Stitches

World of Telduria [Reboot]

Village Square (Dawn)
Adrian Westley

A set of bony fingers grabbed the plant by the stem and pulled sharply, uprooting the whole thing. Shaking the clumps of dirt off the stringy roots, Adrian gave the bushel a little sniff before tentatively biting into one of the leaves and chewing. Shuddering at the bitter taste, she tore all the leaves off and tossed them into the little burlap bag she had brought with her this morning. It was full of strange items - bulbs, weeds, nuts and fruit - some recogniseable, others torn from their defining features.

Once she had filled the bag, Adrian went down to the village well and stood still until someone came by for water. They looked at her, then tentatively brought the bucket up using the crank. Adrian watched all of this with interest. She waited her turn, and did the same; but instead of pouring it into a subsidiary bucket, Adrian dumped the pail of water directly into the sack and gave it a good shake until the water ran out of it muddy, and the contents within were significantly cleaner than before. A few of the villagers laughed, for they were used to basins and cooking, and did not understand why Adrian risked covering her front with water just to wash a few foraged vegetables.

But Adrian was not listening to them. She was looking at the wagon in the stables at the end of the street. From all the stares, the one coming from there (and there was one coming from there, even though she could not see it clearly from this distance or make out who it is) set her on edge. Adrian was good at staring though. She stared back until she felt that uncomfortable feeling subside, then scurried up the path and into the inn.

Bradle’s Worth Tavern
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley

Victor was not a morning person. Adrian had been capable of slipping out in the dark, once she had woken up, to go on her little foraging trip unattended. Now that she had secured enough food for breakfast she was a little less subtle in her approach, and though the shutting of the door did not awaken her companion, the thump of one of the many roots and tubers she had scavenged made the disheveled, greasy man jolt in his chair.

The sight that awaited him was Adrian with her clothes soaked down the front. She was sat before a generous heap of foliage and was quite complacently chewing her way through the leaves first. She stared at him blankly. Victor stared back for a silent moment letting her crunching noises fill the air before asking with a worried tone: “Adrian. What’re you eating- what’s in your mouth?”

“Leaf,” came the muffled reply.

“Adrian spit it out you don’t know-“ he cut himself off, pushing the chair aside and then reaching for her and squeezing her cheeks and holding a hand before her mouth to get her to spit out whatever it was. “Adrian- Adrian. Spit it out. Stop.” He egged her on. A soggy clump of green reluctantly slid out onto his palm.

“Hungry, Victor...” Mumbled Adrian confusedly.

“By god- you don’t just go picking random plants, Adrian! The book! You read up on them, all these common ones are documented!” He grimaced at the clump of leaf on his hand before tossing it out of the window. Adrian closely followed him, peeking over his shoulder.

“Book? What book?”

Victor stared at her in disbelief before slowly presenting her with the handbook he was using for himself - a common guide to Telurian herbs. Adrian stared at it in her palm. She turned it around then back again, and leafed through the pages. She gave it a sniff then started to rip one of the pages out.

Victor let out an audible yelp, too late to react to the tearing of the first page he managed to snatch it away before anymore damage could be done. “-NO-!” he scolded, sticking the torn page back into its place and shutting the book. “Don’t do that again.” he regained his composure and standing off his chair with a groan.

“Okay.” There was a pause. Tentatively, Adrian decided to investigate. “Why? How do you use it?”

Victor gave Adrian a long pregnant stare, unsure of how to treat her question. “... you read it.” he lowly whispered in disbelief.

“I do not know how to do that,” Adrian replied nervously. “Everything I know was dem-..de-...” She stumbled over the word for a moment. “ It was shown to me. Or told to me.”

“Okay, well maybe one day someone with more patience can teach you.” he tried moving the situation on. “Go, pack your things. And don’t eat unknown plants.”

Adrian stared at the food she had gathered wistfully, and packed it up into her bag, for it was one of the few belongings she had. She opted to munch on some of the smaller berries and nuts on the sly when Victor wasn't looking but it didn't stop her stomach from gurgling. This was exactly what she endeavoured to do whilst Victor went into conversation with the somewhat begrudging barkeep, and she quickly hid her bag behind her back when Victor distractedly called her to his side. She chewed on some roots as they wandered down the street, towards the stables where Adrian felt those eyes on her back. She jogged to catch up with Victor and tugged gingerly at his sleeve. “Be careful,” she suggested.

Victor didn’t need Adrian to tell him that. Even though he’d faced similar situations before, it was always a sometimes pleasant and sometimes not so pleasant thrill to be beckoned by a stranger. Obviously with Adrian in his care this all felt too suspicious but that didn’t prevent him from approaching the wagon parked at the end of the stables. “We’ll see what she wants.” he notified Adrian.

As they neared the wagon Victor voiced out: “Hello?” in an attempt to catch the mysterious stranger's attention.
(@VeridianSeeker)

World of Telduria [Reboot]

'twas fate! Have Nar come back for a visit. Come meet the not so famous monster hunter and his weird hanger-on.

Pitch of the Night

@NuttsnBolts we did a collab, actually! I'm sorry it wasn't marked on the top, I had assumed it was obvious from the post length.

World of Telduria [Reboot]

Bradle's Worth
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley

The first few raindrops were cold and fat, and they bounced off Adrian's red curls and pasty nose as she looked up at the gloomy sky. They were on horseback; a phenomenon that Adrian wasn't too accustomed to just yet, so she sat in front of Victor and clutched the wiry mane apprehensively.

“Rain, Victor,” Adrian pointed out, still staring gormlessly up at the sky.

Victors eyes were glued to the road, listening onto any noise that wasn’t his mounts hooves hitting the ground. “Good, we’re here..” he pointed out as he slowed their pace down to a trott, entering the miniscule village through one of its two entrances.

The villagers were amidst gathering their goods, drying clothes, and leading the barely existing stock into their sheds to shelter them from the impending rain. A sign that it was going to be more intense further on through the night. The road was barren of any pavement, forcing his horse to trudge through a muddying mainstreet to whatever building here passed as a tavern. Adrian petted the horse as they wandered through the streets. She peered across the scene, squinting at the wooden boards hanging beside the buildings. When she spied one with a flagon of ale and a stable next door, she tugged on Victor's arm and pointed at it.

Victor followed her gaze and spotted the indicated building. “Nice.” he noted before steering the reigns towards it. Guiding towards the makeshift stables near what the tavern he was the first to hop off and hitch it to a post before moving to help Adrian off its back and onto the mud. Adrian wiggled her boots slightly to get the best squelch when she tried to lift her feet, resulting in around a half inch of mud circling the perimeter of the shoe soles. With this solemn and essential task completed, the duo wandered into the tavern.

It was a smoky, crowded yet pleasant establishment. A myriad of characters filled the chairs and tables, leaving Victor some bar space to occupy. Adrian, as she is wont to do when she enters a tavern, stood at the entrance and stared at the patrons unashamedly until Victor gave her a little nudge towards the bar. As Adrian dragged a seat towards the sticky countertop and went about her duty to stare unashamedly at the bartender, Victor eased himself gingerly against the bartop and flagged the bartender down.

“Anything I can get you two?” Called out the ruddy faced fellow who came over, giving a brief smile to Adrian (which was not reciprocated) before focusing his attention on Victor.

“Please, a room and whatever you’ve got cooking tonight.” he motioned at what appeared to be a pot of unknown stew atop of the fire behind the bartender. Victor didn’t waste time and picked out his coin purse, precariously selecting a several of them at the bartenders demand. Adrian watched the interaction between the pair of them carefully and, as the bartender jostled his way through his own crowded bar to pick up two rough hewn bowls, she turned to look up at Victor.

“The metal discs - the coins - you use them instead of trading objects,” she stated, more of a fact than a question, “and the other person uses those little things to get other objects, so the worth of the object isn't lost or unfairly bargained, right?” She wriggled her fingers into the coin pouch to pick out a coin and examine it.

“What do they do where you come from?”

“Nothing,” murmured Adrian, engrossed in the way the surface catches the light. “We traded goods. But how do you assign worth to something? A bison lives for years and makes milk and wool. How many blankets is it worth? If you trade in food, what do you do when it goes rotten within the week? I like your idea better. Metal does not spoil…”

“Well we’ve been doing it here before we even began to write history. Value of it just comes from the material from which it’s made.” he replied, trying to come up with the most simple way to convey it, peering at her somewhat curiously. “I think.” he added, after he had some time to mull it over.

Adrian nodded, distractedly, placing the coin back into the weathered palm of her travelling companion just as a thick brownish stew slid across the bar towards the travellers. She scooped up the bowl and held it against her clammy arms in an attempt to warm up. Finally she took the spoon and tried some of the mixture. It didn't give her much of a reaction. “I think I prefer cold meat,” she commented idly, and left it at that. “What do you want to do here, Victor?”

“Work, of course. Death attracts monsters, and with the fighting nearby there’s probably a lot of contracts passed around in these parts. It’s more dangerous of course but works a plenty.” he explained, grabbing a spoon and lifting a mouthful of the broth.

“For more coins?”

“Yes, for more coins.” he admitted. “Eat up, we won’t be having anything more tonight.” Adrian obeyed and ate in silence. Her gaze flickered back and forth with the patient, methodical approach she took to absorbing the conversation, quietly compartmentalizing the things she has learned.

In the din of the chatter, the clink of the glasses and the crackle of the fireplace, two largely unremarkable individuals lapsed into a comfortable silence and waited, bowls half empty, for their rented room to be prepared for them.

World of Telduria [Reboot]

The Fairy Werewolf Girl, in all her glory.

Adrian Westley

Name: Adrian Westley
Titles: N/A
Age: Hard to tell. She looks young, barely reaching adulthood.
Race: Human (Werebeast)
Training: N/A
Equipment: At the moment, Adrian has no proper equipment. She has yet to acquire any.
Affiliation: The Faerie Court

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Spell skills
Curse of the Werebeast: In moments of great distress, or on the full moon, Adrian struggles in vain to hold back the beast that she becomes. It appears like an amalgamation of a dog and a girl with leathery skin, coarse and wiry patches of hair, cloudy eyes, and a deformed half-face which slopes into some sort of muzzle with crowded sharp teeth and slits for nostrils. Flaps of skin hang off the dense packs of muscle across her body, which twists itself into the general shape of a beast whilst still retaining that uncanny human appearance to which a werebeast is easily identified.
Fae Sight: After spending such a long time in the land of the Fae (and eating the hearts of some of its inhabitants), Adrian has absorbed its magic. She can see what the faeries see, allowing for improved vision and the ability to detect magic. She cannot cast any, but she emits an aura of fae magic that can be detected.

Other skills
Life In The Woods: perhaps Adrian’s strongest talents lie in her intimate understanding of nature. This ranges from exceptional tracking, hunting and foraging skills to a well grounded knowledge of medicinal chemistry, as if she has lived in the great outdoors for her entire life - several times over.
Flighty: Adrian is built for speed, in both of her forms. She may be a fair deal weaker than the typical human or werebeast, but what she lacks in strength, she makes up for with speed, agility and a decent measure of stealth, banking on the idea that if she is hard to catch, she is hard to kill.

Personality
In short, Adrian is a human who pretends to be a human.
Adrian exudes a sense of the uncanny. She has those quiet, contemplative looks, ones of such serenity yet also such intensity that they’d make even the hardiest knight a little bemused. Her gait is uneven, bouncing from leisurely stroll to awkward shuffle, to a sort of frantic scurry depending on how far away the person she is meant to be walking with has gone. She has a reserved and dreamy demeanour and when she speaks, it doesn’t sound natural; as if she had placed great thought into some phrases and blurted out some more.

Adrian works carefully to perfect her manners but it is clear that, wherever she came from, she isn’t from around here. Sometimes jokes fly clean over her head. Idioms are lost to her. There are some mundane quirks of life that nobody would ever think about, from frying an egg to using a catapult, that manage to enrapture the little waif. She has a fixated curiosity over whatever manages to grab her attention the most and a compulsion to follow.

That said, do not think that Adrian is a dreamy airhead; the young woman is closely guarded about her secrets, jumpier than a cricket and difficult to befriend. As if her previous oddities didn’t make her suspicious enough, she stubbornly holds on to her past like a mithril lockbox and there’s only one soul in Telduria who’s been lucky enough to get the key. She gets uncomfortable around strangers, crowds...general unfamiliarity tends to set her on edge. Unfortunately, everything is unfamiliar. She is always on edge.

---

---

“Stay as long as you like, little one, but remember: you may never return once you have left, and the world will not be as kind as we.”

Adrian Westley was born in a land of cold, hard earth. Food was scarce in this frigid plain, but the small cluster of huts seemed to know how to get by - which lichens should be scraped from the frosty stones, what bait to use to lure in those shaggy white bison that roamed the tundra when the days were long and bright. Adrian grew up on cheese and tough slips of flesh - warm cabins that smelled of peat smoke with the sounds of drums and whistles, dancing by the fire. She lived in a world of tradition carefully documented, meticulously followed. Rituals and superstition gripped her village like the chilly fog that rolled in from the mountains. She remembered the war paint and the flint hatchet. The sacrifices that pinched their bellies in order to appease their gods. These memories are foggy, indistinct, but lodged deep in her heart and her unconscious mind. They torment Adrian with their alluring glimpses into the world before the demon war. She does not remember the name of this village. The names of her parents evade her grubby hands whenever she plunges into recollection to find it again. Wherever she came from, it was ancient and surely lost to the ebb and flow of the winter winds and layers of snow. At this point, it could not matter less where she came from - Adrian’s life revolves around how she came to where she is now.

As with many ancient tales, it began with a land far away, and it involved a monster.

Coherent memory started with the demon war. Her village had evaded it for a very long time, but the inevitability of their spread had brought their beasts and monsters onto the snowy plains. Life was always a hardship where Adrian lived, but this was torture. Her people were condemned to a slow starvation, or a quick butchery at the hands of the twisted aberrations that lurked in the shadows. Adrian was too young to understand that this was happening but their fear seeped into her heart. The first attacks were brief and easily won by Adrian’s hardy neighbours; the demons and their ilk were merely testing the waters, seeing how efficiently they could wipe out and claim the little village for their own. When the first true onslaught was due to roll in, Adrian’s kin would be completely eradicated.

Adrian’s parents were quick to notice this. A mother’s blood is attuned to danger and they knew that watching their child die before they succumb to the monsters was a fate worse than butchery or starvation. They turned to their supposed deities at this time - more offerings were sent to the standing stones. They sang and danced and left merry trinkets, and sometimes received bushels of berries in return, or earthy vegetables that could never survive in such a climate. This was the undeniable proof of their patrons’ existence - it gave Adrian’s mother and father a hope that could not be extinguished by all the demons in the land. Unfortunately, the beings that watched over the Westleys were not omnipotent - a flurry of werebeasts leapt upon the family as they returned from one of these rituals.

Adrian does not know what happened between the sight of these hulking behemoths lunging across the plains and her first glimpse of the lush woodland grove she awoke in. Her fragile memory covered it up to save her sanity - all she had of the event was a throbbing wound in her side, packed with poultices and wrapped in a cloth so sheer and soft that no shaggy bison could have provided the threads for it. She cried and slept for several days, left alone in the patch of mossy grass with nothing but the birdsong and the warm breath of the sun on her face. She believed she was dreaming. She did not know how death worked, but assumed that this might have been the afterlife she had heard so much about. She wanted to see her family again.

When the crying abated, the creatures that saved Adrian crept in and started to feed her and bathe her. They would never give any of her questions a straight answer, and prefered distraction over discussion. Through increments, she came to understand what was happening - an evil force was sweeping over her world, and these creatures took her away at the behest of her parents. She would be safe in this land, and free to stay as long as she pleased. It was a far cry from the rocky expanse Adrian was plucked out of - a dense forest, with trees larger than any she had ever seen. The emerald canopy was speckled with golden patches of light, and a great manner of fruits hung from the boughs high above. The world was populated with a whole host of animals she had never even heard of before - not to mention these strange creatures, which could only be seen when they wanted to be seen, garbed with pieces from the woodland they inhabited. They varied in size, stature and beauty, but none were harmful and few were helpful. It took a long time to learn of their names, and longer still to learn the ways of this great and dense forest. But Adrian had all the time in the world to become accustomed to her new life.

Adrian grew at a snail’s pace, the changes so slight and indistinguishable that she could barely tell when she was taller than those little flower-studded playmates she hung about with. The only changes that she was aware of were the dark ones. The pains and cramps that seized her body like clockwork would imbibe her with an overwhelming sense of fear and anger. Memories of the world that she came from were torn up from the hazy depths of her mind - she had only felt pain like this once before her time in the Grove. Her life from before and these ritualistic transformations that she underwent were invariably linked. When she awoke, it was always difficult to forgive herself. Animals lay in warm red pulp and ribbons. On the worse occasions, some of her little friends were dismembered, their delicate ribcages peeled apart and a sticky crimson chasm left in the wake of whatever horror had taken over her body. She was always forgiven, for her friends knew that it was never truly her fault. She had learned, once, that there were others like her but she had been kept away from them because of this condition.

It marked Adrian. It changed her perspective of the Grove. She could not fully enjoy herself, nor could she lose herself to the games and the fruit without inevitably circling back to the frozen village and the pains and the butchery. For the longest time she forestalled her return to whence she came because she knew in her heart that she would be utterly alone. Adrian did not know much about that world, but she knew enough to understand that monsters were feared and cut down - and that she was human no more. As naivety gave way to reasoning and contemplation, she started to figure out that she was no true resident of neither the Grove nor the snowy world of her distant past. All the while she would play games and learn the names and habits of the fish in the stream. She would light fires when the cold of the night settled in, and make shelters out of branches and downy feathers. She would transform and then withdraw for days afterwards, wracked with self loathing. Soon she could climb those enormous trees as easily as her playmates did. She knew how to hide in the gorse and the heather, and how to make the call of the wood pigeon or the swallow. Life in the Grove came as naturally as breathing.

One day, Adrian knew it was time to leave. She felt it with an absolute finality that left her with no time to waste, no goodbyes to be said and nothing to pack, Adrian ran resolutely out of the world that had kept her safe for so long. She kept running until the trees shrank and dissipated into a pleasant, but cool meadow, and ran headlong into the legs of a man in a patchy black cloak. “Please,” she panted, barely able to keep her lungs and her heart in check, “I need you to help me find my parents.”

World of Telduria [Reboot]

Me and my friend have been looking for a good fantasy RP for a while, would you mind having 2 more players?

Pitch of the Night

Before Dawn

”The tax man's taken all my dough
And left me in my stately home
Lazing on a sunny afternoon…”
The radio flickered on as the first watery rays of sun filtered through the curtains. The smell of coffee rolled around the cabin and, faintly, the sound of the television could be heard under the crackling songs from Brooks’ alarm clock. Brooks himself laid there, staring up at the ceiling as his prescribed dose of agony started washing over his body. He let the alarm clock ring for several seconds longer, eyes still crusty with sleep, forced to squint dully at the ceiling. His mouth tasted of iron and the residue of late night smokes that festered in his gums. As he further awoke from his slumber the blaring of the alarm clock began doing it’s job and it was getting on his nerves. Desperately he reached out to switch it off without moving much of his body but it was no avail. He’d have to properly wake up to turn off the blasted contraption.

Brooks was slugging himself, literally, into the living room. What he got was a sight for sore eyes - a plateful of bacon, eggs, and sausages, sitting neatly beside a stumpy mug of black coffee. Abigail was sprawled out on the sofa, eyes half closed, watching early morning TV shopping. She perked up a little when Brooks walked in, raising a hand and letting loose a groggy “good morning, sunshine. Ready to take on the day?”

Brooks stared at the spectacle of breakfast for a moment before his better judgement kicked in. “What happened?”

Abigail made a noncommittal grunt, turning off the TV to give the encroaching dawn a withering stare. “I got more restless than usual,” she admitted, pulling a misshapen lump of fabric towards her. It was a blanket - half finished on the needles with a ball of ochre dyed yarn trailing off it. She covered her legs with it and began to work away, needles clicking erratically as her fingers ducked and wove the yarn with the practiced ease of an amateur. “Looks like I guessed correctly though, you look like you need a treat.” She tilted her head back over the armrest, scrunching her nose up as she eyed him critically. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” he replied, making his way towards the kettle. Abigail, ever the restless sort, abandoned her knitting to pitter patter across the floorboards and start picking at the breakfast she made for Brooks, snatching a piece of bacon and nibbling away at it like some sort of frenzied rodent. Content with her portion she leant back on the chair, briefly shutting her eyes whilst Brooks wandered through the kitchen. It came as no surprise that she was nodding off already - a full night of waitressing, chores and god knows what else tended to wear her out by the morning. That said, to Brooks’ knowledge she had never been in her bed by the time he got out of his own...she always lingered.

With coffee in hand Brooks seated himself across Abigail, skeptically eyeing at the breakfast she had prepared. “What really happened?” he asked again, reached for a fork with his good hand and beginning to cut away.

Abigail slumped forwards, nestling her head in her arms as she looked away. She kicked her legs idly and exhaled through her nostrils. “I uh…” Abigail buried her head deeper into the crooks of her elbows, “...I lost my notepad.”

Brooks let out a pained sigh, pausing his feasting before replying in an attempted calm demeanour: “Where?”

“If I knew where, it wouldn't be lost would it?” Abigail snapped. “I know it's not in the house though. I practically flipped the place upside down looking for it. It might be in the inn…” Abigail trailed off, peering at the nearest window as she stiffens for a moment before shivering. “... Either way I have to find it fast.”

“Do you need me to drive you?” asked Brooks.

Abigail made a noncommittal shrug as she mulled over her options. “Do whatever you think is best. Have you got work today?”

Brooks tensed up, annoyed at Abigail’s blasé tone of voice. “I don’t. Let me finish eating.” he stated before chowing down his breakfast in quiet. Abigail rested on the tabletop without a word. She stole guilty glances up at the scowling man across from her and began to pull on her coat and baseball cap when all that remained was a lukewarm mug of coffee to ruminate over. She was sat quite sheepishly in the muddy pickup truck before Brooks had even locked the door. Because there was no notepad, there wouldn't be any fuzzy radio broadcasts to cut through the stony silence that permeated the drive, so abigail made herself content by counting the number of black, looming pine trees that flitted past the passenger seat window. She looked tired - extremely tired - kept awake by the pangs of anxiety that would continue to torment her until that book was in her hands once more.

Brooks slowed down as they neared the inn, pulling up behind a parked tour bus. His face turned quizzical as this wasn’t an ordinary sight in briar hill. “Probably stopping on their way, them.” He thought out loud. Abigail groaned with frustration.

“They're going to be a pain in the ass to deal with, if that bus is full. I dunno if we even got the staff to deal with them,” she unbuckled her seatbelt and made her way into the lobby, taking a cursory glance at the emptiness. It was weird that nobody was manning the front desk, but weird things happened all the time in Briar Hill, and it was definitely none of her business. She was already pulling cushions off the soft furnishings in her bid to find that notebook by the time Brooks had plodded into the threshold, completely unphased by her frantic demeanor, watching her impassively near the front entrance. “It's not here!” She cried, launching herself behind the front desk and shamelessly rummaging through the files.

“Well you don't do the reception desk all the time, do you?” Brooks drawled, gingerly lowering himself into a seat with a grunt. Abigail’s head popped up from behind the desk whereupon she noticed the note and the cash. Her face crumpled up with disdain as she snatched the money and pocketed the note.

“Fucking tourists,” grumbled Abigail. “Who in their right mind would help themselves to a room? Anyway, the staff would have put anything lost in reception. I'll check the bar after this, hopefully it'll be easy enough to find it there, then we don't have to worry about trawling round the kitchens.” She resumed her search above the desk, leafing through the books in time hopes that one of them is concealing the precious notepad she is searching for.

Pitch of the Night

Nice to see we have a full cast! ETA on the opening post?

Pitch of the Night

Abigail Dubois

_{Name: Abigail Dubois
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Profession: Waitress at the Briar Hill Inn}

◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈

_{P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E}

The image above is a mere approximation of Abigail’s appearance.
A short and bony waif of a girl with a crop of lanky, thin blonde hair and noticeably large ears. Abigail has pasty skin which is almost always covered in grime, scars, bruises and a couple of spots, an upturned nose and a smattering of freckles (or incredibly stubborn specks of dirt) under her bulbous, watery eyes. Despite her age, she carries herself with the twitchy restlessness of an energetic child. Despite her experience, her gaze brightens with the insatiable curiosity of a shut-in.

Abigail does as much as she can to bulk herself up against the frigid chill of the fogs in Briar Hill, often wearing multiple layers, oversized jackets and dark coloured beanies. She wears fairly neutral and dark colours to try and retain her inconspicuousness at the expense of the dull hues bringing out her sickly pallor. The wardrobe is meagre, well-worn and clearly second hand. She only owns two pairs of shoes - a pair of tattered running trainers and oversized hiking boots.

_{I N H E R I T E D C U R S E}

Curse of Servitude

_{C H A R A C T E R T R A I T S}

» Obedient: From dawn to sundown, Abigail must follow every direct command she is given - be it vocal or written. All commands and their effects are immediately nullified at night. The only mode of resistance is finding loopholes in the phrasing of the order. The only exception to the rule are orders to physically harm herself or others, and orders to stop following orders.
» Dropout: For obvious reasons, Abigail left school quite early on. She does not have the necessary qualifications for any high-income jobs and instead works for her keep. On the bright side, her work ethic is phenomenal, as one would expect with almost two decades of practice. She is methodical and efficient in most of the chores she unwillingly undertakes.
» Crafty: With little else to do aside from her shift jobs, and no real friends to talk to, Abigail has taken up a whole host of creative hobbies to keep herself occupied - she knits, sews, and bakes on a regular basis. An inquisitive sprite at heart, Abigail is quick to pick up new skills and enjoys learning new things.

_{D A R K H U N G E R S ( P E R S O N A L C H A L L E N G E S )}

» At Your Service: Being manipulated (intentionally or otherwise) by a great deal of the people you meet brings about an intense disgust and wariness towards other people. Abigail’s fears of being forced into another chore by a stranger has developed into a somewhat standoffish nature that only makes it all the harder for her to fit in.
» Through Rain or Snow: Some of Abigail’s commands, though not directly dangerous to her wellbeing, have dealt blows to her immune system - primarily through exposure. To this day, she is quick to fall ill and slow to recover. Though she combats this with a rigourous exercise routine and healthy eating, the damage has already been done...

_{A S P I R A T I O N S / P E R S O N A L M O T I V A T I O N S}

Abigail is simply looking for a way to offset the effects of the curse - even if it requires constant reapplication every day. Aside from the blindingly obvious, Abigail is also looking for a way to become fully independent, even with her curse.

Pitch of the Night

A super interesting concept. Mind if I give it a shot?

Abigail Dubois

_{Name: Abigail Dubois
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Profession: Waitress at the Briar Hill Inn}

◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈

_{P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E}

The image above is a mere approximation of Abigail’s appearance.
A short and bony waif of a girl with a crop of lanky, thin blonde hair and noticeably large ears. Abigail has pasty skin which is almost always covered in grime, scars, bruises and a couple of spots, an upturned nose and a smattering of freckles (or incredibly stubborn specks of dirt) under her bulbous, watery eyes. Despite her age, she carries herself with the twitchy restlessness of an energetic child. Despite her experience, her gaze brightens with the insatiable curiosity of a shut-in.

Abigail does as much as she can to bulk herself up against the frigid chill of the fogs in Briar Hill, often wearing multiple layers, oversized jackets and dark coloured beanies. She wears fairly neutral and dark colours to try and retain her inconspicuousness at the expense of the dull hues bringing out her sickly pallor. The wardrobe is meagre, well-worn and clearly second hand. She only owns two pairs of shoes - a pair of tattered running trainers and oversized hiking boots.

_{I N H E R I T E D C U R S E}

Curse of Servitude

_{C H A R A C T E R T R A I T S}

» Obedient: From dawn to sundown, Abigail must follow every direct command she is given - be it vocal or written. All commands and their effects are immediately nullified at night. The only mode of resistance is finding loopholes in the phrasing of the order. The only exception to the rule are orders to physically harm herself or others, and orders to stop following orders.
» Dropout: For obvious reasons, Abigail left school quite early on. She does not have the necessary qualifications for any high-income jobs and instead works for her keep. On the bright side, her work ethic is phenomenal, as one would expect with almost two decades of practice. She is methodical and efficient in most of the chores she unwillingly undertakes.
» Crafty: With little else to do aside from her shift jobs, and no real friends to talk to, Abigail has taken up a whole host of creative hobbies to keep herself occupied - she knits, sews, and bakes on a regular basis. An inquisitive sprite at heart, Abigail is quick to pick up new skills and enjoys learning new things.

_{D A R K H U N G E R S ( P E R S O N A L C H A L L E N G E S )}

» At Your Service: Being manipulated (intentionally or otherwise) by a great deal of the people you meet brings about an intense disgust and wariness towards other people. Abigail’s fears of being forced into another chore by a stranger has developed into a somewhat standoffish nature that only makes it all the harder for her to fit in.
» Through Rain or Snow: Some of Abigail’s commands, though not directly dangerous to her wellbeing, have dealt blows to her immune system - primarily through exposure. To this day, she is quick to fall ill and slow to recover. Though she combats this with a rigourous exercise routine and healthy eating, the damage has already been done...

_{A S P I R A T I O N S / P E R S O N A L M O T I V A T I O N S}

Abigail is simply looking for a way to offset the effects of the curse - even if it requires constant reapplication every day. Aside from the blindingly obvious, Abigail is also looking for a way to become fully independent, even with her curse.

Most of these curses seem to have a bunch of benefits to go with them, which seems like a darn shame. Give me a genuine curse any day. I do have a question though - if all these cursed children are branded, who does the branding? Where is it placed? How can people tell when someone is afflicted - or is it like a birth mark, showing up on the skin at random places? Is it easy to cover? I'm very interested in it, because it's probably the sole identifying feature for the cursed characters to find each other.