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7 yrs ago
hello there friends I like ice cream
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7 yrs ago
not gonna be around from the 12th to the 17th of august 2017
8 yrs ago
dying under exams so please pardon the lack of posting
8 yrs ago
I'm back and that's that
9 yrs ago
Pulling out from roleplays for a while, hopefully not for too long

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Mary T’ashar

Mary toyed frantically with her fingertips as the Dwarf spoke. His idea that this whole thing was somehow rehearsed did pull her gaze to him with a frown caught between puzzlement and surprise. The idea didn’t sit right with Mary, not wanting to think the Lady Gwynn she had known, even only distantly, had grown into someone who could get mixed up in…whatever this was. There was also the fact that Mary was a washer woman and the Dwarf, following his finger to a tabled covered in tools she only vaguely recognised, was a sculptor, there was simply no reason to go through all this effort to trick them into anything.

And then, in a flash of light, Lady Gwynn vanished.

In a stunned stupor Mary frantically blinked away the spots from her vision where Lady Gwynn had been just a moment before, and found only empty air. Mother Dula, standing above them all, simply asked for the next.

“Shes’ gone.” Mary whispered to the Dwarf. “Where did she go? H-h-how, how did she do that? Lady Gwynn passed her test didn’t she, then where has she gone?”

Herb lore. Scrying bones. Potions. Lights in the air and changing colours of flames, those were the magics Mary was familiar with; parlour tricks and subtle ways of reading the world. The closest she had come to any more powerful magics had been many, many years ago during her military service, and none she remembered could make someone disappear without the target being killed in a big ball of fire.

Mary wanted to step forward, wanted to shout, wanted to demand to know where Lady Gwynn had vanished to. Her entire being seemed to buzz with a mix of trepidation and, almost just as alarmingly, excitement. She made to step forward but the clink of armour drew her eyes to a nearby guard who simply shook his head and pointedly lay a gloved hand upon the pommel of his sword. The message couldn’t have been clearer for her to not interfere.

The second participant was another human and his test worryingly looked to be another fight. The number in her hand silently threatened her.

“As much as I wish otherwise, I fear this is all too real. What number did you draw?” Mary’s voice came out as a strained squeak as she opened her hand and revealed the crumbled paper with the number 3 on it. “That woman, Mother Dula, mentioned benefactors didn’t she. That we had been recommended for all this. Think any of them knew what they were getting us all into?” There was an edge of anger beneath the shaking fear.
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Baronfjørd "Blackberry" Chedgusah
Dragon Born, Monk (Astral self), Level 05
HP: 40 / 40 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: On the road again
Action: Driving the wagon (17)
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A
Ki: 5/5


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Thankfully the tension in the air was quickly tempered by Madame L’rose and Young Lizbeth clarifying Kosaras explanation. But to be fair on Kosara, there weren’t many good ways to say ‘Your local sheriff was a were rat and killed a lot of people in the township, and then these other people travelling with us then killed him’.

Lady Kathryns own reassurances over their…aquired equipment also took some of the edge off his nerves. But still he saw no need to go flaunting either around the place.

“I myself am Baronfjørd Chedgusah.” A polite wave to the new arrivals still from behind the Mule. “Though most simply call me BlackBerry. A pleasure to meet you both. Apologies, I am a tad busy at the moment.”
He returned to trying to attach the mule to the wagon, trying to follow the steps he had seen Kosara take when removing it earlier, but the task turned out to be a tad more complex than he had initially thought and meant he had to redo a few straps before he got everything back into the correct place, and the same went for removing the wooden-stopper-peg-things from around the wagons wheels.

Putting the wooden-stopper-peg-things in the back of the wagon he then said, “Keep these safe, if you would good sir.” It took him a moment to realise he had addressed Morty, a very much dead though stubbornly upright swine.

Coming back around to the front of the wagon, just in time to hear the tail end of the conversion with the party agreeing to help or at the very least investigate what was killing off the farmers sheep.

“Good thinking Kosara. I am inclined to agree on that point.”

He clambered back onto the wagon next to Victoria at the front and expected her to give the reigns a crack to get the Mule moving. Instead, surprisingly, the reigns were cheerfully deposited onto his lap. His head jumped between the reigns and to Victoria as he awaited an instruction. After a few moment, when none came and he picked up the reigns.

“Very well. Let us give this another try, then? Are you ready good Sir? Slow and steady now.” He called to the mule which only moved its ears in acknowledgement.

BlackBerry, mimicking the motions he had seen from Victoria and Madam L’rose, gave the reigns a little crack and a “yah” prompting the Mule to walk. This time Blackberry kept the his grip on the reigns light and easy, providing much more slack in them that he had before, but enough tension so that he only had to move his arm a little to either side for the Mule to react. BlackBerry grinned with pride as he managed a much smoother ride this time despite going slower than before anf falling a little behind Madame L’Rose’s wagon.

“Haha! Now this is quite agreeable. Perhaps I had not offended Habbakuk too badly then.” The wagon drifted a little to the left as his attention wavered for a moment, but BlackBerry managed to pull it back onto course without incident.

“Lady Kathryn, I imagine it is still some distance until we reach the farms. You may as well keep you gear in the wagon for now.” He called to the other wagon. “Might I ask how far are we to travel?”
Mary T’ashar

“First!” A strangled whisper escaped Mary’s lips.

There wasn’t time for anything else, before Mary could force her brain back into motion to ask further questions, Lady Gwynn was called forward to begin her trial and Mary left reaching her hand out, silently pleading for the young woman not to leave. But of course, Lady Gwynn never did let fear (or sometimes common sense) get to her, and the young woman rather impressivley strode with her jaw set to her trial. The Guards and Priests then worked like frenzied ants under the glowering gaze of their queen, Mother Dula, pushing Mary to either side of the atrium with other participants and furniture alike.

Even from the sidelines watching Lady Gwynns trail was…an experience; the air between Mother Dula, high upon her stage, and Lady Gwynn, examining the items on her trial table, damn near rippled with the contempt the pair had for each other. The cryptic test did nothing to calm Mary’s worries or the questions spinning in her skull. She focused her gaze upon Lady Gwynn, watching the young woman intently with several silent prayers to the Moon and Sun she would succeed. Mary didn’t even notice the Monk stalking Lady Gwynn until the young woman had struck the Monk hard in the chest and Mary’s heart suddenly leapt into her throat with a little yelp. But it seemed however that Lady Qwynn had passed her test and Mary let herself breathe again.

Mary meanwhile found the ordeal had illustrated to her the nature of this place, and the hidden dangers that could be hiding around every corner, and she looked over her shoulder at the brick walls behind her.

Now I’m just being paranoid. She chastised herself. Jumping at shadows and imagined dangers when I should instead focus on the real ones, right beside me!

Her gaze slid away from Lady Gwynn approaching an Egg, Mary surprised herself with a small pang of jealousy, and to the Dwarf beside her. He wasn’t much taller than her but the gold eyes she could just make out from his dazzling red hair and beard did lend themselves to his overall imposing figure. Interestingly, he wore gems of a similar red inlaid into his clothing, suggesting to Mary he was someone of wealth or at least fairly high standing. Could he be friend or foe? There was only one way to know.

“So, what do you make of this all then?” She asked the dwarf quietly. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry, and her voice shook under the effort trying to sound calm, as if she didn’t see someone try to stab another person right in front of her. “Any thoughts on what your trial could be? My only hope is it doesn’t include a murderous monk.” She forced out a quiet laugh that was as convincing as she was tall.
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Baronfjørd "Blackberry" Chedgusah
Dragon Born, Monk (Astral self), Level 05
HP: x / 40 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: N/A
Action: Keeping the sword hidden (21)
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A
Ki: 5/5
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BlackBerry had snapped his fingers in feigned anger at losing his little wager; Madame L’rose had not made the pie. But he did express his agreement at being introduced

Standing beside the grazing Mule, BlackBerry’s eyebrows descended further and further into a worried frown as Lady Kathryn continued to explain the particulars of her magical mishaps. He patted the mule reassuringly on the neck. “Do not be alarmed Old Boy, I will endeavour to keep you safe from her appetite.”

There was still time before the other wagon arrived, it meandering with some intent towards them on the road ahead, and BlackBerry would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit anxious. He once again caught himself tap, tap, tapping his finger tips to his thumb to relieve some of the worry. When did he become so wary of others?

Somewhat frustrated with himself and still awaiting the others to finish their own meals he set about preparing the Mule and wagon as best he could. Thankfully, despite the earlier mishap when he tried to steer the wagon the mule was a fairly agreeable creature, and happy to stand politely for BlackBerry to replace its harness, with the dragon-born only having some difficulty from trying to secure the various straps. But this alone took him somewhat longer than he had hoped or intended so that by the time the other Wagon had arrived he was just about leading the Mule over to the parties own.

His initial worries immediately dissipated as the halfling of the other party threw a cherry greeting to Madame L’Rose, only for them to return two fold when they revealed the reason for their travels. The weight of the recently deceased Constable Cavendish’s sword at his hip felt like an anchor. Hurriedly, BlackBerry scurried behind the Mule to keep the incriminating sword out of sight at least until there had been a chance to explain themselves. It seemed that the news hadn’t travelled of Cavendish’s disgrace hadn’t travelled quite as far as hoped.

Perhaps I am being overly cautious? After all how likely is it really a bunch of farmers would recognise a Constables Sword?

The Kosara opened her mouth and explained the situation in a succinct, although very interesting manner which Victoria endeavoured to patch over. He winced.

“Perhaps it is even the ruffians who escaped?” The thought popped out before he could stop it.
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Baronfjørd "Blackberry" Chedgusah
Dragon Born, Monk (Astral self), Level 05
HP: 40 / 40 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: on the road again
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A
Ki: 5/5


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After a grimace at Kosaras apparent enthusiasm to eat the Morty Meat, he had to agree with her opinions on soups and broth. While Ration Broth could keep you going for an extra day or two it wasn't recommended or desirable. Soup, however, was a very different story but it was much less suitable as a travelling meal.

“May I ask as to what magic trick you performed? I hate to think of you in any sort of pain while eating, Lady Kathryn. Food may be one of many joys in life but it is a substantial one.” He was side on to the little ‘table’ the flat-enough rocks had formed and had founds a somewhat comfortable patch of moss to recline upon. With his elbow still resting upon the rock he gestured to his own little spread on simple cloth wrappings each with chunks unceremoniously ripped out of them. “Some cheese, meat and bread purchased from the market. It is rather delicious and you are more than welcome to it.”

His eyebrows flew upwards as Victoria described, near shouted, her flying experience. He eyes snapping between Victoria standing and laughing like a madwoman, and up to the dark shape of the raven up above them. BlackBerry himself was enraptured by this display watching with a grin at the crow bank and soar above them.

Oh to be as free as a bird and see the countryside lain out below.

His mood though quickly soured as Victoria described, again nearly shouting, the scene she saw. BlackBerry frowned at the idea of lunch being cut short and without even being able to sample the tasty looking jam he had bought. He then shook his head as he stood up.

“Let us hope that they are not looking for trouble from ones such as ourselves.” Shielding his eyes he squinted down the road towards the oncoming group trying without much luck to pick out the details Victoria described, he even tried taking a few steps forward onto the road again to get a better view. “Ten against four, armed with nought but farming equipment and bows. If it were to come to blows I would not be backing them.” A self indulgent chuckle sneaked out from his lips.

For a few moments BlackBerry was silent as he thought. Shifting side to side, foot to foot, corralling grim thoughts and worries into order. Then he clicked his tongue several times as the thoughts came conclusion. In his experience, other travellers were just as likely to be a boon, offering company or even supplies if you got along with them, as they were to be a hindrance, by stealing your things while you sleep and waking you up with a good kick in the teeth. BlackBerry rubbed his jaw as he turned back to the others.

“May I suggest we act in prudence; there are any number of reasons a group may travel in anger so let us not jump to conclusions just yet or act rashly. That said, Miss Cecily and Young Lizbeth should seek refuge in the wagon, out of sight and mention, until the group has passed or we have ascertained their destination and intentions. Best be on our guard until then also.” BlackBerry wasted little time packing his meal back into his bag and placing it in the back of the party's wagon. “Gods willing they are simply suffering from poor luck and temperament at this time.”
Mary T’ashar

At first, still fearing her head may suddenly be removed from her shoulders, Mary dared to only look away from the Priest with only her eyes to the other person who with a flat masculine tone, whispered from their chair that they were in Mary's same position. When the voice then bid her to come sit next to them did Mary turn to look at the speaker; staring back at her was a pale face lovingly decorated with freckles, bright and wild brown eyes shone between locks of brown hair curling just past the ears.

“Lady Gwynn!?” Recognition momentarily shattered her sense of fear. She was so stunned at seeing the girl, now a woman, seated before her that she didn’t even follow the instruction she had been given. “What are you-”

The Priest, Mother Dula, like an eagle dove upon the rising murmurs of conversation, and Mary felt like a vole in a field as she was given a look of utter contempt. Then came the explanation of where she was, why she was there, and what was expected of her. A glance behind her confirmed that the Guards were, unfortunately, still by the resolutely closed doors. Another glance to the sides of the atrium offered some promise by way of tall empty windows if only she were able to reach them or even knew what was on the other side…

This is insane. A Dragon Rider! Me, a Dragon Rider! Even if this wasn’t all poppycock I’m not tall enough to ride a horse let alone a Dragon! Mary took several deep breathes as she followed the forming queue towards the front, towards the stage, towards the bowl that would decide her fate. I have to get out of here. I have to get us both out of here.

In a horribly short amount of time Mary found herself on the stage before Mother Dula who she resolved to avoid eye contact with at all costs. Mary scurried back down from the stage after snatching her paper, the Egg resting on its pedestal made her pause for a moment. Onnce back on the main floor she opened the folded piece.

3, the number written in ink gazed up at her. She crumbled the paper in hand and resisted the urge to look for her assigned table.

“Lady Gwynn. Follow me.” She hurried over and begun dragging the young lady behind her by the wrist, proper etiquette be dammed!

Trying to find some semblance of a private corner beneath the numerous eyes from the guards, Priests, and the figures in the boxes above, Mary lead them towards a vacant work table. Notably this table seemed roughly the right height for Mary’s stature instead of Gwynns, and set up with a neat array of chisels, hammers, brushes, and other tools Mary had no name for.

She let go of Gwynns wrist and in a hushed whisper said,“I’m sorry for that Lady Gwynn, and for not recognising you sooner, you have grown much since I last saw you. But what are you doing here? Did they hurt you? Are you okay?”
Whoops posted in the wrong spot
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Baronfjørd "Blackberry" Chedgusah
Dragon Born, Monk (Astral self), Level 05
HP: 40 / 40 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: N/A
Action: Driving the Wagon (6)
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A
Ki: 5/5


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‘Not local in nature’ I bloody well should think not! BlackBerry wisely kept his mouth shut.

He made a mental note to very much not eat anything from her bag. Gods alone knew what Morty I had walked through and fought before being prepared for consumption. However he couldn’t help but be drawn in by Victoria's explanation of how her summoning trick and the stead it brought into being, and he remembered the trick she had managed to perform as they had left the township some hours ago. It all sounded rather interesting from his perspective that music could be an actual force of magic and not just have some unseen ‘magical’ affect on peoples moods.

But all these ponderings were quickly put to the side when Victoria offered to let him try handling the wagon, he let the mule move ahead of him and hopped onto the bench next to Victoria excitedly.

“Not at all, I must admit. Though I have helped on occasion when it came to ploughing the fields; leading the draft horses to turn and such. I dare say there appears to not be much difference, just behind the horse this time.”

As BlackBerry was handed the reigns the universe took a rare moment to look down upon the scene and give a sarcastic, single note laugh. Trying to drive a wagon mule on an unfamiliar road on your own was very different to leading a draft horse in a familiar field by it’s reigns with the farmer also leading by the plough behind, and said farmer likely doing most of the work. The poor mule in question snorted when BlackBerry tugged too hard in one direction, taking them dangerously close to the ditch at the roadside, and then whinnied in abject protest when it was wrenched frantically to the other side nearly into the side of their companions wagon.

BlackBerry grimaced with embarrassment when Victoria understandably snatched the reins from his hands and pulled the wagon back into line with the sound of something in the back clattering about. “Yes, yes, uhh after lunch yes let’s. Perhaps you could ah take me over the very fundamentals beforehand?”

While unfortunately there wasn’t enough time to set about making a fire there was time to enjoy a spot of lunch. Blackberry even offered up a few pieces of bread and cheese to Kosara to make some food for herself, and anyone else if they wished, and in the end the lunch had become more of a sharing buffet. During the preparations he overheard Lady Kathryn imparting some advice to young Lizbeth on grief and loss as the poor child had lost her grandfather. BlackBerry silently wondered if the man had perished recently during the Were-rat situation in the township. But now was not the time to think of such things, lunch was the current topic of choice.

“You can make rations go a little further by boiling them into a broth if needed.” He commented through a mouthful of bread and cheese, with his hand over his mouth of course, and lamented at not buying some butter.

“However, I should not recommend it. It being a rather thin broth if it may be called that at all. I would much prefer keeping to more substantial foods however. I must say that pie smells delightful Miss Cecily. A recipe of your own I might wager?”

The thought of food was quickly overturned by Korsara pointing out the travellers making their way towards them though BlackBerry didn’t look too hard. “Likely the same as us, travellers on the road from kingdom gone to kingdom come. We could invite them to join and see what news they bring.”
Maria "Mary" T'shar

Mary let herself be herded with the others from the boat, surrounded on all side by Guards like a move fence of sharp metal caging them all. Their footsteps echoed through the halls almost to the same frantic beating of Marys heart. The Atrium they were led into at least held a pretence of welcoming its guests; food had been stacked atop shining metal plates, jugs of drink were surrounded by dutiful mugs and tankards, flowers in vases arranged in loving displays. The pretence however was broken by the Guards slamming the door behind them closed and taking up their posts. Tools and weapons stood to attention as well about the room, a few she recognised and even fewer she had used herself.

Mary pulled her arms tighter against her, her basket of the few personal items she had had time to gather hung from her elbow, and she pulled her purple shawl tighter around herself against an imagined breeze. About her the others mingled and talked in hushed whispers voicing the same questions rattling in her panic riddled head. IN the relatively calm she had a moment to look at the other captives, she assumed they had been dragged or lured here like her from what she over heard, and was surprised to see such a varied mix of people; Humans, Dwarves, Elves, Oreads, Undines, even another halfling like herself. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of one person however who looked to be a mix of Oread and something else, before she remembered her manners and looked away.

Then the explanation came. Like others in the room Marys first reaction was of disbelief, then silent anger at her King being accused of such a thing, fear that she had been accidentally chosen, and then the curtains pulled back, and Marys jaw dropped. Dragon Eggs. Her thumb nail she had chewed to the bed was completely forgotten. Dragon Eggs.

They were beautiful. Her gaze wandered across them each, feasting upon and devouring them each in turn. They were all as tall as her, if not slightly taller, and at first glance she wondered if they were a jewel or made of glass by the way the flickering torchlight danced upon their surface. Inside each was a Dragon, a beast of forgotten terrors, one of half remembered tales. One egg draw in her gaze and as her eyes fell upon it, a breath was pulled out slowly from her. She felt her heart twist with…longing.

Seven will be chosen. Seven will not be allowed to leave. Mary knew, realising this want with horror, which one she wanted to be.

A maddened laugh laugh slipped out and danced around the large room, the single ‘HA!’ danced manically between the stone walls before Mary had a chance to slam a hand over her mouth. She felt many eyes suddenly turn to her and as she looked to the stone tiles with unreserved determination, sweat pouring out of her again, she wondered if maybe she could change her mind and join the second group.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Mary said to the floor. She spun the gold ring on her finger.

She was going to be killed. She knew it. The Guards were going to jump her any second now for such an insult, everyone knew the stories of commoners being killed for simple mistakes in noble company so Gods knew what would happen here.

Pull yourself together! A tiny part of her screamed. It told her; Imagine they’re horrid customers, ask what they want and explain why its not possible, and hope they don’t bite your head off.

Trembling like a leaf, Mary drew her gaze up to the stage, to the Priest and those beautiful Eggs on the table. Her jaw flapped silently for a moment before her voice arrived. “You…Well that is…I’m sorry but, well, um…could you perhaps explain in more detail please?” The Atrium did its work pulling her fragile voice out of her. Her breath shook. “I may be alone in this but I am-please don’t take this as insult-I am not sure who you are.”

She took a pause to gather her strength gathered from years of customer service though it seemed pathetically out of place here.

“You say you are gathering warriors, but well. I’m afraid there may have been a mistake as….I am a simple washer woman, a lady in waiting. My skills aren’t in fighting or animal handling, let alone the handling of a…” The word lodged in her throat. It was a new word to her tongue having never needed to say it before. It carried weight. “A Dragon.”

But the Egg pulled her gaze away from the priestly elf and to it. It was calling to her, the Egg was calling to her, that much Mary was certain, and she leaned forward slightly with the need to answer. Fear kept its strangle hold on her heart.
Name: Maria “Mary” T’ashar
Race: Halfling (Female)
Text Colour: f49ac2 / Pink
Special Skill: Seamstress.

Ambition/Dream: Before? To make the most beautiful garments, the most comfortable garments, to see her children grow into marvellous people and spend her days with her love. Now? She's a shell of her former self wanting to live a simple, quiet life without any fuss and die peacefully.

Personality Traits: Overall she is quiet and reserved, some would even say secretive, sometimes even about mundane things. Her voice holds a wounded rasp and rarely rises into a shout. But despite her overall timid demeanour, holding herself tightly together, there is a cast iron will glittering behind her eyes leaving her unable to back down from what she believes is right and won't be easily swayed from her decisions.

Childhood: Born in the depths of winter, within the depths of the Carnatia Countryside, within a simple household, Maria T’ashar was promptly taken up a small ladder as per age old folklore to guarantee success in her life. Much to her parents horror however she was a sickly child for much of her life; each year a horrid cough would rack her body, the spring would bring horrid sneezing fits, even the mildest summer brought about fainting spells, and autumn did nothing but herald the arrival of her winter illness. Thankfully as she grew older these ills would become less and less severe but the whole ordeal has left its marks upon her.

Even so, the days and sometimes weeks she was bed bound were a boring and tiring existence for a child and doubly so for a teenager. While Her parents and sister spent what time they could with her she had to find some way to entertain herself. Like many girls in the village she was trained to spin yarn and her long fingers allowed her to become very skilled at it, even rivalling many of the village women at times. From there she then began to move onto sewing, darning, knitting, even embroidery. As she grew in age and strength she was able to travel out of the house more, spend more time in the village, visiting the markets where those from the city Paravel arrived to peddle their wares and several took a keen interest in her work.

Adolescence/Training: For a young lady to be offered a job wasn’t uncommon. For a young lady from a backwater village in the middle of nowhere to be offered a job, with training, bed and board, and an allowance even, did cause several eyebrow raises and apparently even an ‘How Unusual’ to be uttered. Under the scrutinous eyes of the ‘well-to-do’ city folk Marias work took a thrashing, they demanded the very latest in fashion designs, the very finest standards of customer service, to be given the designs they asked for but not what they asked for. The first year of her work was brutal. But, like her early years, she survived. Every critique she listened to, every snide comment she bit her tongue, every mistake she examined, every success she studied, and her hard work was rewarded.

Maria’s skills quickly became the talk of the City, customers flocked from all sides to see what the seamstress Maria had designed, the one who could turn simple wool into the finest clothing. But among all her customers there was one she would always adore seeing the most even if all the time they got were a simple wave through the window as he went running past on his delivery run. Lucas had grown up as a street urchin turned budding writer and had been one of the few who had adored her work from the moment she arrived in Parevel to her current fame, and all the garish designs she had tried in between. It was to no one's surprise that the two were soon wed and Lucas, bearing no name of his own, took hers.

Like an arrow from a bow the years suddenly went flying by. The pair were able to afford a modest home with enough room for their son Palladio, then their daughter Charily. A letter from Maria’s sister arrived soon after the birth of their second Daughter (who they hadn’t decided on a name yet) requesting Mary’s help as she had fallen gravely ill the winter just gone. Maria spared no time and rushed off alone to her sister's aid.

Adulthood/After Completing Training: Maria returned weeks later to the charred skeleton of her home. She left the city, left the ruins of her home, left the ghosts of her family. She left her sister with nothing more than curses, blame, and anger, for if she had not called for her then maybe her family would have lived or at the very least her ashes would be resting with theirs.

She fled the city, the parish, and if it were possible she would have fled the country itself. Maria needed to put as much distance between herself and her past. Eventually she found the town of Iludon, a small parish with barely several hundred citizens to the name of House Louvre. For many months Mary lived out of the spare room of a couple (newlyweds Alfredo and Cairia Mauve), who would soon become her most trusted friends, while she did odd jobs around the parish. Eventually her skills caught the eye of the Lady Carnveil Louvre, who owned the parish, and she was taken on to be the Ladys personal seamstress / washerwoman / lady in waiting.

For many years Mary lived in peace, not content but in peace. She served her lady as best she could alongside the other household staff and kept her head low and lived a simple life letting no one know much of her past if anything at all. “There isn’t much to say.” She would say to anyone curious enough to ask. But her skills with needle and thread left her friends and coworkers wondering if there was something more to her.

The day soldiers arrived at the Louvre Manner was the day Mary’s simple life shattered. She led the General into the house, they bore no crests she knew but her Lady had said to let them in anyway apparently expecting them. Mary led the soldiers into the reception and offered refreshments, which the General politely declined, before she asked to excuse herself so as to fetch her Lady. Her Lady had chosen to dress very fine for the General, wearing some of Mary’s finest work including a dress embroidered with a flock of robins along the bottom flapping their wings excitedly as she spun into the room.

“I’m ready, I have my things all packed so you send your men upstairs to get everything.” Her lady proclaimed.

The General stood and nodded politely to the Lady. “Of course, but first I must inspect your work.”

The Lady started slightly at this and demonstrated the dress Mary had made as her own work. Then the General asked to see where she worked, how she used her tools, he asked questions of her craft that to Mary silently considered basic but the Lady struggled to answer. Her Lady’s lie lay shattered and obvious.

“Miss.” The General turned to Mary and pointed a finger to her arm. “That on your sleeve. Who made it?”

Mary looked down at the flowers and bees trailing from the hem of her sleeve up to her shoulder. “I did, sir.” Mary suddenly felt very warm under the General's Gaze, and the room felt just as cold.”

The General asked her the same question he had asked his Lady and Mary answered all his questions with ease. He then asked to see where she worked and she led the General and two members of his squad through the town, through the crowd of whispers and wide eyes, to her home. The General roughly inspected some of her pieces she was still working on and shuffled not uncaringly through her designs. He watched her demonstrate her craft at spinning, weaving, repairing a tear of a tunic. Hours passed of him asking her questions he seemed to only half understand the answers to and watching her work before he said;

“Pack your things.” He spoke with the gentle finality of a key turning in a lock. “We will leave as soon as you are ready.”

Notable Family:
Emily T’ashar (sister, estranged)
Lucas T’ashar (Husband, deceased)
Palladio T’ashar (Son, deceased)
Charily T’ashar (Daughter, Deceased)
Baby T’ashar (Daughter, Deceased)

Notable Figures:
Lady Carnviel Louvre (Former Employer)
Alfredo Mauve (friend)
Cairiad Mauve (friend)

Character Themes: Grief. Anger. Flowers and new life.

Character Tragedy: A fire took her home, her family, her entire life was turned to ash in one night and she hadn’t even been there to see it. She often wonders what would have been, had she been there that night.

Character Flaws: Huge Impostor Syndrome, belittles her own abilities, and a general coward unless pushed.

Hobbies: Writing, Gardening, Baking, Drawing, Reading

Appearance: Well below the average height of many, even for a halfling. While she has a small frame she is healthily plump for a woman of her age. Her age shows through grey hairs sprinkled across her hair kept tidy and neat, in either simple a bun or elaborate braids depending on the plan for the day. She still wears a simple copper ring on her left ring finger.

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