March is a very positive and happy person, with an almost insatiable amount of curiosity. Her need to be active and endless pools of wanderlust are what contribute to her nomadic nature, and her many travels have made her very independent and fast-learning. The air around her is very friendly and kind, and she’s always been easy to get along with. She dislikes fighting with others, but won’t stand down when feels the matter is important enough. She’s stubborn in that sense, and will very seldom give up once she’s determined. With people she dislikes, which are few and far between, she is mostly cold and unapproachable, making obvious that she doesn’t want a fight. When it comes to the topic of war, especially between mer-people and humans, March is very pro-peace and friendly towards both humans and mer-people, just as her mother was.
March is a very petite and slender woman, with small breasts and faint hips. Her hair is a very dark brown, almost black, and long enough to teach her lower back, and curls in just lightly thanks to being sea soaked so often. She has a round face, with soft features and very bright, frost blue eyes. Her skin is extremely pale, covered at her forearms and hips in patches of silvery and shiny black scales. The pattern is similar to that of a Frosted Flatwoods salamander and continues down to her tail, which is about 6 feet long (beginning from her hips). It is pretty chubby in appearance, eventually tapering off into a flatter, more rounded tip, and is moist and smooth to the touch. A lot of her looks are inherited from her mother, except for her eyes, which she was told look just like her fathers.
March’s parents were young when she was born, both in their early twenties and completely unprepared for a child. Her father left to become a soldier a little after she turned two, claiming that the peace between humans and merpeople wouldn’t last and that there needed to be soldiers to protect the kingdom in case a war broke out, or at least, that’s what her mother tells her. She didn’t have much of an opinion on the matter herself while growing up. Her and her mother lived near the coasts, nestled in a large kelp forest that laid beside a small peninsula, where humans rarely sailed.
Life was mostly peaceful while she grew up, filled with seaside adventures and time spent listening to stories from her mother. The woman was a born story-teller, and her tales often taught March about the world, and about humans. Her mother was a firm believer in the peace between humans and merpeople, and trusted the royal family to keep that peace alive. A lot of those thoughts were instilled in March from a young age, thanks to all of the stories.
One of her favorites though, was the tale behind their only family heirloom, a small, dusty old ram horn that her mother claimed could call upon any and all of the crustaceans in the ocean if one played the right notes. It had apparently been gifted to her great-great-great grandfather by a close but mysterious friend shortly before they disappeared, saying only that it once belong to a sea-goat, and that it will someday aid his family. Although mysterious, he accepted the gift and then gave it to his wife. It was said that she could play a tune so joyful that even the crabs at sea would dance. From her, it was passed down from generation to generation, usually to the first born daughter. March’s mother often told her that one day, she too would inherit the horn. The very notion often excited the girl, and was the main motive behind her attempts at learning how to play a normal brass trumpet (she’d found it adrift by some rocks sometime when she was 9).
During March’s 17th year, her mother became ill and quickly passed away. The sickness swept through her so fast that it left March almost in shock; not horrified or depressed, but much more adrift. Before she passed, her mother had given her two things: the family horn, and her father’s name and location. She told March to do whatever she wanted, but deep down, she knew her mother wanted her to meet her father. It took her a long while to finally leave her home, and make her way into the world. She held off on finding her father, declaring to herself that she would not go and stir up trouble with the man unless she was absolutely sure it’s what she wanted to do. Call it a cry for independence, but in all honesty, she wasn’t ready to be around another parent yet, and so she want on her own way.
She spent the next three years of her life living as a nomad, her wanderlust never seeming quenchable no matter how far she traveled. She’s come through the new kingdom plenty of times, and even settled a bit in a small home. Although she doesn’t stay for long, she can happily call it her home, one that she always seems to come back to.
It’s just small enough to fit neatly in the palm of March’s hand.
Born to fight and only that. Ragnor has a deep and almost evil need for blood. Not just to win things. He loves hunting, fighting and killing. He's no fool and often says he knows the world and its horrors. In his eyes, there is no in this world. Love is just a made up concept of girls hoping that one day their rainbow colored prince would take them. He despises the very word. A deep hatred is rooted in him, like a fire. A fire that burns bright when you hand him his daggers. He sees himself as a necessary evil. The bad to keep back the worse.
Poisonous green scales cover his tail. They are rough and pointy. His fins are sharp as needles. A leather belt with an brass buckle. From there up he has the normal, human upper body. He's incredibly muscular, carrying a very prominent six-pack. There's a belt that goes from his right shoulder to his left hip. The belt is often used to carry javelins, a spear or anything else. You could say his face was hansom. With its sharp features and powerful gaze. His ginger-red hair does nothing to soften his outlook. For a matter of fact it is braided in a long tail. A mark of his ancient family. It shows that he is the warrior.
Born among the lucky few. Both of his parents are Naga's making him a pure blood. However, he was the third male child. Useless for marriage. So tradition would have it that he would be trained as a fighter. At first he loathed the dagger fighting style. He preferred to be outside among other mer-people. Playing with his friends in parks and among the fishes. This was forbidden by his parents. Never the less he kept dreaming. In his young life books were an important part. He dreamed of heroes and heroines and fighting epic monsters. He was somewhat of a romantic when he was 12. Despite constantly being told that marriage is duty and love is something that comes out of it, he kept believing he would meet the one. It was on his 15th that he got to know Alaina. A mermaid. He fell for her like granite in water. He would do anything for her hand. Alaine realized this. She abused her 'power' over him. Making him work and do chores for her. Eventually she found a merman who she loved and left Ragnor for him. Devastated, he cried himself to sleep several nights. Until he and the merman met, together with Alaina. Was it an accident of fate, no-one really knows. Nor does anyone except for Ragnor himself know what happened. But when authorities arrived on the scene, Ragnor had killed both Alaina and the merman. He was found guilty. But a last minute appeal from Advisor Arios meant that he would only get a work-sentence. During that sentence Arios approached him in secret. His task was simple. Train and fight. War is coming. And the mer-people need their necessary evils now more than ever.
Between the glitchy server period yesterday and a busy day, it will be a little while longer to catch up on backlog with RP's, but I should have something up for the King soon and be working on the brother.