If you can submit a CS by the end of the day then I will still look over them to consider if you'd like! I am looking for no more than 5 more players.
Approved. Don't forget to post your face claim as I will need it for the official CS that will be posted in the clan!
I'm sorry, but your character is not approved. Thank you for your interest, and good luck out there!
Understandable. I actually got the character finished, but my browser ate my formatting, and when I tried to get it back... apparently it just vomited up that instead of my actual character. I tried to fix that, but I apparently did something to that post, and it refused to work. That's what I get for speed writing, and not putting it in a google doc. Hm~ thought I deleted its ugly carcass from the site. Apparently, my browser ate itself in that regard as well. Ah. Sigh~ thank you for being patient with me. Have a wonderful RP.
Approved!
MOIRA NYNES
"I hope they bleed as much as they talk."
[stabs=390x450]
{slide=Basics|center}//Age
26
//Race
Faledrin Human
//Magic
------
//Appearance
Standing at 5'6", Moira's physique reads that of an athlete -- lightly muscled and bordering on slim, with strong legs that allow her agility. Her blonde hair falls just to her shoulders, normally thrown back into a messy, thoughtless bun for the sake of convenience, and her eyes are a dark shade of gold and green-flecked hazel. On her face, two scars are etched in her light freckle-peppered skin; one dashed across her cheek and the other jutting up from her top lip.
//Characteristics
(+) Determined, Loyal, Playful
(/) Outspoken, Inquisitive
(-) Stubborn, Vengeful, Tempered
{/slide}
{slide=More|center}//History
Moira was born in Faledrin to a fisherman and a mother she has little recollection of, since she died of illness around the time her daughter turned the age of four. Driven to provide the best he possibly could for his only daughter, Moira's father spent the majority of his time as a fisherman, and Moira, with no one else to watch over her, tagged along. The father-daughter duo's lives for years consisted of unsteady, nauseating boat rides and flailing fish; Moira loved it. Every moment spent at her father's side, she soaked up -- he was all she knew.
In some twisted fate, it wasn't long until the same illness that fell upon her mother stole her father's health. At ten years old, a panicked Moira ran from doctor to doctor, pleading for them to heal her father -- if not, then only to ease his symptoms and grant him at least some sense of comfort. They were quick to refuse. Without the coin needed to pay for the services of a doctor, both Moira and her father were at a loss, and her father's ailments were only worsening. His fever hit a high, and it was when her father coughed up blood that Moira decided to take to the streets.
"Dad?" Her voice was meek as she peered around the corner into her father's room, where he lay curled up on a straw bed, covered in both of the only blankets they had. His response was little more than a grunt, and she tapped her fingernails on the doorframe. "Dad, I'm gonna get you help, okay?" No response. Nervously, she kept tapping. "I'll be right back, okay, dad? You're... You're not gonna be like mom, okay?" She saw her father shift. "I'll be right back," she repeated, turning to leave as her hand dropped down to return to her side.
"No."
It was the most firm his voice had been since his illness set in. Her heart lurched. Moira spun on her heel to face him, only to see him on his feet, his usually lively face paled and beaded with sweat. Fearful, she darted towards him and waved for him to lay back down. "Dad, please," she begged, any other words dying in her throat as her father cut her short.
"Moira, no. You don't need to be wandering around those streets, especially not for --" It began with one cough. Then another, and another, until he vomited. The blood pooled around by his feet, and Moira, horrified, used all her strength to push him back onto the bed by his shoulders.
"Lay down and stop playing tough! I'll go get help!" And with that Moira was off, dashing into the streets. Her gaze snapped both ways across the street, and a small bit of relief flooded over her when she saw a group of nobles, guarded by two warriors began to approach. Money! For a doctor! She wasted no time in sprinting to them. "Please! Ma'am! Sir!" Shaking hands gripping onto the noble woman's dress, she snapped her head up to look at her. "Please! My dad, he's gonna --" Sharp pain exploded over her cheekbone, and Moira crumbled backward onto the ground to see the guard wipe off the butt of his sword with a ridiculously clean piece of cloth.
"Disgusting," muttered the noble woman, grimacing as she looked at the bunched up fabric where Moira's hands were. She shook her head and grunted, before her eyes, cold and angry, fell down onto Moira. "Keep your grimy little hands off me, rat. Scurry back to your hidey-hole." The nobles marched forward and their guards kept keen eyes on the girl as they passed, leaving her to try to fathom what just happened. Moira lifted her hand to her cheek. It came away red.
In the days following, Moira ventured out into the streets and begged for money; the rich wouldn't spare her a glance, but she found those already living on the streets to be the most giving, despite having the least. One day she returned home, and she found her father dead, blood seeping from his mouth and eyes closed.
She was on her own. Living on the streets, she found a community with those less than fortunate -- although crime was still relevant and fights were a common occurrence. They'd share what little they had with one another, including disdainful scoffs from nobles as they passed by; how people could be so full of arrogance and yet not explode was beyond her. When she was fourteen, her friend Alfred, another kid living parentless on the streets, proposed a scheme to sneak into a noble's home and spy.
Moira scoffed. "You're mad."
"I am! Standin' in this alley all damn day would make anyone lose it," he said, sweeping his arms out in an overblown gesture toward the broken-down alley they frequented. He arched a brow, pointing a finger at Moira. "But y'know what? You're right. We gotta' work our way up, think small. Get some practice in for peekin' in on the big hats."
She loosed something akin to a sigh and a chuckle. "What're you thinking? Eavesdropping on people? Maybe sneaking up on some mice?"
A toothy grin brightened his expression. "Aye, you've got an idea there, Moira."
"Oh no."
"The eavesdroppin' bit. Not the mice stalkin'," Alfred said, already turned and ambling his way down the alley.
Moira shook her head, smiling. "I had a hunch." With tentative steps, she trailed after him.
Every time they came together, they caused trouble, though it became less and less over time as spying on people around them became easier. The duo learned of secrets of all kinds -- trivial, humorous, embarrassing, frightening -- and their curiosity about what skeletons nobles, who seemed like another species entirely, had hidden away in their closets.
"They deserve no secrets," Alfred told her one night while they were huddled around a fire. Moira held her hands out towards the flame, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "They don't care 'bout us. They don't care 'bout nothin' aside from their fancy wines and frilly clothes."
She looked to him. "Do you expect them to give a damn about us out here?"
Alfred grunted, shaking his head. "Ah, no. Not a bit. But is it so hard for them to act like people?" He kept his gaze on her for a moment, then frowned. "I mean, look what they did to you, Moira."
Her fingers ran over the scar on her cheek, and a momentary pain washed over her expression before it was replaced with a subdued anger. The memory still stung. She was silent for a moment. "Let's not talk about it," she almost whispered, "Okay?"
Alfred nodded, and they spent another moment in silence.
"They deserve no secrets," she echoed.
Their spying began with following nobles, trying their best to be inconspicuous as they listened in on their conversations. They'd pick up tidbits of information, most of it frivolous: who was wearing what at the last ball, how dreary the thought the weather was, how much wine they thought they drank. The occasional piece of valuable information would slip through, and they all came together to form what seemed like a finished puzzle. Alfred and Moira became acquainted with the nobles' schedules, and, on one daring day, when Moira was seventeen, they decided to venture into one of their homes. It went off without a hitch -- they even managed to snag a bottle of wine to celebrate.
They began to blackmail smaller nobles for years, plastering small, cryptic notes on their doors that threatened to release their secrets to the public should they not agree to duo's anonymous requests. Most times, they asked for money or more wine. For years, they dispersed some of the money out to those close to them, saving the wine for themselves with merriment.
Whispers of the Cult of Thieves spread, even amongst nobles. While it brought Moira hope to know there were such things as criminals for the people, Alfred was wary. Moira was twenty-two when she was approached by the Cult of Thieves after she and Alfred were returning from another night spent spying, and it only took her a moment to accept their offer to join, despite her companion's opposition. It's been four years since that night, and still, she has troubles mending her friendship with Alfred, but she's still certain in her decision of becoming a member of the Cult of Thieves.
//How long they have been in the Cult of Thieves
4 years
//Specialization in the Cult of Thieves
Espionage: Moira has spent enough time observing nobles to know how to pose as a servant, or remain unseen and cling to the shadows. She's lived among commoners for her entire life, and with her experience sneaking around with Alfred, being inconspicuous is almost second nature.
//Weapon(s) of choice
Hand-to-Hand Combat: Years spent living in the grime of Falendrin pushed Moira into learning how to fend for herself -- and with her street-earned combat style, she fights dirty. Most times, she only uses her combat skills in cases of emergency.
Dagger: Also used in cases of emergency. She normally stashes it in one of her boots.
Blowgun with Darts: Tipped with paralyzing poison, this is typically used when Moira gets herself into sticky situations, whether it be from getting caught to almost getting caught. It provides a quiet way to get rid of enemies without killing, but it takes a moment for the poison to take effect.
{/slide}
{slide=Sample|center}Moira's muscles ached. She sat perched in the rafters of a noble's bedroom for what felt like ages, listening, with her eyes scouring the room for anything worthy of being in a report back to the cult. Over the past few hours, the man did little more than sit at his desk, write on a piece of paper, only to curse and scribble over whatever he'd written, then start again.
Jewelry? She scanned the room, then the man. Nothing. Fancy clothes? The man was dressed in nightwear, but it was hardly a step up from what she wore on the streets. Moira's brow furrowed. Does he own anything of value?
The plump noble gave an irritated grunt before flinging his pen across the desk, it landing on the floor with a clink. Despite so, he hardly seemed to care, as he rose from where he was sitting and exited the room with an exaggerated sigh. Her muscles almost sang in relief when she leapt down from the rafters and made a beeline for the desk. Atop a pile of sloppily scribbled-over papers laid one legible letter.
"My Dear Sister:
How many times must I tell you that I run a business, not a charity? This will be the last time, Elana, but you will have to get it yourself. All the money you need is behind the bookcase. Do be more careful with it this time, will you?
Regards,
Brennely"
Her lips curled into a smile. Interesting.
{/slide}
[/stabs]
Approved. Late entry discussed and approved weeks ago. Player not required to submit writing sample due to having roleplayed together for over a year.LEONA MONAGAN
Age: 26Race: Faeldrin
Magic: None
Appearance: Leona has a soft face with sharp features -- it's hard to tell her demeanor just from a glance because of her contrasting details. There is a strange spark within Leona that betrays her indistinguishable face, a wild look in her eye that reflects just like her eyes do in the light -- they become a sort of yellow rather than their natural shimmering hazel. Leona has burn scars all over her hands climbing up to her elbow, but she often wears gloves to hide them.
Personality Traits
Positive: Ambitious - Determined - Cunning
Negative: Feisty - Aggressive - Stubborn
death is a friend of mine
Leona's story does not start with bitter tragedy. Contrary, Leona lived a wonderful childhood with her loving mother in Windfeld. Joana Monagan owned a bakery and made her keep honest. Her father had disappeared as soon as he knew that Joana was pregnant, but Leona, in truth, hardly ever noticed. Her mother was a loving and strong person, working hard to provide stability for her and her young daughter.
Leona was a feisty, curious, and rambunctious child. A handful, if anything. But her mother was a patient woman, and Leona learned. Her little lion. She grew up in her mother's bakery, waking up every morning to bake the fresh loaves and greet the customers. The bakery was doing well, Leona and her mother were team. Up until the age of fourteen, everything was perfect, until the fire.
Whether or not it was some rambunctious kids playing around. Or perhaps of pure malicious intent, or even just a mishap with the oven.. didn't matter to Leona. All she knew was that the place she had grown up in, learned in, was gone.. and so was her mother.
With no one left to care for her, Leona was on her own. Many of the people that Leona and her mother had done business with tried to show Leona some kindness, but none could take her in. Leona had been injured in the fire, her hands burned and blistered something awful, keeping her from maintaining a job, at least for some amount of time. At first, she begged. It was degrading and sickening, though it kept her fed for some time. But it wasn't enough. Leona took to thievery.
Puppy eyes coupled with quick feet and sleight of hand, Leona got the hang of it rather quickly. Thievery came.. almost easy to her, even though she was rather ashamed to admit it. It did come with risk, however, and through it, Leona learned how to protect herself. Death became an old friend of hers. She stole to survive and she took whatever consequences came with it, including the loss of lives. Leona was not the girl she had been prior to her mother's death, and she took it in her stride.
Her life changed once more when planned a heist. She had moved up from just pick-pocketing, and now targeted middle-class houses that seemed unprotected. She was wrong. The first few minutes were easy -- pick the lock, slide in, grab anything shiny she saw right off the bat. But as Leona traveled deeper into the house, things got more and more peculiar. The place was crawling with strange ingredients, jars with strange concoctions and things Leona couldn't quite make out. And then there was a blade against her throat.
His name was Muller, and he took a liking to her, for a reason that Leona to this day does not know. He offered her shelter, and though cautious, she accepted. After seeing her interest in the strange things he kept on his wall, Muller offered to tutor her in the art of potion and poison making. She was an eager student.
Years passed with Muller and she grew to love him like a father figure. When she was recruited for the Cult of Thieves, Leona learned that Muller was a veteran of the organization, and he had personally recommended her. She began her life as a member of the cult and has been there ever since.
Weapon(s) of choice: Bow and Arrow, Khopesh, Throwing Knives
How long they have been in the Cult of Thieves: Six years
Specialization within the Cult of Thieves: Acquisition. Leona is an excellent thief, having been one for over a decade. As taught by Muller, Leona uses her knowledge of poisons to infect her weapons and uses her stealth to complete missions. There are many qualities that make Leona a superb fit for her line of work. Her reflexes, knowledge, and appearance all allow her to get the job done smoothly and leave without trace. She is practiced and precise, despite looking otherwise, and is known to get the job done.
I believe @Effervescent will be posting soon.
