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[CHAR] Beyond the Storms
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- Post-Apocalyptic
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ML Attempted Polymath
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[ N P C S ]
Vernon Conway, Captain of the UIS Garrloch
A stoic man with a gruff voice, Captain Conway has spent many years in the Ilyistavi armed forces, primarily as an airship pilot. When the U.I. put out a public request for Ship Captains, Conway was one of the first men to throw his name into the ring. His stellar credentials and loud, controlled manner of speaking made him a popular choice for one of the first ships out, but he was first required to serve out his time with the IAF, and only recently assumed command of the Garrloch.
He is popular with his crew, due to his steady hand of guidance and understanding of his sailors needs. Despie that, however, he is a stern man who gives no quarter when it comes to survival. None are allowed extra rations, and no woman (or man) has ever been able to charm their way into his good graces.
This is the first mission he is on which is allowing non-chartered officials to tag along, and he is slightly worried that they won't be able to handle the rough and tumble life at sea. At the end of the day, Conway has every intention of coming back alive from his journey, and bringing everyone else back alive with him.
-Supply Officer Gante
-Keenan: Gante's son, a bit of a fatass
-Sailor Danzig
-Sailor Rast
-Sailor Valdez, engineer, witchroot addict, and strangely attached to his kegs of alcohol
-Ulhart: Hangar Crew Chief
-Captain Conway's second in command, who has yet to be named.
-Sailor Bronson: A slightly chubby man with a balding problem, who seems to have had the most unfortunate run of bad luck since setting out.
-The PA Announcer Guy
-Asmunr: Leigri hangar worker who likes to laugh
-Chief Medical Officer Raoul
-Raymond Rahlei
-Jonus and Kaya Morrison, Juliette's parents
-Salaz Imroham, guardian of Gil-Bagha precinct within Ghal-Priyam
-Keenan: Gante's son, a bit of a fatass
-Sailor Danzig
-Sailor Rast
-Sailor Valdez, engineer, witchroot addict, and strangely attached to his kegs of alcohol
-Ulhart: Hangar Crew Chief
-Captain Conway's second in command, who has yet to be named.
-Sailor Bronson: A slightly chubby man with a balding problem, who seems to have had the most unfortunate run of bad luck since setting out.
-The PA Announcer Guy
-Asmunr: Leigri hangar worker who likes to laugh
-Chief Medical Officer Raoul
-Raymond Rahlei
-Jonus and Kaya Morrison, Juliette's parents
-Salaz Imroham, guardian of Gil-Bagha precinct within Ghal-Priyam
[ T H E C S ]
I've never been a huge fan of making people write a massive wall of text before the story even starts, so I'll leave it up to you to decide how much you like to write. Hell, bullet points for personality can work, since I view a personality section as more of a guideline of what to expect from the character. You do you.
I'm a huge fan of reading CSes, though, so don't feel like there's no reason to be expansive with your character. And if I don't like what I see for a character, I'll let you know, and try to work with you on it.
P.S. Please post the character in the OOC, or PM it to be before posting it here. Thanks.
I'm a huge fan of reading CSes, though, so don't feel like there's no reason to be expansive with your character. And if I don't like what I see for a character, I'll let you know, and try to work with you on it.
P.S. Please post the character in the OOC, or PM it to be before posting it here. Thanks.
Picture optional. Please use a real or realistic image if you decide to use a picture at all.
Name
Age|Height|Gender
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
All I really want here is a 2-3 line briefing of your character. Just a little something so that I can reference them quickly.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
What does you character look like? Ideally, this is more important than the picture, but both can be acceptable. Scars, piercings, general standing posture, anything you like can go here.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Just an idea of the sort of character you're looking to play. Most of the time human beings are pretty tough to characterize in such a small space, but do what you can.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
One of my favorite things about RPs is the stories characters get to tell one another. What has your character been up to in their life before hitting the ocean? This world is practically an entire continent in terms of size, so just about anything is possible here. Military, merchant, street rat, it doesn't matter. Make an interesting character.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
Anything else that might be important.
[center][img]Image Goes Here. Picture Optional[/img]
Name
Age|Height|Gender [/center]
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
[indent]All I really want here is a 2-3 line briefing of your character. Just a little something so that I can reference them quickly.[/indent]
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
[indent]What does you character look like? Ideally, this is more important than the picture, but both can be acceptable. Scars, piercings, general standing posture, anything you like can go here.[/indent]
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
[indent]Just an idea of the sort of character you're looking to play. Most of the time human beings are pretty tough to characterize in such a small space, but do what you can.[/indent]
[ H I S T O R Y ]
[indent]One of my favorite things about RPs is the stories characters get to tell one another. What has your character been up to in their life before hitting the ocean? This world is practically an entire continent in terms of size, so just about anything is possible here. Military, merchant, street rat, it doesn't matter. Make an interesting character.[/indent]
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
[indent]Anything else that might be important.[/indent]
(He'd look almost exactly like this, save for the facial features.)
Dieter Aubrecht
34|5’9|Male
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
A stoic, solemnly silent individual, with stormy gray eyes and grim features to match. He dons an old, military-issued overcoat, with a slender, heavy-hitting rifle slung over one shoulder. A revolver hangs snugly from his hip, accompanied by a peculiar, curved knife; across from it, a weather-worn gas mask. Overall, he looks more the part of a soldier gone AWOL than a man with 12 years of service beneath his belt.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
Dieter Aubrecht carries himself with a proud, unassuming posture, likely one of the results of serving 12 years in the armed service. Standing at 5’9, however, an equally sound explanation may be that he’s trying to make himself look taller. Beneath what’s usually a worn, military-issued button-up overcoat is a surprisingly strong man, used to the trials and toil of long trips into the wilderness; indeed, his thick, mostly undefined musculature is developed more out of necessity, than a need to look good. He possesses a fair complexion, his chiseled, angular topped off by short, dirty-blonde hair, adorned by darker, bushy eyebrows and kept warm thanks to a short, neatly-trimmed beard, the like of which is accentuated by a handlebar mustache. Above the roughened, weather-worn overcoat, he wears a sandy-colored bandoleer over and across one shoulder, as well as a satchel over and across the other, both of which are tied off to his sun-bleached belt, for the sake of securing it snugly, in the case he has to run off in an instant. On this same belt rests a leather holster, emblazoned with his initials, holding within its confines the distinctive, arching grip of a revolver; besides it is a sheathed, curved hunting knife, likely for when things get up close and personal. On the opposite side of these additions hangs a menacing, seemingly unnecessary gas mask; a relic of a war long past, a counter to a weapon long since banned, supposedly. It’s curious, at the most. Overall, he looks more the part of a soldier gone AWOL, than a befitting, seaworthy crew member.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Despite his usually sullen silence and stoic, cynical demeanor, he’s a resilient, resourceful individual, who knows more than he often lets off. Anti-social behavior is one of his recognizable staples, and getting the outwardly grim-seeming man to smile is a feat in itself; however, those who do find a chink in his stubborn, cold demeanor are usually gifted by his surprising kindness, and sympathy, virtues that he almost fears to show in public, for more reasons than one. He’s sensible, and, to an extent, humble, as long as the conversation never turns to criticisms over his skill at arms. As for political matters, Dieter is a staunch advocate for Ghersland indepedence, though will usually stay out of any politically charged conversations
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Born upon an oft forgotten, diminutive isle, Dieter lived a particularly boring childhood. Constantly hounded by his ex-pilot drunk of a father, he found solace in the craggy hillsides and sparse forests of his small, cut off homeland, often thinking of the nature about him as the mother he never had. Despite enduring rather regular beatings, he never thought about running away; on an island whose seas rest hundreds of meters below you, there truly was nowhere to run. On occasion, he’d sit by the eternally floating cliff sides, gazing upon the distant, hulking islands with an anxious longing. “One day,” he used to say to himself, “I’ll see them all.”
The amount of pain that'd been inflicted upon him, the sheer vastness of the world he could see yet never set foot on and the maddeningly small size of the floating rock he called home would lead him down would temper this once wistful thinking into a physical ideal; a promise, to no one but himself.
Such a promise would prove to be a determined Dieter's lifelong drive; his reason worth living. However, such a dream required money; something he and his own had sorely lacked for as long as he could remember. He knew his father owned an old, canvas-wrapped rifle, the like of which he kept hidden beneath the moth-chewed bed he had once shared with his wife; if he could sell that, there was no doubt in his mind that he could find a way off this rock. After much grief and convincing, his recalcitrant father gifted him the old, weather-worn rifle he himself had once been given during his time in the service, on the heart-rending condition that he’d never sell or mistreat it; telling his son to instead go out into the wilderness of which he was so fond, and hunt. Despite the animosity he had for the man, Aubrecht saw through his glassy, drunken eyes, and thought he recognized sadness. The boy had yet to know sympathy, and it would take a deep toll on him. So he decided not to sell the rifle, and follow his father’s advice, even if it took just a little longer than planned. For several years, he would haul back game to sell in the local village market, or offer his services to farmers whom needed to rid themselves of pests; in essence, this time-tested weapon granted him the opportunity to carry out the very dream he was so keen on seeing through, and simultaneously become a proficient rifleman.
Having garnered enough money to take the first ship out of the place he’d called home for sixteen years, he bid farewell to his father, a man who, despite the pain and suffering he’d inflicted on his firstborn, finally found the words to say he was sorry.
After reaching the nearby main island of Ghersland, the protagonist of this short tale found the military to be the ultimate way to see the world he had for so long ached to see, and joined up without question, initiating a career that would last him 12 years. The dream he'd had since boyhood, the escape he'd longed for; it was all now at his fingertips. The best part about it? He was getting paid for it! What could go wrong?
When you're a soldier on the fringe of a tense border, the answer would be alot.
Now 34 years old, this grizzled, hollow mercenary finds his way onto the UIS Garrloch crew’s roster, joining one of many on yet another opportunity to see the world.
The amount of pain that'd been inflicted upon him, the sheer vastness of the world he could see yet never set foot on and the maddeningly small size of the floating rock he called home would lead him down would temper this once wistful thinking into a physical ideal; a promise, to no one but himself.
Such a promise would prove to be a determined Dieter's lifelong drive; his reason worth living. However, such a dream required money; something he and his own had sorely lacked for as long as he could remember. He knew his father owned an old, canvas-wrapped rifle, the like of which he kept hidden beneath the moth-chewed bed he had once shared with his wife; if he could sell that, there was no doubt in his mind that he could find a way off this rock. After much grief and convincing, his recalcitrant father gifted him the old, weather-worn rifle he himself had once been given during his time in the service, on the heart-rending condition that he’d never sell or mistreat it; telling his son to instead go out into the wilderness of which he was so fond, and hunt. Despite the animosity he had for the man, Aubrecht saw through his glassy, drunken eyes, and thought he recognized sadness. The boy had yet to know sympathy, and it would take a deep toll on him. So he decided not to sell the rifle, and follow his father’s advice, even if it took just a little longer than planned. For several years, he would haul back game to sell in the local village market, or offer his services to farmers whom needed to rid themselves of pests; in essence, this time-tested weapon granted him the opportunity to carry out the very dream he was so keen on seeing through, and simultaneously become a proficient rifleman.
Having garnered enough money to take the first ship out of the place he’d called home for sixteen years, he bid farewell to his father, a man who, despite the pain and suffering he’d inflicted on his firstborn, finally found the words to say he was sorry.
After reaching the nearby main island of Ghersland, the protagonist of this short tale found the military to be the ultimate way to see the world he had for so long ached to see, and joined up without question, initiating a career that would last him 12 years. The dream he'd had since boyhood, the escape he'd longed for; it was all now at his fingertips. The best part about it? He was getting paid for it! What could go wrong?
When you're a soldier on the fringe of a tense border, the answer would be alot.
Now 34 years old, this grizzled, hollow mercenary finds his way onto the UIS Garrloch crew’s roster, joining one of many on yet another opportunity to see the world.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
Within his rough, military-issue canvas satchel, he holds a small, leather-bound journal, the like of which contains the carefully-written insights into his many travels, battles, and adventures; however, to see it would mean to be incredibly close to the typically stoic, anti-social sharpshooter. Besides this are many other little objects that play into his life, the like of which he’s always carried with him, almost as if it were a superstition of sorts.
Despite the age of his rifle, it is in remarkably good condition, likely owing to its owner’s almost doting care for it.
Despite the age of his rifle, it is in remarkably good condition, likely owing to its owner’s almost doting care for it.
Krauss Helfer
29|5'7|Male
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
Krauss is an experienced pilot tasked with flying one the new "helicopters" brought aboard this expedition. He's a fairly nice, laid back guy who likes to socialize and get to know people.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
He has short cut grayish blond hair and a rough beard. His face is covered in small scars and he has burn scars running along his forearms and back. While not particularly muscular, he still maintains a decent figure. This is mainly due to the fact that, as a pilot, he focuses more on endurance type workouts as opposed to strength building ones.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Straight forward, no BS sort of guy with a healthy sense of humor. He has a strange "meh" approach to the idea of death. Once couldn't really call it bravery nor a death wish. He just seems very calm about facing it and dealing with it. Over all he's a fairly nice individual who values reason and rational thinking.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Krauss was born and raised in the Greater Republic of Avalia. It's one of the nations of Maru, controlling a sizable chunk of the island and seen as one the leaders in the United Isles Naval Coalition. It's a strong, democratic nation, whose biggest strength is airship design. They are economic rivals with Ventui, always competing with each other both in the civilian fields of aviation, and military. Being one the largest producer of both helium and hydrogen, Avalia focuses primarily on airships when it comes to aviation, and is famous for both its luxurious, high class transports, and its terrifying flying navy with some of the biggest guns around.
However, they don't point these guns at most, not even Ventui. However, time and time again, they seem to always be trained on Leigr. Avalia's people are strongly opposed to any sort of faith. They consider it a tool of manipulation and an attack on human rights to free thinking. Thus, the religious theocracy of Leigr is considered a serious threat on a good day. In the past, there were even large skirmishes and minor battles between the two nations, often over Leigr unlawfully seizing Avalian trade ships or Avalia detaining Leigr diplomats. Even now, in this time of relative peace, Avalia seems to be quietly gearing up for a full blown campaign with Leigr, thanks to the renewed importance of both the Obelisk and the resources the nation possess.
Caught between this massive mess is Krauss and his family. His father was a pilot in the Avalian Airborne Navy and his mother was originally from Leigr. The two met during a raid that, as far as Avalia is concerned, never happened. She was a civilian who was trying to escape religious persecution. While she was a believer, she doubted the religious authorities and despised how they would vale their own selfish needs with excuses of faith. She had stowed away onto an Avalian airship she found, which, as it turned out, was on a secret mission to rescue some important engineers who had been captured. Krauss's father had discovered her, but instead of killing her or taking her prisoner, he heard her out and took pity on the young woman. So, he smuggled her essentially back to Avalia where they started a life together.
Krauss picked up his father's friendly, laid back personality as well as his love for flying. His mother taught him both tolerance and determination, telling him to always seize the day and keep moving forward, no matter how hard things get. His dream was to be a great pilot, and so he did what he had to do. From an early age, he flew with his father, learning the skills needed to expertly fly light aircraft. Through this, he also met many friends and contacts with the Avalian Airborne Navy, which would help later on. He joined the National Academy of Aviation at 17, and graduated at the top of his class. Now, that's not to say he was perfect. The many scars and burns Krauss bares are from the many crashes and hard landings he's had to endure over his career. He's seen all manner of problems and learned that a dangerous situation can always occur when you least expect it.
From there, he joined the AAN, following the footsteps of his father. However, during his time in the AAN, he slowly grew to dislike the military. So many restrictions, so many barriers kept him from flying freely through the sky.
Thus, he eventually left the military, to join the new booming industry and lifestyle, the United Isles Naval Coalition. With his impressive record and with the pulling of a few strings from his network of friends, Krauss landed an incredible job. To be the pilot of a new type of aircraft, set to take its maiden flight on the UIS Garrloch, set to go out on an exploration expedition. How could Krauss ever resist such a job?
However, they don't point these guns at most, not even Ventui. However, time and time again, they seem to always be trained on Leigr. Avalia's people are strongly opposed to any sort of faith. They consider it a tool of manipulation and an attack on human rights to free thinking. Thus, the religious theocracy of Leigr is considered a serious threat on a good day. In the past, there were even large skirmishes and minor battles between the two nations, often over Leigr unlawfully seizing Avalian trade ships or Avalia detaining Leigr diplomats. Even now, in this time of relative peace, Avalia seems to be quietly gearing up for a full blown campaign with Leigr, thanks to the renewed importance of both the Obelisk and the resources the nation possess.
Caught between this massive mess is Krauss and his family. His father was a pilot in the Avalian Airborne Navy and his mother was originally from Leigr. The two met during a raid that, as far as Avalia is concerned, never happened. She was a civilian who was trying to escape religious persecution. While she was a believer, she doubted the religious authorities and despised how they would vale their own selfish needs with excuses of faith. She had stowed away onto an Avalian airship she found, which, as it turned out, was on a secret mission to rescue some important engineers who had been captured. Krauss's father had discovered her, but instead of killing her or taking her prisoner, he heard her out and took pity on the young woman. So, he smuggled her essentially back to Avalia where they started a life together.
Krauss picked up his father's friendly, laid back personality as well as his love for flying. His mother taught him both tolerance and determination, telling him to always seize the day and keep moving forward, no matter how hard things get. His dream was to be a great pilot, and so he did what he had to do. From an early age, he flew with his father, learning the skills needed to expertly fly light aircraft. Through this, he also met many friends and contacts with the Avalian Airborne Navy, which would help later on. He joined the National Academy of Aviation at 17, and graduated at the top of his class. Now, that's not to say he was perfect. The many scars and burns Krauss bares are from the many crashes and hard landings he's had to endure over his career. He's seen all manner of problems and learned that a dangerous situation can always occur when you least expect it.
From there, he joined the AAN, following the footsteps of his father. However, during his time in the AAN, he slowly grew to dislike the military. So many restrictions, so many barriers kept him from flying freely through the sky.
Thus, he eventually left the military, to join the new booming industry and lifestyle, the United Isles Naval Coalition. With his impressive record and with the pulling of a few strings from his network of friends, Krauss landed an incredible job. To be the pilot of a new type of aircraft, set to take its maiden flight on the UIS Garrloch, set to go out on an exploration expedition. How could Krauss ever resist such a job?
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
Krauss likes to draw quite a bit in his spare time. Mostly just sketches of landscapes that he sees.
Atrophy Meddlesome Kid
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
Constance Holloway
25 | 5’6” | Female
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
Constance is an ambitious, self-aggrandizing woman with a questionable lineage and a dubious, newfound wealth. A true master of none (although she prefers the term “polymath”), Constance seems to be motivated by flights of fancy, whims, and impulses that serve her one woman assault against the boredom and mundanity that comes with living a posh life. Foolhardy and stubborn, her latest obsession, like any good member of the nouveau riche, is seemingly centered around leaving behind a legacy.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
A slender woman with a thin, angular face, Constance has seemingly grown well-accustomed to holding her sharp chin high and peering down her nose at others. Her eyes are a light brown, like copper, while her long, straight hair is a few shades darker and pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her skin is fair, seemingly untouched by the sun thanks to her assortment of hats and parasols, and a practiced application of makeup effectively hides her many imperfections—the scarred pores on her cheeks and forehead of a childhood of poor hygiene, the crow’s feet and dark circles that line her eyes. She speaks with a measured cadence, like somebody who is reading from a play’s script, and has a voice that demands attention due to the confidence, and volume, that flows with it. Still, no amount of makeup can hide the fact that her nose, broken once in youth, bends with a slight offset, nor can any practiced speeches hide her hideous horse laugh.
While Constance has a wardrobe full of gaudy jewelry and elaborate dresses, she typically dresses these days as if she were an equestrian. Fitted jackets, typically a dark shade of blue with large buttons, are worn over white blouses that are tucked into high waisted pants of neutral browns and tans. It’s uncommon to see her without some sort of sun hat or kerchief. Black riding boots that almost cover her knees give her a few more inches and, coupled with her already wiry limbs and confident posture, makes her appear taller than five foot six. The newest, and almost permanent, addition to her wardrobe is a small lump underneath the left side of her jackets. A strong wind or the right angle would reveal that the lump is semi-automatic pistol resting in a leather shoulder holster.
While Constance has a wardrobe full of gaudy jewelry and elaborate dresses, she typically dresses these days as if she were an equestrian. Fitted jackets, typically a dark shade of blue with large buttons, are worn over white blouses that are tucked into high waisted pants of neutral browns and tans. It’s uncommon to see her without some sort of sun hat or kerchief. Black riding boots that almost cover her knees give her a few more inches and, coupled with her already wiry limbs and confident posture, makes her appear taller than five foot six. The newest, and almost permanent, addition to her wardrobe is a small lump underneath the left side of her jackets. A strong wind or the right angle would reveal that the lump is semi-automatic pistol resting in a leather shoulder holster.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Constance drips confidence. Armed with an almost infectious optimism and a dangerous ambition, she seemingly never shows doubt, fear, or regrets. She actively seeks out new challenges and welcomes sudden crises with a smile and a jolt of energy. She’s a textbook thrillseeker that always seeks out new experiences and follows her gut over the minds and mouths of others. However, she lacks dedication and is quick to move on to the next whim once her current one has shown even the slightest hint of mundanity. This has left her with a bit of a reputation of being unreliable and frivolous, overshadowed only by her reputation of being a person who practically throws away their money.
Constance is warm and friendly to people, although it’s hard to say if it’s a genuine kindness or just the practiced niceties a person must acquire if they wish to survive in high society. Still, she prefers company over being alone, and is mindful enough in conversations to not completely dominate them. She’ll never openly insult an individual, and when she praises something it is always “absolutely fantastic” regardless of the situation. Despite her openness, people sometimes can feel a vibe coming from her like she is looking down upon them or judging them for some reason they can’t quite say. As well, word around town is that the woman is quite conceited and a bit of a know-it-all; it was once hypothesized that she was full of enough hot air that her ego could keep the islands afloat if the obelisk failed.
Constance is warm and friendly to people, although it’s hard to say if it’s a genuine kindness or just the practiced niceties a person must acquire if they wish to survive in high society. Still, she prefers company over being alone, and is mindful enough in conversations to not completely dominate them. She’ll never openly insult an individual, and when she praises something it is always “absolutely fantastic” regardless of the situation. Despite her openness, people sometimes can feel a vibe coming from her like she is looking down upon them or judging them for some reason they can’t quite say. As well, word around town is that the woman is quite conceited and a bit of a know-it-all; it was once hypothesized that she was full of enough hot air that her ego could keep the islands afloat if the obelisk failed.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
There are two stories about Constance Holloway: hers and theirs. Hers is the one that she shouts from the rooftops, and theirs is one that is whispered behind her back at soirees and dinner parties. However, the tales both start at the Bottoms, the nickname for the slums of Edgenook. In her version, Constance would admit that she was luckier than most growing up in the Bottoms. She had parents, although they were good-for-nothing, and most nights she had a roof over her head, although one that leaked and let bugs in. However, like any child living in the Bottoms, she had to work to help feed her family. She could recount the horrors seen in FFS factories where she started working at the age of five, climbing inside the great machinery to remove jams in the gears caused by faulty material and other children, but those stories are not for decent company.
Their version would say that she did, in fact, work for FFS. She also worked as a seamstress, waitress, cook, maid, shoeshiner, and, if the person truly dislikes her, as a streetwalker. She couldn’t hold down a job, they say, because she was so unreliable, or because her parents were drunks and addicts, or because she was one too. She clung to gangs of street urchins like many poor children and animals do to survive, knowing that they are safer in numbers than they are alone, and overturned shops of the middle class to steal money, food, and clothes. Both versions agree that at some point she made enough money to travel to Argos, and at some point she met a man that would change her life for the better.
This man was a wealthy businessman who operated a mining company in both versions, and an elderly, rich, and lonely one at that. In her version, she paints them as merely friends, a companion, somebody to talk to, although she always suggests that about suspected lovers. In their version, she was a harpy, a leech, a gold digger that extorted him through various means. Regardless of which version you choose, the results were the same: the man passed away one day, and in his will his inheritance and his company was left completely to Constance. Considering he had sons who had been training to take over the business, this was quite a scandal—what would soon become the first of many for Constance Holloway.
Even in their version do they agree that Constance made the wise decision in making peace with the snubbed heirs and hiring them on to run the businesses that they should have rightfully inherited, although not before redubbing the company Holloway Heavy Industries. Although Constance would admit that she didn’t have a mind for business, she did have a mind for people. In her version, she sought out talented individuals and proved them with the initial investment to start their business. In their version, she was little more than a loan shark that exploited desperate and poor inventors. Either way, H.H. Industries began hooking its talons into other markets outside of mining, namely electricity, aviation, and the newly booming business of shipbuilding. Constance filled her coffers, quickly picking up on the rules of a society where the rich get richer.
With the sudden rise in affluence and through smart hiring of individuals to do the work for her, Constance was able to,in her words, stop working and start spending. She bought a mansion at Lake Marum. The household was never empty, always full of her friends and people who were trying to win her influence and vice versa. In her version, these people were the next generation of artists, engineers, and philanthropists. In their version, these people were there, and so were counterfeiters, con artists, and anarchists. Yet still, even those that talked down about Constance and her parties were elated when they received an invitation, because to be invented to a Holloway soiree meant that you truly were somebody.
But a life of constant partying, like a life of constant working, had its doldrums. Constance began travelling to combat this boredom, taking up and giving up on new hobbies as she went. Eventually, in her words, she had seen it all—foregoing her failed attempt to scale the Rallamachers. In her version, she had been turned away by her guides before they reached the summit once the elements got the better of their foray (despite her desire to brave the storm and continue). In their version, she had grown tired of climbing and called for a helicopter to escort her down from the mountain.
At parties she spoke of how their world was too small, and made it known to all that would listen that she planned on travelling to the world below, claiming that she had been consumed by a sense of adventure. They claimed that her fortune was drying up, that she was being abandoned by the board of trustees that ran H.H. Industries, and that she was fleeing to the surface to save herself from the embarrassment once the news struck of her ruin. Some of them even claimed that she owed quite a sum of money to certain criminal organizations and was running to save her life; why else would she start carrying a gun?
Whatever version of the life of Constance Holloway one listens to, be it of the lucky socialite or the cutthroat blackmailer, they all end with her on the Garrloch. It’s a new beginning and, in her mind, a chance to be on the cutting edge of the next big thing. The world below is just another investment to her, or perhaps just another thing for her to extort. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter which; all that matters is that it will be hers.
Their version would say that she did, in fact, work for FFS. She also worked as a seamstress, waitress, cook, maid, shoeshiner, and, if the person truly dislikes her, as a streetwalker. She couldn’t hold down a job, they say, because she was so unreliable, or because her parents were drunks and addicts, or because she was one too. She clung to gangs of street urchins like many poor children and animals do to survive, knowing that they are safer in numbers than they are alone, and overturned shops of the middle class to steal money, food, and clothes. Both versions agree that at some point she made enough money to travel to Argos, and at some point she met a man that would change her life for the better.
This man was a wealthy businessman who operated a mining company in both versions, and an elderly, rich, and lonely one at that. In her version, she paints them as merely friends, a companion, somebody to talk to, although she always suggests that about suspected lovers. In their version, she was a harpy, a leech, a gold digger that extorted him through various means. Regardless of which version you choose, the results were the same: the man passed away one day, and in his will his inheritance and his company was left completely to Constance. Considering he had sons who had been training to take over the business, this was quite a scandal—what would soon become the first of many for Constance Holloway.
Even in their version do they agree that Constance made the wise decision in making peace with the snubbed heirs and hiring them on to run the businesses that they should have rightfully inherited, although not before redubbing the company Holloway Heavy Industries. Although Constance would admit that she didn’t have a mind for business, she did have a mind for people. In her version, she sought out talented individuals and proved them with the initial investment to start their business. In their version, she was little more than a loan shark that exploited desperate and poor inventors. Either way, H.H. Industries began hooking its talons into other markets outside of mining, namely electricity, aviation, and the newly booming business of shipbuilding. Constance filled her coffers, quickly picking up on the rules of a society where the rich get richer.
With the sudden rise in affluence and through smart hiring of individuals to do the work for her, Constance was able to,in her words, stop working and start spending. She bought a mansion at Lake Marum. The household was never empty, always full of her friends and people who were trying to win her influence and vice versa. In her version, these people were the next generation of artists, engineers, and philanthropists. In their version, these people were there, and so were counterfeiters, con artists, and anarchists. Yet still, even those that talked down about Constance and her parties were elated when they received an invitation, because to be invented to a Holloway soiree meant that you truly were somebody.
But a life of constant partying, like a life of constant working, had its doldrums. Constance began travelling to combat this boredom, taking up and giving up on new hobbies as she went. Eventually, in her words, she had seen it all—foregoing her failed attempt to scale the Rallamachers. In her version, she had been turned away by her guides before they reached the summit once the elements got the better of their foray (despite her desire to brave the storm and continue). In their version, she had grown tired of climbing and called for a helicopter to escort her down from the mountain.
At parties she spoke of how their world was too small, and made it known to all that would listen that she planned on travelling to the world below, claiming that she had been consumed by a sense of adventure. They claimed that her fortune was drying up, that she was being abandoned by the board of trustees that ran H.H. Industries, and that she was fleeing to the surface to save herself from the embarrassment once the news struck of her ruin. Some of them even claimed that she owed quite a sum of money to certain criminal organizations and was running to save her life; why else would she start carrying a gun?
Whatever version of the life of Constance Holloway one listens to, be it of the lucky socialite or the cutthroat blackmailer, they all end with her on the Garrloch. It’s a new beginning and, in her mind, a chance to be on the cutting edge of the next big thing. The world below is just another investment to her, or perhaps just another thing for her to extort. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter which; all that matters is that it will be hers.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
-She claims to be a descendant of the Devil Diver James Holloway, although there have been no records dug up that prove or deny this.
-It is a well-spread rumor that Constance proved she was fit to be dropped aboard the Garrloch by greasing the right palms to beat her rivals to the world below.
-It is a well-spread rumor that Constance proved she was fit to be dropped aboard the Garrloch by greasing the right palms to beat her rivals to the world below.
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Lexicon Once a Week Poster
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2 yrs ago
((One change I'm making to this picture is that Sigi has a spiral branded onto her forehead.))
Sigrun "Sigi" Alfhild
23|5'5"|Female
“Fuck up when you drink, fuck up when you rut, but don’t fuck up when you fight.”
-Old Ysmirod saying, Unknown origin
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
Hailing from the inhospitable island of Ysmir, Sigrun “Sigi” Alfhild is a woman searching for something to bring before the Moot, Ysmir's governing body, to convince them to let her return home. Her years of training as a fighter, self-confidence, and determination have served her well over the last ten years, and she’s recently discovered a passion for medicine as well. Curiosity about the world beyond Ysmir and her quest to find a worthy avallach finally drove this naïve, headstrong islander to join the crew of the UIS Garrloch as a field medic.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
Unlike the statuesque beauty most people think of when they picture an Ysmirod woman, Sigrun is short and slender, though her body does have a certain wiry musculature. Due to how close their island is to the Ring of Thunder, the Ysmirod spend a great deal of time indoors and many have pale features. Sigi is no exception. She has her mother’s whitish blonde hair, her father’s dark blue eyes, and fair skin that refuses to tan no matter how much time she spends in the sun. The young woman’s pronounced cheekbones and gaunt physique are testaments to the years she spent in a Gherish slum. Strangely, she has several other traits that aren’t common among the stormborn. Full lips, a button-like nose, and understated ears indicate Sigrun’s blood might not be as pure as her parents claim. This mystery aside, everything about Sigi radiates practicality, from her short, messy hair to the curt way she speaks. Her voice is slightly deeper than what one might expect from such a small woman. Without a doubt, the most notable feature Sigi possesses is the spiral brand on her forehead that marks her as an outcast, a vrykul.
Normally, Sigrun wears plain leather tunics over black or gray long-sleeved shirts with tattered linen slacks. While she’s become fond of the foot-wraps worn by Ghersland's pooter citizens, she does own a gorgeous pair of leather boots dyed the color of the sea at dawn. These boots are the most valuable items Sigi owns, though they have endured their fair share of wear and tear. A fraying leather belt hangs loosely around her wide hips and bears the weight of her pistol and polished iron dagger. The blade's wooden grip has numerous reddish-brown stains on it, an ominous indication of what happens to people that get in Sigi’s way or try to hurt her. Overall, Sigrun doesn’t try to hide how difficult life has been for her since she was banished from Ysmir. All the signs are there for anyone to see, and she sees no point in wasting time and energy trying to be someone she’s not.
Normally, Sigrun wears plain leather tunics over black or gray long-sleeved shirts with tattered linen slacks. While she’s become fond of the foot-wraps worn by Ghersland's pooter citizens, she does own a gorgeous pair of leather boots dyed the color of the sea at dawn. These boots are the most valuable items Sigi owns, though they have endured their fair share of wear and tear. A fraying leather belt hangs loosely around her wide hips and bears the weight of her pistol and polished iron dagger. The blade's wooden grip has numerous reddish-brown stains on it, an ominous indication of what happens to people that get in Sigi’s way or try to hurt her. Overall, Sigrun doesn’t try to hide how difficult life has been for her since she was banished from Ysmir. All the signs are there for anyone to see, and she sees no point in wasting time and energy trying to be someone she’s not.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Sigrun is a vrykul, an Ysmirod term that means “outcast” or "exiled one." This word has clung to her like a foul stench since she was thirteen years old, and it’s shaped most of her life. She spent her childhood among family and friends, learning the traditions and history of the stormborn, but she's lived in the Gherish shantytown of Beggar's Row for the last ten years. Luckily, what she was taught on Ysmir has made it easier for her to focus on the one thing she values above all else: survival. Sigrun is pragmatic, almost animalistic, when it comes to saving her own skin. She views other people’s problems as just that, other people’s problems. Many have called her selfish, and she has no problem admitting it. Furthermore, Sigrun longs to return to Ysmir, but she can’t do so without an avallach, or “homecoming offering.” This gift must be valuable enough to convince the Moot to reverse their decision to exile her. She rarely talks about the circumstances surrounding her banishment, and she would only discuss such things with someone she trusted. And there aren’t many people she trusts. The Ysmirod woman likes her privacy, preferring to let others chatter on like the axebeak birds of her homeland.
Once a person proves their loyalty to Sigi, however, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for them. As long as it doesn’t interfere with her quest to find a proper avallach, of course. While she almost never talks about herself, Sigrun is more than happy to listen to others and provide what advice she can. She’s also brutally honest. If something is bothering her than she’ll say so without hesitation, a habit that often leads to awkward or uncomfortable situations. Incidents like these remind Sigi of how painfully young and inexperienced she is. Ysmir is a mountainous spit of land floating near Ghersland’s northern coast, isolated from the rest of the United Isles by the Ring of Thunder. While her time in the Gherish city of Highwall taught her many things, Sigrun still has a lot to learn about the world at large and dealing with others. This is especially evident when she’s trying to mend someone’s injuries. There are no soothing words or gentle smiles. Her entire focus is on binding the wound, mixing the salve, or determining the proper combination of chemicals needed to solve the problem. Despite her gruffness, few things give Sigi more pleasure than curing someone or experiencing something new. She just hides her enjoyment behind a veil of gravitas and nonchalance that seems out of place in one so young.
Once a person proves their loyalty to Sigi, however, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for them. As long as it doesn’t interfere with her quest to find a proper avallach, of course. While she almost never talks about herself, Sigrun is more than happy to listen to others and provide what advice she can. She’s also brutally honest. If something is bothering her than she’ll say so without hesitation, a habit that often leads to awkward or uncomfortable situations. Incidents like these remind Sigi of how painfully young and inexperienced she is. Ysmir is a mountainous spit of land floating near Ghersland’s northern coast, isolated from the rest of the United Isles by the Ring of Thunder. While her time in the Gherish city of Highwall taught her many things, Sigrun still has a lot to learn about the world at large and dealing with others. This is especially evident when she’s trying to mend someone’s injuries. There are no soothing words or gentle smiles. Her entire focus is on binding the wound, mixing the salve, or determining the proper combination of chemicals needed to solve the problem. Despite her gruffness, few things give Sigi more pleasure than curing someone or experiencing something new. She just hides her enjoyment behind a veil of gravitas and nonchalance that seems out of place in one so young.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
"Dearest Caitlin,
Greetings, oh flower of my life, from the grim Island of the Stormborn! I miss you more than words can possibly say, but fear not, my fragile bird of Maru, because I intend to leave Ysmir before week's end. The thought is not an unpleasant one, I must confess, because the Ysmirod are a gloomy lot. At first, I was afraid they wouldn't assist me with my research, but my fears turned out to be unfounded. A few days after my arrival at the Red Diamond airfield, I persuaded one of the eldri, which I believe means "leader" in the stormborn's guttural tongue, to talk to me about the island's history. Eldri Ulfric Skovald said he'd be delighted to speak with me, and he seemed surprised that a helgus, an Ysmirod word for "outsider," would be interested in such things.
By the by, and I found this quite funny, the tongue spoken by the stormborn is called Ysmirod. Now, there are two types of people living on the island. Stormborn is the name given to those men and women whose ancestors survived an event known as the Hundred Year Harrowing. Ysmirod, on the other hand, is a general term meaning anyone living on Ysmir, including people that originally come from somewhere else. So, the Ysmirod speak Ysmirod. How entertaining!
Tomfoolery aside, it turns out dear Professor Dunwich was right when he hypothesized that Ysmir was originally part of ancient Ghersland before it rose into the sky. Remarkable, isn't it? During my brief stay among the Ysmirod, I’ve noticed many of their customs and behaviors are similar to those of the mainland Gherish, though there are numerous differences as well. For instance, due to the island's fearful proximity to the Ring of Thunder, the stormborn spend most of their time indoors, which lends them an unusually pale cast. I now understand why soldiers facing Ysmirod mercenaries in battle call them "ghosts." Obviously, the stormborn have a language of their own, and I've already managed to pick up a few phrases. For instance, "Jeg nyder ost!" means "I enjoy cheese!" The men and women of Ysmirod may not have the newest automobiles or overcoats available, but their sense of humor is quite perverse. Delightfully so, I assure you, fair Caitlin.
According to Eldri Skovald, the stormborn that invited me into his home so we could discuss the island's history, a dreadful period called the Hundred Year Harrowing followed Ysmir's ascension and separation from Ghersland. You see, my juicy pomegranate, most of this island is covered by the towering peaks of the Utgaard Mountains, and the only habitable region consists of rocky flatlands on the isle's southern tip. I believe the eldri mentioned a swamp of some kind as well, but you get the idea. To make matters worse, the soil is quite poor here, so the early stormborn were forced to rapidly adjust following their trip into the clouds. Perhaps the most noteworthy example I can think of, oh radiant lady of my heart, is they eat rock lichen here. Far too much rock lichen. You have to give them credit where it's due, however, because they've come up with a staggering number of ways to hide the plant's awful taste. Eldri Skovald even gave me a cup of lichen beer before we sat down to begin our conversation. It tasted like cold piss, but I suppose it's the thought that counts.
In any event, the Hundred Year Harrowing was the name given to an event that lasted, well, a hundred years. During this time, the stormborn had no contact with Dover whatsoever. Cut off from essential resources, every man, woman, and child born on Ysmir was expected to contribute to the survival of their people. This attitude has persisted among the stormborn to this day. Whether they're miners, factory workers, or members of the legendary valarjar, everyone must do their part to ensure the stormborn way of life continues. Furthermore, the first inhabitants of Ysmir had to contend with the vicious beasts living in the Utgaard Mountains, which included sabercats and something called a vhargulf. My stormborn companion refused to tell me what sort of creature a vhargulf was, but he sounded terrified when he spoke of it. In order to survive those harsh, bloody days, the people of Ysmir learned how to defend themselves without the aid of firearms, and even their children were taught how to fight with knives and swords. The eldri took pains to tell me that no stormborn child that hasn't survived the Three Trials has ever been allowed to touch a gun. He ignored all my questions about what the Three Trials were and instead began to talk about the end of the Hundred Year Harrowing.
Gherish explorers, led by a man named Wilcott Fisk, arrived on Ysmir and established contact with the stormborn, though they quickly discovered something that would change the island's fate forever. Vast mother lodes of gold, iron, and copper ore were scattered throughout the Utgaard Mountains, and Wilcott was savvy enough to know he'd just made his fortune. Employing the stormborn as miners and builders, Wilcott built the Fisk Industries factory at the base of Ulfrang Peak before sending messages to his financiers back home. There weren't many stormborn left after the Hundred Year Harrowing, and they needed the money Wilcott was offering to start importing goods from Dover, so the natives allowed this to happen. Less than five years later, numerous mining companies, such as the Three Picks Mining Company and Red Diamond Excavations, established a presence on Ysmir, though they often came into conflict with the stormborn. Unlike Wilcott, who'd spent time amongst the island's inhabitants, the soldiers employed to protect company assets didn't know or care about local customs.
The fighting was on the verge of degenerating into all-out war when Sorthar the Wise, a shrewd and respected stormborn, convinced the two groups to form a ruling body that represented both their interests. Thus, the Moot of Ysmir was born, composed of eight stormborn and the owners of the four most prestigious businesses on the island.
Eldri Skovald's expression darkened when he told me this part, and I got the distinct impression he disapproved of his ancestors’ decision. "But," he growled, his voice as hard and uncompromising as the granite floor of his home, "they did what was best for Ysmir. That is all that matters." I'm not sure whether the eldri was trying to convince me or himself, but he moved on to what resulted from this union between the helgus and the stormborn. With the Moot arbitrating disputes and ensuring stormborn traditions were honored, Ysmir began to trade with Ghersland and Canth in exchange for food, clean drinking water, and other necessities. It was a time of unparalleled prosperity for the otherwise forgettable chunk of rock. And then, roughly ten years later, Corwin Fisk, the late Wilcott Fisk's son and newly appointed owner of Fisk Industries, brought an idea before the Moot.
He proposed that both the mining companies and the stormborn should turn their attention towards something more valuable than metal chairs, tables, and ornaments. "The nations of Canth and Ghersland are constantly fighting each other," he said to the twelve members of the Moot, "and we have the finest warriors in the United Isles. The valarjar, the "golden warriors," were once used to hunt beasts in the Utgaard Mountains. Now, they can be used to hunt the enemies of anyone with enough money to hire them. Of course, all Ysmirod would get a cut of their earnings. We could even manufacture and equip our soldiers with guns made from the ore they're still finding in the mountains." The Moot unanimously agreed. That's how the golden warriors of Ysmir became the most renowned fighters in the United Isles.
And that's the way life has been on the Island of the Stormborn for the last thousand years or so, my love. Can you believe it? Oh sure, the eldri mentioned a group of stormborn, calling themselves the Defiants or something along those lines, eventually declaring they could no longer live alongside corporations intent on pillaging their home. Allegedly, they haunt the foothills of the Utgaard Mountains and occasionally launch fruitless raids on company-controlled land, but they're considered a nuisance at worst. Life on Ysmir is better than it has ever been. The mining companies have become influential corporations, producing both peerless metal goods and weapons almost as formidable as those made in Dover. They've even managed to ensure the Island of the Stormborn remains neutral in the ongoing skirmishes between Canth and Ghersland. Even though they sell weapons to both nations. Still, the combined military forces of Dover could easily destroy Ysmir so the Ysmirod know not to get too greedy. On that uplifting note, Eldri Skovald declared that he'd told me everything he knew about his homeland's past. He was apparently due to start his shift at the local Red Diamond mine so he had to leave soon.
I thanked him, of course, and handed him my mostly untouched cup of lichen beer. One thought I couldn't shake as I walked back to my apartment was how strange this place was. A place where crumbling granite statues of valarjar fighting sabercats stood next to shops selling the latest metal gewgaws and furniture. Curious, isn't it? Regardless, love of my life and sun of my sky, I shall return home soon and we can discuss this in more detail. I hope this letter wasn't too long, but I've attached it to a lovely Ysmirod-style dress that I purchased from one of the local tailors. I hope it fits. I look forward to seeing you soon, Caitlin, and be well!
Love beyond measure,
Simon Garret
-Letter found on the corpse of a Maruvian scholar named Simon Garret. The body was discovered outside the Red Diamond Excavation and Armaments airfield with the words 'The Storm Remembers' carved into its chest.
Greetings, oh flower of my life, from the grim Island of the Stormborn! I miss you more than words can possibly say, but fear not, my fragile bird of Maru, because I intend to leave Ysmir before week's end. The thought is not an unpleasant one, I must confess, because the Ysmirod are a gloomy lot. At first, I was afraid they wouldn't assist me with my research, but my fears turned out to be unfounded. A few days after my arrival at the Red Diamond airfield, I persuaded one of the eldri, which I believe means "leader" in the stormborn's guttural tongue, to talk to me about the island's history. Eldri Ulfric Skovald said he'd be delighted to speak with me, and he seemed surprised that a helgus, an Ysmirod word for "outsider," would be interested in such things.
By the by, and I found this quite funny, the tongue spoken by the stormborn is called Ysmirod. Now, there are two types of people living on the island. Stormborn is the name given to those men and women whose ancestors survived an event known as the Hundred Year Harrowing. Ysmirod, on the other hand, is a general term meaning anyone living on Ysmir, including people that originally come from somewhere else. So, the Ysmirod speak Ysmirod. How entertaining!
Tomfoolery aside, it turns out dear Professor Dunwich was right when he hypothesized that Ysmir was originally part of ancient Ghersland before it rose into the sky. Remarkable, isn't it? During my brief stay among the Ysmirod, I’ve noticed many of their customs and behaviors are similar to those of the mainland Gherish, though there are numerous differences as well. For instance, due to the island's fearful proximity to the Ring of Thunder, the stormborn spend most of their time indoors, which lends them an unusually pale cast. I now understand why soldiers facing Ysmirod mercenaries in battle call them "ghosts." Obviously, the stormborn have a language of their own, and I've already managed to pick up a few phrases. For instance, "Jeg nyder ost!" means "I enjoy cheese!" The men and women of Ysmirod may not have the newest automobiles or overcoats available, but their sense of humor is quite perverse. Delightfully so, I assure you, fair Caitlin.
According to Eldri Skovald, the stormborn that invited me into his home so we could discuss the island's history, a dreadful period called the Hundred Year Harrowing followed Ysmir's ascension and separation from Ghersland. You see, my juicy pomegranate, most of this island is covered by the towering peaks of the Utgaard Mountains, and the only habitable region consists of rocky flatlands on the isle's southern tip. I believe the eldri mentioned a swamp of some kind as well, but you get the idea. To make matters worse, the soil is quite poor here, so the early stormborn were forced to rapidly adjust following their trip into the clouds. Perhaps the most noteworthy example I can think of, oh radiant lady of my heart, is they eat rock lichen here. Far too much rock lichen. You have to give them credit where it's due, however, because they've come up with a staggering number of ways to hide the plant's awful taste. Eldri Skovald even gave me a cup of lichen beer before we sat down to begin our conversation. It tasted like cold piss, but I suppose it's the thought that counts.
In any event, the Hundred Year Harrowing was the name given to an event that lasted, well, a hundred years. During this time, the stormborn had no contact with Dover whatsoever. Cut off from essential resources, every man, woman, and child born on Ysmir was expected to contribute to the survival of their people. This attitude has persisted among the stormborn to this day. Whether they're miners, factory workers, or members of the legendary valarjar, everyone must do their part to ensure the stormborn way of life continues. Furthermore, the first inhabitants of Ysmir had to contend with the vicious beasts living in the Utgaard Mountains, which included sabercats and something called a vhargulf. My stormborn companion refused to tell me what sort of creature a vhargulf was, but he sounded terrified when he spoke of it. In order to survive those harsh, bloody days, the people of Ysmir learned how to defend themselves without the aid of firearms, and even their children were taught how to fight with knives and swords. The eldri took pains to tell me that no stormborn child that hasn't survived the Three Trials has ever been allowed to touch a gun. He ignored all my questions about what the Three Trials were and instead began to talk about the end of the Hundred Year Harrowing.
Gherish explorers, led by a man named Wilcott Fisk, arrived on Ysmir and established contact with the stormborn, though they quickly discovered something that would change the island's fate forever. Vast mother lodes of gold, iron, and copper ore were scattered throughout the Utgaard Mountains, and Wilcott was savvy enough to know he'd just made his fortune. Employing the stormborn as miners and builders, Wilcott built the Fisk Industries factory at the base of Ulfrang Peak before sending messages to his financiers back home. There weren't many stormborn left after the Hundred Year Harrowing, and they needed the money Wilcott was offering to start importing goods from Dover, so the natives allowed this to happen. Less than five years later, numerous mining companies, such as the Three Picks Mining Company and Red Diamond Excavations, established a presence on Ysmir, though they often came into conflict with the stormborn. Unlike Wilcott, who'd spent time amongst the island's inhabitants, the soldiers employed to protect company assets didn't know or care about local customs.
The fighting was on the verge of degenerating into all-out war when Sorthar the Wise, a shrewd and respected stormborn, convinced the two groups to form a ruling body that represented both their interests. Thus, the Moot of Ysmir was born, composed of eight stormborn and the owners of the four most prestigious businesses on the island.
Eldri Skovald's expression darkened when he told me this part, and I got the distinct impression he disapproved of his ancestors’ decision. "But," he growled, his voice as hard and uncompromising as the granite floor of his home, "they did what was best for Ysmir. That is all that matters." I'm not sure whether the eldri was trying to convince me or himself, but he moved on to what resulted from this union between the helgus and the stormborn. With the Moot arbitrating disputes and ensuring stormborn traditions were honored, Ysmir began to trade with Ghersland and Canth in exchange for food, clean drinking water, and other necessities. It was a time of unparalleled prosperity for the otherwise forgettable chunk of rock. And then, roughly ten years later, Corwin Fisk, the late Wilcott Fisk's son and newly appointed owner of Fisk Industries, brought an idea before the Moot.
He proposed that both the mining companies and the stormborn should turn their attention towards something more valuable than metal chairs, tables, and ornaments. "The nations of Canth and Ghersland are constantly fighting each other," he said to the twelve members of the Moot, "and we have the finest warriors in the United Isles. The valarjar, the "golden warriors," were once used to hunt beasts in the Utgaard Mountains. Now, they can be used to hunt the enemies of anyone with enough money to hire them. Of course, all Ysmirod would get a cut of their earnings. We could even manufacture and equip our soldiers with guns made from the ore they're still finding in the mountains." The Moot unanimously agreed. That's how the golden warriors of Ysmir became the most renowned fighters in the United Isles.
And that's the way life has been on the Island of the Stormborn for the last thousand years or so, my love. Can you believe it? Oh sure, the eldri mentioned a group of stormborn, calling themselves the Defiants or something along those lines, eventually declaring they could no longer live alongside corporations intent on pillaging their home. Allegedly, they haunt the foothills of the Utgaard Mountains and occasionally launch fruitless raids on company-controlled land, but they're considered a nuisance at worst. Life on Ysmir is better than it has ever been. The mining companies have become influential corporations, producing both peerless metal goods and weapons almost as formidable as those made in Dover. They've even managed to ensure the Island of the Stormborn remains neutral in the ongoing skirmishes between Canth and Ghersland. Even though they sell weapons to both nations. Still, the combined military forces of Dover could easily destroy Ysmir so the Ysmirod know not to get too greedy. On that uplifting note, Eldri Skovald declared that he'd told me everything he knew about his homeland's past. He was apparently due to start his shift at the local Red Diamond mine so he had to leave soon.
I thanked him, of course, and handed him my mostly untouched cup of lichen beer. One thought I couldn't shake as I walked back to my apartment was how strange this place was. A place where crumbling granite statues of valarjar fighting sabercats stood next to shops selling the latest metal gewgaws and furniture. Curious, isn't it? Regardless, love of my life and sun of my sky, I shall return home soon and we can discuss this in more detail. I hope this letter wasn't too long, but I've attached it to a lovely Ysmirod-style dress that I purchased from one of the local tailors. I hope it fits. I look forward to seeing you soon, Caitlin, and be well!
Love beyond measure,
Simon Garret
-Letter found on the corpse of a Maruvian scholar named Simon Garret. The body was discovered outside the Red Diamond Excavation and Armaments airfield with the words 'The Storm Remembers' carved into its chest.
Sigrun "Sigi” Alfhild was born to Svala Alfhild an Tallak, one of the most decorated valarjar mercenaries in Ysmir’s history, and Lorod Alfhild, a talented gunsmith employed by Red Diamond Excavations and Armaments, on a sunny morning in spring. Although she didn’t know it as she bellowed her childish rage to the skies, Sigrun was expected to be as great an asset to the stormborn as her parents. She was raised in a strongly traditional household, learning how to hold a blade at age seven and how to work more efficiently than any helgus. In spite of her parents’ expectations and the intensity of her training, Sigi was a charming, headstrong child who enjoyed learning and seeing new things. She also seemed intent on shoving anything that looked even remotely interesting into her mouth. Thankfully, she grew out of this habit.
A few weeks after her ninth birthday, Sigrun was allowed to accompany her father to his workshop in the Red Diamond Corporation’s gunsmithy. She spent hours watching him craft weapons to the exact specifications of people living as far away as Edgenook. The other stormborn whispered among themselves that this child would surely become a legendary gunsmith, since her combat skills were somewhat lacking, and Lorod loved Sigi for that. He made a decent amount of money, but his wife’s roving lifestyle as a valarjar provided the family with most of its income. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone be more interested in his work than his wife’s stories of bloodshed and glory.
When she turned thirteen, the course of Sigrun's life changed forever.
Like every stormborn child since Ysmir's founding, Sigi was expected to stand before the Moot when she turned thirteen to complete the Three Trials. The Trial of Strength. The Trial of Wisdom. The Trial of Choice. These ordeals would determine whether or not Sigi was ready to do what all stormborn were born to do: help their people prosper no matter the cost. Although the corporations were able to import enough essential goods and services to ensure nobody wanted for anything, they allowed this tradition to continue. It weeded out the weak from the general population. Sigrun's parents and teachers did their best to prepare the girl for the tests, but she walked into the Three Picks Corporation Arena, a gift from the mining company turned weapons manufacturer to their loyal employees, with a feeling of icy dread in the pit of her stomach. The Trial of Strength would pit two untested stormborn against each other, and only one would survive to continue the trials. From the moment Eldri Ulfric Skovald blew the clay horn three times, signaling the start of the test, Sigi was in trouble. Before the gathered Ysmirod could blink, her adversary had pinned her to the ground and was wrapping his hands around her neck. It looked like she was destined to be just another stormborn that failed to pass the Three Trials.
Then Lorod entered the ring and shot Sigi's assailant in the back of the head with a revolver. A revolver that she'd watched him make in his workshop less than a year ago. Blood splattered across Sigrun's pale face and the sands of the arena.
The Moot and the gathered spectators howled in protest. The stormborn members of the Moot wanted to kill Sigrun on the spot and banish her father while Lorod's employers wanted to keep him on the island. His unparalleled craftsmanship was a point of pride and profit for all Ysmir. They didn't care what happened to Sigi. Lorod spoke then, raising his voice above the din and shouting until he was blue in the face, demanding that his daughter be allowed to live or he'd kill himself right then and there. Struck dumb by this shocking reversal, the Moot asked for time to confer and Lorod agreed, cradling his battered daughter and trying not to weep.
After a few tense moments, the twelve eldri of the Moot reached a decision. Sigrun, in defiance of all stormborn traditions, would be declared vrykul, outcast, but she would be allowed to live if Lorod agreed to continue working as before. With tears pouring down his leathery face, the gunsmith bowed his head and agreed. Concerned that other stormborn might try to defy their rulings, the Moot made Lorod brand his daughter's forehead himself later that night. The spiral brand forever marked her as a vrykul. The next morning, three valarjar came to collect Sigi. Lorod gave her what money he could, a bag full of warm clothes and other essentials, a pair of beautiful boots and an iron dagger. Due to her failure, Sigrun would never be allowed to touch a firearm while on the Island of the Stormborn. Svala led the group towards the Three Picks Corporation airfield, her cold gray eyes never once straying towards her shell-shocked daughter. The last words Svala said to Sigi before she left were, "You have shamed us all, vrykul. Do not come back."
And with that parting blow from her mother, Sigrun was exiled from Ysmir and sent to live among the helgus, the "outsiders." She was flown on a rickety, barely functioning aeroplane to Ghersland and dropped off in the city of Highwall. Sigi spent the next few days wandering the inner city in a daze, her eyes wide as she drank in the unfamiliar clothes and bizarre machines. Due to its isolation, Ysmir tended to be behind the times, and this made it difficult for exiles like Sigi to adjust to life in the United Isles proper. Inevitably, hunger drove the vrykul to thievery, and she was pursued by the greencloaks, the mercenaries responsible for keeping the peace in Highwall, for stealing a loaf of bread from a baker's stall. Running blindly through the twisting streets, Sigrun abruptly found herself tumbling forward into a thoroughly dilapidated region of the city. The stormborn girl looked back to see the greencloaks chuckling and shaking their heads as they walked away from her. The little thief was in Beggar's Row now, and it was only a matter of time before she was raped, robbed, and killed. Not necessarily in that order.
Sigrun picked herself up and took a step forward...only to collide with a great bear of a man dressed in a ragged gray suit and an undershirt covered in stains. Panting and drawing her father's dagger, the outcast prepared to make her final stand when she saw something familiar. The man had a scar on his forehead in the shape of a spiral. This filthy, disgusting man was another exile from Ysmir. Sobbing and babbling like a madwoman, Sigi managed to tell the hulking stranger her story, and he quickly ushered her into a nearby shack that stank of sweat and blood. After convincing her to put her knife away, the man introduced himself as Svanrige Grondr, a vrykul just like Sigrun. He refused to tell the exhausted child why he'd been banished, though he admitted it had something to do with the Defiants, a band of vicious stormborn that sought to destroy the corporations draining their homeland's resources. Svanrige ignored the rest of Sigi's questions and gave her all the food and water she could stomach before guiding her to a straw pallet. The girl was asleep in moments.
Seven days passed before Sigi felt well enough to face the man who'd treated her with such unbelievable kindness. The memories of her life before the Three Trials still haunted Sigrun, however, often causing her to wake up in the middle of the night dripping with sweat and screaming for her father. Instead of coddling her as a helgus might have, Svanrige declared that if Sigi was going to interrupt his sleep then she could damn well do some work. Since being exiled from Ysmir nearly fifteen years ago, the warrior had decided to spend the rest of his life healing others, becoming the sole doctor in Beggar's Row. He'd done his best to take what little he knew of stormborn remedial techniques and adjusting them to incorporate the medicinal practices of modern Ghersland. Due to the sheer number of turf wars, muggings, and rapes that occurred in Beggar's Row, Svanrige was always busy trying to help someone. The stormborn offered Sigi a choice: she could either leave or earn her keep as his assistant. The girl chose to stay with her kinsman, though she initially found the work distasteful and the patients utterly deplorable. How many times did you have to get lover's pox before you stopped frequenting seedy brothels?
As the days turned to weeks and then to months, Sigi began to learn more and more of Svanrige's trade, her curiosity peaked by this warrior-turned-healer and his unusual approach to medicine. It felt surprisingly good to realize you had the knowledge to save someone's life. By the time she was twenty, Sigrun was practically running Svanrige's clinic and she never turned away a person in need. As long as they could pay in some form or another. The people of Beggar's Row were still destitute, but at least they had a place to go to receive treatment for whatever ailed them. A month or two after her twentieth birthday, however, Sigi began asking Svanrige questions about his time as a warrior. The older stormborn was flattered by this unexpected interest, but he quickly realized it was more than that.
She wanted to know what lay beyond Beggar's Row, beyond Highwall, beyond Ghersland.
Svanrige tried to ignore this new obsession, but he knew Sigrun well enough to know she wasn't going to let this drop. Besides, she was like a daughter to him, and she deserved to know the truth. A week before her twenty-third birthday, the wrinkled stormborn gave Sigi an old pistol and began training her in its use. The vrykul girl was reluctant at first, fearing the curse that would supposedly descend on children that dared to touch a firearm without passing the Three Trials first. Of course, ten years of living in the poorest district of Highwall had forced Sigi to do many things most of her kinsmen would've considered risky or foolish. With Svanrige's help and guidance, she learned how to properly handle the pistol over the course of a several months. During this period, Svanrige also began telling her stories about the world beyond Highwall, stories about the wonders of the United Isles. And then, on a cold night in the middle of winter, he sat Sigi down and told her about something called an avallach, a "homecoming offering."
If a vrykul managed to find a worthy avallach and bring it to the Moot they might be allowed to stay on Ysmir. Sigrun's mouth fell open and she started to speak, a smile lighting up her pale features, but Svanrige held up one thick, grubby finger. Wordlessly, he pulled off his jacket and undershirt to show Sigi his back, which was marked by three long, ropy scars. He told the girl that he'd brought three different avallachs to the Moot, and they'd rejected each one in the traditional manner. Putting his worn garments back on, Svanrige said he didn't want Sigrun to get her hopes up about returning home, but he thought she should at least make an attempt. He was too old for such things, but she was young. Maybe she could succeed where he had failed.
Sigrun spent a week trying to think of a worthy homecoming offering, but she couldn't come up with anything. The Moot of Ysmir was comprised of the twelve richest and most well-informed men on the island. What could she possibly offer them that they didn't already possess? And then she read an article about the UIS Garrloch in a crumpled copy of the Highwall Herald. Running back to the clinic with the newspaper in her hand, she asked Svanrige if something she found while aboard this ship might appease the Moot. The gray-haired stormborn nodded once, his face tight with a mixture of sorrow and joy, before going into his backroom. He emerged a few moments later with a burlap sack full of money he'd been saving since Sigi's twentieth birthday and a canvas doctor's bag with some basic herbal remedies inside. Svanrige told her she could leave whenever she was ready. The vrykul girl hugged her guardian, her teacher, her friend and said she'd go in the morning.
And she did, embarking on an arduous journey to Canth, the island where the Garrloch was docked. She was ready to go home, no matter the cost.
A few weeks after her ninth birthday, Sigrun was allowed to accompany her father to his workshop in the Red Diamond Corporation’s gunsmithy. She spent hours watching him craft weapons to the exact specifications of people living as far away as Edgenook. The other stormborn whispered among themselves that this child would surely become a legendary gunsmith, since her combat skills were somewhat lacking, and Lorod loved Sigi for that. He made a decent amount of money, but his wife’s roving lifestyle as a valarjar provided the family with most of its income. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone be more interested in his work than his wife’s stories of bloodshed and glory.
When she turned thirteen, the course of Sigrun's life changed forever.
Like every stormborn child since Ysmir's founding, Sigi was expected to stand before the Moot when she turned thirteen to complete the Three Trials. The Trial of Strength. The Trial of Wisdom. The Trial of Choice. These ordeals would determine whether or not Sigi was ready to do what all stormborn were born to do: help their people prosper no matter the cost. Although the corporations were able to import enough essential goods and services to ensure nobody wanted for anything, they allowed this tradition to continue. It weeded out the weak from the general population. Sigrun's parents and teachers did their best to prepare the girl for the tests, but she walked into the Three Picks Corporation Arena, a gift from the mining company turned weapons manufacturer to their loyal employees, with a feeling of icy dread in the pit of her stomach. The Trial of Strength would pit two untested stormborn against each other, and only one would survive to continue the trials. From the moment Eldri Ulfric Skovald blew the clay horn three times, signaling the start of the test, Sigi was in trouble. Before the gathered Ysmirod could blink, her adversary had pinned her to the ground and was wrapping his hands around her neck. It looked like she was destined to be just another stormborn that failed to pass the Three Trials.
Then Lorod entered the ring and shot Sigi's assailant in the back of the head with a revolver. A revolver that she'd watched him make in his workshop less than a year ago. Blood splattered across Sigrun's pale face and the sands of the arena.
The Moot and the gathered spectators howled in protest. The stormborn members of the Moot wanted to kill Sigrun on the spot and banish her father while Lorod's employers wanted to keep him on the island. His unparalleled craftsmanship was a point of pride and profit for all Ysmir. They didn't care what happened to Sigi. Lorod spoke then, raising his voice above the din and shouting until he was blue in the face, demanding that his daughter be allowed to live or he'd kill himself right then and there. Struck dumb by this shocking reversal, the Moot asked for time to confer and Lorod agreed, cradling his battered daughter and trying not to weep.
After a few tense moments, the twelve eldri of the Moot reached a decision. Sigrun, in defiance of all stormborn traditions, would be declared vrykul, outcast, but she would be allowed to live if Lorod agreed to continue working as before. With tears pouring down his leathery face, the gunsmith bowed his head and agreed. Concerned that other stormborn might try to defy their rulings, the Moot made Lorod brand his daughter's forehead himself later that night. The spiral brand forever marked her as a vrykul. The next morning, three valarjar came to collect Sigi. Lorod gave her what money he could, a bag full of warm clothes and other essentials, a pair of beautiful boots and an iron dagger. Due to her failure, Sigrun would never be allowed to touch a firearm while on the Island of the Stormborn. Svala led the group towards the Three Picks Corporation airfield, her cold gray eyes never once straying towards her shell-shocked daughter. The last words Svala said to Sigi before she left were, "You have shamed us all, vrykul. Do not come back."
And with that parting blow from her mother, Sigrun was exiled from Ysmir and sent to live among the helgus, the "outsiders." She was flown on a rickety, barely functioning aeroplane to Ghersland and dropped off in the city of Highwall. Sigi spent the next few days wandering the inner city in a daze, her eyes wide as she drank in the unfamiliar clothes and bizarre machines. Due to its isolation, Ysmir tended to be behind the times, and this made it difficult for exiles like Sigi to adjust to life in the United Isles proper. Inevitably, hunger drove the vrykul to thievery, and she was pursued by the greencloaks, the mercenaries responsible for keeping the peace in Highwall, for stealing a loaf of bread from a baker's stall. Running blindly through the twisting streets, Sigrun abruptly found herself tumbling forward into a thoroughly dilapidated region of the city. The stormborn girl looked back to see the greencloaks chuckling and shaking their heads as they walked away from her. The little thief was in Beggar's Row now, and it was only a matter of time before she was raped, robbed, and killed. Not necessarily in that order.
Sigrun picked herself up and took a step forward...only to collide with a great bear of a man dressed in a ragged gray suit and an undershirt covered in stains. Panting and drawing her father's dagger, the outcast prepared to make her final stand when she saw something familiar. The man had a scar on his forehead in the shape of a spiral. This filthy, disgusting man was another exile from Ysmir. Sobbing and babbling like a madwoman, Sigi managed to tell the hulking stranger her story, and he quickly ushered her into a nearby shack that stank of sweat and blood. After convincing her to put her knife away, the man introduced himself as Svanrige Grondr, a vrykul just like Sigrun. He refused to tell the exhausted child why he'd been banished, though he admitted it had something to do with the Defiants, a band of vicious stormborn that sought to destroy the corporations draining their homeland's resources. Svanrige ignored the rest of Sigi's questions and gave her all the food and water she could stomach before guiding her to a straw pallet. The girl was asleep in moments.
Seven days passed before Sigi felt well enough to face the man who'd treated her with such unbelievable kindness. The memories of her life before the Three Trials still haunted Sigrun, however, often causing her to wake up in the middle of the night dripping with sweat and screaming for her father. Instead of coddling her as a helgus might have, Svanrige declared that if Sigi was going to interrupt his sleep then she could damn well do some work. Since being exiled from Ysmir nearly fifteen years ago, the warrior had decided to spend the rest of his life healing others, becoming the sole doctor in Beggar's Row. He'd done his best to take what little he knew of stormborn remedial techniques and adjusting them to incorporate the medicinal practices of modern Ghersland. Due to the sheer number of turf wars, muggings, and rapes that occurred in Beggar's Row, Svanrige was always busy trying to help someone. The stormborn offered Sigi a choice: she could either leave or earn her keep as his assistant. The girl chose to stay with her kinsman, though she initially found the work distasteful and the patients utterly deplorable. How many times did you have to get lover's pox before you stopped frequenting seedy brothels?
As the days turned to weeks and then to months, Sigi began to learn more and more of Svanrige's trade, her curiosity peaked by this warrior-turned-healer and his unusual approach to medicine. It felt surprisingly good to realize you had the knowledge to save someone's life. By the time she was twenty, Sigrun was practically running Svanrige's clinic and she never turned away a person in need. As long as they could pay in some form or another. The people of Beggar's Row were still destitute, but at least they had a place to go to receive treatment for whatever ailed them. A month or two after her twentieth birthday, however, Sigi began asking Svanrige questions about his time as a warrior. The older stormborn was flattered by this unexpected interest, but he quickly realized it was more than that.
She wanted to know what lay beyond Beggar's Row, beyond Highwall, beyond Ghersland.
Svanrige tried to ignore this new obsession, but he knew Sigrun well enough to know she wasn't going to let this drop. Besides, she was like a daughter to him, and she deserved to know the truth. A week before her twenty-third birthday, the wrinkled stormborn gave Sigi an old pistol and began training her in its use. The vrykul girl was reluctant at first, fearing the curse that would supposedly descend on children that dared to touch a firearm without passing the Three Trials first. Of course, ten years of living in the poorest district of Highwall had forced Sigi to do many things most of her kinsmen would've considered risky or foolish. With Svanrige's help and guidance, she learned how to properly handle the pistol over the course of a several months. During this period, Svanrige also began telling her stories about the world beyond Highwall, stories about the wonders of the United Isles. And then, on a cold night in the middle of winter, he sat Sigi down and told her about something called an avallach, a "homecoming offering."
If a vrykul managed to find a worthy avallach and bring it to the Moot they might be allowed to stay on Ysmir. Sigrun's mouth fell open and she started to speak, a smile lighting up her pale features, but Svanrige held up one thick, grubby finger. Wordlessly, he pulled off his jacket and undershirt to show Sigi his back, which was marked by three long, ropy scars. He told the girl that he'd brought three different avallachs to the Moot, and they'd rejected each one in the traditional manner. Putting his worn garments back on, Svanrige said he didn't want Sigrun to get her hopes up about returning home, but he thought she should at least make an attempt. He was too old for such things, but she was young. Maybe she could succeed where he had failed.
Sigrun spent a week trying to think of a worthy homecoming offering, but she couldn't come up with anything. The Moot of Ysmir was comprised of the twelve richest and most well-informed men on the island. What could she possibly offer them that they didn't already possess? And then she read an article about the UIS Garrloch in a crumpled copy of the Highwall Herald. Running back to the clinic with the newspaper in her hand, she asked Svanrige if something she found while aboard this ship might appease the Moot. The gray-haired stormborn nodded once, his face tight with a mixture of sorrow and joy, before going into his backroom. He emerged a few moments later with a burlap sack full of money he'd been saving since Sigi's twentieth birthday and a canvas doctor's bag with some basic herbal remedies inside. Svanrige told her she could leave whenever she was ready. The vrykul girl hugged her guardian, her teacher, her friend and said she'd go in the morning.
And she did, embarking on an arduous journey to Canth, the island where the Garrloch was docked. She was ready to go home, no matter the cost.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
-Sigrun loves lace. She was nearly captured by the greencloaks, the mercenaries employed by Highwall’s koniarch to police the city, for stealing a blue dress trimmed with white lace. The vrykul managed to escape...but the dress was ruined during the chase. Sigi wrapped a length of filthy lace from the dress around her right wrist, and she still wears it to this day.
-Although Svanrige taught her to use a pistol, Sigi doesn’t trust guns. She prefers to get close to her enemies so she can either stab them with her dagger or shoot them at point-blank range. There’s little room for error and, as the famous Ysmirod saying goes, “Fuck up when you drink, fuck up when you rut, but don’t fuck up when you fight.”
-Although Svanrige taught her to use a pistol, Sigi doesn’t trust guns. She prefers to get close to her enemies so she can either stab them with her dagger or shoot them at point-blank range. There’s little room for error and, as the famous Ysmirod saying goes, “Fuck up when you drink, fuck up when you rut, but don’t fuck up when you fight.”
[YSMIROD GLOSSARY]
-Stormborn: The people descended from the ancient Gherish that survived the Hundred Year Harrowing. They have a reputation as a dour, blunt, and reclusive people willing to go to absurd lengths to protect their homeland and ensure its survival. Recently, a group of stormborn called the Defiants have risen up against the corporations flourishing on Ysmir. Most consider the Defiants to be little more than a nuisance, but many stormborn believe these rebels are right. The stormborn need to cast the helgus out and reclaim their homeland.
-Ysmirod: 1.) The language spoken by the people living on the island of Ysmir. 2.) A general term used to describe anyone with a permanent residence on Ysmir, including those born on other islands.
-Avallach: An Ysmirod word meaning "homecoming offering" or "homecoming gift." Any stormborn banished from Ysmir has the opportunity to seek out a valuable item or important piece of information to present to the Moot. If the avallach is deemed worthy then the exiled stormborn is welcomed back to the island. If the offering is denied, however, the avallach is taken by the Moot, and the stormborn is whipped before being returned to the United Isles.
-Vrykul: An Ysmirod word meaning "outcast" or "exiled one." If any stormborn man, woman, or child commits a serious crime, they are brought before the Moot to await judgment. Major offenses such as murder or rape normally result in the eldri declaring the individual vrykul, effectively banishing them from Ysmir forever. They are also given a spiral-shaped brand on their forehead, a mark of shame for everyone to see. It's the duty of all stormborn to slay any vrykul on sight. The only way an exiled one can redeem himself or herself is to bring a proper avallach to the Moot. Only then will they be allowed to return to the Island of the Stormborn.
-Valarjar: An Ysmirod title meaning "golden warrior." In the earliest days of the stormborn, the valarjar were the best fighters on the entire island. Their sacred duty was to protect their kinsmen from the bloodthirsty predators stalking the Utgaard Mountains, and they often led armed expeditions called skalds to thin the beasts' numbers. Thanks to the greed and cunning of Corwin Fisk, however, they they are now known as the most dedicated and brutal mercenaries in the United Isles. Their numbers are few, but the ferocity and bloodlust of the valarjar is known from Dover to Maru. Only the wealthiest and most well-connected people can afford to hire these talented killers. In addition, half of everything a valarjar earns while completing a contract is sent back to Ysmir. Failing to do this typically results in the offending valarjar being declared vrykul.
-Eldri: A word meaning "leader" or "master." This term can be used to show respect for one's superiors, though it's most common usage is as a formal title for the twelve men comprising the Moot. Eight of the eldri are stormborn, but the other four are owners of the wealthiest corporations on Ysmir. Currently, those businesses are Fisk Industries, Red Diamond Excavations and Armaments (RDEA), the Three Picks Corporation and Coyne and Sons Industries. The Moot of Ysmir is the ultimate authority on the Island of the Stormborn, and their power and influence is considerable.
-Helgus: A relatively new word meaning "outsider." This term is viewed as an insult by most, a derogatory way of referring to anyone visiting Ysmir to take advantage of its recent prosperity. It's also used by the stormborn to refer to anyone that wasn't born on the island.
-Vhargulf: An Ysmirod word that means "greatest foe" or "nemesis." It's typically used to describe a legendary beast that supposedly haunted the Utgaard Mountains thousands of years ago. This word can also be applied to someone an Ysmirod considers a dangerous or worthy adversary.
-Hind: The Ysmirod word for "dog" or "hound." This term can also be used as an insult, though it's considered ridiculously old-fashioned.
-Golvar: An Ysmirod term that means the "calm mind." The golvar is a meditative state brought on by prolonged relaxation that allows trained stormborn to still their minds and focus on their surroundings, absorbing minute pieces of information in rapid succession. Many valarjar use the golvar as a way to prepare for combat.
-Chagga: The Ysmirod word for "shit."
-Buca: The Ysmirod word for "motherfucker," though it literally translates to "fucker of my mother." This is a grave insult amongst the stormborn and almost always presages bloodshed.
-Kos an fenran!: A common battle cry among the valarjar, though many stormborn will use it in particularly dire situations. It means "Life or death!" It can mean many things depending on the context, though it's typically used to convey that the stormborn will only accept a life or death outcome for whatever situation they find themselves in. Kos means "life," an means "or," and fenran means "death."
-Stormborn: The people descended from the ancient Gherish that survived the Hundred Year Harrowing. They have a reputation as a dour, blunt, and reclusive people willing to go to absurd lengths to protect their homeland and ensure its survival. Recently, a group of stormborn called the Defiants have risen up against the corporations flourishing on Ysmir. Most consider the Defiants to be little more than a nuisance, but many stormborn believe these rebels are right. The stormborn need to cast the helgus out and reclaim their homeland.
-Ysmirod: 1.) The language spoken by the people living on the island of Ysmir. 2.) A general term used to describe anyone with a permanent residence on Ysmir, including those born on other islands.
-Avallach: An Ysmirod word meaning "homecoming offering" or "homecoming gift." Any stormborn banished from Ysmir has the opportunity to seek out a valuable item or important piece of information to present to the Moot. If the avallach is deemed worthy then the exiled stormborn is welcomed back to the island. If the offering is denied, however, the avallach is taken by the Moot, and the stormborn is whipped before being returned to the United Isles.
-Vrykul: An Ysmirod word meaning "outcast" or "exiled one." If any stormborn man, woman, or child commits a serious crime, they are brought before the Moot to await judgment. Major offenses such as murder or rape normally result in the eldri declaring the individual vrykul, effectively banishing them from Ysmir forever. They are also given a spiral-shaped brand on their forehead, a mark of shame for everyone to see. It's the duty of all stormborn to slay any vrykul on sight. The only way an exiled one can redeem himself or herself is to bring a proper avallach to the Moot. Only then will they be allowed to return to the Island of the Stormborn.
-Valarjar: An Ysmirod title meaning "golden warrior." In the earliest days of the stormborn, the valarjar were the best fighters on the entire island. Their sacred duty was to protect their kinsmen from the bloodthirsty predators stalking the Utgaard Mountains, and they often led armed expeditions called skalds to thin the beasts' numbers. Thanks to the greed and cunning of Corwin Fisk, however, they they are now known as the most dedicated and brutal mercenaries in the United Isles. Their numbers are few, but the ferocity and bloodlust of the valarjar is known from Dover to Maru. Only the wealthiest and most well-connected people can afford to hire these talented killers. In addition, half of everything a valarjar earns while completing a contract is sent back to Ysmir. Failing to do this typically results in the offending valarjar being declared vrykul.
-Eldri: A word meaning "leader" or "master." This term can be used to show respect for one's superiors, though it's most common usage is as a formal title for the twelve men comprising the Moot. Eight of the eldri are stormborn, but the other four are owners of the wealthiest corporations on Ysmir. Currently, those businesses are Fisk Industries, Red Diamond Excavations and Armaments (RDEA), the Three Picks Corporation and Coyne and Sons Industries. The Moot of Ysmir is the ultimate authority on the Island of the Stormborn, and their power and influence is considerable.
-Helgus: A relatively new word meaning "outsider." This term is viewed as an insult by most, a derogatory way of referring to anyone visiting Ysmir to take advantage of its recent prosperity. It's also used by the stormborn to refer to anyone that wasn't born on the island.
-Vhargulf: An Ysmirod word that means "greatest foe" or "nemesis." It's typically used to describe a legendary beast that supposedly haunted the Utgaard Mountains thousands of years ago. This word can also be applied to someone an Ysmirod considers a dangerous or worthy adversary.
-Hind: The Ysmirod word for "dog" or "hound." This term can also be used as an insult, though it's considered ridiculously old-fashioned.
-Golvar: An Ysmirod term that means the "calm mind." The golvar is a meditative state brought on by prolonged relaxation that allows trained stormborn to still their minds and focus on their surroundings, absorbing minute pieces of information in rapid succession. Many valarjar use the golvar as a way to prepare for combat.
-Chagga: The Ysmirod word for "shit."
-Buca: The Ysmirod word for "motherfucker," though it literally translates to "fucker of my mother." This is a grave insult amongst the stormborn and almost always presages bloodshed.
-Kos an fenran!: A common battle cry among the valarjar, though many stormborn will use it in particularly dire situations. It means "Life or death!" It can mean many things depending on the context, though it's typically used to convey that the stormborn will only accept a life or death outcome for whatever situation they find themselves in. Kos means "life," an means "or," and fenran means "death."
Armas Jonahsson --- 26|5'11"|Male
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
A sprightly fellow with messy blond hair, Armas is one of the few trained divers in the United Isles. A shipwright and mechanic by trade, he is a cheerful daredevil who jumped at the chance to help explore the unknown beyond the Ring of Thunder.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
Armas is a little above average height with a lean, muscular build. He has blond hair he is forever running his greasy hands through, making it stick up and appear darker than it actually is. When out of the water he usually wears an old set of coveralls, along with a thick oilskin for wet or cold conditions. He has brown eyes and solid, almost blocky facial features. His hands are thick and callused from years of working on engines, and usually have a couple of nicks and scratches on them. His diving suit is a full-bodied thick canvas suit with a large copper helmet with portholes for viewing. A corrugated tube runs up the the surface where a small pump supplies him with air. A toolbelt around his waist holds weights for ballast as well as special tools for use with the clumsy gloves.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Because of the rarity and relative obscurity of diving, most see the act of going underwater in a cobbled together suit of metal and canvas as that of a raving lunatic. Armas isn't as bad as all that, but he's a daredevil at heart, with a cheerful demeanour and a ready attitude. A talented mechanic and shipwright, he is very sure of his abilities, and won't hesitate to take risks to get the job done.
Armas is an open and honest sort, though that cuts both ways, and he tends to be short with those he views as dishonest or incompetent. He is friendly enough, and often strikes up a conversation with someone whilst tinkering away at an engine or his suit.
Armas is an open and honest sort, though that cuts both ways, and he tends to be short with those he views as dishonest or incompetent. He is friendly enough, and often strikes up a conversation with someone whilst tinkering away at an engine or his suit.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Whilst Maru has the largest network of lakes and rivers, including the famous Lake Marum, Dover comes in a close second due to the increased rainfall caused by its proximity to the Ring of Thunder. As such there is a small but healthy industry dedicated to making and tending to the ferries, barges, yachts and fishing boats that ply its waters. Dover's rough weather can make for some exciting times even on the limited waters of a floating island, so there is always at at least some work to go around. While there was never much reason to develop marine technology in the UI, developments and materials have bled over from other areas, including the prominient aeronautics sector.
It was here Armas got his start. Born to a riverside family of fisherman, he had a fairly normal childhood; schooling, helping with the family business, and swimming in the local river. When he was old enough he apprenticed to a shipwright in the next town over in order to learn the trade. The crochety old ship builder mostly worked on ferries and fishing boats, and Armas quickly grew strong helping to weld metal plates and lug engine components. It was here he first learned to dive, going underwater with an airtube in his teeth in order to check hulls for damage and repair what he could before they were brought out of the water.
After he finished his apprenticeship he had a falling out with his father, who wanted him to come back and continue with the family business. Armas disagreed, wanting to travel, and feeling limited by the small stretch of Canth that was all he'd ever known. After a mjaor argument he left with a buag of clothes and tools and signed on with a freighter crew. It was several years before he'd return home. He worked on various freighters and barges for the next few years, keeping engines running and the old rustbuckets in one piece. Eventually he got a job at a shipwright in the Gershland capital. His diving experience came to good use, and he was soon at it again. It was here he first used a suit, going right underneath the larger vessels.
From there the United Isles Naval Coalition seemed like the natural next step. They were soon one of the biggest single employer of shiprights and crewmen in the UI, and he had years of experience on, around and underneath many different kinds of ships. He arrived at the tope of the Doherty Outreach Center with plenty of time before he was due to arrive, but still elected to take The Drop, insisting he wasn't going to give up an oppurtunity to fall off the edge of the world. He payed for it later with some decent bruising, but he had no regrets. He was soon hard at work, helping to build the UIS Garrloch and her sisters. His diving experience came in useful again, and he got a suit of his own. But still he watched the vessels go out everyday, so he signed on with the Garrlock, eager to see what was actually out there.
It was here Armas got his start. Born to a riverside family of fisherman, he had a fairly normal childhood; schooling, helping with the family business, and swimming in the local river. When he was old enough he apprenticed to a shipwright in the next town over in order to learn the trade. The crochety old ship builder mostly worked on ferries and fishing boats, and Armas quickly grew strong helping to weld metal plates and lug engine components. It was here he first learned to dive, going underwater with an airtube in his teeth in order to check hulls for damage and repair what he could before they were brought out of the water.
After he finished his apprenticeship he had a falling out with his father, who wanted him to come back and continue with the family business. Armas disagreed, wanting to travel, and feeling limited by the small stretch of Canth that was all he'd ever known. After a mjaor argument he left with a buag of clothes and tools and signed on with a freighter crew. It was several years before he'd return home. He worked on various freighters and barges for the next few years, keeping engines running and the old rustbuckets in one piece. Eventually he got a job at a shipwright in the Gershland capital. His diving experience came to good use, and he was soon at it again. It was here he first used a suit, going right underneath the larger vessels.
From there the United Isles Naval Coalition seemed like the natural next step. They were soon one of the biggest single employer of shiprights and crewmen in the UI, and he had years of experience on, around and underneath many different kinds of ships. He arrived at the tope of the Doherty Outreach Center with plenty of time before he was due to arrive, but still elected to take The Drop, insisting he wasn't going to give up an oppurtunity to fall off the edge of the world. He payed for it later with some decent bruising, but he had no regrets. He was soon hard at work, helping to build the UIS Garrloch and her sisters. His diving experience came in useful again, and he got a suit of his own. But still he watched the vessels go out everyday, so he signed on with the Garrlock, eager to see what was actually out there.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
Armas has a small collapsible fishing rod and tackle kit, mainly for nostalgia, that he sometimes brings out and fishes with off the side of the boat.
Even with the limited marine tech, the old style copper helmet diving suits seem to be well within the UI's tech level - they'd just be fairly rare due to their limited use.
Even with the limited marine tech, the old style copper helmet diving suits seem to be well within the UI's tech level - they'd just be fairly rare due to their limited use.
GM
ML Attempted Polymath
Member
Seen
10 mos ago
Edward Samick
26|5'10"|Male
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
Edward is an enthusiastic reporter hailing from an island within the Ventuian airspace. He currently lives in Edgenook on Ventui's main continent, under the employment of the Winged Gazette (a large news firm in the city). After several years of cajoling his boss, Ed was finally allowed to accompany an expedition beyond the Ring of Thunder, for what Edward promises will be the "story of the century".
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
The Winged Gazette has a very stringent dress code: no piercings, visible tattoos, or dyed/long hair is accepted at his workplace: only clean, contained haircuts are allowed. There is no rule against facial hair, however, and Ed, having recently learned he can finally grow a full beard, has started to let his hair grow out. He likes the scruffy look, although more importantly he likes not having to shave as frequently.
He stands tall and with his shoulders back most of the time: his boarding-school upbringing was sure to keep slouching out of his life, but now he likes to relax as comfortably as possible when working. Slouching, recline, or flat out laying down are all positions he enjoys, but that militaristic-level of straight-backed standing has never truly gone.
He stands tall and with his shoulders back most of the time: his boarding-school upbringing was sure to keep slouching out of his life, but now he likes to relax as comfortably as possible when working. Slouching, recline, or flat out laying down are all positions he enjoys, but that militaristic-level of straight-backed standing has never truly gone.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Edward is fairly extroverted, with a talent for asking questions and getting answers. He likes talking to others, but he also enjoys his alone time, to recharge his batteries and take deep breaths before the next round of socializing. As a reporter, the line between what is acceptable and what is necessary has become somewhat blurred to him, and Ed has no trouble asking uncomfortable questions if he thinks it will bring him closer to a story. Blunt and to the point is as easy as tactful and roundabout questioning for him.
On the flipside of that same coin, Ed also knows that there are times to be silent, and he is more than willing to keep his mouth shut and listen as well. While notetaking or thinking, he is far less amiable, answering questions or comments with short answers and little focus. He doesn't mean to be rude, but Ed knows that none of the great questions of life were solved by yammering about stupid topics.
On the flipside of that same coin, Ed also knows that there are times to be silent, and he is more than willing to keep his mouth shut and listen as well. While notetaking or thinking, he is far less amiable, answering questions or comments with short answers and little focus. He doesn't mean to be rude, but Ed knows that none of the great questions of life were solved by yammering about stupid topics.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Edward Samick was born with an inquisitve pair of eyes. His mother and father called him "the little hawk", on account of his sharp eyes staring at anything and everything with hunger and obssession, like a tiny litle baby crazy person trying to drink up the world with his eyes. Not that it mattered to him: he was a baby and didn't care about trivial things like being crazy.
As he grew, the little hawk slowly refined his gaze: no longer did he stare with a crazed need. Instead, he gradually transformed the look into one of interest, intensity...query. For many years, he spoke not at all: his parents were worried he had some kind of mental illness, as his eyes bugged out at everything, but his lips remained sealed.
He was four when he started speaking: the doctors had dubbed him a "mute of unknown reasoning", but Ed had simply been biding his time. When he spoke, it was in full sentences. And once he started, Mr. and Mrs. Samick could not get the little hawk to shut up. His first word was "why". In an effort to teach Ed some self control and get some peace and quiet for themselves, his parents sent him away to a boarding school as soon as he was allowed to leave.
Teachers were delighted by Ed's questioning, when compared with the surly little monsters who were his peers. This resulted in a kind of feedback loop where, being rewarded for being talkative, Ed developed into an extrovert slowly and surely. He was generally well-liekd by his peers, although his penchant for asking questions got him in trouble on so numerous an amount of occasions, that he was once nearly expelled when a well-placed question at the wrong time started a riot in the school cafeteria.
Still, Ed was bright, quick to smile, and good at managing his time. His father gifted him with an old pocketwatch when he was 16: it was a family heirloom passed down at the 16th birthday for generations. With the help of that watch, his parents, and a keen mind, Ed graduated school with flying colors, and went on to pursue a degree in Journalism at the prestigious University of Gelbek, a regional university of great renown within Ventui.
College went about the same as his early schooling: he got on well enough with his professors and his peers, despite his absolute need to know all sorts of answers to all sorts of questions. Journalism came easily to Ed, and by the time of his graduation, he had worked several internships with the Winged Gazette in Edgenook, Ventui. He graduated to a well paying job in one of the most exciting cities in the known world, and for several years he worked with an enthusiam that led to quite a bit of success.
It was the discovery of the second obelisk outside the Ring of Thunder that got Ed on the hook. Suddenly there were hundreds of questions pouring into his mind about the outside world, and he really had no way to answer them where he was. So he bgan badgering his boss to let him join a trip down below. He bothered and bothered and bothered until finally his boss he could go and that he'd better get a fucking scoop or so help me god Edward I am going to jam a spoon down your throat--
His path was set. Ed got in touch with the UINC, explained the situation, got the proper clearances, and packed his bags. He said goodbye to his parents, smiled at his scowling boss, and headed out for the biggest story of the history of the world.
As he grew, the little hawk slowly refined his gaze: no longer did he stare with a crazed need. Instead, he gradually transformed the look into one of interest, intensity...query. For many years, he spoke not at all: his parents were worried he had some kind of mental illness, as his eyes bugged out at everything, but his lips remained sealed.
He was four when he started speaking: the doctors had dubbed him a "mute of unknown reasoning", but Ed had simply been biding his time. When he spoke, it was in full sentences. And once he started, Mr. and Mrs. Samick could not get the little hawk to shut up. His first word was "why". In an effort to teach Ed some self control and get some peace and quiet for themselves, his parents sent him away to a boarding school as soon as he was allowed to leave.
Teachers were delighted by Ed's questioning, when compared with the surly little monsters who were his peers. This resulted in a kind of feedback loop where, being rewarded for being talkative, Ed developed into an extrovert slowly and surely. He was generally well-liekd by his peers, although his penchant for asking questions got him in trouble on so numerous an amount of occasions, that he was once nearly expelled when a well-placed question at the wrong time started a riot in the school cafeteria.
Still, Ed was bright, quick to smile, and good at managing his time. His father gifted him with an old pocketwatch when he was 16: it was a family heirloom passed down at the 16th birthday for generations. With the help of that watch, his parents, and a keen mind, Ed graduated school with flying colors, and went on to pursue a degree in Journalism at the prestigious University of Gelbek, a regional university of great renown within Ventui.
College went about the same as his early schooling: he got on well enough with his professors and his peers, despite his absolute need to know all sorts of answers to all sorts of questions. Journalism came easily to Ed, and by the time of his graduation, he had worked several internships with the Winged Gazette in Edgenook, Ventui. He graduated to a well paying job in one of the most exciting cities in the known world, and for several years he worked with an enthusiam that led to quite a bit of success.
It was the discovery of the second obelisk outside the Ring of Thunder that got Ed on the hook. Suddenly there were hundreds of questions pouring into his mind about the outside world, and he really had no way to answer them where he was. So he bgan badgering his boss to let him join a trip down below. He bothered and bothered and bothered until finally his boss he could go and that he'd better get a fucking scoop or so help me god Edward I am going to jam a spoon down your throat--
His path was set. Ed got in touch with the UINC, explained the situation, got the proper clearances, and packed his bags. He said goodbye to his parents, smiled at his scowling boss, and headed out for the biggest story of the history of the world.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
Edward carries a very old pocketwatch; it is a family heirloom, passed down to the eldest child of the family on their 16th birthday. Through a strange twist of fate, almost all of the generations have been single childs.
He also carries a notebook of waterproof paper and a pen. He has an excellent memory, and will often write down the important details of an event that night, long after they have occured.
He also carries a notebook of waterproof paper and a pen. He has an excellent memory, and will often write down the important details of an event that night, long after they have occured.
MarshiestMallow The Marshiest of Mallows
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Luna Stevenoson
24, 5'4, Female
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
Luna is an easy going woman, however she can be strict. She gives her whole life to her career, that being a nurse, despite the fact she knows more then a doctor. She does what is required, and finally had the chance to join the expedition/s to explore the unknown, providing healthcare when required.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
With light brown skin that indicates a mainly indoor existance, with some time outside, Luna has deep green eyes, and short black hair, choosing to keep it short for practicality, then looks. She typically stands tall, showing that she won't bow down easily.
She wears a pair of small earings, reseaved and mostly there because she likes them. True to her trade, her nails are bare, cut short and typically wears clothes that are easy to move around in.
She wears a pair of small earings, reseaved and mostly there because she likes them. True to her trade, her nails are bare, cut short and typically wears clothes that are easy to move around in.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Despite her small stature, Luna is nevertheless a very present invidiual. She typically lets her opinion be known, and will protect those that are unable to protect herself. She is a bright, cheerful individual. She can be sarcastic at times, but this is generally when she has reached her ability to be patient.
She doesn't particularly get angry easily, however there are times when she reaches her breaking point, and you wouldn't want to be around her when this happens. With her patients, she can have a stern yet caring bedside manor, and with those she interacts with, she can be cheerful and friendly, but this can change when she reaches her breaking point.
She doesn't particularly get angry easily, however there are times when she reaches her breaking point, and you wouldn't want to be around her when this happens. With her patients, she can have a stern yet caring bedside manor, and with those she interacts with, she can be cheerful and friendly, but this can change when she reaches her breaking point.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Luna is no stranger to hardship. Conceived as a result of rape, she was born to a mother who didn't know how to deal with what she had been through, and didn't have anything to give her. So for the first few years of life, Luna grew up in a cold, unloving home, kept alive more as a result of duty then anything else. When her mother killed herself, Luna was essentailly left to herself. Only four years old, she fled the house that had never been her home, Lost, she fell asleep in a ditch that was just big enough for her small body.
She was found in the morning, but a homeless man who had never but the clothes on his back, and a small collection of food. Yet he took Luna in, caring for her, and giving her more love and care then her mother had. She soon learned how to steal, and in time they had a home. Small, run down and dark, it was nevertheless a home. As she grew, Luna learned how to make the place bright, and as her adoptive father would stumble to work each morning, and stumble back, she would cook meals, even as she studied.
She was known as the tramps daughter, and was thus shuned by other kids at school, but she never let this get to her, and soon won the other kids over, with her charm and cooking skills. She soon had a good group of friends, and was doing well in school. Going to college was something she had never dreamed off, and getting in was the best thing in the world for her.
Unable to pay the fees to study to be a doctor, Luna decided to become a nurse and work her way up. Throughout her studies she proved again and again that she was incrediably smart. Upon her graduation, she had many offers for employment, and soon she was working. She proved time and again that she was an exceptional nurse.
Applying for a position on the expedition, Luna's life changed once again.
She was found in the morning, but a homeless man who had never but the clothes on his back, and a small collection of food. Yet he took Luna in, caring for her, and giving her more love and care then her mother had. She soon learned how to steal, and in time they had a home. Small, run down and dark, it was nevertheless a home. As she grew, Luna learned how to make the place bright, and as her adoptive father would stumble to work each morning, and stumble back, she would cook meals, even as she studied.
She was known as the tramps daughter, and was thus shuned by other kids at school, but she never let this get to her, and soon won the other kids over, with her charm and cooking skills. She soon had a good group of friends, and was doing well in school. Going to college was something she had never dreamed off, and getting in was the best thing in the world for her.
Unable to pay the fees to study to be a doctor, Luna decided to become a nurse and work her way up. Throughout her studies she proved again and again that she was incrediably smart. Upon her graduation, she had many offers for employment, and soon she was working. She proved time and again that she was an exceptional nurse.
Applying for a position on the expedition, Luna's life changed once again.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
She is an exceptional drawer.
Draken Undead Rights Activist
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
Maxwell "Max/Mad" Downing
34|5'10"|Male
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
Stage magician whose madness most think an act, before they meet him off stage, and even in private. Not evil, but mischievous and constantly makes tiny schemes, some of which he even does. He narrates himself constantly, and joined the journey essentially for stories to supplement his normal material. For work at sea, he performs and distracts from harsh reality.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
Maxwell Downing wears black. That is, until something colorful is unveiled, with greatly varying velocity, from some part of his outfit. Always dressed to perform, his ability to prepare such a nice, and apparently complex, suit is the biggest thing convincing people he is not totally gone. His hair is uncommonly pale, and he has a dozen stories of how it happened, each with a trick or two to go alongside it. His eyes dart, holding each object for a solid second before moving on suddenly. His posture involves no slouching, but he sways when he walks and bends when he acts or talks, always making hand gestures and being a bit more physical than most. That is not to say, though, that he's not gentle.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
Maxwell is eccentric. You know it, he knows it, and he'll make sure the entire room knows it. Conversations with him generally involve him rambling at you, giving three sentences where one was needed, and him making descriptions more complicated than necessary. His greatest pleasure is in baffling others, and from this stems most of his lifestyle. Small pranks are common, but even more so are situations where he'll grab someone by the shoulder and explain exactly how a prank is about to unfold in front of them. More often than not, nothing happens (this makes the times it does all the sweeter for him).
Despite all his mischief and confusion making, Maxwell is a fundamentally good person. Though he'll never admit it, he's sane enough to know what's too far, such as anything which could damage the ship or severely injure a person. Still, he enjoys periodically putting a toe over the line, just to keep everyone on their toes. Rarely, he will place an aesop in his work (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AnAesop), usually for some specific person who is in a rut. This is often followed by something extra nonsensical, dispelling any illusions of true sanity.
To Maxwell, the best possible day is one in which nobody has any idea what just happened or how it happened, but everyone is pretty sure it's his fault.
Despite all his mischief and confusion making, Maxwell is a fundamentally good person. Though he'll never admit it, he's sane enough to know what's too far, such as anything which could damage the ship or severely injure a person. Still, he enjoys periodically putting a toe over the line, just to keep everyone on their toes. Rarely, he will place an aesop in his work (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AnAesop), usually for some specific person who is in a rut. This is often followed by something extra nonsensical, dispelling any illusions of true sanity.
To Maxwell, the best possible day is one in which nobody has any idea what just happened or how it happened, but everyone is pretty sure it's his fault.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Maxwell Downing was never a poor child, though one could hardly call him middle class. His family was making its way in Avalia, with his father working in aviation and mother managing the household and budget, being the thrifty woman she is. There's no real story behind them, though. Maxwell, however, managed to get himself into some trouble. Around the age of 12, he noticed how some of his peers, the ruffians really, would have one person put on a sort of distraction before another made an attempt at the victim's pockets and purse. Being a decent fellow, Max had no interest in the second half, but he loved the idea of holding people's attention in the palm of his hand. So he began performing.
And perform he did! By the age of 16 he was earning more tips than young adults with his various tricks and diversions. He was even surprised, on one overcast day, to be offered a chance to perform at a local establishment. Maxwell has long forgotten the place, and the details never mattered to him. Besides, the next day was when he got pulled in to the trouble of his old peers. They had, unbeknownst to Maxwell, begun using his performances as a chance to make a go at various pockets. Being the same age, Maxwell was assumed to be with them, and was found guilty in a group trial.
His parents, though their means were modest, moved to appeal the decisions, and eventually won his freedom, key point being that he had never received a penny of their takings and had no contact with the ruffians for well over a year. By that time, though, half a year had passed, and Maxwell was shaken by his time in prison. Ironically, so were the guards and other prisoners. You see, Maxwell didn't hold up well on his own, and needed to cope. As such, he leaned heavily on his tricks to get by and relieve some amount of the sheer stress and fear on his mind. The warden is certain Maxwell was unable to think clearly, since this had actually drawn the ire of his various volunteers.
Suffice to say that while Maxwell came out of there a better magician and more interesting person, he's never been near the same since.
And perform he did! By the age of 16 he was earning more tips than young adults with his various tricks and diversions. He was even surprised, on one overcast day, to be offered a chance to perform at a local establishment. Maxwell has long forgotten the place, and the details never mattered to him. Besides, the next day was when he got pulled in to the trouble of his old peers. They had, unbeknownst to Maxwell, begun using his performances as a chance to make a go at various pockets. Being the same age, Maxwell was assumed to be with them, and was found guilty in a group trial.
His parents, though their means were modest, moved to appeal the decisions, and eventually won his freedom, key point being that he had never received a penny of their takings and had no contact with the ruffians for well over a year. By that time, though, half a year had passed, and Maxwell was shaken by his time in prison. Ironically, so were the guards and other prisoners. You see, Maxwell didn't hold up well on his own, and needed to cope. As such, he leaned heavily on his tricks to get by and relieve some amount of the sheer stress and fear on his mind. The warden is certain Maxwell was unable to think clearly, since this had actually drawn the ire of his various volunteers.
Suffice to say that while Maxwell came out of there a better magician and more interesting person, he's never been near the same since.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
Maxwell's parts will be written entirely in his self-running narration. (This will be modified for any collabs)
Myra Sylvan
27|5'9|Female
27|5'9|Female
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
Myra is an aeronautical engineer, obsessed with uncovering how things function and fit. Living in the bustling isle of Ventui has forged within her a philosophical outlook on life. Her insatiable hunger for answers has led to... minor discrepancies in the past. When presented a task, Myra leaps upon it eagerly, keen on facing any challenge - much to the dismay of her colleagues. Her sights have been unflinchingly fixed upon solving how the floating isles came to be, and on investigating the aberrant obelisks amidst them.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
A lithe woman fitted with honey-blonde locks, neatly tied up, as is protocol for engineers. Despite long hours spent at work, her hair manages have only a spare few wisps out of place. She stands tall, her back ramrod straight. Her skin is a soft ivory, though her hands are calloused and rough. Myra's light green, catlike gaze, is almost always filled with a mysterious spark. What flame that spark tends...is left to those around her to decipher.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
The perfect balance of danger and charm, Myra is at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant and observant, yet plenty capable of keeping a conversation. Though, she is stubborn willed; once an idea finds its way into her mind, it will not budge until all options have been exhausted. She has a tendency to get lost in her thoughts, deciding on a course of action isn't her strong suit. However, when a plan is formed, she is the woman to see it through.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Born to a modest scholar and a military pilot, Myra's interests were shaped at an early age. Growing up, she was constantly taking things apart and piecing them back together - or attempting to (especially when she had taken apart her father's favorite rolling-chair). She would go with her mother to the watch flight simulations, and attend award ceremonies full of the boisterous Venturian military; pilots, scientists and engineers included.
At one of the ceremonies, Myra was able to come into contact with a professor McElreath, who had told the girl of his trips across the United Isles - though the most fascinating tale was that of the Obelisk on Leigr. Every young child in the Isles had heard the story of how the islands rose into the sky and of the Ring of Thunder. The man didn't repeat the story when speaking with her that day, but he did give her a slow once-over, and a nod, confirming something known only to himself before saying, "When we ask for the truth, dear girl, we'd better know what we're getting into." He laughed, a sparkle in his aged grey eyes, "You see, this world is full of truths, but one has to be willing to sacrifice if they want to find them, to find benefit in it. You have the same look I did when I was your age, girl. Something tells me you're gonna be alright."
He continued to tell her of his adventures across the isles and what the various cultures had provided him, the knowledge of their world within a world.
Living on the Isles isn't something you tend to question all that often until you're reminded that their is, indeed, something else out there. Knowing that that something was directly below her whispered the promise of adventure. She was going to figure out how the United Isles had come to lift into the sky, and she was going to figure out what everything meant. Even if she died trying.
At one of the ceremonies, Myra was able to come into contact with a professor McElreath, who had told the girl of his trips across the United Isles - though the most fascinating tale was that of the Obelisk on Leigr. Every young child in the Isles had heard the story of how the islands rose into the sky and of the Ring of Thunder. The man didn't repeat the story when speaking with her that day, but he did give her a slow once-over, and a nod, confirming something known only to himself before saying, "When we ask for the truth, dear girl, we'd better know what we're getting into." He laughed, a sparkle in his aged grey eyes, "You see, this world is full of truths, but one has to be willing to sacrifice if they want to find them, to find benefit in it. You have the same look I did when I was your age, girl. Something tells me you're gonna be alright."
He continued to tell her of his adventures across the isles and what the various cultures had provided him, the knowledge of their world within a world.
Living on the Isles isn't something you tend to question all that often until you're reminded that their is, indeed, something else out there. Knowing that that something was directly below her whispered the promise of adventure. She was going to figure out how the United Isles had come to lift into the sky, and she was going to figure out what everything meant. Even if she died trying.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
She carries an heirloom dagger strapped to her left leg, belonging to her great-great grandfather who had been the first of the family to take flight. It's not there for sentimental purpose.
She dabbled in botany for a while, moving across the isles studying the plants and even some of the geography - though she lost interest, she still can recognize certain flora.
She dabbled in botany for a while, moving across the isles studying the plants and even some of the geography - though she lost interest, she still can recognize certain flora.
Vicier Demigod at heart <3
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Juliette Morrison
21 Years Old | 5'2 | Female
[ S Y N O P S I S ]
The only fourth generation descendant of the famed devil-diver, Theodore Morrison, and very close to her great-grandfather before he passed away; Juliette Morrison is a beautiful and charming young woman who does all that she can to live her life the way that she wants. Exceedingly curious and full of life, Juliette was always taught never to allow things to get in her way, or to bring her down; her great-grandfather always pushing the ideals that even though she was born different to the others on the island, there was nothing stopping her from achieving her goals, and being whatever it was she wanted to be in life.
[ A P P E A R A N C E ]
Seen by all she seems to meet to be an undeniable beauty in both her looks and personality, though somehow seeming to remain ever humble; Juliette is an exceedingly sweet, gentle and caring soul, the young woman leaving her mark, and becoming well known by all for her stunningly long and oftentimes wavy golden locks, and her brilliant and almost sparkling forget-me-not blue eyes. Nevertheless, however rememberable they seem to be, Juliette’s most distinguishable feature is her disability; her blindness. A burden she has carried with her all of her life, Juliette has never once let it try and slow her down, or hinder her in any way, shape or form, even when times grew tough, and the darkness felt like it would never come to an end.
The Adaptable Brain
At birth, the portion of the brain that deal with vision, hearing, and all other senses are connected. As a sighted child continues to grow up, these connections begin to separate themselves from one another, until eventually independent centers in the brain control each of the different senses that a person can use. In a blind infant however, these connections might remain intact, and the job of processing sound might be shared by both the visual cortex, as well as the auditory processing centers. If a person loses his/ her sight during childhood or adulthood, the connections might have already been separated because myelin (the fatty sheath surrounding affected nerves) develops rapidly in the very young.
Neuro-Imaging
Research into blindness has found that while regions in the brain that deal with vision are smaller in blind individuals than in that of those who still have their sight, other non-visual areas are increasingly larger. Looking into the brain's potential to adapt after blindness, researchers have found that blindness causes structural changes in the brain, indicating that the brain may reorganize itself functionally in order to adapt to a loss in sensory input; the area's in the brain dealing with memory, hearing, and other senses becoming enlarged in an attempt to compensate for the fact that the person can no longer see.
Echolocation
A blind person can become quite adept at using echolocation (identifying an object by the sound or echo that it makes) while moving through the world around him/ her. Children or babies that are born blind use extra hand movements as they crawl, slapping the floor around them to create a kind of auditory and sensory feedback. The use of reflected sound by blind children helps them to explore and manipulate aspects of the sound world, other visually impaired individuals may make clicking noises to note the changes in sound as the distance between them and different obstacles shift; this can also be seen in animals such as dolphins and bats.
Using Touch To Explore The World
The largest area of the brain's surface is devoted to the hand and the sense of touch, the skin being the largest organ of the body allows us to use this sense to the fullest, and the blind child is a "sensation" of information. Many blind individuals can feel changes in temperature as they near a window, wall, and other objects, relying on their enhanced sense of touch to help them explore the world around them.
A Deeper Vision
Before the invention of non-invasive neuro-imaging, people could only speculate and look on in awe at the increased abilities that those who were blind seemed to posses. The well-known painter, Pablo Picasso explored the nature of blindness during his "Blue Period", some claiming that he was able to find an intensity of other senses in his depiction of the blind. Researchers state that what you lose in one place, you gain elsewhere, reinforcing the idea that other senses are not only affected but also enhanced by blindness.
The Adaptable Brain
At birth, the portion of the brain that deal with vision, hearing, and all other senses are connected. As a sighted child continues to grow up, these connections begin to separate themselves from one another, until eventually independent centers in the brain control each of the different senses that a person can use. In a blind infant however, these connections might remain intact, and the job of processing sound might be shared by both the visual cortex, as well as the auditory processing centers. If a person loses his/ her sight during childhood or adulthood, the connections might have already been separated because myelin (the fatty sheath surrounding affected nerves) develops rapidly in the very young.
Neuro-Imaging
Research into blindness has found that while regions in the brain that deal with vision are smaller in blind individuals than in that of those who still have their sight, other non-visual areas are increasingly larger. Looking into the brain's potential to adapt after blindness, researchers have found that blindness causes structural changes in the brain, indicating that the brain may reorganize itself functionally in order to adapt to a loss in sensory input; the area's in the brain dealing with memory, hearing, and other senses becoming enlarged in an attempt to compensate for the fact that the person can no longer see.
Echolocation
A blind person can become quite adept at using echolocation (identifying an object by the sound or echo that it makes) while moving through the world around him/ her. Children or babies that are born blind use extra hand movements as they crawl, slapping the floor around them to create a kind of auditory and sensory feedback. The use of reflected sound by blind children helps them to explore and manipulate aspects of the sound world, other visually impaired individuals may make clicking noises to note the changes in sound as the distance between them and different obstacles shift; this can also be seen in animals such as dolphins and bats.
Using Touch To Explore The World
The largest area of the brain's surface is devoted to the hand and the sense of touch, the skin being the largest organ of the body allows us to use this sense to the fullest, and the blind child is a "sensation" of information. Many blind individuals can feel changes in temperature as they near a window, wall, and other objects, relying on their enhanced sense of touch to help them explore the world around them.
A Deeper Vision
Before the invention of non-invasive neuro-imaging, people could only speculate and look on in awe at the increased abilities that those who were blind seemed to posses. The well-known painter, Pablo Picasso explored the nature of blindness during his "Blue Period", some claiming that he was able to find an intensity of other senses in his depiction of the blind. Researchers state that what you lose in one place, you gain elsewhere, reinforcing the idea that other senses are not only affected but also enhanced by blindness.
[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]
♦ Extremely Kind-Hearted ♦ Rather Stubborn ♦ Overly Helpful ♦ Shy and Modest ♦ Exceedingly Mature ♦ Slightly Guarded ♦ Quite Bubbly ♦
Considered to be an extremely kind, and gentle old soul to all those she has the pleasure of meeting, Juliette is an exceedingly sweet and charming young lady; full of both grace and kindness, the rather dreamy-eyed girl is shown to care deeply for all those she believes herself to be close to, showering her friends and family with the love and affection she believes them to be deserving of, no matter who might think otherwise. So overly curious, and just full of life, Juliette tends to find herself (more often than not) walking into some sort of trouble; whether it be something as minor as receiving a slight paper cut on her finger, or something that's of far more serious consequence such as following her curiosity and leading herself to almost and accidentally toppling off the edge of a cliff, much to the dismay of those she cares about- the bubbly teenager's recently found confidence and self-belief in herself growing significantly over the years, despite her disability, helping her to see the friends she has made as figures that are approachable, offering them both council and comfort whenever any of them seem to need it, oftentimes spending her nights (when the times become too hard to bear, or when the pain of missing her parents becomes too much) sitting in the company of her friends or brother, causing them to worry about her throughout the daytime whenever it seems she has returned back to her normal, cheerful self without so much as a word.
Though coming off as sometimes shy at first when a situation seems to overwhelm her, Juliette does her best to carry herself with both grace and dignity though the hardship that gets thrown her way thanks to the judgement of most others give to her for her disability; the sweet-natured girl never really showing any signs, however, that she is willing to let her disability get in the way of her truly living the life the she wants to- and though oftentimes coming off as shy at first when a situation seems to overwhelm her (large crowds of people surrounding her, loads of information being given to her at one time, ect.), once she has had time to adjust, the bubbly young woman never seems to have any issues with putting herself out there for others to see, and having no problems whenever it comes to being an open book, or making friends; and as the years have passed her by, Juliette has quickly learnt, and began to stand up for herself against those who try to put her down, to varying levels of success.
Unafraid to berate, or to challenge people in positions of power; Juliette has, over time, managed to confide in those that she trusts so completely that she oftentimes finds it quite difficult to express what it is that she truly feels within her heart, however, the fast-thinking young woman is quick to speak up, defending not only her friends, but also those of whom she believes are being treated unfairly against anyone who goes against what she believes in her heart, whether that be friend, family, or even foe. Although a kind and graceful soul, Juliette is known for being quite stubborn whenever it comes to something that she truly believes in; always choosing to stand up for it, rather than backing down once she has already made up her mind, usually making it near impossible to convince the girl otherwise.
Extremely mature, and oddly grown-up for her age thanks to living her whole life under the influence of her older brother, Juliette oftentimes does all that she can to not be, or be considered a 'burden' to those she cares about in her life; the young woman doing everything she can and more to help out those she cares about (cooking, cleaning, advice, etc.); even going so far as to sometimes choosing to put her own needs aside in favor of others, no matter how difficult the task may seem for her- the girl trying her best at everything, and anything that she seems to set her mind to. Seen to be exceedingly beautiful to all those who meet her, Juliette (more times than none) tends to attract the attention of many a person who crosses paths with her; whether they meet with one another on purpose, or by pure accident- though despite her undeniably inherited beauty, Juliette is not a vain young lady; the curious girl always seeming to surprise those she holds dear to her heart, even when they themselves believe that they know everything about her, she always seems to find new ways to both stun and amaze them.
Coming across at times as being quietly confident, and extremely calm, Juliette has shown herself to be more than capable of becoming quite aggressive whenever her friends are shown to be in danger, or in the line of fire so to say; tremendously brave and courageous whenever the situation calls for her to be, the usually dreamy and extremely loyal young woman is unafraid to fight back against those doing wrong, however, she is quite quick to try and hide her more vulnerable side... to varying levels of success. Seen to be both a kind and gentle girl, Juliette sometimes tends to pull away from the company of others, becoming quite reserved and thoughtful, choosing instead to lose herself within her own mind, and oftentimes, in her own little world.
Unnaturally bright, and rather unique in her own way, Juliette has quite the aptitude for thinking outside of the box on general occasion; always seeming to come up with strange ideas that would (normally) otherwise be considered to be near impossible to pull off, however with the young woman's odd way of using her intelligence, she is known for being able to twist them to the point of being able to make things work out for the better.
Considered to be an extremely kind, and gentle old soul to all those she has the pleasure of meeting, Juliette is an exceedingly sweet and charming young lady; full of both grace and kindness, the rather dreamy-eyed girl is shown to care deeply for all those she believes herself to be close to, showering her friends and family with the love and affection she believes them to be deserving of, no matter who might think otherwise. So overly curious, and just full of life, Juliette tends to find herself (more often than not) walking into some sort of trouble; whether it be something as minor as receiving a slight paper cut on her finger, or something that's of far more serious consequence such as following her curiosity and leading herself to almost and accidentally toppling off the edge of a cliff, much to the dismay of those she cares about- the bubbly teenager's recently found confidence and self-belief in herself growing significantly over the years, despite her disability, helping her to see the friends she has made as figures that are approachable, offering them both council and comfort whenever any of them seem to need it, oftentimes spending her nights (when the times become too hard to bear, or when the pain of missing her parents becomes too much) sitting in the company of her friends or brother, causing them to worry about her throughout the daytime whenever it seems she has returned back to her normal, cheerful self without so much as a word.
Though coming off as sometimes shy at first when a situation seems to overwhelm her, Juliette does her best to carry herself with both grace and dignity though the hardship that gets thrown her way thanks to the judgement of most others give to her for her disability; the sweet-natured girl never really showing any signs, however, that she is willing to let her disability get in the way of her truly living the life the she wants to- and though oftentimes coming off as shy at first when a situation seems to overwhelm her (large crowds of people surrounding her, loads of information being given to her at one time, ect.), once she has had time to adjust, the bubbly young woman never seems to have any issues with putting herself out there for others to see, and having no problems whenever it comes to being an open book, or making friends; and as the years have passed her by, Juliette has quickly learnt, and began to stand up for herself against those who try to put her down, to varying levels of success.
Unafraid to berate, or to challenge people in positions of power; Juliette has, over time, managed to confide in those that she trusts so completely that she oftentimes finds it quite difficult to express what it is that she truly feels within her heart, however, the fast-thinking young woman is quick to speak up, defending not only her friends, but also those of whom she believes are being treated unfairly against anyone who goes against what she believes in her heart, whether that be friend, family, or even foe. Although a kind and graceful soul, Juliette is known for being quite stubborn whenever it comes to something that she truly believes in; always choosing to stand up for it, rather than backing down once she has already made up her mind, usually making it near impossible to convince the girl otherwise.
Extremely mature, and oddly grown-up for her age thanks to living her whole life under the influence of her older brother, Juliette oftentimes does all that she can to not be, or be considered a 'burden' to those she cares about in her life; the young woman doing everything she can and more to help out those she cares about (cooking, cleaning, advice, etc.); even going so far as to sometimes choosing to put her own needs aside in favor of others, no matter how difficult the task may seem for her- the girl trying her best at everything, and anything that she seems to set her mind to. Seen to be exceedingly beautiful to all those who meet her, Juliette (more times than none) tends to attract the attention of many a person who crosses paths with her; whether they meet with one another on purpose, or by pure accident- though despite her undeniably inherited beauty, Juliette is not a vain young lady; the curious girl always seeming to surprise those she holds dear to her heart, even when they themselves believe that they know everything about her, she always seems to find new ways to both stun and amaze them.
Coming across at times as being quietly confident, and extremely calm, Juliette has shown herself to be more than capable of becoming quite aggressive whenever her friends are shown to be in danger, or in the line of fire so to say; tremendously brave and courageous whenever the situation calls for her to be, the usually dreamy and extremely loyal young woman is unafraid to fight back against those doing wrong, however, she is quite quick to try and hide her more vulnerable side... to varying levels of success. Seen to be both a kind and gentle girl, Juliette sometimes tends to pull away from the company of others, becoming quite reserved and thoughtful, choosing instead to lose herself within her own mind, and oftentimes, in her own little world.
Unnaturally bright, and rather unique in her own way, Juliette has quite the aptitude for thinking outside of the box on general occasion; always seeming to come up with strange ideas that would (normally) otherwise be considered to be near impossible to pull off, however with the young woman's odd way of using her intelligence, she is known for being able to twist them to the point of being able to make things work out for the better.
[ H I S T O R Y ]
Living a sheltered life, with her parents always trying to keep her close; Juliette, thanks to both the love and encouragement of her great-grandfather, never seemed to let it stop her from always following her heart, even if her curiosity led her to being in some sort of trouble or dangerous situation. Soon growing into a beautiful young teenager, and quickly coming to the realization that she didn't want to rely on or be a burden to her parents, Juliette tried her best to take on more responsibilities, particularly at home, doing all she could to give her parents a bit of a break.
Never having an issue opening up to those few who had accepted her for who she truly was, Juliette began to grow into the confident young lady she is today. Soon seeking to help in other ways, she began to try and complete tasks that would help out within the community, from weaving baskets to even trying her hand at fishing, though she soon had to deal with ridicule and small abuse from others, due to her inability to see. Trying her best however to get through this without causing too much trouble for those she cared about, Juliette could often be found on her own, or wandering the island with her friends, never ceasing to find a way to try and satisfy the need to explore.
Never having an issue opening up to those few who had accepted her for who she truly was, Juliette began to grow into the confident young lady she is today. Soon seeking to help in other ways, she began to try and complete tasks that would help out within the community, from weaving baskets to even trying her hand at fishing, though she soon had to deal with ridicule and small abuse from others, due to her inability to see. Trying her best however to get through this without causing too much trouble for those she cared about, Juliette could often be found on her own, or wandering the island with her friends, never ceasing to find a way to try and satisfy the need to explore.
[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]
Though she may seem confident and semi-competent when it comes to things she sets her mind to, Juliette has a strong fear of swimming and is terrified at the very thought of deep water as having never been taught to swim, a small wade can turn into a life-threatening situation; along with this fear she is also deathly scared of the dark, being left alone, and losing everyone that she cares about.
Not willing to let her disability get the better of her thanks to her great-grandfather's influence, Juliette shows great talent and love when it comes to things like music, and reading; the young woman especially skilled at both singing and playing various instruments for her friends and family, and reading anything in braille.
Understanding that people can become quite uncomfortable with her disability, Juliette keeps a bit of light blue material with her which she uses to hide her eyes from view, not wanting others to have to deal with the strange look of her eyes- though the young woman's goal is to one day find a place where she really belongs, and a life surrounded by people who truly accepted for who she is.
Though never really talking about it without fist needing to be asked, Juliette has a small (however meaningful) tattoo situated just behind her right ear; the tattoo itself in memory of her great-grandfather, and consisting of two hearts with the initials 'T.M' over the top of them- and while she knows not many would understand the way she feels, she plans on getting another when she feels like the time is right.
Not willing to let her disability get the better of her thanks to her great-grandfather's influence, Juliette shows great talent and love when it comes to things like music, and reading; the young woman especially skilled at both singing and playing various instruments for her friends and family, and reading anything in braille.
Understanding that people can become quite uncomfortable with her disability, Juliette keeps a bit of light blue material with her which she uses to hide her eyes from view, not wanting others to have to deal with the strange look of her eyes- though the young woman's goal is to one day find a place where she really belongs, and a life surrounded by people who truly accepted for who she is.
Though never really talking about it without fist needing to be asked, Juliette has a small (however meaningful) tattoo situated just behind her right ear; the tattoo itself in memory of her great-grandfather, and consisting of two hearts with the initials 'T.M' over the top of them- and while she knows not many would understand the way she feels, she plans on getting another when she feels like the time is right.
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