Post by --Thrift-- on Dec 31, 2007 12:24:02 GMT 10
Full Name:
Aethelthryth Ellenweorc Halbjorn
Nickname:
Thrift
Age:
Twenty-four
Gender:
Female
Allegiance:
Pirates
Race:
Human
Class:
Ranger
Weapons of Choice:
Thrift is never one to go for the blunt, cumbersome weapons- she battles strictly with her much-prided Flammenschwert, an exceptionally long sword. The fine iron blade is almost as long as a rapier and is deeply serrated every few centimetres, and the hilt is also longer than a usual sword. The jagged edge gives Thrift an advantage in battle, as she can easily saw at other weapons, especially wooden ones. A flaw to her sword is its lack of balance, although it isn’t nearly as heavy as other swords and allows her to carry it in a leather scabbard strapped to her belt on her left.
Thrift’s second weapon is a very small dagger, so small she can slip it into a pouch on her belt. Thrift almost never uses it, though, much preferring the Flammenschwert instead, and only uses it when she is in real danger. The dagger is made of blue diamond, so she also hides it to prevent it from being stolen. The dagger, which Thrift simply calls her Eitr, can fit easily into the palm of one’s hand, and consists of a small blue diamond blade that is thin, jagged, and hollowed. The blade has two curving hooks that grip a quartz crystal sphere. Inside the sphere is an extremely viscous liquid poison from Svëna, which is murky purple in colour. When Eitr is pointed downward, the poison flows slowly out of the sphere, which is connected to the dagger, through the hollow blade and out the tip, which enables Thrift to poison her enemies. The poison is life-threatening and gets to work quickly, though it is curable and actual death takes a while to happen. The poison is paralyzing and slows down a person’s movements, eventually knocking them out, although some have proved to be immune to the dagger’s toxins.
Pet:
N/A
Inn:
N/A
Ship:
N/A
Wings:
N/A
Appearance:
At first glance, few would consider Thrift beautiful. She was born in the south, to southern parents, but grew up in the far north. Her skin is pale, her face is oval-shaped, and her features are hard and elven. She has a long, pointed nose, with drawn, thin lips and high, sharp cheekbones which lend the most length to her face. Her eyes are distinctly almond-shaped and vivid green in colour and her chin is small and sharp, giving her entire face an upward movement. Her brow is small and her eyebrows are light in colour, matching her copper hair. Her distinct and hard features are usually accompanied with a scowl.
Thrift’s reddish hair is extremely prone to frizz, and even more so since she rarely brushes it with anything but her fingers. Thrift also never wears make-up, making her sharp features stand out far more than her eyes. Though she is not one for beautifying herself, she is a stickler for neatness, and almost always has her hair tied into a high, tight ponytail and is even further kept in place due to her constantly slicking it back with grease.
Thrift is surprisingly short, barely hitting 5’2” but has a powerful body. Even with her small size, she can run quickly and wield her weapons with surprising speed, although her lightweight body makes her extremely vulnerable to blunt and heavy weapon attacks. Her body is well toned from constant fighting and working up to the point where barely a single part of her body is slim, leading most people to believe she is fat. Her chest is of average size. Thrift has a few scars- two long scars are on her back that stretch from shoulder to tailbone form a misshapen ‘x’ on her back, and Thrift’s right leg is weaker than her left due to her being cut in the back of the knee once. Thrift’s final scars, which are deep, thick, and cover the left side of her neck and run down to her left forearm, have been covered up by silver tattoos that form alongside the original shape of the scars.
Thrift’s nickname was originally ‘Thryth’, a shortening of her first name, but due to the clothes she wears it was slightly altered to ‘Thrift’ by her joking crewmates. Thrift considers fine clothing a waste of money and despises skirts since she can barely walk in them, and usually wears second-hand clothing. The only pair of shoes she owns is her knee-high leather boots, which have slightly elevated heels. She has a collection of long shirts and pants, as well as two or three pairs of armoured gloves. Thrift has a variety of colours in her wardrobe but most are plainly brown leather or black. Thrift gives very little thought to what she wears and usually just wears a random assortment of whatever she happens to grab first. Concerning jewellery, Thrift has a good few valuables from various plundering, but only risks wearing a few copper and brass rings in the case of an unexpected battle.
Personality:
Thrift is bad-tempered and prideful. She rarely tolerates nonsense, and is focussed and determined, with a single-track mind. Her temper usually gets in the way of other things, though, and she does stop doing whatever she’s doing at the moment to shout at someone. Though usually irritable and easily insulted, Thrift is never cold and does occasionally smirk. During her best moods, Thrift is playfully mocking and eager, although she is shy of being at the center of attention. Thrift excels in repairing weapons and engines, and has a good knowledge of poisons. Thrift isn’t the most evil of pirates- she lives for freedom, not for killing, and won’t kill anyone unless she truly believes they deserve it. Thrift has a tendency to be suspicious of others’ motives and is wary of anyone new to her, no matter whom or what they are. It takes her a while to warm to strangers and even longer to be totally comfortable with them. However, while inspired to be a leader, she is willing to follow someone that she fully trusts.
Role-Play Sample:
“Nein...”
Her breath came out in a low hiss when she saw them, silent and still, silhouetted against the strange glowing lights on the beach. She could hear their shouts being carried on the howling wind, which to her ears, huddled behind the rocks, sounded like whispers compared to the forceful gale that whipped at her long, uncut hair and stung her eyes. Go back, they’d said. They were pirates, they’d said. They would either kill them all or take them as slaves and sell them. But Aethelthryth knew that no pirate showed up looking for slaves in such weather. She couldn’t understand their tongue, which was softer than her own language, but she could guess that they were probably lost. It was amazing that they’d gotten nearly undamaged past the reefs.
The tempest had been dying down for some time and she could see that the men were unrolling strange shelters. Perhaps they didn’t know that people lived here. Aethelthryth took a deep breath and scurried closer, keeping low to the rocks, pulling her wolf skin tightly around her. She took comfort in the smell that wafted from it, glad of some sort of comfort. She was alone. The rest had moved further into the plains when they’d seen the ships coming. But Aethelthryth had never seen people from the south, and had stayed to watch the newcomers. No one had really cared, or perhaps no one had noticed her slipping away from the crowd. Being only eight years old was sometimes a gift, she thought grimly as she squirmed through the snow-laden rocks, trying to keep low to stay as hidden as possible. She was cold and wet and exhausted, but her curiosity got the better of her. She shuffled through the snow, trying to ignore the fact that her bare feet were now blue. The only real clothing she had was her wolf hide.
Aethelthryth slunk down to lie on her belly, shivering. She realized that she was crying. She had been taking lessons from the other huntresses for the past three years, but she was still unable to move like a ghost through the barren rocks of their land like the senior members of their tribe. Now the blizzard thankfully blinded the men from seeing her, and the scuffing of snow was noiseless in the wind. However, she did not have the fluid grace that she so envied of the others and blood welled up from the scratches she’d gotten on her legs. Tearfully, Aethelthryth piled snow on them to numb the pain, and then rolled over onto her back to continue watching the pirates through the spaces in the boulders. They were awfully scruffy, she thought. And tall. And their chests were flat, like hers was. Aethelthryth had never in her life seen men before. They were forbidden from the tribe, and few ended up wandering so far north anyway. Every year the older girls would march down to the southern plains and drift among the towns for a few weeks, and then come back pregnant. So the tribe would not die out, they told her. Aethelthryth was still ignorant, but they would never say anything else about it. She grew excited. What would all the other girls say when she told them she’d seen a man?
Now she was perhaps ten metres away from the nearest triangular shelter. Aethelthryth peered over the rocks, her braided hair slapping her face painfully in the biting wind. She could see two men that were closer to her, sitting in front of the opening, talking in deep voices that seemed oddly unfitting for the soft southern tongue. They were turned away, wearing strange clothing that might have looked beautiful at one point but were by now filthy, darkened and unwashed. The gale had settled down enough for her to smell the sweat and grime coming off of them from many weeks at sea without bathing. Did she smell as bad as they did? Aethelthryth didn’t really care. She only settled herself in between two boulders to watch between the drifting snowflakes to peer into the strange world of men.
A storm is coming…
Aethelthryth Ellenweorc Halbjorn
Nickname:
Thrift
Age:
Twenty-four
Gender:
Female
Allegiance:
Pirates
Race:
Human
Class:
Ranger
Weapons of Choice:
Thrift is never one to go for the blunt, cumbersome weapons- she battles strictly with her much-prided Flammenschwert, an exceptionally long sword. The fine iron blade is almost as long as a rapier and is deeply serrated every few centimetres, and the hilt is also longer than a usual sword. The jagged edge gives Thrift an advantage in battle, as she can easily saw at other weapons, especially wooden ones. A flaw to her sword is its lack of balance, although it isn’t nearly as heavy as other swords and allows her to carry it in a leather scabbard strapped to her belt on her left.
Thrift’s second weapon is a very small dagger, so small she can slip it into a pouch on her belt. Thrift almost never uses it, though, much preferring the Flammenschwert instead, and only uses it when she is in real danger. The dagger is made of blue diamond, so she also hides it to prevent it from being stolen. The dagger, which Thrift simply calls her Eitr, can fit easily into the palm of one’s hand, and consists of a small blue diamond blade that is thin, jagged, and hollowed. The blade has two curving hooks that grip a quartz crystal sphere. Inside the sphere is an extremely viscous liquid poison from Svëna, which is murky purple in colour. When Eitr is pointed downward, the poison flows slowly out of the sphere, which is connected to the dagger, through the hollow blade and out the tip, which enables Thrift to poison her enemies. The poison is life-threatening and gets to work quickly, though it is curable and actual death takes a while to happen. The poison is paralyzing and slows down a person’s movements, eventually knocking them out, although some have proved to be immune to the dagger’s toxins.
Pet:
N/A
Inn:
N/A
Ship:
N/A
Wings:
N/A
Appearance:
At first glance, few would consider Thrift beautiful. She was born in the south, to southern parents, but grew up in the far north. Her skin is pale, her face is oval-shaped, and her features are hard and elven. She has a long, pointed nose, with drawn, thin lips and high, sharp cheekbones which lend the most length to her face. Her eyes are distinctly almond-shaped and vivid green in colour and her chin is small and sharp, giving her entire face an upward movement. Her brow is small and her eyebrows are light in colour, matching her copper hair. Her distinct and hard features are usually accompanied with a scowl.
Thrift’s reddish hair is extremely prone to frizz, and even more so since she rarely brushes it with anything but her fingers. Thrift also never wears make-up, making her sharp features stand out far more than her eyes. Though she is not one for beautifying herself, she is a stickler for neatness, and almost always has her hair tied into a high, tight ponytail and is even further kept in place due to her constantly slicking it back with grease.
Thrift is surprisingly short, barely hitting 5’2” but has a powerful body. Even with her small size, she can run quickly and wield her weapons with surprising speed, although her lightweight body makes her extremely vulnerable to blunt and heavy weapon attacks. Her body is well toned from constant fighting and working up to the point where barely a single part of her body is slim, leading most people to believe she is fat. Her chest is of average size. Thrift has a few scars- two long scars are on her back that stretch from shoulder to tailbone form a misshapen ‘x’ on her back, and Thrift’s right leg is weaker than her left due to her being cut in the back of the knee once. Thrift’s final scars, which are deep, thick, and cover the left side of her neck and run down to her left forearm, have been covered up by silver tattoos that form alongside the original shape of the scars.
Thrift’s nickname was originally ‘Thryth’, a shortening of her first name, but due to the clothes she wears it was slightly altered to ‘Thrift’ by her joking crewmates. Thrift considers fine clothing a waste of money and despises skirts since she can barely walk in them, and usually wears second-hand clothing. The only pair of shoes she owns is her knee-high leather boots, which have slightly elevated heels. She has a collection of long shirts and pants, as well as two or three pairs of armoured gloves. Thrift has a variety of colours in her wardrobe but most are plainly brown leather or black. Thrift gives very little thought to what she wears and usually just wears a random assortment of whatever she happens to grab first. Concerning jewellery, Thrift has a good few valuables from various plundering, but only risks wearing a few copper and brass rings in the case of an unexpected battle.
Personality:
Thrift is bad-tempered and prideful. She rarely tolerates nonsense, and is focussed and determined, with a single-track mind. Her temper usually gets in the way of other things, though, and she does stop doing whatever she’s doing at the moment to shout at someone. Though usually irritable and easily insulted, Thrift is never cold and does occasionally smirk. During her best moods, Thrift is playfully mocking and eager, although she is shy of being at the center of attention. Thrift excels in repairing weapons and engines, and has a good knowledge of poisons. Thrift isn’t the most evil of pirates- she lives for freedom, not for killing, and won’t kill anyone unless she truly believes they deserve it. Thrift has a tendency to be suspicious of others’ motives and is wary of anyone new to her, no matter whom or what they are. It takes her a while to warm to strangers and even longer to be totally comfortable with them. However, while inspired to be a leader, she is willing to follow someone that she fully trusts.
Role-Play Sample:
“Nein...”
Her breath came out in a low hiss when she saw them, silent and still, silhouetted against the strange glowing lights on the beach. She could hear their shouts being carried on the howling wind, which to her ears, huddled behind the rocks, sounded like whispers compared to the forceful gale that whipped at her long, uncut hair and stung her eyes. Go back, they’d said. They were pirates, they’d said. They would either kill them all or take them as slaves and sell them. But Aethelthryth knew that no pirate showed up looking for slaves in such weather. She couldn’t understand their tongue, which was softer than her own language, but she could guess that they were probably lost. It was amazing that they’d gotten nearly undamaged past the reefs.
The tempest had been dying down for some time and she could see that the men were unrolling strange shelters. Perhaps they didn’t know that people lived here. Aethelthryth took a deep breath and scurried closer, keeping low to the rocks, pulling her wolf skin tightly around her. She took comfort in the smell that wafted from it, glad of some sort of comfort. She was alone. The rest had moved further into the plains when they’d seen the ships coming. But Aethelthryth had never seen people from the south, and had stayed to watch the newcomers. No one had really cared, or perhaps no one had noticed her slipping away from the crowd. Being only eight years old was sometimes a gift, she thought grimly as she squirmed through the snow-laden rocks, trying to keep low to stay as hidden as possible. She was cold and wet and exhausted, but her curiosity got the better of her. She shuffled through the snow, trying to ignore the fact that her bare feet were now blue. The only real clothing she had was her wolf hide.
Aethelthryth slunk down to lie on her belly, shivering. She realized that she was crying. She had been taking lessons from the other huntresses for the past three years, but she was still unable to move like a ghost through the barren rocks of their land like the senior members of their tribe. Now the blizzard thankfully blinded the men from seeing her, and the scuffing of snow was noiseless in the wind. However, she did not have the fluid grace that she so envied of the others and blood welled up from the scratches she’d gotten on her legs. Tearfully, Aethelthryth piled snow on them to numb the pain, and then rolled over onto her back to continue watching the pirates through the spaces in the boulders. They were awfully scruffy, she thought. And tall. And their chests were flat, like hers was. Aethelthryth had never in her life seen men before. They were forbidden from the tribe, and few ended up wandering so far north anyway. Every year the older girls would march down to the southern plains and drift among the towns for a few weeks, and then come back pregnant. So the tribe would not die out, they told her. Aethelthryth was still ignorant, but they would never say anything else about it. She grew excited. What would all the other girls say when she told them she’d seen a man?
Now she was perhaps ten metres away from the nearest triangular shelter. Aethelthryth peered over the rocks, her braided hair slapping her face painfully in the biting wind. She could see two men that were closer to her, sitting in front of the opening, talking in deep voices that seemed oddly unfitting for the soft southern tongue. They were turned away, wearing strange clothing that might have looked beautiful at one point but were by now filthy, darkened and unwashed. The gale had settled down enough for her to smell the sweat and grime coming off of them from many weeks at sea without bathing. Did she smell as bad as they did? Aethelthryth didn’t really care. She only settled herself in between two boulders to watch between the drifting snowflakes to peer into the strange world of men.
A storm is coming…
