If I have to explain this to you, I don't think we can be friends.

Instead of a paragraph, I just want a list of some simple personality traits!

Make sure to explain in detail why your character is becoming a Nomad, and what they hope to accomplish.

Explain how your character fights. Describe their martial arts training (if any), and describe how their moves generally look. Do they fight aggressively by getting up close? Do they zone their enemies? Also put any special abilities they have here.

What are the weaknesses of your character? Are they bad at up close and personal encounters? Do they suffer from an illness? Or do they have a pathological weakness?

What else?

5'10'' and surprisingly muscular, with absolutely no superfluous body fat though a few old scars she's not so willing to show off. Freckles, orange hair. Her her waistcoat, gloves, bow tie, and ears are bright red. Her shirt is white, and her pants are black. Despite her lifestyle she does her best to keep this uniform clean and professional looking.

Brash, assertive, attentive, loyal, persistent, irreverent, conversational

Clover was born on the wrong side of the tracts, the child of poor parents with so many kids they couldn't find time for even one of them. As a young child all but abandoned to her own devices she started to act out for attention, and as the frustration from her failure to raise any concern from them and the nigh unbearable social pressure of sharing a home with so many others built and built she began to lash out violently at anyone that gave her the excuse.

She turned out to be pretty good at it, too. She couldn't make anything, she couldn't cook, she was terrible in school but by god she could make even older kids run crying to their mothers. She started doing it a lot, especially as she got older, spending long night out wandering town looking for the strongest opponents she could find. She did not expect to find that in an old lady.

She hadn't set out to pick a fight with the old lady, more that a fight she was having accidentally spilled into the path of the old lady. The old lady may have commented on how sloppy Clover's technique was, Clover may have said some nasty things to the old lady, and a punch might have been thrown. Clover couldn't tell you, because she still doesn't remember most of that morning. All she knows was that when she awoke with a splitting headache that sent shutters of agony through her body every time she turned her head she was in a classy, huge, richly decorated bar. She was laying in a circle of concerned old faces, with the old lady grinning at her.

The old lady, she soon learned, was named Hazel. She was a "retired" nomad and this was her bar, Warren Peace. Then, completely unprompted, she asked Clover is she had a job. Clover said no. Hazel asked if she wanted one. Clover told Hazel exactly where she could stick her job. Hazel strongly implied that if Clover refused to take the job the police might find out she'd tried to assault a poor, defenseless old lady in the street.

Clover, who was not on the best of terms with the local police, took the job.

It chafed at first, of course. The uniform was embarrassing and being told what to do by the person that whipped you so hard you didn't even remember it grated on her pride, but the pay was actually really good and the old lady was an attentive and caring boss. She wasn't good at all the bartering stuff at first. She didn't know how to really talk to people, broke her share of glasses and spilled her share of expensive booze, but the old lady never seemed to get mad and helped her along to learn the ropes. The rest of the staff was kind and supportive. The old patrons weirded her out at first, what with them crawling out of black portals that Hazel had set up on the floor in an unused bathroom, but they never gave her a hard time and always had some really interesting stories to tell. What started as a job she had to take turned into a job that she not only loved, but was good at.

After a while Hazel started to trust Clover enough to share her secrets. She'd made this bar for Old Nomads, guys like her that just wanted to drink in peace without worrying about some upstart young fighter looking for glory ruining their night with some asinine challenge. Clover learned that the mentorship she'd been under was a habit of Hazel's, that all he co-workers had once upon a time been some disaffected punk with talent but no sense, and that now that Clover had sense she could finally start putting that talent to good use. Hazel trained her, passing on to Clover her style and the basics of her strange, space bending powers.

Things had been going swimmingly for ten long years. The money Hazel was paying her was enough to help her move out of that crowded house and into a place where she could stretch her legs. She wasn't as angry anymore, had made some good friends, and only got into a fight around once or twice a month at most. Then, not to long ago, a tornado rolled through her life.

It happened on a slow day when it was just her and a co-worker, Blackberry. She was tending bar when all of a sudden she heard some kind of angry helicopter noise. When she looked up there was a guy sitting at the bar they hadn't seen come in, a guy in a mask. He wrote down his order, and when Blackberry brought it to him they all head that same noise as the glass was left spinning on the counter, completely empty. He signaled for another. Clover asked if he's like to open a tab, and the guy made that noise again and waved at her dismissively. It ticked her off, but she did it anyway.

She should have just thrown him out. He was the rudest, most demanding customer they'd ever had. He wouldn't talk, wouldn't communicate at all except to signal for a new drink and pound his palm against the bar when he thought it was taking to long. He spun back and forth on his stool like a bored toddler between drinks and every time one of them tried to tell him something he'd just make that noise again as if to shut them up. He demanded service faster and faster and faster, to the point where Clover didn't think he'd be satisfied if the entire staff were there working at it. The only thing keeping Clover from flying over the bar and strangling him was Hazel's strict dedication to keeping the bar a peaceful place, something not one of them wanted to defile. At least until Blackberry confided in Clover that she was sure that when she'd brought him that first drink he'd somehow felt her up.

That was the final straw. The next time he made that noise Clover made a grab for him. Then it was like the room exploded. All Clover could see for a moment was a blur of motion as the two of them were thrown over the bar. They watched as this same blur moved down the line of alcohol, draining whole bottles in milliseconds and sending the bottles flying across the room to shatter on the opposite wall. He drank all the liqueur, devoured all the complementary peanuts, then into the back as the two of them struggled to their feet. The stood just in time to see the blur shoot out the door and down the street. He had eaten all of the food. Even the snacks that they'd kept in the break room fridge.

They'd been targeted by the Ultimate Dine'n'Dasher, Tornado Rhoads.

Hazel could eat the financial hit. Of course she could, the bar was her retirement hobby after all. But Clover wasn't going to forgive something like this. That bar meant a lot to her. Nobody was going to get away with disrespecting it like that, but the only way to catch a Nomad was to be a Nomad yourself. So she set off with fire in her heart, leaving behind the home and family she'd always wanted, on a quest to find and catch Tornado Rhoads.

While a Nomad with all that entails Clovers defenses are low, relying on dodging and avoiding her opponents attacks to avoid injury rather than tank damage. This id problematic, because Clover has no ranged options aside from trowing things and do must get in close. In addition if a surface is broken while Clover is inside of it she takes massive damage from the resulting quake and is launched out, stunned.

If a fight isn't something she perceives as urgent she'll goof around.

- Clover is the newest of eleven students trained by Old Hazel, but not the youngest.
- Clover always has a Warren Peace matchbook on hand, and will reflexively light anyone cigarette for them using it.