TheWanderingWraith Member
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- TheWanderingWraith 11 yrs ago
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I don't really know what to do IC.
Hello?
Name: Ingrid Rushwood
Appearance:
Age: 17
Grade: 10
Social Class: Commoner
Social Class Explanation: She isn't really bad at anything, really, but she doesn't excel at anything either. This could change, though she'll never be 'gifted'
Personality: Ingrid is a rather pleasant person to be around. Her soft spoken, dreamy presence is a bit queer, but not intolerable. She tends to make up little stories on her own when daydreaming, though she typically will forget them and not tell anyone of them. She enjoys being around people, in spite of her often ending up as an observer. She has a temper, however. It takes a while to finally breach it, but it's an icy cold rage, often ending up publicly making her aggressor a literal mess, whether by spewing pen ink on them, chucking an open milk carton at them, or some other means of messing up them and their clothing. It's a non-physical, yet still humiliating way of expressing her anger without displaying her lack of real fighting skills. She always does so with a queer little smile, as if they were amusing her.
History: Ingrid grew up in a very rural area, often playing on her own and daydreaming to amuse herself. She was always good in school and whatever she attempted, though she never specifically excelled nor failed in anything. She did ballet for the most part, giving her flexibility and some physical strength, though not much. Her mother was a gentlewoman who bears the weight of a miscarriage in an attempt to give Ingrid a sibling when Ingrid was three. Ingrid doesn't know of the miscarriage. However, her mother and farther hide the grief from Ingrid, with her mother teaching her daughter to control her temper, be polite, and how to handle most situations. Her father was somewhat eccentric, but beautifully artistic. He got her into ballet, and encouraged her self-storytelling. Both parents were thrilled when Ingrid received the scholarship, though sad to see her go. They write frequently and she has a close relationship with them.
Extracurricular Activities: None currently
Miscellaneous: Ingrid can read very fast and well above her grade level. She is also dabbling in the arts and is a rather good author, though that doesn't put her in the gifted category. She also has a small, faint scar under her left eye from toppling over into the edge of a countertop when she was a toddler. She has no memory of that.
Appearance:
Age: 17
Grade: 10
Social Class: Commoner
Social Class Explanation: She isn't really bad at anything, really, but she doesn't excel at anything either. This could change, though she'll never be 'gifted'
Personality: Ingrid is a rather pleasant person to be around. Her soft spoken, dreamy presence is a bit queer, but not intolerable. She tends to make up little stories on her own when daydreaming, though she typically will forget them and not tell anyone of them. She enjoys being around people, in spite of her often ending up as an observer. She has a temper, however. It takes a while to finally breach it, but it's an icy cold rage, often ending up publicly making her aggressor a literal mess, whether by spewing pen ink on them, chucking an open milk carton at them, or some other means of messing up them and their clothing. It's a non-physical, yet still humiliating way of expressing her anger without displaying her lack of real fighting skills. She always does so with a queer little smile, as if they were amusing her.
History: Ingrid grew up in a very rural area, often playing on her own and daydreaming to amuse herself. She was always good in school and whatever she attempted, though she never specifically excelled nor failed in anything. She did ballet for the most part, giving her flexibility and some physical strength, though not much. Her mother was a gentlewoman who bears the weight of a miscarriage in an attempt to give Ingrid a sibling when Ingrid was three. Ingrid doesn't know of the miscarriage. However, her mother and farther hide the grief from Ingrid, with her mother teaching her daughter to control her temper, be polite, and how to handle most situations. Her father was somewhat eccentric, but beautifully artistic. He got her into ballet, and encouraged her self-storytelling. Both parents were thrilled when Ingrid received the scholarship, though sad to see her go. They write frequently and she has a close relationship with them.
Extracurricular Activities: None currently
Miscellaneous: Ingrid can read very fast and well above her grade level. She is also dabbling in the arts and is a rather good author, though that doesn't put her in the gifted category. She also has a small, faint scar under her left eye from toppling over into the edge of a countertop when she was a toddler. She has no memory of that.
Nope.
And maybe the Spider Rat Prince? Sorry. Rat King, Spider Queen, Spider Rat Prince. Derp.
Woohoo, people!
All right, Ike. Your roleplay idea is really good, though, and you attracted a very diverse cast of characters, which is always a good thing~
Okay.
I'm really just waiting for others to reply. *shrug* I just can't be here on weekends is all.
Within this same forest lurked another lonely soul. Around halfway between Bandits and kingdoms lay an abandoned shack nestled within the brush. Thick green berry-bushes, some poisonous, some not, along with creeping vines and mosses, had transformed the shack from a tiny, homely place into what looked like a small thicket. However, this was not the case. Between two of the larger bushes, the vines were detached from the ground, and the small, tarnished door handle could be seen at certain times of the day, glinting with a faint light. As if, though no longer shining and new, it had a purpose to fulfill.
Indeed, that little doorknob did have a purpose. Because it turned, and the door swung open, revealing a pale-haired, dark-eyed young woman. Had she lived in the kingdom, she may have been rather respected for her healing practice, all done with a gentle touch. Her slender frame drifted about like a ghost, checking the plants and plucking out an undesirable weed here and there. At first glance, she may have seemed like a lonely wraith, tending her garden in the afterlife. However, she was very much alive.
Brecken, the deserter. Though she had lost all sense of date and time, it was almost exactly two years ago since she'd left the kingdom for this life. When the tyranny got bad, what could a frail young woman do? Attempting any sort of backlash would get her killed. However, Brecken 'Dove' Aeire was much smarter than that. This little overgrown shack wasn't actually that bad on the inside. It was small, but the roof was watertight, and the bushes and vines made up for any holes in the walls. There wasn't any lighting, but she'd traded her services for little items, such as a small blanket here and there, or a needle and thread. Things such as that. It was her home now, and she wouldn't have it any other way... though a friend would be nice.
Indeed, that little doorknob did have a purpose. Because it turned, and the door swung open, revealing a pale-haired, dark-eyed young woman. Had she lived in the kingdom, she may have been rather respected for her healing practice, all done with a gentle touch. Her slender frame drifted about like a ghost, checking the plants and plucking out an undesirable weed here and there. At first glance, she may have seemed like a lonely wraith, tending her garden in the afterlife. However, she was very much alive.
Brecken, the deserter. Though she had lost all sense of date and time, it was almost exactly two years ago since she'd left the kingdom for this life. When the tyranny got bad, what could a frail young woman do? Attempting any sort of backlash would get her killed. However, Brecken 'Dove' Aeire was much smarter than that. This little overgrown shack wasn't actually that bad on the inside. It was small, but the roof was watertight, and the bushes and vines made up for any holes in the walls. There wasn't any lighting, but she'd traded her services for little items, such as a small blanket here and there, or a needle and thread. Things such as that. It was her home now, and she wouldn't have it any other way... though a friend would be nice.
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