This is me, getting ready to 'sign up'
Edit: I did it
R o w a n
"People see the horns and they assume that I'm some kind of monster. Sometimes? I'm not so sure they're wrong."
NAME: Francine Rowan Doyle -
goes by Rowan
RACE: Tiefling
GENDER: Female
AGE: 27
ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral
DEITY: Obanir the Tongue Dripped in Silver
[spoili]
"She claims to follow Obanir, but I've never once seen her solve a problem with words and clever banter."[/spoili]
CLASS: Martial-Rapier
BLOODLINE: Beastbrood
APPEARANCE: Rowan has a striking complexion due to an uncommon, yet harmless, skin condition her father attributes to being the spawn of a demon. She has dark, tanned skin with pale, freckled patches over the bridge of her nose and both of her arms. Her eyes are a deep lavender, not unmistakable for gray at a distance. Platinum in color, her hair is long and unkempt. Rowan often keeps her thick locks tied back to avoid any real type of maintenance. Two horns protrude from either side of her head just behind her temples. The base of the horns are gnarled and thick, and they do not point out very far. She is otherwise of average height and a lean build from many years on the road. Typically she can be seen in cropped leather armor and loose fitting tunics.
PERSONALITY: She tried to be good, once upon a time, and play the political social game the high lords and ladies played. No more. At face value Rowan is a crass, but jovial individual. Most people already expect deviancy from her, and so she acts the part. Rowan is happy to give in to her most primal desires, what others might consider unforgivable sins. She indulges in different pleasures with no regard to consequence and blames it on her inherent nature. Drink, lust, coin, they all satiate some kind of desire she believes is a natural part of being cursed. Rowan is otherwise easygoing and indifferent to the stigmas of others race or bloodline.
There is still a small part of her which craves the acceptance of others, or maybe it's attention. Rowan isn't entirely sure herself. She knows what kind of creature she is and she takes no joy in being an outcast. But to display weakness would only open her up to all of society to prod and poke at, and she doesn't like the idea of giving away an opportunity to be wounded, and so she does her best not to care.
HISTORY: There was nothing beautiful or blessed about the day Rowan was born. When she came from her mother's womb and into the world, screaming and crying with her infantile lungs, she was deemed as wicked and wretched as the creature that truly bore her. With horns on either side of her head, there was no mistaking that the infant born between the Lord and Lady Doyle was nothing other than the spawn of a Demon. Having done nothing but live for the briefest of moments, her own mother threatened to declare the child dead and cast her in the river. Some days, Rowan thinks that might have been the right choice for everyone. It was her father, Lord Benedict Doyle, who swore his wife, Francesca, to secrecy for the sake of their reputation. For years, the couple had tried to conceive, praying to any deity that would listen. When their prayers went unanswered, Benedict turned to the only other force capable of giving him what he wanted. And so, through an unholy deal, Rowan came to be.
She spent the early years of her life in relative normalcy in the Southern region of Dorothea. To keep what he'd done a secret, her father would pull his young daughter aside and file down her horns until they were levelled with her skull. But, he couldn't hide her impish nature, and gossip spread that something was wrong with Rowan from a very early age. She had the strong features of her father, and the hair of her mother, but her glowing lavender eyes spun tales of demonic origin.
When Rowan was fifteen, she was sent away with her mother for her unruly behavior. In truth, her father had planned their death as a means to make way for a life with his mistress. She was a pretty young thing with a swollen belly. He had grown weary of trying to hide the truth of his daughter's identity and wanted to put an end to the mistake he'd made all those years ago. Rowan's father paid a hefty sum to a group of thugs to act as their caravan guards, with orders to execute the two women when they approached the border of the Nature's Throat. His plan backfired when the caravan was ambushed by a group of rogue elves. Rowan was just able to slip through the chaos, finding company with a wounded caravan guard. She'll never forget when he told her he'd 'rather live with a hellspawn than die by a flesh eatin' elf'. His cowardice saved her life.
In a twist of fate, Rowan has spent the last decade with her would be murderer turned ally, Esra Thorne, wandering the border between human and elf picking up odd jobs along the way. Mercenary work is nice when they can find it, but the two aren't above pilfering to make a living. She can't help but feel like he'll turn her over for a sack of gold, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Last she heard, her father had three children of his own and was living a bit too comfortably in her childhood home.