|food police. (heritable) wrote,|
@ 2020-06-26 00:54:00
Me? Well, I'm well. Well, I mean I'm in hell. Well, I still have my health. (At least that's what they tell me.) If wellness is this, what in hell's name is sickness? But business is business, and business Runs in the family. we tend to bruise easily. Bad in the blood, I'm telling you 'cause I just want you to know me, Know me and my family. We're wonderful folks, but Don't get too close to me.
NAME: Morgayne Sanyia Vhawl.
NICKNAME: Her brother used to call her "Mor." She enlisted in the Fighter's Guild under "Morgayne Falk," which is what she'll be going by in game.
AGE / BIRTHDAY: 16 / Taurus 18.
GUILD: Fighter's Guild.
JOB CLASS: Squire.
WEAPON: As a squire, Morgayne is testing her affinity for a variety of weapons, but she is most comfortable with short knives. Her father's old hunting knife -- double sharpened edge, with gut hook and deer antler handle -- is always on her person. She sleeps with it under her pillow. No one surprise her.
SKILLS & ABILITIES: Morgayne has yet to develop any specific special abilities, and is working on honing the standard set expected of a young Knight: Curve, Cover, Armor Break, and Power Break.
Standing at 5'2", Morgayne is a small, slim young woman. She has fair skin, and a soft round face that emphasizes her youth. Her hair is dark and straight, usually up in a messy ponytail or in a plait -- anything to get it out of the way. Morgayne often appears slightly disheveled, as if she's just rolled out of bed in last night's clothing. While she envies glamorous looking women, Morgayne has a poor grasp of the concepts of fashion, accessorizing, and beautification (and lacks the patience -- not to mention the money -- to master them). She simply brushes her hair, washes her face, and walks out the door.
Morgayne Vhawl has always been a watcher. Which isn't to say she's a wallflower, but simply that she keeps her eyes open, and connects the dots. She's oddly perceptive -- especially for her age -- and has a talent for reading people (and therefore, situations). It's something about her that's always unnerved others, and at the age of 16, Morgayne has long learned to keep her observations to herself. Like most, she doesn't like being thought of as strange or unnatural, and she plays up a semi-facade of normalcy as a result.
Corinthia Barnard lived through the majority of her years with not a single worry in her life. Her father a successful merchant, the family was not often without spending money, and as the only child, she grew accustomed to being pampered with clothes and jewels. But what Corinthia loved most, more than any of her beautiful material gifts, was her legacy. As a young girl, Corinthia would often beg her father to tell her what she called, "the story of her future." And her father would oblige, telling her the tale of how the Barnards had built the city of Emillion up from the ground, and how one day, Corinthia herself would rise and join them, a lady welcomed to her rightful home. In truth, Corinthia's particular strain of Barnard blood had been disowned decades ago -- not that that had stopped them from keeping the name, leeching off of whatever goodwill it still carried. But despite this, it was the sort of harmless "princess" tale that many fathers told their daughters.
The wagon rocked gently as the merchant steered them down the unsteady road toward Emillion, leaving the rolling hills of the Outlands behind them. Morgayne was glad to be going. Even when she'd moved from the house her father had died in, the image of him hanging from the rafters had continued to haunt her. In the morning, when the soft breeze drifted through her window, and she could almost smell the dark, woodsy scent of the forests they'd hunted in. At noon, when she would see his shadow in every dusty corner of the apothecary. Most of all at night, when the sight of his pale, lifeless face seemed to be imprinted on her eyelids. All dreams were nightmares, now.