Fur-ball? You can't just keep wasting it.' And I'll have to say: 'I dunno! Must've run off.' Damn my luck!"
At this point, Alba's beastial growls had managed to frighten a few commoners as she passed. She lamented their reactions, but was not surprised. Alba was a Wolfskin and a brutish-looking one at that. In particular, Alba's attention had been drawn towards a mother who was doing her best to console her son after seeing the wolf-woman and her blood-soaked sack of cute and cuddly rodents. The mother in particular was glaring at her. And while it may have been Alba's paranoia speaking, she believed that she saw that same mother signal some guards her way. Alba, who was not particularly keen on finding out the truth, decided to poke her way through the tight alleyways just to be sure.
Alba sighed. "Noriko doesn't have to deal with this shit."
After making a few sharp turns, Alba had managed to find her way back onto the city's main roads with the intent of making it to the main market square.
Alba is a fair-skinned Wolfskin woman hailing from the region of Permia. She is of muscular build and has a fairly impressive height of 188cm (6'2"). Her unkempt locks of pale-blonde (white) hair are tied into a messy ponytail. A scar runs along her left cheek while another rests on the bridge of her nose.
As is common with most Wolfskins, Alba has red eyes that seem to glow in low light.
She wears a variety of both plate and padded armor with some modifications made for a more personal and comfortable fit.
Personality:
Alba is, to put it bluntly, an surly wisecracker who, despite wanting to seemingly know everything, is terrible at reading people. While, thankfully having enough sense and self-awareness to keep her mouth shut a majority of times, she has a tendency to annoy people who are around her too long. Perhaps due to the gaps in her memory, has both inquisitive and forgetful tendencies from which she seems to regularly alternate between.
Also quite notable are her own insecurities. She is constantly worried that she may lose control of herself should she use her shape-shifting abilities. Yet conversely, she also believes that it is her nonhuman abilities which make her valuable. As such she feels a need to overachieve what her body and mind are physically capable of.
History:
Banishment. That was the punishment given to a young Wolfskin girl after killing her own mother. Despite only being a child who barely even knew what she had done, a young Wolfskin girl was banished from her tribe after failing to control her powers. She was left in the frozen wasteland of Permia alone. She was alone and trapped in the beastial form all Wolfskins were cursed with from birth. Logic says such a creature should not have survived in such harsh lands. However, the Permian folktale of the Snow Devil says otherwise; the child lived and became a feral beasts which wandered the mountains and fed on human flesh.
The Snow Devil terrorized travelers for decades, until… One day, a mysterious hunter wandered into the mountains with the intent of slaying the beast. Perhaps he wanted the famous Snow Devil's pelt for himself. Perhaps he wanted to liberate Permia from the clutches of this vile creature. No one knows.
The two eventually found one another and had a mighty battle. It was a battle which rang throughout all of Permia for five days straight. The hunter was the victor, as he had used a stone to seal away the Snow Devil's strength. How the tale ends is unknown beyond this point as it varies between the many Permian peoples. To most Permian people, the tale of the Snow Devil is little more than a story. However, it is very real.
After having sealed away the Snow Devil's monstrous powers, the hunter realized that this "monster" was, in truth, just a frightened child. The hunter took further pity on the young girl when he realized that she'd forgotten most of who she was prior. Only vague memories and a name remained.
Alba. Her name was Alba and she knew one thing for certain; she never wanted to be a monster again.
Ultimately, the hunter betrayed his initial goal of killing Alba. Instead, he took her in and raised her as his own. He taught Alba all that he knew. Both were well aware of the irony that came with teaching a beast-man to hunt other beasts in the human way.
Eventually, Alba was deemed fit enough to leave her surrogate father. Following in the hunter's footsteps, Alba began her adult journey as a hunter. She was successful at first, but her fortune dried out quickly. Desperate to make ends meet, Alba turned to mercenary work.
Skills:
Tracking - Due to her enhanced senses, Alba has a natural talent for tracing a wide variety of small and large game...even people.
Survivalist - Highly skilled in surviving in even the most extreme of locations.
Improvised Weapons - Exactly what it sounds like. Give her a pen, and she'll find a way to use it better than any sword.
Throwing - She throws things well. What more is there to say?
Beast Form - While reluctant to do so, Alba can assume her beast form for any scenario which might require it.
Trivia:
- Despite wanting to distance herself from her Wolfskin heritage, Alba has several behavioral ticks (such as growling when agitated) that she can't seem to control.
- Alba's preferred polearm of choice is a halberd.
Alba is a fair-skinned Wolfskin woman hailing from the region of Permia. She is of muscular build and has a fairly impressive height of 188cm (6'2"). Her unkempt locks of pale-blonde (white) hair are tied into a messy ponytail. A scar runs along her left cheek while another rests on the bridge of her nose.
As is common with most Wolfskins, Alba has red eyes that seem to glow in low light.
She wears a variety of both plate and padded armor with some modifications made for a more personal and comfortable fit.
Personality:
Alba is, to put it bluntly, an surly wisecracker who, despite wanting to seemingly know everything, is terrible at reading people. While, thankfully having enough sense and self-awareness to keep her mouth shut a majority of times, she has a tendency to annoy people who are around her too long. Perhaps due to the gaps in her memory, has both inquisitive and forgetful tendencies from which she seems to regularly alternate between.
Also quite notable are her own insecurities. She is constantly worried that she may lose control of herself should she use her shape-shifting abilities. Yet conversely, she also believes that it is her nonhuman abilities which make her valuable. As such she feels a need to overachieve what her body and mind are physically capable of.
History:
Banishment. That was the punishment given to a young Wolfskin girl after killing her own mother. Despite only being a child who barely even knew what she had done, a young Wolfskin girl was banished from her tribe after failing to control her powers. She was left in the frozen wasteland of Permia alone. She was alone and trapped in the beastial form all Wolfskins were cursed with from birth. Logic says such a creature should not have survived in such harsh lands. However, the Permian folktale of the Snow Devil says otherwise; the child lived and became a feral beasts which wandered the mountains and fed on human flesh.
The Snow Devil terrorized travelers for decades, until… One day, a mysterious hunter wandered into the mountains with the intent of slaying the beast. Perhaps he wanted the famous Snow Devil's pelt for himself. Perhaps he wanted to liberate Permia from the clutches of this vile creature. No one knows.
The two eventually found one another and had a mighty battle. It was a battle which rang throughout all of Permia for five days straight. The hunter was the victor, as he had used a stone to seal away the Snow Devil's strength. How the tale ends is unknown beyond this point as it varies between the many Permian peoples. To most Permian people, the tale of the Snow Devil is little more than a story. However, it is very real.
After having sealed away the Snow Devil's monstrous powers, the hunter realized that this "monster" was, in truth, just a frightened child. The hunter took further pity on the young girl when he realized that she'd forgotten most of who she was prior. Only vague memories and a name remained.
Alba. Her name was Alba and she knew one thing for certain; she never wanted to be a monster again.
Ultimately, the hunter betrayed his initial goal of killing Alba. Instead, he took her in and raised her as his own. He taught Alba all that he knew. Both were well aware of the irony that came with teaching a beast-man to hunt other beasts in the human way.
Eventually, Alba was deemed fit enough to leave her surrogate father. Following in the hunter's footsteps, Alba began her adult journey as a hunter. She was successful at first, but her fortune dried out quickly. Desperate to make ends meet, Alba turned to mercenary work.
Skills:
Tracking - Due to her enhanced senses, Alba has a natural talent for tracing a wide variety of small and large game...even people.
Survivalist - Highly skilled in surviving in even the most extreme of locations.
Improvised Weapons - Exactly what it sounds like. Give her a pen, and she'll find a way to use it better than any sword.
Throwing - She throws things well. What more is there to say?
Beast Form - While reluctant to do so, Alba can assume her beast form for any scenario which might require it.
Trivia:
- Despite wanting to distance herself from her Wolfskin heritage, Alba has several behavioral ticks (such as growling when agitated) that she can't seem to control.
- Alba's preferred polearm of choice is a halberd.
Despite the thunderous calamity on the frozen-over deck, Everild did what she could to load the cannons. Steadily she ran back and forth, ebony led cannonballs nestled tightly in her arms. The weight of her prosthetic leg caused her to jerk and bob with the ship as it braved through the chaotic ocean waves below. The slick wooden deck certainly didn't help in maintaining her balance.
The deafening howls released by the cannons had made it difficult to fully make out her Captains' orders. However, through the raucous hell of storm and cannon-fire, one call to action rang true in her ears.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"
What took place after was a blur of colors lost from Everild's own memory. The details of what truly transpired could only be filled by second-hand accounts. ...
...
...
When Everild opened her eyes, she bore witness to a familiar scene. Rocks, sand, dirt, and wood were strewn about in an archaic mess that pinned her down. Everild gasped for breath as she began to pull herself out from under the rubble. She found that, unlike in her younger years, she could manage to pull herself out from the carnage with relative ease. Dragging herself onto the sand, she immediately began tinkering with her iron leg to make sure she could properly walk on it. Over to her left, Kazik rushed to the wreckage that Everild had pulled herself from. Everild shook her head as she looked outward at the supplies and provisions that were torn asunder.
"This certainly is not how I expected our journey to fare," Everild said as she fiddled with her leg. Upon further inspection, the weapon's firing mechanism was significantly damaged and too wet to properly fire a bullet. "Maybe I should have taken that newer model Elias had talked about." Everild chuckled to herself. "Not much I can do about it now. I just have to fix this on my own time." Everild helped herself up and took a look at the surviving crew. Looking up, she saw Charlotte addressing them all and doing her best to inspire hope.
Meanwhile, Everild shook her head in disgust with her own lack of skill in helping those who were injured.
"Does anyone require attention?" she called out. "I may not be a healer, but I am more than willing to-" She was cut off by the sound of gunshots. On quick reflex, Everild drew her pistol and took a shot at the encroaching Royal Navy. One of the sailors took the shot, causing his left leg to twist in directions not meant for the human body. Everild then turned and proceeded to snap up a piece of driftwood from the wreckage as she waited for them to draw closer.
Like many Czaszkan people, Everild possesses fair skin, pale-blonde hair, and blue eyes. She styles her mid-back length hair into a low ponytail, complementing her fit physique quite well. Although easily her most defining feature is the mechanical marvel that resides just below where her right calf should be. It's a prosthetic limb; a reminder of the war from ten years ago in Czaszka.
Typically, she wears a white blouse with black shorts and covers her left leg with a pale blue skirt. Belts around her thighs secure her metal leg and left boot. In cold weather, she wears a navy blue jacket, resembling an officer's coat.
Personality: Everild, having both served the nobility of Czaszka and the militaristic White Herons, is typically quite strict. She is a diligent and dignified woman. However, she is not devoid of kindness and is especially polite to those she sees as friends or family. This behavior combined with her monastic training and adherence to routine makes her not too unlike a teacher or older sister. Due to her self training, she often attempts to see the bigger picture in a given scenario but can be blinded by her optimism.
Biography: Everild was born in the capital of Czaszka, Kolzow. She was the eldest daughter to Elias Pasternack. Their life wasn't an easy one. As peasantry, Everild's family had issues supporting themselves. So, at the age of ten, she and her family swore allegiance to a noble house and began working as servants. After a few years, Everild's younger brother, Kaspar was born. The Pasternack family was united in taking care of the young Kaspar. However, due to the rising tension in the empire, when the noble family ultimately sent off their sons to war, Everild and her mother were sent off as well to serve as nurses on the field.
She and her mother were stationed at a makeshift fort a good few hours away from the capital. It didn't take too long for the Danic army to arrive. When the siege began, the cannons ripped straight through the loose stone and wooden beams. Everild found herself and her mother buried under the rubble. There were very few survivors. Everild herself even would have died had it not been for the Danic battle reporters who dug her out. With their help, Everild managed to return to her home. This was three days after the Danes had taken Castle Zeidik.
When Everild had returned home, she watched the nobility walk out, leaving the country to the Danes. Despite how she had heard of the rebel movements but had little interest in them. Why would she help reestablish the throne when they had abandoned the throne? She didn't want to help the nobility; not anymore. She had already lived that life. She just wanted to know why. Why after all the talks of the great empire and chivalry would they abandon what they built? That was all she needed.
She did her best to help her family, but with her missing leg and newfound questions, she could no longer be her old self. She needed to find those answers, even if it cost her. Rejected by the military for her missing limb, she only had one option available to her to proceed in her selfish quest. She joined a rebel faction known as the White Herons. She hid this fact from her family under the guise of a cartographer apprenticeship. She hated it, but they provided what she needed and her new skills gained a bit of notoriety. With enough funds and a few favors, she was able to commission a new leg from her rebel allies.
With her new leg, she gained renown as the "Dancing-Gun" Everild. Then her Letter of Marque arrived...
Like many Czaszkan people, Everild possesses fair skin, pale-blonde hair, and blue eyes. She styles her mid-back length hair into a low ponytail, complementing her fit physique quite well. Although easily her most defining feature is the mechanical marvel that resides just below where her right calf should be. It's a prosthetic limb; a reminder of the war from ten years ago in Czaszka.
Typically, she wears a white blouse with black shorts and covers her left leg with a pale blue skirt. Belts around her thighs secure her metal leg and left boot. In cold weather, she wears a navy blue jacket, resembling an officer's coat.
Personality: Everild, having both served the nobility of Czaszka and the militaristic White Herons, is typically quite strict. She is a diligent and dignified woman. However, she is not devoid of kindness and is especially polite to those she sees as friends or family. This behavior combined with her monastic training and adherence to routine makes her not too unlike a teacher or older sister. Due to her self training, she often attempts to see the bigger picture in a given scenario but can be blinded by her optimism.
Biography: Everild was born in the capital of Czaszka, Kolzow. She was the eldest daughter to Elias Pasternack. Their life wasn't an easy one. As peasantry, Everild's family had issues supporting themselves. So, at the age of ten, she and her family swore allegiance to a noble house and began working as servants. After a few years, Everild's younger brother, Kaspar was born. The Pasternack family was united in taking care of the young Kaspar. However, due to the rising tension in the empire, when the noble family ultimately sent off their sons to war, Everild and her mother were sent off as well to serve as nurses on the field.
She and her mother were stationed at a makeshift fort a good few hours away from the capital. It didn't take too long for the Danic army to arrive. When the siege began, the cannons ripped straight through the loose stone and wooden beams. Everild found herself and her mother buried under the rubble. There were very few survivors. Everild herself even would have died had it not been for the Danic battle reporters who dug her out. With their help, Everild managed to return to her home. This was three days after the Danes had taken Castle Zeidik.
When Everild had returned home, she watched the nobility walk out, leaving the country to the Danes. Despite how she had heard of the rebel movements but had little interest in them. Why would she help reestablish the throne when they had abandoned the throne? She didn't want to help the nobility; not anymore. She had already lived that life. She just wanted to know why. Why after all the talks of the great empire and chivalry would they abandon what they built? That was all she needed.
She did her best to help her family, but with her missing leg and newfound questions, she could no longer be her old self. She needed to find those answers, even if it cost her. Rejected by the military for her missing limb, she only had one option available to her to proceed in her selfish quest. She joined a rebel faction known as the White Herons. She hid this fact from her family under the guise of a cartographer apprenticeship. She hated it, but they provided what she needed and her new skills gained a bit of notoriety. With enough funds and a few favors, she was able to commission a new leg from her rebel allies.
With her new leg, she gained renown as the "Dancing-Gun" Everild. Then her Letter of Marque arrived...
Hawthorne
Yam I Am
LetMeDoStuff
Dark Cloud
Agunimon
dwyer austin
SadistPoet
MK2
FalloutJack
Metatrooper
