TESTING Applo: Code Borker of Hut 33

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  • Age: Twenty-Five

    Tamsyn’s oldest sibling and best friend. Liola and Tamsyn’s close bond was formed in their early years when their parents affection was scarcely ever felt. This combined with the fact Liola looks remarkably like her old sister means that when the pair are together it is not uncommon for strangers to assume they are twins. Generally Liola is the more cool headed of the two, providing an often needed counterbalance to Tamsyn and is a steadying presence in her sister’s life.​

  • Age: Twenty-Three

    The third daughter of House Grimm, Catelynn is the odd member out of the house. She is by far and away the most traditional, lady like member of the family. Where the other Grimm daughters scoffed at or ignored the lessons of the castle Septa, Catelynn was a diligent student. She has never shared the same relationship with Tamsyn that Liola does and tends to speak more bluntly when she disagrees with Tamsyn.​

  • Age: Nineteen

    The eldest daughter of Nicholas Grimm’s second wife and the first of what are technically Tamsyn’s half-sisters. Headstrong, self-assured and lacking respect for authority, Astrid would be quite a pain in Tamsyn’s side if she wasn’t also endearingly entertaining. Fond of mostly harmless tricks and jokes, Astrid is normally involved in some form of mischief. It also helps that Tamsyn can see a lot of her younger self in her sister. Perhaps it comes of being the eldest of a mothers daughters.​
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dfc1201010cd9b93d486f1e8975c1946.png

"A rock parts oceans."


Name
Tamsyn Grimm

Aliases
Tammy - By her sisters only, The Grey Lady, Heir of Greyshield.

Gender
Female

Age
Twenty-Four. Born 8TD

Length and body build:
5'10" | 178cm

Weight:
144 lbs | 65 kgs

Sexuality
Bisexual


Grandparents
Paternal Grandfather: Gilbar Grimm. Forty-five at Death. Deceased: 9 TD. Former Lord of Greyshield.
Paternal Grandmother: Aianna Grimm, née Graves. Forty-seven at Death. Deceased 9 TD.

Maternal Grandfather: Jago Redwyne: Sixty-nine. Born 37 BTD. Lord of the Arbour
Maternal Grandmother: Meralith Redwyne, née Gardner: Sixty-seven. Born 35 BTD

Parents
Farther: Lord Nicholas Grimm: Forty-six. Born 14 BTD. Lord of Greyshield.
Mother: Lady Bethany Grimm, née Redwyne: Twenty-five at Death. Deceased: 12TD. Mother of Tamsyn, Liola & Catelynn.

Step-Mother: Lady Alyce Grimm née Orme: Thirty-nine. Born 7 BTD Mother of Astrid, Talia, Olena, Mira & Amber.

Siblings
Liola Forrester, née Grimm: Twenty-three. Born 9 TD. Married to Hastley Forrester, Heir of Ironrath.
Catelynn Serry, née Grimm: Twenty-one. Born 11 TD. Married to Elden Serry, Heir of South Shield.
Astrid Grimm: Nineteen: Born 13 TD. Betrothed to Bodrin Mormont, second son of House Mormont. Living in Grimston keep.
Talia Grimm: Fifteen: Born 17 TD.
Olena Grimm: Eleven: Born 21 TD.
Mira Grimm: Seven: Born 25 TD.
Amber Grimm: Five: Born 27 TD.

Distant relatives
House Redwyne.
House Gardner.
House Orme.
House Forester.
House Graves.
House Serry.
House Chester.
House Hewet.


Appearance:
Fair freckled skin, bottle green eyes and auburn hair wound into a tight plait that reaches the middle of her back gives away Tamsyn's Redwyne blood. The fact that she matches many men in height betrays her Grimm heritage. For the most part Tamsyn has a wardrobe of various dresses, mostly in greens and greys, and jewelry befitting a noble lady of the Reach. Since she came to the North this has been augmented by various heavy fur cloaks and other garments not often seen in South.

Where Tamsyn differs from what would be expected of her, is that she also owns what would be considered men's clothes. To be a daughter of the Shields is to grow up on and around ships where dresses would not just be impractical but dangerous. As such Tamsyn is just as comfortable, if not more so, wearing breaches, simple shirts, and tough leather jerkins.

The common thread between any of Tamsyn's outfit is the ornate, eight inch long steel marlinspike that hangs around her neck. An unofficial badge of office of House Grimm, Tamsyn wears it practically all the time. It is as sharp as it is beautiful.


Loyalty
House Grimm and Greyshield above all others.

Occupation:
Envoy.

Ambition(s):
To take her place as the head of House Grimm and see the Ironborn annihilated; preferably, in part, by forces loyal to Greyshield.


Personality:
On the surface, Tamsyn would seem to be little more that a hedonistic noble woman without a worry in the world save her own amusement. To an extent, this is true. She certainly enjoys life pleasures and indulges in the regardless, or sometimes inspire of what is expected of her as a lady. But, to dismiss Tamsyn because of this would be to gravely underestimate her. Look beyond this and you'll find a sharp mind driven by the twin motivations of family and duty, supported by bloody minded determination you could bend steel around.

There is absolutely nothing more important to this daughter of Greyshield than her home and her sisters and she is fiercely protective of both. A threat to either is sure fire way for someone to discover just how cold and ruthless Tamsyn can be and how much anger she has bottled away inside of her. She would gladly wade through a sea of blood for both and smile as she did so.

Additionally, Tamsyn has an affection and respect for those of any rank she comes across who go have decided to carve their own path through life in spite of what society thinks they should be.

The History:
Tamsyn was the first child of the Lord Nicholas Grimm and from the moment of her birth, a near constant source of disappointment for her father. Nicholas Grimm had at one time been part of a relatively large family but conflict and disease had left House Grimm dangerously close to extinction. Nicholas saw it as his solemn duty to have as many heirs as possible to preserve and strengthen the family. This was a goal in which a daughter, or as it would turn out daughters, could only ever play a very minor role. Like many lords, he desperately wanted a son. As such, Grimston wasn’t a warm or nurturing environment for the young Tamsyn. And then her mother died.

Left weakened by the difficult birth of her third daughter, Catelynne, Lady Bethany Grimm succumbed to a case of pox a few months later. The illness was as swift and brutal as blade could have been and ripped from Tamsyn and her sister, Liola the only person who truly loved them. Distant before the loss of his wife, Nicholas Grimm virtually vanished from life on Greyshield. Ostentatiously he was spending more time in Highgarden on court business but Tamsyn overheard enough of his letters written to her grandmother to know he was searching for a new wife.

During this time a nursemaid cared for Catelynn while the older two Grimm sisters were theoretically cared for by the castle septa. The women however took next to no interest in the girls when Lord Grimm wasn't around and was about as warm and comforting as the stone floor of the great hall. For the most part Tamsyn and Liola were left to their own devices, becoming the closest of friends in the process. Even when Lord Grimm returned to Greyshield with a new bride things changed very little. Lady Alyce Grimm was a kind woman but, almost from the moment she enter Tamsyn’s life she was either pregnant or had a young child of her own blood needing her attention.

As she grew older and the number of sisters continued to grow, Tamsyn increasingly began to see herself as the heir of House Grimm. It seemed to her that the gods did not want her father to have a son and that responsibility for her House and the people sworn to it would fall to her. This was something she knew she had to prepare for. Tamsyn wasn’t foolish enough to raise the subject with anyone save Liola. She knew her father and grandmother would never approve of such a notion. This was when her parents lack of interest in her life switch from being a festering wound to a boon for Tamsyn. She was free to do much as she pleased and did so.

It was easy enough for her to persuade the castle maester to teach her subjects of more importance than needle work. She spent many an afternoon the man’s study eagerly drinking in the lessons he taught while remaining careful to appear that she didn’t quite understand what he was telling her. Tamsyn also tried to persuade the castle's master of arms to teach her how to swing a sword, something the man point blank refused to do. After she had worn down the man’s resolve through persistence and cake based bribery, he relented enough in his opposition to show her how to use a knife to defend herself and eventually a little of how to use a bow.

The one useful skill, as Tamsyn saw it, that she learnt with her father blessings was sailcraft. While Nicholas Grimm was a man with very traditional views as to what made a good lady, he was also a son of the Shields. Sailing was the way of life on Greyshield. House Grimm existed to guard against the Ironborn, a hatred of whom being one of the few things that father and daughter shared. To raise a child, any child, of his house who didn’t understand the tides or know how to sail a small craft by themself would have been an affront to the history of his name. That said, these valuable lesson weren't taught to Tamsyn or any of his daughters directly by Nicholas, but rather one of his captain instead.

Only when Tamsyn and her sisters began to reach adulthood did her father begin to take taking an interest in his daughters; although not out of fatherly concern, but rather with the aim of strengthening the family. Tamsyn had inherited the more striking aspects of both her parents and for the next few years she was repeatedly shipped off to castles around the reach to to be a handmaiden for any rich or powerful family Lord Grimm could persuade to take her on. Her father hoped that these positions would allow him to negotiate an advantageous marriage for Tamsyn or that a suitable lordling might make advances on her. Unfortunately for the Lord Grimm’s plans Tamsyn saw herself as the heir of Greyshield and always schemed and contrived to get herself sent home. That's not to say that Tamsyn lived the life of a puritanical septa for all those years; she had romances, dalliances and flings, but she always went into them knowing that her rightful place was on Greyshield, not at some lordlings side.

Tamsyn’s journey to the North came about after an incident that provoked considerable mirth at court at Lord Grimm’s expenses. Keen to have the lords and ladies of the Reach forget about his troublesome daughter for a while, and by now wise to what Tamsyn believed to be her true role in the family he concocted a plan to send her as far away from Greyshield as possible that she wouldn't be able to resist accepting. He made her his envoy to the lords of the North. She was to persuade them that the Ironborn were a threat they couldn’t afford to ignore anymore. If she was successful then the Ironborn power could be severely weakened. Additionally there was chance in Nicholas’s mind that maybe there would be a lord in the North who could tame his eldest daughter. He could hope.

Theme music:
- Optional. I am just interested in what might have inspired you or what you think represents your character. :) -

Skills and various Traits:
- Think of in what fields the character is skilled in and what various traits that they have. Such as herbal knowledge, reading and writing and for example. Do note that some skills can be subjective. Having a nice singing voice won't mean that just everybody has to appreciate your character's suggested singing voice or tune.-


Tamsyn's Marlinspike

A tool wielded by many of those sworn to serve House Grimm, the marlinspike has for generations been the families unofficial symbol. Tradition says that each member of the family has a spike of their own. While technically decorative, this eight inch rod of steel has a sharpened tip to rival any blade.




List of armour or attire.

- Pretty much the same as the previous with the weapons and armour. Obviously, you don't have to list everything but I relish every bit of information that is given about the character. :) -

Name:
-Of the armour or attire.-
Description:
Perhaps how it was gained or how much it is valued. Not to mention some description on the armour or clothing.-
Appearance:
- An image and some description on the appearance or some notes on the weapon or tool. Marks of damage as use and the like.-
[/SPOILER]
 
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dfc1201010cd9b93d486f1e8975c1946.png

"A rock parts oceans."

Name
Tamsyn Grimm

Aliases
Tammy
The Grey Maiden
Heir of Greyshield

Gender
Female

Age
Twenty-Four. Born 8TD

Length and body build:
Having inherited her father's height, Tamsyn has a long, slender frame and stands at 5'10"/178cm

Weight:
144 lbs | 65 kgs

Sexuality
Bisexual



Grandparents
Paternal Grandfather: Gilbar Grimm. Forty-five at Death. Deceased: 9 TD. Former Lord of Greyshield
Paternal Grandmother: Aianna Grimm, née Graves. Forty-seven at Death. Deceased 9 TD

Maternal Grandfather: Jago Redwyne: Sixty-nine. Born 37 BTD. Lord of the Arbour
Maternal Grandmother: Meralith Redwyne, née Gardner: Sixty-seven. Born 35 BTD

Parents
Farther: Lord Nicholas Grimm: Forty-six. Born 14 BTD. Lord of Greyshield
Mother: Lady Bethany Grimm, née Redwyne: Twenty-five at Death. Deceased: 12TD. Mother of Tamsyn, Liola & Catelynn

Step-Mother: Lady Alyce Grimm née Orme: Thirty-nine. Born 7 BTD Mother of Astrid, Talia, Olena, Mira & Amber

Siblings
Liola Grimm: Twenty-three. Born 9 TD
Catelynn Serry, née Grimm: Twenty-one. Born 11 TD. Married to Elden Serry, Heir of South Shield
Astrid Grimm: Nineteen: Born 13 TD
Talia Grimm: Fifteen: Born 17 TD
Olena Grimm: Eleven: Born 21 TD
Mira Grimm: Seven: Born 25 TD
Amber Grimm: Five: Born 27 TD
Lira Grimm: Three: Born 29 TD

Distant relatives
House Gardner
House Redwyne
House Graves
House Serry
House Chester
House Hewet
House Orme



Appearance
Fair freckled skin, bottle green eyes and auburn hair wound into a tight plait that reaches the middle of her back gives away Tamsyn's Redwyne blood. The fact that she matches many men in height betrays her Grimm heritage. For the most part Tamsyn has a wardrobe of assorted dresses, mostly in greens and greys, and jewelry befitting a noble lady of the Reach. Since she came to the North this has been augmented by various heavy fur cloaks and other garments not often seen in South.

Where Tamsyn differs from what would be expected of her, is that she also owns what would be considered men's clothes. To be a daughter of the Shields is to grow up on and around ships where dresses would not just be impractical but dangerous. As such Tamsyn is just as comfortable, if not more so, wearing breaches, simple shirts, and tough leather jerkins.

The common thread between any of Tamsyn's outfit is the ornate, eight inch long, steel marlinspike that hangs from her neck. An unofficial sigil of office of House Grimm, Tamsyn wears it practically all the time. It is as sharp as it is beautiful.​



Loyalty
House Grimm and Greyshield above all others.

Occupation
Envoy.

Ambitions
To take her place as the head of House Grimm and see the Ironborn annihilated; preferably, in part, by forces loyal to Greyshield.



Personality
On the surface, Tamsyn would seem to be little more that a hedonistic noble woman without a worry in the world save her own amusement. To an extent, this is true. She certainly enjoys life pleasures and indulges in the regardless, or sometimes inspire of what is expected of her as a lady. But, to dismiss Tamsyn because of this would be to gravely underestimate her. Look beyond this and you'll find a sharp mind driven by the twin motivations of family and duty, supported by bloody minded determination you could bend steel around.

There is absolutely nothing more important to this daughter of Greyshield than her home and her sisters and she is fiercely protective of both. A threat to either is sure fire way for someone to discover just how cold and ruthless Tamsyn can be and how much anger she has bottled away inside of her. She would gladly wade through a sea of blood for both and smile as she did so.

Additionally, Tamsyn has an affection and respect for those of any rank she comes across who go have decided to carve their own path through life in spite of what society thinks they should be.​

Tamsyn was the first child of the Lord Nicholas Grimm and from the moment of her birth, a near constant source of disappointment for her father. Nicholas Grimm had at one time been part of a relatively large family but conflict and disease had left House Grimm dangerously close to extinction. Nicholas saw it as his solemn duty to have as many heirs as possible to preserve and strengthen the family. This was a goal in which a daughter, or as it would turn out daughters, could only ever play a very minor role. Like many lords, he desperately wanted a son. As such, Grimston wasn’t a warm or nurturing environment for the young Tamsyn. And then her mother died.

Left weakened by the difficult birth of her third daughter, Catelynne, Lady Bethany Grimm succumbed to a case of pox a few months later. The illness was as swift and brutal as blade could have been and ripped from Tamsyn and her sister, Liola the only person who truly loved them. Distant before the loss of his wife, Nicholas Grimm virtually vanished from life Greyshield. Ostentatiously he was spending more time in Highgarden on court business but Tamsyn overheard enough gossip to learn he was searching for a new wife.

During this time a nursemaid cared for Catelynn while the older two Grimm sisters were theoretically cared for by the castle Septa. The women however took next to no interest in the girls when Lord Grimm wasn't around and was about as warm and comforting as the stone floor of the great hall. For the most part Tamsyn and Liola were left to their own devices, becoming the closest of friends in the process. Even when Lord Grimm returned to Greyshield with a bride things changed very little aside from a new regime of education suitable for a lady. Lady Alyce Grimm was a kind woman but, almost from the moment she enter Tamsyn’s life she was either pregnant or had a young child of her own blood needing her attention.

As she grew older and the number of sisters continued to increase, Tamsyn increasingly began to see herself as the heir of House Grimm. It seemed to her that the gods did not want her father to have a son and that responsibility for her House and the people sworn to it would fall to her. Tamsyn wasn’t foolish enough to brooch the subject with her father. That would have been a waste of time and energy. Instead, she set about trying to prepare herself for the mantle of leadership in secret. This was made somewhat easier by the fact that her father was often away from home when his wife was pregnant or caring for a newborn.

The castle Maester was a man with a serious weakness for sweet cakes and therefore easy enough for Tamsyn to persuade to teach her subjects of more importance than needle work. She spent many an afternoon the man’s study eagerly drinking in the lessons while remaining careful to appear that she didn’t quite understand what he was telling her. Tamsyn also tried to persuade the castle's master of arms to teach her how to swing a sword, something the man point blank refused to do. After she had worn down the man’s resolve through irritating persistence, he relented in his opposition enough to show her how to use a knife to defend herself and eventually a little of how to use a bow.

One of the useful skills, as Tamsyn saw it, that she learnt with her father blessings was sailcraft. While Nicholas Grimm was a man with very traditional views as to what made a good lady, he was also a son of the Shields. Sailing was the way of life on Greyshield. House Grimm existed to guard against the Ironborn, a hatred of whom being one of the few things that father and daughter shared. To raise a child, any child, of his house who didn’t understand the tides or know how to sail a small craft by themself would have been an affront to the history of his name. That said, these valuable lesson weren't taught to Tamsyn or any of his daughters directly by Nicholas, but rather by one of his captain instead.

Only when Tamsyn and her sisters began to reach adulthood did her father begin to take taking a real interest in his daughters; although not out of fatherly concern, but rather with the aim of strengthening the family. Tamsyn had inherited the more striking aspects of both her parents and for the next few years she was repeatedly shipped off to castles around the reach to to be a handmaiden for any rich or powerful family Lord Grimm could persuade to take her on. Her father hoped that these positions would allow him to negotiate an advantageous marriage for Tamsyn or that a suitable lordling might make advances on her. Unfortunately for the Lord Grimm’s plans, Tamsyn saw herself as the heir of Greyshield and always schemed and contrived to get herself sent home, in disgrace if necessary. That is not to say that Tamsyn didn’t enjoy her time away from home. She got to experience a world of delights not available to her on Greyshield, including several fleeting but passionate romances. She wasn’t a silent sister.

Tamsyn’s journey to the North came about after an incident that provoked considerable mirth at court at Lord Grimm’s expenses. Keen to have the lords and ladies of the Reach forget about his troublesome daughter for a while, and by now wise to what Tamsyn believed to be her true role in the family, he concocted a plan to send her as far away from Greyshield as possible that she wouldn't be able to resist accepting. He made her his envoy to the lords of the North. She was to persuade at least some of them that the Ironborn were a threat they couldn’t afford to ignore anymore. If she was successful then the Ironborn power could be severely weakened. If she didn’t, well the North was a long way from the Reach, hopefully tales of her misdeeds wouldn’t make it that far. Additionally there was chance in Nicholas’s mind that maybe there would be a lord in the North who could tame his eldest daughter.​

Skills and various Traits:
Literate: As is customary for the noble class, Tamsyn can read and write.

Self defense with a knife: Determined not to be helpless and wholly reliant on men for her own safety, Tamsyn sought martial training from the Grimston master at arms. While he refused to teach her how to wield a sword, he relented enough to show her how to use a knife to protect herself.

Archery: Another skill deemed tolerable for a lady to know by the Grimston master of arms, Tamsyn is practiced in using a bow although she generally prefers a crossbow. She can normally hit a practice target quite near the center from a good distance. That said, she has never tested her skill outside of a training situation.

Practiced Negotiator: A de facto parent to a veritable horde of fractious sisters, Tamsyn has had what she considers a world class education in how to negotiate with people.

Sailcraft: To live on a Shield Island, is to live around boats at all times as well as under the constant threat of Ironborn raids. While it may not be considered entirely lady like, it was entirely necessary for Tamsyn to learn how to sail, both by herself in small a dinghy and by giving commands to a crew.



Tamsyn's Marlinspike

A tool wielded by many of those sworn to serve House Grimm, the marlinspike has for generations been the families unofficial symbol. Tradition says that each member of the family has one of their own. Tamsyn wears hers on a cord around her neck. While technically decorative, this eight inch rod of steel has a sharpened tip to rival any blade.





Tamsyn's Dresses

A modest collection of dresses in the styles popular in the Reach. For the most part Tamsyn favors greens and grey although she has a few dresses reds and blues as well.



Fur Cloak

A black fur cloak that is thick and heavy even by northern standards. It was the first thing Tamsyn purchased when she set foot in White Harbour.



Sailing Clothes

There isn't much special about these clothes. The short leather jerkin and hard wearing breaches look like sort of clothes that could be found on any peasant of moderate means.
 
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Name: Sarah Elizabeth Pendleton
Alias: Rapture
Gender: Female
Age: Twenty-Three
Height: 5'8
Weight: 145lbs
Sexuality: Bisexual

Brief Description: Standing at 5’8 Sarah is a little taller and a little more muscular than average, although not so much so as to be worthy of comment. Normally she will be found loafing around in stylish combat boots, distressed yet surprisingly pricey jeans, a fitted T-shirt for some obscure festival or band and a jacket or hoodie.

~~~

Nationality: British
Occupation: Secretary Actress
Backstory: Why did Sarah end up in New Angles? Why does anyone end up in New Angles? She had a dream in her heart, stars in her eyes and a hunger for fame in her soul. The unhealthy crime rate didn’t hurt either.

Born the only child of well to do parents in the home counties of England; Sarah had a charmed and uneventful childhood. She was educated at a series of small but well respected public schools and in her leisure time, her parents made sure that she developed a range of hobbies including: skiing, horseback riding, scuba diving and clay pigeon shooting. It was in these early years that Sarah’s power first manifested itself although it wouldn’t be for some years that she or anyone else would discover she was powered. Her parents put the unusually high number of exploding lightbulbs down to faulty wiring and bad luck.

By the time she finished school at eighteen Sarah wasn’t the next Einstein but she had acquired the grades to get herself into a good university. Her choice to study Environmental Science wasn’t what her parents had dreamed of but somewhere along the way Sarah had picked up an idealistic streak and had decided she wanted to do some ‘good’ in the world. As a student Sarah was fairly unremarkable. She was bright enough to keep up with the work but somewhat too interested in partying and having fun to truly excel and ended up with a distinctly average degree.

Where she did succeed was in her non-academic activities. On a whim she had joined both the university boxing club and the thespians society and found she had a knack for both. By the end of her second year, she was a major player in both groups, winning competitions for the university in boxing while her performance as Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing was well received by the university newspaper.

It was while Sarah was at university that her power became apparent to her. Free access to mind altering substances, as Sarah says, put her in touch with her true self. It took her the better part of two years of secretive experimenting to be sure that she was indeed powered, and it wasn’t until halfway through her final year that she gained any real control over what she could do. Progress felt painfully slow, but in a world still somewhat reeling from the Ground Zero attack, Sarah wasn’t sure she wanted all the attention being open about her abilities would bring. After finishing Uni, Sarah moved back in with her parents. With long days left alone in the privacy of her childhood home her ability to control her power came along leaps and bounds.

The idea of moving to New Angles came quite out of the blue as far as Sarah’s parents were concerned but to Sarah it made perfect sense. She had found her degree uninspiring and the jobs it opened up to her more so, especially when compared to the fun she’d had acting in plays and if there was anywhere to try and make a career of mucking about on a stage it was New Angles. At least that was what she told her parents. The fact that New Angles was the sort of place someone like her could lead a double life and not have the Secret Service hunting her down straight away was a big factor in the decision. There were some visa related hurdles to the plan but Sarah’s father put out word through his network and soon heard that a colleague of a friend was looking for a secretary which made things much easier.

It has now been six months since Sarah moved to Angles and while by day she like everyone else goes to crappy job whilst calling herself an actress, by nights she has been living the life of a powered vigilante.

~~~

Hobbies: Sarah had maintained most of the hobbies she picked up in youth and at weekends will often be found doing something terribly social media friendly like riding a horse or scuba diving. Also she's a keen drinker and party-er.

Skills
Pugilist: Three years of being part of her universities boxing team means that Sarah can throw knuckles better than most.

Athletic: An upbringing filled with activities such as skiing and horse riding, followed by three years of regular training session has left Sarah in pretty good shape. She won't be jumping over tall building in a single bound but long bouts of physical exertion don't phase her much either.

Weaponry
Shotgun: Sarah has had plenty of experience with a double barrel shot gun though her targets have mostly been made of clay and flying away from her.

Superpowers: Aerokinesis: Sarah can feel and manipulate the movement of gas molecules so that they travel against the diffusion gradient, allowing her to create pockets of elevated or extremely decreased atmospheric pressure. These pressure pockets can be shaped and directed although the larger or further away they are the harder they become to maintain. Anyone caught in these pockets can suffer from a range of neurological and physiological symptoms.

~~~

Weaponry: Blacken metal knuckle dusters
Gear: A bullet proof vest.
Outfit: Sarah's outfit is a rookie vigilante special. A black motorcycle jacket paired with similarly dark jeans and combat boots. She protects her identity with a full face ski mask in multiple colours.
 
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Isabel Webb
Basics
  • Twenty-Six years old
  • Female
  • 5’5” / 154lbs
  • Thin-Blooded Caitiff
  • Sixteenth
  • Anarch

Personality
Isabel was always a bit reclusive even before being embraced. At school she had a small but tight circle of friends and was generally more likely to be found with her face in a book as she did her homework than at a party. While moving to Boston and then Houston helped her come out of her shell a little, she is still pretty much the archetypal introvert; preferring to sit at the edge of a party watching everyone over her drink rather than be in the middle of it.

Biography
Born and raised in Marblehead, Massachusetts, Isabel life had always been fringed by the occult, or at least what mortals think of as the occult. With Salem just across the bay there was no way it couldn’t have been any other way. Like most people however, Isabel ignored it and got on with her life. Several of Isabel’s friends were into the supernatural, but pretty much the only thing that rubbed off on her was a penchant for unusual hair dye colours.

Graduating high school near the top of her year, Isabelle opted to further her education by studying biomedicine at Boston University. Initially, this was meant to be a pre-med course, but in the summer between her junior and senior years, Isabelle won an internship with one of the nations most innovative and prestigious biomedical companies. Over the course of the summer, she impressed her supervisors to the point that she was offered a job once she had finished her studies. For someone who was tired of living on instant ramen the offer was too good to pass up and a scant couple of weeks after graduating, Isabel found herself on a plane heading to Houston, Texas and the companies headquarters.

The first couple of months of this new life were rough for Isabel. It was the first time she was truly away from her friends and family and in those early days in Houston her life pretty much only happened at work or her apartment. Slowly though she began making a few friends through work and explore what her new home had to offer; possibly it was a manifestation of her home sickness that attracted Isabel to the city's alt scene. Regardless, the young New England transplant began building up a couple of places where her face became a semi regular sight and the people knew who she was.

It was after an evening spent at one of these bars that Isabel life ended and her unlife began. Walking home in the early hours, she noticed she was being followed by what she assumed was another reveller. There was just something about them that made Isabel uneasy and turning down the first alley the provided itself to her she began to run. Before she’d gone more than twenty meters something slammed into her back and pinned Isabel to the floor. Somehow her purser had closed the distance and was now on top of her, a terrifying look of hunger in their eyes. She tried to fight against her attacker, but the only result of that was excruciating pain and unending darkness in her right eye. And then there was pleasure, euphoria like Isabel had never felt before as the light slowly faded from her left eye.

Waking up propped against a dumpster, Isabel felt like death. There was no one to explain what had just happened to her, why the sun burned her skin or why she had a thirst that she couldn’t satiate. Dragging herself back to her apartment, Isabel locked herself away from the world as she went increasing insane. It was several weeks before derangement and thirst caused her to remerge. Almost feral, Isabel wandered the streets of Houston through the afternoon and evening till her eyes fell upon a sight they recognised despite her delirium. The frontage of Maximum Buzz called to something in her and wild eyed she made her way inside.​

 
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Lets just keeping moving alright
Name: Reva
Age: Unknown
Race: Aasimar
Gender: Female

Deity: None
Class: Martial
Bloodline: Unknown
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Appearance:
Reva has a youthful, lean, but well muscled 5’8” body that is littered with a multitude of scars. Most of these disfigurements seem to be old and minor wounds long since healed. However a pair of jagged red marks running over Reva’s shoulder blades seem to be from a more recent injury and still cause her enough pain that she habitually sleeps on her stomach. Additionally her hands and feet are both heavily calloused and more than a few of her fingers and toes sit at strange angles. Likewise her nose has clearly been broken and set multiple times. Despite all of this, the strange and defining aspect of the Reva appearance is her eyes. One emerald green, one dark red and both glowing like light shining through glass; most people notice little else apart from them

Clothes wise Reva appears to favour light garments that offer minimal protection but plenty of room to move easily. Her arms are wrapped in leather strips with her wrist being particularly well wrapped and small, thin leather pads covering her elbows. Reva’s legs sport similar wrapping but these are covered by a pair of thin, flat soled fabric boots.

Personality:
If there is one thing Reva likes, other than booze, it is to be moving. Confine her in one place for more than a day or two and she will begin to sour whereas on the open road she will be content. When it comes to others, Reva is mostly content to live and let live, although there are a few exceptions. She had little time for bullies and those who would put their boot on the neck of others. People who ask lots of personal questions also get on her nerves.

When she is drunk, which is every night if she can help it Reva can be more of a relaxed, open individual. That said those who try to plumb Reva’s depths when she is intoxicated run the risk letting lose the emotions bottled up inside of her or having to listen to her talk in circles about how much she misses Tabbris. At least when she drinks she doesn’t scream in her sleep.

When it comes to violence, Reva doles it out without much thought or compunction. Fighting comes as naturally to her as walking and violence or at least the threat of imminent violence is her default method of problem solving. This isn’t to say she is a violent lunatic attacking anyone that looks at her funny; just that to standing being between Reva and her goal with no obvious or easy way for her to go around is an undesirable place to be.

History:
The first thing this aasimar remember is waking up on a boat, tangled in a rectangle of strangely patterned fabric and coughing up water. A fishing vessel had found her floating on a piece of driftwood and hauled her aboard. She possessed no memory of how she had ended up in the sea or even who she was. When the boat crew asked for her name there was only one word that floated into the near drowned woman’s mind; Reva. The crew had more questions for their strange catch but darkness claimed Reva as her body began to pay back the debt it had run up keeping her alive in the ocean.

The next time she awoke, the first thing Reva noticed was that the world was still. She had barely noticed everything had been rocking before but now the stillness was noticeable. Sticking her head out of the room, she had woken up in, Reva found herself looking out into a practically empty drinking hall. After calling out to the one person she could see, Reva soon learned that the captain of the boat that had pulled from the sea had left her with his cousin to recover.

As the tavern owner spoke to Reva, they soon learned that women with one glowing green eye and one dark red eye standing in front of him not only apparently still had any memory of how she ended up in the ocean, but she additionally had no coin or idea of where she should go. After a short while the pair came to an agreement. For as long as she needed to, Reva would work in the man’s tavern doing whatever needed doing in return for room and board. So for the next few weeks Reva washed floors by day, served food and drink in the evening and at night drank herself to sleep to the gentle glugging sound off the inn’s still; alcohol helped to keep the nightmares that otherwise filled every unconscious moment away. During this time Reva explored her new home town a little and learned it was located on the coast Dorothea territory, but for the most part, the tavern was her world. As it would turn out, it wasn’t a secure one.

One otherwise unremarkable night as Reva was serving drinks, a group of armoured individuals entered the inn. They were led by a man the Reva recognise as one of the fishermen who had been there when she had first woken up; he looked like he had been beaten to within an inch of his life as he levelled a trembling finger at her. As soon as he did this a knife slid across his throat and the armoured figures stepped over his still bleeding body. Frozen with shock Reva, merely watched as the men circled around her with weapons drawn while a more grandly adorned individual approached and grasped her by the face, twisting her head until she was looking directly into her eyes. He smiled at what he observed before letting go of Reva and ordering his men to seize the aasimar.

The first man to touch Reva crumpled to the floor with a broken neck. The second snatched their last breath with their own sword sticking from their armpit. One by one the pattern continued, the armed men falling to the unarmed barmaid till she was the only one left standing, blood covering her face and hands. For a moment the whole world seemed to be silent, everyone's eyes fixed on the terrible scene before someone screamed.

Jolting out of the moment of shock and wonderment at how her own body had moved purely instinctively, Reva ran to her room, seized the flag that had wrapped around her when she was rescued from the sea, before slipping out the inn's back door and sprinting out of town. She knew she couldn’t stay there, and the lifeless bodies were only one of the reasons. Someone was sending killers to look for her and a gut feeling told Reva that she didn’t want to find out why.

Since that day, somewhat over half a year ago, Reva has wandered the continent of Talvien almost non-stop. On numerous occasions she has found work as a caravan guard which has provided her a chance to practice and refine the eccentric unarmed fighting style that she has no idea how she knows. Reva heard about the expedition from a barkeeper in the city of Cadeira. She barely understood one in three words the man said or what this maddening mist was, but that didn’t matter. Reva was looking for a way out of town and one had dropped into her lap. She made up her mind there and then to join the expidition.
 
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On first stepping through the heavy wooden doors of the great hall, the noise of the carousing beyond had been like a never ending roll of thunder. Now though, the maze of corridors had muffled the festivities to barely more than a whisper. Apart from a few people who had evidently decided to continue the celebrations in the privacy of their own chambers and the occasional scurrying of servant’s feet, the keep was quiet. At this distance the smell of mead and spiced meats had been replaced by the scents of dusty wood and beeswax polish. Calmness reigned here; as the wooden door of her chamber shut behind her, Silph breathed out. Apart from one slumbering form, she was alone. At last.

Ofneir would laugh if he saw her now. Swaddled in the lizard’s silks like some simpering maid. It was all they had to give her; the North’s furs were not intended for sweltering summers, and in the heat, the human had begrudgingly changed to something more appropriate. Though it still chafed at her nerves to wear something so...refined. Silph sat on the edge of her bed, taking off her shoes gingerly.

Kirvam’s summer estate was grandiose, lush, and frankly over-the-top - much like the entire Kaleshian Empire itself. She regretted accepting the senator’s invitation. It was not home; in fact, it was the exact opposite, and she longed for the rich culture of north Diane all the more. And the food. Gods, the food. She did not like lizard food. Their meat was too tough, too spicy - they could not cook meat like the men and women back home. The servants had seemed offended at her unwillingness to eat, perhaps a direct result of Kirvam’s insatiable need to please his guests. At the risk of looking rude, she’d stayed at the festivities longer than she should have. Far too long; it was only now that she’d returned to the safety of her room, another large and majestic space that did little to impress her. Exhaustion was plain on her face as she began to lay back on the bed, automatically reaching behind herself to undo the straps on her back--

--only to blink in surprise when she touched nothing but air. Ai, Akadum. That’s right; they’d taken Bonesmith, too. She began to relax, eyes drifting closed.

But not for long. Sometime after her eyes shut, she jolted awake as the acrid smell of smoke filled her nose. She sat up wild-eyed, taking in the sudden and abrupt sight of flames licking at the door. Her eyes widened.

“My God, fire! Fire!”

There was another in the room. Some stranger who Silph had not cared to meet or speak with before hand. But the current emergency rendered all reservations she had about the other woman moot. The human leapt from beneath her covers and dashed to the stranger’s bed, shaking her roughly by the shoulders.

“You! Wake up! Wake up now!”

There was no response from the sleeping woman. Despite being shaken they remained limp in their bed. Something held them in unconsciousness and alcohol was the likely suspect. A fug of the senator’s generous hospitality hung over the woman like a cloud; the bottle slowly seeping it contents into the woman’s bed was also a dead give away.

Silph was not to be outdone. She had roused many a drunkard with a rude slap, and would not hesitate to do so now. Shrugging a massive shoulder, Silph rolled the woman onto her back and leaned in, giving the sleeping woman a forceful strike across the cheek.

“Get. Up.”

The sound of the blow had barely faded away when Silph’s face was bathed in a soft red and green light as glowing eyes flew open. Barely a fraction of a moment later a hand shot out from the now awake stranger’s side and grabbed at the thumb of the hand that had just struck them. Pulling the digit back, they didn’t stop until Silph’s wrist was painfully twisted. For a few seconds the redhead's radiant gaze remained fixed on her assaulter, a look of confused anger on their face before the mind behind it seemed to catch up with the woman’s body and released the painful hold.

“Fuck off.” The multicoloured glow disappeared as the woman closed her eyes and rolled onto her side so that she faced the wall, her back to Silph. “Don’t… leave me alone.”

Silph studied the young woman for a moment, eyes filling with anger as she grasped the wrist of her left hand. She was not often hurt by another’s touch, but the girl’s grip made her feel pain and caught her off-guard in a way she wasn't used to. It discomfited her, and she responded in the way she did most things: willful ignorance.

“Fine! You burn alive, then, yah? Hmph.”

With a dismissive grunt, Silph moved away, rushing to grab her boots that sat near the edge of her bed.

“Whut?” The question was followed by the sound of rustling fabric and the reappearance of the faint multi coloured glow. “What are you talki-”

There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a mumbled curse as Silph’s words evidently teamed up with the acrid smell of smoke to penetrate the drunkard’s mind and deliver the news that the blacksmith had known almost before waking up. Silph however was no longer paying the other girl any mind. In fact, the look on her face seemed distant as she shoved on her boots hurriedly, coughing at the plumes of smoke curling underneath the door. Without warning, a wave of heat rolled over the blacksmith before receding again just as quickly with a heavy wooden thud and several muttered curses. A glance over Silph’s shoulder revealed her ever so slightly swaying room mate, fully dressed and rapidly blinking their eyes, standing by the door, one hand cradled in front of her neck.

“You know how to get outta here?” There was a pause as the woman sucked the fingers of the hand by her neck. “We need to be fast. Everything is burning.”

The other woman merely grunted in affirmation. At last dressed properly, with her few belongings slung over her shoulder, the large woman strode over to the bedroom door and flung it open, ignoring the burn of metal in her hand.

Kirvam’s entire estate was built like some sort of fortress. No windows in the rooms meant no alternative route; they would have to charge through the building inferno without any way of knowing where the fire had spread. They were at risk of getting caught in the blaze if they weren’t careful.

Fortunately, Silph was too stubborn to die. Covering her nose and mouth with a silk cloth, she marched forward into the blazing hallways, setting off in the direction of the banquet hall. She had barely passed two doorways when the far more lightly built figure of her companion loped past in the smoke filled darkness. The woman smelled like they’d drunk so much alcohol that by all rights her sweat should be catching aflame and yet somehow she almost danced down the corridor. When a pile of rubble hidden by smoke or gout of flame interrupted her path the woman seemed to flow around it like water passing a rock, and soon she began to disappear into the smoke ahead of Silph.

It wasn’t until the blacksmith was approaching the junction between a couple of corridors that she saw her strange roommate again. The auburn haired woman was down on her hands and knees gasping for air in between bouts of dry hacking coughs.

“Can’t… go… that way” A slender arm pointed down one of the corridors, ragged breathes making it shake slightly. “There’s no… just smoke.”

Cerulean eyes panned towards the direction the redhead pointed, before coming to rest again on the hunched over woman, unreadable. Despite her furs and comparably slower gait, the Diane woman seemed wholly unaffected by their hellish surroundings. She was used to the flames of the forge, plumes of smoke hanging in wisps around her as she worked. One did not tolerate it so much as they adapted to it. One just had to cover well, and keep a measured pace...

Something this one with her did not seem to get. Staring down at the other woman with nothing but disdain, Silph clicked her tongue impatiently.

“You...Your name is…”

“Re-” The half formed word was lost as an explosion of rasping coughs erupted from the woman’s throat and they had to take several shaky breaths before they were able to speak again. “Reva.”

“Well, whoever you are,” The blonde asserted rather ignorantly. She slipped a heavy hand around Reva’s arm and hefted her up in one fluid motion. “You move too fast through; you will get smoke in your lungs, yah? Come-” She jerked her head towards the other corridor, the one leading towards the banquet hall - her initial goal. “We go this way.”

Not caring to wait for input from her companion, Silph hoisted the other woman up and against her side, all but carrying her as she continued her dogged march down the hallways. It was difficult to get her bearings as they moved along. Whoever had lit the castle’s flames had been thorough. The fire had crawled its way along the walls, decimating every fine piece of furniture, glassware, and art that stood in its path. Only the ornate stone engravings on the pillars remained unmarked; Silph used those as her waypoints as she kept her head low, pausing only to bring her and her hapless, wheezing quarry over an overturned armoire.

Someone had closed the doors to the banquet hall. With her free hand, Silph grasped the red hot knob and tore the door open, grimacing as a wave of heat blasted her in the face. As her vision adjusted to the brilliant displays of orange and red, her eyes widened, taking in the scene before her.

“Ai, Gods…”



Kirvam Ozirious stood at the front of the hall exactly like he had earlier that night. Though the flames swirled and crackled around him, there was still a sharp confidence to his posture and the fire around him could only brighten his already intense red scale. He wore no armor, his nightgown torn, burned black and bloodied. It was not his blood that stained the white silk however--but instead the half dozen assassins’ lying limp on the floor.

As the door swung open he assumed a defensive pose, ready to withstand whatever might come, but was surprised to see allies instead of foes. It was clear when he called out to them that despite tonight's treacherous turn of events, he had no intention of coming off shaken or even bothered.

"It's about time I ran into someone who hasn't fallen so shamefully to these pathetic excuses of assassins." He mused lightly, when suddenly a groan from a body at his feet interrupted his thought. With no more than an annoyed look, he slashed a curve along the man’s neck and beckoned for his two new allies to join him.

With one graceful wave of the senator’s hand, the fire in the room split a path for Reva and Silph to take towards him. A perk of a man whose bloodline was derived from a red dragon. "Come quick you two. We must make haste to the armory in case they've more capable soldiers than this filth."

As the flames parted, Reva began to wriggle and squirm against her rescuer’s iron grip. The auburn haired woman had all but stopped wheezing and her strange eyes seemed to be fixed on the body at the senators feet. After a few moments of not making any progress in her bid for freedom there was a gentle tap on Silph’s shoulder. Immediately, the hold loosened.

Released from the blacksmith’s grip, Reva began to make her way along the path towards Kirvam. Silph’s few words of advice having apparently sunk in, she moved slowly and carefully, using her arms to shield her face from the heat. All the while though her eyes stayed locked on the body and as she approached where the senator stood Reva knelt down. Holding one hand out to shield herself from the spraying blood, the flame haired woman twisted the assassins head towards her. After staring briefly and impassionately at recently stilled face she turned her attention to the fallen warriors robes, grabbing at a stretch of patterned cloth that lined the garments neck. For a few moments the woman held the stained and smoldering fabric, her face a mask of confusion, until something else caught her eye.

“Who?” Reva ripped a strange pendant from around the fallen warrior’s neck before standing up and holding her blood drenched prize out towards the red scaled senator.

“Why?”

With one brow ridge raised, Kirvam took the amulet and studied it for a moment. Its origin was without a doubt, the pendant formerly a golden sun now tinted black and red by soot and blood.

“A curious trinket--and one that raises far too many questions.” Kirvam spoke, urgency growing in his graveled tone. “Come quickly. If for some divine forsaken reason we’re being besieged by a group as enigmatic as the Order of the Morning… well, the loss of my fields and my summer home are just the start.”

He spun on his heels and effortlessly formed a new path through the fire, the senator taking up an unforgiving pace as he led the way to the armory. With Kirvam waving away the smoke and fire that choked the corridors before them, the trio moved quickly through the estate.

As they approached the armory, the red lizard paused and raised a hand to signal the two warriors close behind him to listen. The sounds were hard to detect amidst all the roaring flames and groaning wood but they were unmistakable.

Laughter. Banter. Metal clanging against the stone floor. Order or not, it was clear that some of them were not beyond looting the estate. With a twitch of annoyance in his brow, Kirvam’s hand extended towards a nearby flame and with grace, he drew it to his blade and turned to his companions. He paused, realizing he never asked either of them for their names, and quickly decided it mattered not.

“Are you two prepared for a fight?” Kirvam asked calmly, glancing back at the doorway cautiously before continuing. “I’m sure I can hold their attention long enough for you two to arm yourselves.”

The sound of cracking knuckles was the only answer from Reva as her brilliant gaze swung from the Senator to Silph and then finally, the door.

Silph followed the red-head’s gaze, brows furrowed. “Armed or not, they die tonight.”

Somewhere in the armory lay the armor Silph herself had painstakingly made, the hammer she had spent so many hours honing, the swords she had done much to sharpen. The thought of some filthy bandit simply coming along and claiming her things for themselves - for free - incensed her, and she surged forward, kicking away a burning chair that propped open the door.

It caught the looters off-guard. The closest one to her spun around, mouth agape, his hands grasping--

Ai, Akadum! My hammer! Her face grew dark with fury.

“You--” The rat-faced man spat out. Before the bastard could so much as say another word, the wind was knocked from him as the blonde slammed against him, wrapping her arms around his back with a crushing grip. With a bellow, she lifted up, bending backwards and smashing the man head-down onto the marble floor. It did the trick; Bonesmith came loose from the unconscious man’s hands easily, and she snatched it away.

As she was recovering her balance, Silph felt a gust of air brush past her followed by the appearance of Reva at the edge of her vision. The red head sprinted towards one of the stunned looters. With one hand she caught a sword arm that had been swung too late, using the momentum to push the limb behind it’s owners back, while an elbow found its target in the man’s temple. As her target buckled under the assault, Reva pulled the man’s sword arm straight up behind his back and used her other arm to force his head down onto a rapidly rising knee. There was a stomach churning crunch and the man went limp.

Before she could disentangle herself from the unconscious assasin something smacked into Reva’s throat, lifting her bodily into the air. Feet swinging wildly through thin air and face screwed up from the pain, Reva tried to break the grip around her neck with blind jabs at the arms holding her. This only resulted in her being slammed into a wall, the hard stones acting to increase the pressure of the grip squeezing the life the flame haired woman. Slowly Reva struggles died to nothing, all her energy apparently focused on sucking any amount of air into her lungs.

“Look upon me sinner. Know this is a righteous death.”

There was a slight shift as one burly hand released its grip on Reva’s neck before a thumb prised open one of her eyes, a soft green light illuminating the goon’s smirking face.

“YOU! Fuc-” Reva’s would be executioner recoiled at the sight and the moment of surprise gave the half strangled woman the opening she had been hunting for. This time a fist to the elbow of the arm that still held her buckled the limb and broke the grip. Desperately sucking down air, Reva didn’t give the assassin time to recover, using the wall to launch herself at the man who had nearly strangled her.

In the foreground, Silph could be seen facing off against another of the men, a large brute who somehow managed to dwarf her in size. The Northerner was no seasoned warrior; a relentless blacksmith, yes, but no knight. Her grip tightened on her hammer as she used it to block blow after blow, gritting her teeth as each forceful strike managed to push her back. Again the man came, swinging his sword down at Silph with startling speed. She moved away a second too late; she hissed as the edge of his blade cut into her exposed shoulder.

“Not as fast as the other one, are ya?” The man sneered. Silph cut her eyes at him, ignoring the blood running down her skin. “Don’t worry. I’ll make this quick for you.”

Whatever lunge, grapple, or maneuver the man planned was cut short by a ray of searing fire shot just over Silph’s newly torn wound. The man went crashing into the rack of armor behind him, screaming out all sorts of curses as the flames burned deeper and deeper into his chest.

The senator then appeared at Silph’s side, smoke rising from scaled fingers that still crackled ever so lightly with magic. Whatever pleasantly surprised expression he held at seeing his companions charge before him was replaced with an unimpressed sneer in the presence of their attackers.

“Let us finish up here and get on with our escape.” He sighed as if more annoyed with the fact that they were fighting for their lives than worried. Without warning or permission he turned to Silph and brought a scaled talon to her hammer, the head of her signature weapon suddenly enveloped in a flame not unlike his scimitar.

“A gift for your bravery.” He winked before charging at one of two men left and locking him in one on one combat. Or so the looter thought anyways. As the ruffian made to swing their sword at the senator, an arm appeared around their throat. In one sudden moment they toppled backward to the floor, revealing for a brief moment Reva, her face splattered with bright red blood. Falling on top of the looter she drove the heel of her hand into center of their face before gripping the side of their head, lifting it into the air and then smashing it against the floor over and over until her victim stopped struggling. For good measure Reva twisted the man’s neck until a terminal crack reverberated around the room.

Kirvam watched the sight with an expression that landed somewhere between surprised and amused. “Well I suppose that works too.”

The last man standing suddenly grew a sense of self-preservation as he watched the trio trounce his friends. Gulping, he began to back away from the battle, turning to slip away down the burning hall--

--only to see impending death in the form of a flaming hammer. There was the whumph of metal hitting bone, then a light thud as his body fell to the ground. Silph did not spare him a second glance as she approached the other two, her eyes alight with adrenaline, battle furor, and...fear?

“We must go now. No more wasting time fighting.” She pursed her lips at the sight of Reva's bloodied face, but said nothing about it; a more pressing issue had taken her attention. Her eyes flickered from the hammer in her hands to the lizard, nervousness plain on her face.

“Get rid of these flames,” She barked at Kirvam, shaking Bonesmith emphatically. Sweat had begun to bead at her temple. “This magic is no good. This hammer is fine without it.”

“Very well.” Kirvam nodded, amusement playing on his expression at her reaction. With a simple snap of a finger the flames dissipated and the senator turned towards the nearby wall. It took him only a moment to draw the nearby flames into a concentrated molten orb and blast an opening to the courtyard he knew would be on the other side.

“You don’t reach a position like mine without being prepared for everyth--” Kirvam began, his body interrupting him as a wave of weakness washed over him. It had been awhile since he had the need to cast at this frequency and the fatigue of his magic was setting in. “Come. There’s a button alongside the fountain. We need only press it and we will be safe.”

The Northerner stayed quiet. She’d instinctively grabbed the senator’s elbow lest he fainted, and now her eyes drew up to his own, iron resolve clear on her face.

“We will jump down. I will help you.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Reva?”

From behind the senator came the sound of tearing fabric. Reva, apparently oblivious to the new plan, was feverishly tearing at the robes of one of the dead men, revealing a network of strange tattoos similar to bloody pendant that now hung from her belt. The woman paused, staring at the markings before moving over to the nearest dressed corpse, tearing at it’s clothes with equal fervour.

Her actions were rudely interrupted as Silph’s hand seized on the back of her outer garments. Ignoring any and all protestations, the blonde, with her two companions in tow, went for the opening in the wall. There was a rush of cool, fresh air as Silph leapt the short distance down to the courtyard; then, just as quickly as they’d drawn breath, a haze of smoke filled the air as she set Kirvam and Reva down. Coughing, Silph turned her gaze about the courtyard, blinking at the destruction and chaos. She was mistaken before; it was not just their part of the mansion that burned. The entire estate was alit in flames. Their attackers had gone to great lengths to try and kill them all.

And more could appear at any moment to finish the job. A sense of urgency increasing her speed, Silph ignored the pain in her injured shoulder and moved onwards, approaching the massive fountain in the centre of the courtyard.​

 
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Tamsyn Trelawney

General Information
Full Name:
Grand Knight Tamsyn Trelawney

Nickname(s):
Tammy

Gender:
Female

Age:
Twenty-Five

Race:
Human

Sexuality:
Heterosexual

Allegiance:
Donwick and those everywhere who reject the use of magic.

Appearance:
If someone had to describe Tamsyn in one word it would almost certainly be scruffy. Standing at five foot and ten inches tall she has lean wiry frame and limbs that could most generously be described as gangaley. Her shoulder length red hair is untidily cut and after a few nights in the wild will often be caked with dirt and have twigs or other detritus tangled up in it. Her green eyes are normally surrounded by the dirt and grime that she uses as improvised camouflage.
Personal Attributes
Personality:
For the most part Tamsyn is an easy going and relaxed individual who tries her best to get on with everyone around her. She is confident enough in her abilities to not have a chip on her shoulder about needing to prove herself while at the same time being relaxed enough to not be arrogant. She tries to maintain a fairly sunny disposition and is the type of person who will inject a little humour into any situation no matter how dire.

That said everyone has their buttons to be pushed. For Tamsyn it’s magic. Depending on the vagaries of her mood, the use of magic where she can see it might produce a huffy, disapproving silence or a tongue lashing that isn’t easy to forget. Those who dare to use magic on Tamsyn will earn her lasting hatred and possibly shouldn’t linger in open areas to often for a while.

Backstory:
Tamsyn was born and raised in a small and somewhat remote community on the western shore of Lake Larcer. Her childhood was as happy as it could be and largely devoid of incidents of note, the nearby Fort Larcer acting to help keep monster numbers low. What set Tamsyn’s childhood years apart from those of almost every other child in the land was the deeply held belief of her community, namely the belief that the use of magic for any reason was gross breach of the natural order. People who believed otherwise were swiftly and forcibly if needed encouraged to find a home elsewhere.

Like any other child of the toiling classes, Tamsyn was put to work as soon as she was big enough to be more useful than a hindrance. Her parents owned a hunting lodge and she started her working life by helping her father prepare the carcasses her mother brought in. Having suffered from itchy feet almost as soon as she could crawl, Tamsyn found being stuck indoors boring and dull, living for the days when her mother would ask her to be her little helper.

Tamsyn took to hunting like a duck to water, and by the time her tenth birthday passed she was regularly accompanying her mother on hunting expeditions, lapping up everything that was taught to her. By her seventeenth birthday, Tamsyn was a tested and accomplished hunter in her own right. Even her own mother watched Tamsyn’s exploits with a little envy. Life was good for Tamsyn and could have continued to be if not for her ever growing wanderlust.

Despite everything that she had going for her at home and the dangers of a world that Tamsyn now knew to be full of abominable magic users, the idea of being tied to this one small corner of the world chafed at Tamsyn. She tried accept the blessings she had been given, being able to live in a place free of magic, but still she wanted more. By the time she turned nineteen her hunting expeditions had grown excessively long, with Tamsyn spending weeks at a time in the forests around the lake. Sensing their daughter’s unhappiness, her parents arranged for her to speak with the village chief. The chief encouraged Tamsyn to follow her heart and set out into the world, not just to wander, but also to spread the message of the absolution that abstaining from magic could bring. With a new purpose and fire in her heart Tamsyn set out into the world.

For the first couple of years, Tamsyn lived as a wandering missionary, hunting when she could and trading any excess for whatever else she needed at the time. For the most part, people were uninterested in the message she carried with her, although she would occasionally find a soul receptive to her message.

As the years rolled by, Tamsyn began to proselytize less and less. It seemed to her that the common folk needed magic as a crutch in what was a cruel and confusing world. Despite everything she knew about the evil of magic, she felt unable to ask them to give up anymore of what little they had. This lack of purpose left Tamsyn questioning what she was doing and she began planning to return home. Fate however had other ideas.

While she was making her way homeward, winter bit hard and Tamsyn soon found herself low on provisions and coin. With game of any kind scarce she found herself scanning village notice boards for any work that might make her a little coin. One scrap of paper that caught her eye offered a bounty for the destruction of a banshee that had been taking what little livestock still survived. Until now Tamsyn had left monsters to those who had sworn an oath to risk their lives but the gnawing hunger in her stomach was a powerful motivator. The knowledge of how to destroy the more garden variety monsters was something she understood well enough in theory.

That night Tamsyn baited a field near where the beast had last been seen and settled down amongst some scrubby bushes and waited for her quarry. All night she sat, battling cold and sleep till just as the sun's light had started to creep above the horizon her quarry came into view. The very sight of the creature so close by caused Tamsyn’s blood to turn to ice far colder than nature could manage, and she had to suppress the urge to let her arrow fly and run for safety. It felt like an eternity but Tamsyn managed to hold her nerve until she could see the creature’s mouth which was when she let slip her arrow.

When she deposited the creatures head at the local village elder’s door she was met by a reaction of joy and skepticism. The elder found it hard to believe this slip of a woman's claim that she had brought down the banshee by herself. Still, the evidence was there, and pleased with the her work he offered Tamsyn a few more tasks that she completed with relative ease. Once the man had no more work for her, she set off on a new mission, collecting the bounties on the monsters that the authorities didn't have the time, manpower or will to deal with. It felt good to be helping those who had been abandoned by their protectors; Tamsyn often only accepted a token fee instead of the amounts promised.

The first time someone joked that she should join the Hellhounds Tamsyn dismissed it out of hand, but the suggestion planted a seed in her mind that slowly germinated. While she liked what she was doing, part of her wanted to do more. There were plenty of other bounty hunters chasing down the less powerful beasts of the world; Tamsyn realized that by joining the Hellhounds she would have the opportunity to hunt the monsters that she could never face by herself. Her opportunity to join came when a minor noble found themselves financially embarrassed in the face of Tamsyn holding a bag of giant fingers as proof of work done. After offering her a plethora of stuff, Tamsyn named her price as a letter of recommendation.

Joining the Hellhounds was a mixed experience. While she was able to cope with much of the training, the martial combat lessons were tough for a girl who had never swung anything heftier than a meat cleaver before, and Tamsyn had to scramble to make the grade of just good enough. Additionally she was now surrounded every day by people for whom magic was a way of life whereas on the road she had been able to avoid the majority of magic users. While their flagrant violations of the natural order rankled deep in her soul, Tamsyn also knew the Hellhounds was where she wanted to be. She tried to appease her sense guilt of joining an institution where magic use was so rife by reminding herself of all the good she could do and by drawing new red lines of what she would and wouldn't accept.

Her recent promotion to the Rose Company wasn't something she had expected but welcomed as it gave a chance to make the biggest difference to the world and a chance to prove that abominable magic wasn’t needed to fight the good fight.

Strengths:
-Sharpshooter extraordinaire: Tamsyn has been hunting small, fast, fluffy things for the better part of two decades now and she got pretty good at hitting them. While other use magic to aid their shots, Tamsyn relies on skill and years of practice to hit her targets dead on with the first shot.

-Moves like a shadow: Both monsters and animals generally have keen senses and if you are to have a chance of hunting them then you have to move as softly as a shadow across the land. Such is Tamsyn skill a disappearing into the background some have speculated if she utilises some type of magic to aid her which in equal parts fills her with pride and irritates her.

-Lands on her feet: A strong sense of balance and good coordination make Tamsyn quite acrobatic. She doesn’t get knocked down easily and often springs up quickly if she does.

Weaknesses:
-Prefers to keep her distance: While her technical close combat skills are more or less adequate to the task of being in the Rose company, she in no way matches the level of sheer physicality that most of her compatriots display and in a close quarters situation she can quite easily be overwhelmed.

-Deep seated belief: Not only does Tamsyn not have any form of magical ability whatsoever, she also has strongly held beliefs that magic and its use is an affront to the natural order of the universe. She will not knowingly use magically imbued items nor willingly allow magic to be used on herself, including vitalis magic. If she gets injured she will only use “natural” treatments to tend to her wounds.

-Sorry, say that again: From as early as Tamsyn can remember she has had a ringing in her right ear. Most of the time it doesn’t bother her, having long ago got used to it. However the ringing also means that her hearing in that ear is significantly worse than it should be. Stress makes the ringing louder and her hearing even worse which is just really great for someone in battle situations.

-Barely educated: Outside of hunting, Tamsyn hasn’t had much of an education. She can butcher a pig and just about balance a business ledger if she uses all her fingers and toes but that's about it. As far as she is concerned great treaties or works of literature are just well packed sources of kindling or toilet paper.


Magic & Equipment

Magic:
Like her parents, Tamsyn has no ability to channel magic, not that she’s ever wanted or tried to. As far as she is concerned the use of magic is a flagrant violation of that natural order. However her experiences away from the community she grew up in have caused her to largely internalize her beliefs.

Weapon of Choice:
A bow. Any bow.

Gear:
~A reflex bow complimented with a quiver of forty arrows.
~A forty centimetre degen sword.
~A dagger.
~A leather Cuirass and Cuisse (torso and thighs)
~A chain Hauberk (usually kept tightly rolled in old fabric)
~A Bedroll
~A water skin
~A tinderbox
~A length of rope

 

Cerys Victoria Owens
Soilder | Thirty-Two | Welsh
Name:

Cerys Victoria Owens

Nickname:

Tor, The Dragon of Graceland

Race:

Caucasian (Welsh)

Age:

Thirty-Two

Home Territory:

Graceland

Profession:

Guard

Description:

Cerys is no easy to miss waif of a being. Clocking in at five foot and nine inches tall, her frame is bulked out by the sort of well defined muscles that are only achieved through buckets of sweat and decorated with a slew of piercings and long, swirling, lilac tattoos that travel up from her wrists on onto her back. This striking look is completed by the shock of dark red hair, most of which is tied back in long, thick braids while the rest has been shaved almost to the scalp.

When it comes to clothes, Cerys values practicality and freedom of movement over other considerations like protection from the elements; there isn’t much in the way of bad weather that can phase this girl from Brecon anyway. When traveling Cerys prefers a small pack over something large and cumbersome and makes up for the lack of space with various pouches strapped to her belt. The only slight concession to personal style this welsh transplant makes comes in the form of dog tag necklace; only one of the tags remains but either side of it hang two gold rings.

Personality:

In years gone by, Cerys was known, possibly even renowned for her breathtaking anger. People who crossed her would at the very least receive both barrels of a vicious bilingual assault. Others lost limbs. Since she returned from her long stay in Eden however Cerys is significantly more measured in temperament; Whether the anger the used to drive her has been extinguished or just buried it is impossible to tell but she is more like a stern school mistress than a fire breathing dragon. Taciturn would perhaps be the best word to describe her now. She’ll never use twenty words to say something if ten will do and she very much doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve. That is not to say that Cerys is shy. She will give her opinion on something just as readily if she hasn’t been asked as if she has. Either way it will be delivered in a blunt and to the point fashion. She will open up more to those she has shared plenty of history with, but even then she still gives off a guarded vibe, as if she doesn't want to get too close to people.

Bio:

Cerys was seventeen when the world collapsed. On holiday in the United States celebrating passing Royal Navy basic training, she wasn’t able to get out of the country before the borders were closed. Stuck in a world where society was disintegrating more and more every day she did what everyone else did. She joined the biggest group of survivors she could find and tried her best to stick with them.

The group Cerys had joined, like so many others at the time, was semi-nomadic, wondering till they found somewhere to settle and staying there until a lack of supplies, the dead or other survivors forced them to move on. This pattern repeated itself over and over for the next three years.. Over time, human stupidity, ego, greed and wroth whittled down the number of survivors till perhaps only one in five of the original group members remained. The zombies and disease played a part too.

As the number of survivors dwindled, Cerys slowly became an increasingly important figure. At first her youthfulness and foreign accent meant that she wasn’t taken seriously when she said she had military experience. As the ranks began to thin however, the leaders of Cery’s group became more willing to accept the foreign girl's claims. Her gun, was literally prized from a dead man’s hands and she was promoted into their position.

Those first three years for many were the worst part of the end of the world. For Cerys, they were largely the best. The pressure cooker atmosphere of the apocalypse made romances burned hotter as everyone looked for someone to share the horror and pain with and the lost welsh girl found Heather. The thirty year old New Mexico native was a balm to a painful world and Cerys fell head over heels for the woman. For two and a half years, the pair were all but inseparable, guiding each other through the nightmare of a zombie apocalypse. And then the bandit raid happened. The feeling of Heather’s blood seeping through her hands still haunts Cery’s dreams. The ever pervasive feeling that she failed to protect the person she loved still haunts her days.

By the time Graceland was formed, Cerys wasn’t ready to settle down. There were too many feelings she wanted to runaway from. At the same time however, the thought of not knowing anyone who had known Heather was too much to bear. Instead she spent the next seven years guarding the settlement’s trading expeditions. There was a sort of peace in traveling. She took particular pleasure in dealing with any bandits that tried to rob the settlements good. Disturbing and reckless pleasure. Eventually though this recklessness caught up with her and she ended up with a bullet in her right thigh and a knife in her back before she lost consciousness. Cerys survived due to the fact the bandit attack took place less than an hours frantic horse ride from Eden and blind dumb luck.

It was a year before Cerys was strong enough to even think about making the journey back Graceland. It was another eight months before the leadership of Eden where satisfied that she had paid back enough to community that had saved her to let her go. When she finally returned to Graceland, people noticed something was different about Cerys. That anger at the world and desire not to be still to long seemed to have gone. She still wasn’t easy to get along with and seemed somewhat distant, but now she seemed to have a desire to be in Graceland, to keep it safe.

Pack:

Traveling light is the name of the game and apart from the bare essentials of a couple of days worth of water, some food, a small first aid kit and a change of underwear and perhaps a warm top, not much else goes into Cery’s pack or pouches. There is an old plastic sheet big enough to form a small shelter, a spool of navigation line, as much spare ammunition as she has at any one time and carefully folded, a very old and much repaired Welsh flag. In addition to this she also keeps a baseball bat with a circular saw blade embedded and bolted into the end strapped to her pack, a metal, spring powered realistic looking BB gun and knife on her belt and almost most importantly of all a repeating rifle slung across her shoulder. Cery’s most truly treasured possession however is the necklace on which hang two gold rings and a single, battered military dog tag.

Skills:

  • A remarkably better than average shot with most guns
  • Battlefield first aid trained.
  • Survival training.

Strengths:

  • Natural navigator.
  • In near prime physical condition.
  • Has traveled many of the major trade routes multiple times.

Weaknesses:

  • Her right legs both pains and slows her down.
  • Reduced hearing and tinnitus in her right ear.
  • Suffers from hayfever.

Romanceable:

Theoretically

Art:
Credit to Karla Ortiz
 

Cerys Victoria Owens
Solider | Thirty-Two | Welsh
Name:

Cerys Victoria Owens

Nickname:

Tor, The Dragon of Graceland

Race:

Caucasian (Welsh)

Age:

Thirty-Two

Home Territory:

Graceland

Profession:

Sentinel

Description:

Cerys is no easy to miss waif of a being. Clocking in at five foot and nine inches tall, her frame is bulked out by the sort of well defined muscles that are only achieved through buckets of sweat and decorated with a slew of piercings and long, swirling, lilac tattoos that travel up from her wrists on onto her back. This striking look is completed by the shock of dark red hair, most of which is tied back in long, thick braids while the rest has been shaved almost to the scalp.

When it comes to clothes, Cerys values practicality and freedom of movement over other considerations like protection from the elements; there isn’t much in the way of bad weather that can phase this girl from Brecon anyway. When traveling Cerys prefers a small pack over something large and cumbersome and makes up for the lack of space with various pouches strapped to her belt. The only slight concession to personal style this welsh transplant makes comes in the form of dog tag necklace; only one of the tags remains but either side of it hang two gold rings.​

Personality:

In years gone by, Cerys was known, possibly even renowned for her breathtaking anger. People who crossed her would at the very least receive both barrels of a vicious bilingual assault. Others lost limbs. Since she returned from her long stay in Eden however Cerys is significantly more measured in temperament; Whether the anger the used to drive her has been extinguished or just buried it is impossible to tell but she is more like a stern school mistress than a fire breathing dragon. Taciturn would perhaps be the best word to describe her now. She’ll never use twenty words to say something if ten will do and she very much doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve. That is not to say that Cerys is shy. She will give her opinion on something just as readily if she hasn’t been asked as if she has. Either way it will be delivered in a blunt and to the point fashion. She will open up more to those she has shared plenty of history with, but even then she still gives off a guarded vibe, as if she doesn't want to get too close to people.​

Bio:

Cerys was seventeen when the world collapsed. On holiday in the United States celebrating passing basic training to join the Royal Marines, she wasn’t able to get out of the country before the borders were closed. Stuck in a world where society was disintegrating more and more every day she did what everyone else did. She joined the biggest group of survivors she could find and tried her best to stick with them.

The group Cerys had joined, like so many others at the time, was semi-nomadic, wondering till they found somewhere to settle and staying there until a lack of supplies, the dead or other survivors forced them to move on. This pattern repeated itself over and over for the next three years.. Over time, human stupidity, ego, greed and wroth whittled down the number of survivors till perhaps only one in five of the original group members remained. The zombies and disease played a part too.

As the number of survivors dwindled, Cerys slowly became an increasingly important figure. At first her youthfulness and foreign accent meant that she wasn’t taken seriously when she said she had military experience. As the ranks began to thin however, the leaders of Cery’s group became more willing to accept the foreign girl's claims. Her gun, was literally prized from a dead man’s hands and she was promoted into their position.

Those first three years for many were the worst part of the end of the world. For Cerys, they were largely the best. The pressure cooker atmosphere of the apocalypse made romances burned hotter as everyone looked for someone to share the horror and pain with and the lost welsh girl found Heather. The thirty year old New Mexico native was a balm to a painful world and Cerys fell head over heels for the woman. For two and a half years, the pair were all but inseparable, guiding each other through the nightmare of a zombie apocalypse. And then the bandit raid happened. The feeling of Heather’s blood seeping through her hands still haunts Cery’s dreams. The ever pervasive feeling that she failed to protect the person she loved still haunts her days.

By the time Graceland was formed, Cerys wasn’t ready to settle down. There were too many feelings she wanted to runaway from. At the same time however, the thought of not knowing anyone who had known Heather was too much to bear. Instead she spent the next seven years guarding the settlement’s trading expeditions. There was a sort of peace in traveling. She took particular pleasure in dealing with any bandits that tried to rob the settlements good. Disturbing and reckless pleasure. Eventually though this recklessness caught up with her and she ended up with a bullet in her right thigh and a knife in her back before she lost consciousness. Cerys survived due to the fact the bandit attack took place less than an hours frantic horse ride from Eden and blind dumb luck.

It was a year before Cerys was strong enough to even think about making the journey back Graceland. It was another eight months before the leadership of Eden where satisfied that she had paid back enough to community that had saved her to let her go. When she finally returned to Graceland, people noticed something was different about Cerys. That anger at the world and desire not to be still to long seemed to have gone. She still wasn’t easy to get along with and seemed somewhat distant, but now she seemed to have a desire to be in Graceland, to keep it safe.

Pack:

Traveling light is the name of the game and apart from the bare essentials of a couple of days worth of water, some food, a small first aid kit and a change of underwear and perhaps a warm top, not much else goes into Cery’s pack or pouches. There is an old plastic sheet big enough to form a small shelter, a spool of navigation line, as much spare ammunition as she has at any one time and carefully folded, a very old and much repaired Welsh flag. In addition to this she also keeps a baseball bat with a circular saw blade embedded and bolted into the end strapped to her pack, a metal, spring powered realistic looking BB gun and knife on her belt and almost most importantly of all a repeating rifle slung across her shoulder. Cery’s most truly treasured possession however is the necklace on which hang two gold rings and a single, battered military dog tag.​

Skills:

  • Military Survival training.
  • Battlefield first aid trained.
  • A remarkably better than average shot with most guns.

Strengths:

  • Natural navigator.
  • In near prime physical condition.
  • Has traveled many of the major trade routes multiple times.

Weaknesses:

  • Suffers from hayfever.
  • Reduced hearing and tinnitus in her right ear.
  • Her right legs both pains and slows her down.

Romanceable:

Theoretically.

Art:
Credit to Karla Ortiz
 
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FONT 2
FONT 3
BOUNTY HUNTERS ATTENTION
WANTED
☞ DEAD OR ALIVE ☜

"Henrietta Anne Summers"
★ CASH REWARD ★
★ PERSONALITY ★
Vivacious, vain, flighty, fast, hedonistic and harlot are all words that have been used by people who believe themselves to be of a certain standing to describe Henrietta. She pays them no mind. She saw how dull and unappealing life would be if those kind of people had their way and she wants no part of it. Why spend years working her fingers to the bone with tedious work when she could be the heart and soul of a party everyday and earn enough to buy what she wants far sooner.

★ BIOGRAPHY ★
Born in Fort Pierre, a small trading post town in what was formerly Minnesota Territory, Henrietta was always a soul out of place. Her father was a trapper who worked a line north of the town while her mother tended to their small homestead. Both were hardworking pious people who were fiercely proud of what little they had. Their daughter was nothing like them at all. From a young age Henrietta always seemed to be longing for the prettiest dress or a new doll while also being particularly inclined to shirk her duties around the home either by playing with other children, staring vainly at a mirror or just losing herself in day-dreams.

For nigh on sixteen years her parents tried to beat and harang their daughter into their strait-jacketed ways, but Henrietta was having none of it; she wanted the lights, glamour, excitement and money that she knew came with big city living. A month before her sixteenth birthday she packed up everything that she owned and more than a little that she didn’t, walked out of the only home she had ever known and didn’t look back. Her destination, the City of Kansas.

It took three weeks of travelling with a trade caravan to reach the booming city but when she arrived it was everything Henrietta had been dreaming of. There were people everywhere and the city pulsed to the sound of sawing wood, beating hammers as building were thrown as fast as possible to accommodate all the newcomers that the recently completed rail bridge across the Missouri River was attracting. What money Henrietta had didn’t last long but in a town where men still vastly outnumbered women loose morals and a pretty face were all a girl needed and Henrietta had a very pretty face framed by long auburn hair and jeweled with deep green eyes.

Starting out as a saloon girl, Henrietta’s job to fawn over customers and encourage them to buy drinks. The more they bought, the more she earned. Once room and board were paid for, most of her wages went on fine clothes and fine living. In an effort to earn more she also started dancing, both in dance halls and on stage. Over the next five years life settled into an extremely comfortable but increasingly dull routine. All that changed when a handsome stranger asked Henrietta for her dance card.

Arthur Summers was exciting. A wannabe outlaw from Cheyenne, Wyoming, he swept Henrietta off her feet with his good looks, silver tongue and big dreams. A little over two weeks after meeting him she was riding out of town on the back of his horse as his wife. Life as part of his roving gang of misfits and criminals was no way as comfortable as it had been in the city but it was infinitely more exciting. Roaming across the west, the Summers’ Gang would stay in one town only for as long as it took to extract all the money they thought they could, from the populace.

Often Henrietta and the other woman in the gang would arrive in town first, ingratiating themselves amongst the populace in an attempt to gather information about who or what was worth the gangs attention. A rouse that Henrietta particularly enjoyed was to secure herself a position as a saloon girl. In the back country cow towns where men outnumber women even more than they had done in Kansas she could have half the town wrapped around her finger in a matter of days and get paid for it. Even if there was nothing much going on in town, working in the saloons gave Henrietta ample opportunity to pick pockets or guide well to do drunks into an alleyway where Arthur and the rest of the gang would lighten the poor souls load.

Perhaps it is a testament to her ability that the only times Henrietta was arrested was for minor crimes such as picking pockets or being drunk and disorderly. She never stayed in jail long. In most cowpoke towns a little outrageous flirting with the promise of more to come would get her cell door unlocked. If that failed Arthur was always prepared to kick down a few doors and paint the walls red for his beloved wife.

Naturally, life as an outlaw was also vastly more perilous than life as an upright citizen. Between other bandits, the law and righteous citizens there were plenty of people who would have liked to see the Summers Gang dead and buried and over the years several members were. Learning to handle a gun wasn’t an option and over the years Henrietta became comfortable with repeating rifles, shotguns and six-shooters. Her preferred gun, however, was the jeweled derringer pistol that Arthur bought her as a wedding present. Little did she know at the time that that would be the gun to terminate her marriage.

Returning to a room, they had rented for a few days; Henrietta found her husband enthusiastically screwing a whore whom she had chased off only days earlier while Arthur had laughed at her being overprotective and jealous. JEALOUS! In a fit of pique Henrietta emptied both barrels of her derringer into the pair of illicit lovers before snatching up Arthur’s Colt peacemaker from the end of the bed and emptying it into them too. Running downstairs and through the gathering crowd, Henrietta took Arthur’s horse and fled with nothing but the clothes on her back, the guns in her hands, whatever was in the beasts saddlebags and grief in her heart. She stumbled on the invitation to Highland quite by accident in some nowhere town on the Utah Wyoming border. With no other prospects it was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to squander. A growing town would have a saloon, and it would need whiskey girls and dancers.

★ WORK EXPERIENCE ★
Most of Henrietta’s legit income has come from her work as a saloon girl. Her job was to create a comely atmosphere to help patrons relax and encourage them to buy drinks. She most certainly wasn’t a whore. Her wages were based on the commission that she would make on each drink she caused to be bought. She also spent some time supplementing her income by being a dancer. This involved both dancing with paying customers and dancing dances such as the can-can on stage.

More recently, Henrietta made her living as an outlaw. While she often played the role of a saloon girl for the sake of gathering information, she also picked pockets, acted as a honey trap and on one memorable occasion acted as the inside woman on a bank robbery.

★ SKILLS★
Hostess: A saloon without saloon girls can be a dull and miserable place. Henrietta is good at creating an atmosphere that encourages drinks to flow; talking; singing; flirting, even playing poker. Helping people to relax and spend their money is Henrietta’s bread and butter.

Dancer: Good looks, the ability to keep a rhythm and a desire for money made dancing a natural progression for Henrietta. Mostly she danced waltzes to schottisches with anyone willing to pay for the pleasure, but she also did some show dancing including the Can Can.

Pickpocket: Drunks made good targets for an aspiring pickpocket, even if they did notice Henrietta’s roaming hands they were inclined to believe she was getting overly friendly rather than trying to rob them. Over the course of four years Henrietta got good enough that even most sober people didn’t notice their valuables had been appropriated.

Seductress: Working as a saloon girl and a dancer requires a woman to make each and every customer think they are special. It is only a small step from that to making a person think that Henrietta thinks they are very special indeed; at the point she can get people to do almost anything she wants.

Good with a Gun: Being an outlaw is a violent life and one that is often lived by the gun. Arthur made sure that his wife was comfortable handling a firearm and Henrietta got enough practice that she could hit things more often than not.
 
Last edited:
Does Izz flip out and go nuts

1-3 = Yes (+1 for hanna saying get it together - im sorry big sis please think im cool)
4-20 = No
 


A rock breaks the oceans.

Information

Full Name: Tamsyn Grimm

Nickname: Tammy

Age: Twenty-Seven

Gender: Cis-Female

Pronouns: Feminine




Diving Deeper

Sexuality: Undisclosed

Marital Status: Single

Crush: Who ever is most useful.

House: Grimm

Rank: Lady of The Greyshield

Other Info: Eldest of eight sisters.




Appearance

Hair Color: Auburn

Hair Style: Long and strait, often wound into a single plait.

Eye Color: Green

Skin Tone: Pale

Other Info: Favors greens and greys in her clothes.




Other Information

Weapons: An eight inch, ornately engraved marlin-spike that she uses as a necklace.

Pets: None

Skills: In depth theoretical knowledge of sail craft, practiced negotiator, able to drink most men under the table.

Brief Family Tree:
Nicholas Grimm, Father - Deceased

Alyssa Grimm née Redwyne, Mother - Deceased

Kaylee Grimm née Merryweather, Stepmother - Alive

Liola Grimm, Twin sister - Alive

Catelynn Grimm, Sister - Alive

Astrid Grimm, Sister - Alive

Talia Grimm, Sister - Alive

Olenna Grimm, Half Sister - Alive

Mira Grimm, Half Sister - Alive

Amber Grimm, Half Sister - Alive



Headcanons

- Her sisters are the most important people in her life and her twin, Liola, is her closest friend.

- She refuses to become just someones wife and be expected to have babies until it kills her, as it did her mother.

- Nearly always has an ulterior motive or seven.





THE AGE OF ICE & SNOW
SIGNUPS
BY ZENITH AND APHRODITE
TEMPLATE BY #ODETTE
 
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"A rock parts oceans."


“Do you think our ancestors made a mistake in coming here, Li?”

Perched on the end of a bed that took up far more of the sleeping chamber than was really practical, Tamsyn Grimm stared out across the grey mass of water towards the point where sky and sea became one. The heavy shutter that would have normally obstructed her view had been pushed wide open to allow for this indulgence, and the price of that was the room was no warmer than outside despite the efforts of the spluttering fire. Tamsyn’s breath hung in the air as she pulled the heavy bed sheets close around her.

“Considering that as far as I know anyone beyond the city walls is long dead, I would say no they didn’t”

From behind her, Tamsyn heard the sound of liquid splashing into a cup and she reached out a hand without thinking.

“Our family survived every winter before this one without being trapped in this castle.”

“When before has there been a winter like this, Tammy? And what about those other things you told me about?”

Twisting slightly, Tamsyn turned just enough to glimpse her sister out of the corner of her eye and was momentarily disappointed that her life long companion was busy brushing their hair rather than holding out the cup of wine she was certain had been poured. The arm that had been braving the cold in anticipation of said wine retreated back into the nest of blankets.

“From what little I can find of them in the Maester's records, they couldn’t cross deep water. We could have spent our lives living on our own lands, our own castle instead of being trapped in this old heap.” Standing up with bedding falling around her like a mismatched patchwork cloak, Tamsyn shuffled across the cold floor until she could place her chin on her twin’s shoulder, closing her eyes as she did so. “A place that was genuinely our own where we could be ourselves instead of playing dress up everyday. Wouldn’t that have been better?”

“Perhaps it would have been, or perhaps we would now be fleeing for our lives or just maybe our family would have ended fifty years ago and we wouldn’t have been born. Anyway-” There was a pause and the rustle of fabric before Tamsyn felt the gentle weight of Liola forehead against her own. “If the Grimm’s had stayed on Greyshield, there’s no way you would be Lady Paramount of the Reach or Master of Ships. Apart from father, no one else of our name has ever held those offices.”

“And holding them was father's dream, not mine.”

“You could always relinquish them to me then Tammy” A flash of hot breath rushed between the sisters as Liola giggled at something. “My first act as your Lady Paramount would be to give Cate and Astrid the key to your reserves of wine.”

“So you’d be a heartless Tyrant.” Starting to giggle a little herself, Tamsyn pivoted with mock sorrow plastered across her face. “I suppose it is good to know the person who would succeed me would treat me so poorly. What other torments have you been dreaming up for me to endure, sister?”

“Too many to even list. If you don’t start getting dressed now you might find out what they are, though. You should be at the small council chambers by now. Keep our King waiting too long, and you won’t have to worry about the burdens of office anymore.”

“I still have a little time. These things never run on time.”

“Tammy, you need to get ready now.”

Tamsyn noticed the change of tone in her sister's voice a moment too late as the blankets that had been keeping her warm were suddenly ripped away allowing the teeth ice cold air to bite at her naked flesh.

“In the name of seven Li,” Clutching at her body, Tamsyn twisted to look her sister in the eyes, pure incredulity radiating from her face. “You know technically I could have you flogged for that.”

“Of course you could.” The smirk on Liola's face conveyed what both siblings knew to be the truth about that statement. “Now get dressed. Your wine will be waiting with me for when you’re ready.”



As she approached the chamber of the small council, Tamsyn paused to drain her cup before summoning one of the attending guards with the flick of a finger. As the man approached, she placed the empty vessel into his hands before he had a chance to realise and resist what was happening before shrugging off the heavy fur cloak she had worn for a semblance of warmth into his arms as well. While it wasn’t particularly practical to give up a heavy cloak in favour of classically cut green dress, it was a necessary evil. While uncouth northerners might mill about in heavy furs, Tamsyn was a lady of the Reach, in fact, she was the Lady of the Reach. Such a title came with expectations.

“See they are taken to my chambers, thankyou.”

She knew it wasn’t entirely correct for her to treat a sworn guard of the crown as little more than a common servant but if she had to endure the tediums of officialdom, Tamsyn was certain that she would also enjoy the perks whenever she could. Besides there were more than enough men here to guard the meeting. If this one had any brains he would find a quiet corner to take a break in, but that was really neither here nor there to her. She had a job to do just as he had.

Pushing through the council chamber’s doors, Tamsyn paced quickly to the end of the table opposite the king. After dipping into a suitably reverent curtsey, she continued her journey to the chair that by custom belonged to the Master of Ships, stopping with her hands resting on it.

“Apologies for my lateness, your majesty. I had to deal with an unexpected family matter.” With seven sisters ranging from her own age to five name days old and a step-mother living under what counted as her roof, it was a good lie. Normally there was some issue she had to deal with. Complete harmony was a rare thing. “I hope I have not kept you waiting too long.”