Post by Loner on Feb 8, 2011 22:09:22 GMT -5
What would you like to be called OOC? Loner works for me.
Recruited by: happenstance
Email: Smara has my AIM. She's a mod, right?
Character #1
Name: Amnixiel (Am-nih-zall) also "Nizzy"
Age: 33
Gender: Undeniably Female
Rank: Holdless
Sexual Orientation: Straight – we think.
Family: Eldest child of Amnavala and Ixielesaren. Siblings number eleven.
1: Amnixiel - f
2: Navlesa - f
3: Lesaram - m
4: Ixiavala - f
5: Eleval - m
6: Sarenav - m
7: Rennaval - f
8: Amnales - m
9: Xielava - f
10: Valasaren - m
11: Alieles - f
12: Esaramna - f
Appearance:
Amnixiel (pronounced Am-nih-zall) is, at a glance, strikingly attractive. She has an oval face, lots of long, curly brown hair with brassy highlights, and a piercing, gold-brown gaze that can sometimes seem to melt all she casts it upon. On closer inspection, though, the details come out. Her cheeks have hollowed from lack of consistent feeding habits, her nose is long and hawk-like, and her almond-shaped eyes seem to lead right down into it, making it look even longer than it really is. She has a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones and chin, so in profile she projects a rather masculine outline.
She is primarily made of elongated parts; she has a long, flexible neck, wide, birdboned shoulders, and long arms, torso and legs. Somehow she manages to appear feminine with minimalist features thereof; the difference between her waist and her hips is sufficient to be notable, and her breasts, while small, are hard to hide when crisscrossed with snug belts between, under, and over them across her front. Despite these features, Amnixiel didn't grow as tall as her figure suggests she could have; she's about eye-level with most people, but easily dwarfed by others in her stickish figure. Despite this appearance of thinness, Amnixiel is nothing if not whipcord and capable; her toes are almost as long as a child's fingers, and she is perfectly capable of grasping things with them and holding on. It is this reason that makes her go mainly barefooted wherever she goes; those toes are useful!
On a typical day, Amnixiel is wearing what she owns; a long lace-front tunic that had used to be white at one point, dark brown pants that are irredeemably baggy on her thin legs, and what seems to be a dozen belts and bandoliers under a backpack where she keeps her small stash of pans, plates, utensils, a bottle or two of good cooking oil, her sparse marks, and anything she happened to find alluring out in the forests that she's picked up and stashed into a pocket or pouch. Said pouches and pockets tend to bulge weirdly, giving her a grotesque, lumpy, diseased look beneath her clothes wherever a pocket was sewn in.
Personality:
Amnixiel is openly friendly when she first meets new people, though she will not often go so far as to actually help anyone on first introduction. Despite living by herself in a satellite location from the main Holdless people's camp, Amnixiel is not antisocial. She merely carries a profoundly overwhelming paranoia about other people. Regardless of any display – and it doesn't matter how longstanding – of trustworthiness, she still cannot give trust. The condition is, more or less, unfounded, but there it remains. Brief interactions often go quite smoothly, and she can even comfortably mingle in large crowds. But after a point, Amnixiel will egress from such social gatherings, entirely unable to persist in company of any size for longer than a day.
Mainly seeming happy enough as a hermit on the outside, Amnixiel loves nothing more than to find other loner wanderers and trade tidbits with them – up to and including information. She is excessively hyper observant, and uses the talent to record memories she never writes down for when someone has a related question and asks her.
Secretly, Amnixiel has grown tired of her self-inflicted exile, even from the Holdless camps, and while she would never admit it to anyone, she dreams of joining them – or a Hold, or a Weyr. Because of this secret wish, though, Amnixiel can come across as secretive and scheming if present company probes for information anywhere near that topic; she rarely outright lies to people when speaking, but she is expert at evasive answering, and will redirect even the most stubborn of querents.
Hobbies/Skills:
Tracking, though not as good as the Weyr's guardian compliment. She keeps a map of everywhere she's ever been, mostly in her head, but recently began to doodle it down on a rolled canvas, dabbling thus in cartography. She can shuck fibers from plants, card, spin, weave and thatch them. She can tailor clothing, mainly her own, but not outright make them. She can strip rawhide from skins, and make belts or cloaks from the rawhide. She can turn just about any animal into palatable foodstuff, and she knows how to find and harvest most edible plants for similar ends. This includes basic herbology for medicinal and spicing means. Nothing extensive, just enough to get by.
Pets:
Had a gold flitter once, but before she was even old enough to clutch, she sacrificed herself to a wild feline so Amnixiel could get away. Nothing since then. Amnixiel feels particular kinship to dragonriders for this reason; though hardly exact, the similarity between flitter and dragon bondage to human minds makes her injury a sympathy to the rider class.
History:
Born the eldest child of the Holdless Amnavala (Am-nav-ah-la) and Ixielesaren, (Iz-awl-eh-sar-ahn) Amnixiel was an accidental pregnancy and just a thread shy of resented at birth. Her parents decided to stay together, which resulted in eleven more little Amnixiels. By the age of seven, the familial issues had more or less resolved themselves, her parents warming to her existence and slowly forgiving her for happening.
Despite this rocky beginning, Amnixiel was not a mistreated child, nor was she especially deprived of the essentials to a growing youth. There wasn't a great amount of wealth to go around for the Holdless, though, so the basics was about where it stopped. Her father worked with the woodsmiths, specializing in detail carving, and her mother with the weavers, specializing in dyes and color-variance styles. Amnixiel was pushed early to find something she was good at and do it, but all she seemed capable of doing was criticizing flaws – however small – in other people's work.
This "Lord Holder's Daughter" talent did not necessarily earn her a lot of friends, especially since the people she criticized tended to be her elders by a decade or more. She would point out flaws both small and large, both noticeable and not… and some suspected she would make it up out of thin air if it enabled her to say something bad about whatever she was looking at. Chastised to the point of refusing to speak with anyone for any reason eventually reestablished the cross mood of her parentage from the beginning years; she in turn became assured that they were all trying to crush her into a position she would utterly die within, and from there, the paranoia set in. The unfortunate Journeyman Harper who tried to get her to play a harp when she was nine had to then take the instrument to her father later for repair when she threw it at him and he ducked, causing it to crash into a corner and crack. She was convinced he meant to force her to sing for her food.
Later in life, budding into young womanhood, Amnixiel fell into that precarious mood between blaming everything wrong on everyone else and blaming it on herself that all budding teens endure. It was during this phase that she took a sojourn through the woods with nothing but a backpack and her clothes, though she returned after only a week when she discovered she would get very hungry very fast doing that. Later, at twenty, she was the only young woman her age in the camp who had not attracted some kind of romantic notion from a suitor, mainly because of her snappish, suspicious nature. Some would whisper behind her back that she'd been dropped on her head as a baby and was touched in the head, never to be healed. Others pointed out her lack of a trade and questioned her rights to live with the other Holdless and eat their food.
Fearing (unjustly) that she would be culled like the herdbeasts for her inability to apply herself to a trade, Amnixiel set out again, this time a little bit better prepared. With the backpack she took provisions, and tools to facilitate their upkeep; food did not propagate itself, it needed to be cultivated and harvested from other things. Namely, plants and animals. She taught herself to use the bow, taking first birds and tree rats and on occasion, snakes and such, then had to learn how to butcher and how to preserve what she couldn't eat straightaway.
Spending more than a decade in the forests living alone has warped her mind somewhat, though not beyond the point of sanity. She will sometimes hang upside down from thin branches grasped between her toes and bob in the wind, singing to the trees – and when asked, will admit just that – and on rare occasions when the season is amiable and the nights are bright, she sometimes will dance nude.
When she was twenty-three, she came into a large sand pit that had dried and was subsequently home to several flitter nests. The area had already been raided by tunnelsnakes and other ravenous critters, so when the egg she found turned out to be gold, Amnixiel at first thought it must be a blue egg stained badly brownish from the hot, black-mud bowl underneath the sandy top. When it hatched, it was indeed a gold flitter, however, and turned out to be a particularly loving, adoring creature who thought everything in the world – including Amnixiel – was wonderful.
Impression to the little flitter changed many things for Amnixiel, as she saw for the first time that a soul beyond herself could, after all, be found trustworthy, and she regarded her newfound flitter as the best friend she'd ever known. This joyous union lasted a spare three months, sadly, when a small pride of felines found Amnixiel while she was harvesting wild spices. Only the flitter's timely intervention, only just recently flightworthy as she was, enabled Amnixiel's escape from the hungry felines. But the young gold failed to snap between fast enough once and was crushed in the jaws of one of the pack.
Amnixiel felt bitter rage at the felines for the incident, and despite the danger – being no great huntress herself – proceeded to hunt down the pack one by one until they were either driven into traps lain by other feline-hunters or she caught up to them and killed them herself.
She sometimes still weeps for the loss of her baby gold flit, despite the years that have passed since then.
Of late, Amnixiel has been sifting through the crumbles at the edge of an old granite plate jutting out of the forest on the backside of a hill, picking up some of the prettier stones to trade to jewelcrafters for marks or other things they might have that she would find useful, and has been seen frequently around the edges of the Weyr, rather than hanging near the flanks of the Holdless' camp. She also has a small collection of raw iron ore fragments, though not even enough to make a spoon from as yet.
Recruited by: happenstance
Email: Smara has my AIM. She's a mod, right?
Character #1
Name: Amnixiel (Am-nih-zall) also "Nizzy"
Age: 33
Gender: Undeniably Female
Rank: Holdless
Sexual Orientation: Straight – we think.
Family: Eldest child of Amnavala and Ixielesaren. Siblings number eleven.
1: Amnixiel - f
2: Navlesa - f
3: Lesaram - m
4: Ixiavala - f
5: Eleval - m
6: Sarenav - m
7: Rennaval - f
8: Amnales - m
9: Xielava - f
10: Valasaren - m
11: Alieles - f
12: Esaramna - f
Appearance:
Amnixiel (pronounced Am-nih-zall) is, at a glance, strikingly attractive. She has an oval face, lots of long, curly brown hair with brassy highlights, and a piercing, gold-brown gaze that can sometimes seem to melt all she casts it upon. On closer inspection, though, the details come out. Her cheeks have hollowed from lack of consistent feeding habits, her nose is long and hawk-like, and her almond-shaped eyes seem to lead right down into it, making it look even longer than it really is. She has a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones and chin, so in profile she projects a rather masculine outline.
She is primarily made of elongated parts; she has a long, flexible neck, wide, birdboned shoulders, and long arms, torso and legs. Somehow she manages to appear feminine with minimalist features thereof; the difference between her waist and her hips is sufficient to be notable, and her breasts, while small, are hard to hide when crisscrossed with snug belts between, under, and over them across her front. Despite these features, Amnixiel didn't grow as tall as her figure suggests she could have; she's about eye-level with most people, but easily dwarfed by others in her stickish figure. Despite this appearance of thinness, Amnixiel is nothing if not whipcord and capable; her toes are almost as long as a child's fingers, and she is perfectly capable of grasping things with them and holding on. It is this reason that makes her go mainly barefooted wherever she goes; those toes are useful!
On a typical day, Amnixiel is wearing what she owns; a long lace-front tunic that had used to be white at one point, dark brown pants that are irredeemably baggy on her thin legs, and what seems to be a dozen belts and bandoliers under a backpack where she keeps her small stash of pans, plates, utensils, a bottle or two of good cooking oil, her sparse marks, and anything she happened to find alluring out in the forests that she's picked up and stashed into a pocket or pouch. Said pouches and pockets tend to bulge weirdly, giving her a grotesque, lumpy, diseased look beneath her clothes wherever a pocket was sewn in.
Personality:
Amnixiel is openly friendly when she first meets new people, though she will not often go so far as to actually help anyone on first introduction. Despite living by herself in a satellite location from the main Holdless people's camp, Amnixiel is not antisocial. She merely carries a profoundly overwhelming paranoia about other people. Regardless of any display – and it doesn't matter how longstanding – of trustworthiness, she still cannot give trust. The condition is, more or less, unfounded, but there it remains. Brief interactions often go quite smoothly, and she can even comfortably mingle in large crowds. But after a point, Amnixiel will egress from such social gatherings, entirely unable to persist in company of any size for longer than a day.
Mainly seeming happy enough as a hermit on the outside, Amnixiel loves nothing more than to find other loner wanderers and trade tidbits with them – up to and including information. She is excessively hyper observant, and uses the talent to record memories she never writes down for when someone has a related question and asks her.
Secretly, Amnixiel has grown tired of her self-inflicted exile, even from the Holdless camps, and while she would never admit it to anyone, she dreams of joining them – or a Hold, or a Weyr. Because of this secret wish, though, Amnixiel can come across as secretive and scheming if present company probes for information anywhere near that topic; she rarely outright lies to people when speaking, but she is expert at evasive answering, and will redirect even the most stubborn of querents.
Hobbies/Skills:
Tracking, though not as good as the Weyr's guardian compliment. She keeps a map of everywhere she's ever been, mostly in her head, but recently began to doodle it down on a rolled canvas, dabbling thus in cartography. She can shuck fibers from plants, card, spin, weave and thatch them. She can tailor clothing, mainly her own, but not outright make them. She can strip rawhide from skins, and make belts or cloaks from the rawhide. She can turn just about any animal into palatable foodstuff, and she knows how to find and harvest most edible plants for similar ends. This includes basic herbology for medicinal and spicing means. Nothing extensive, just enough to get by.
Pets:
Had a gold flitter once, but before she was even old enough to clutch, she sacrificed herself to a wild feline so Amnixiel could get away. Nothing since then. Amnixiel feels particular kinship to dragonriders for this reason; though hardly exact, the similarity between flitter and dragon bondage to human minds makes her injury a sympathy to the rider class.
History:
Born the eldest child of the Holdless Amnavala (Am-nav-ah-la) and Ixielesaren, (Iz-awl-eh-sar-ahn) Amnixiel was an accidental pregnancy and just a thread shy of resented at birth. Her parents decided to stay together, which resulted in eleven more little Amnixiels. By the age of seven, the familial issues had more or less resolved themselves, her parents warming to her existence and slowly forgiving her for happening.
Despite this rocky beginning, Amnixiel was not a mistreated child, nor was she especially deprived of the essentials to a growing youth. There wasn't a great amount of wealth to go around for the Holdless, though, so the basics was about where it stopped. Her father worked with the woodsmiths, specializing in detail carving, and her mother with the weavers, specializing in dyes and color-variance styles. Amnixiel was pushed early to find something she was good at and do it, but all she seemed capable of doing was criticizing flaws – however small – in other people's work.
This "Lord Holder's Daughter" talent did not necessarily earn her a lot of friends, especially since the people she criticized tended to be her elders by a decade or more. She would point out flaws both small and large, both noticeable and not… and some suspected she would make it up out of thin air if it enabled her to say something bad about whatever she was looking at. Chastised to the point of refusing to speak with anyone for any reason eventually reestablished the cross mood of her parentage from the beginning years; she in turn became assured that they were all trying to crush her into a position she would utterly die within, and from there, the paranoia set in. The unfortunate Journeyman Harper who tried to get her to play a harp when she was nine had to then take the instrument to her father later for repair when she threw it at him and he ducked, causing it to crash into a corner and crack. She was convinced he meant to force her to sing for her food.
Later in life, budding into young womanhood, Amnixiel fell into that precarious mood between blaming everything wrong on everyone else and blaming it on herself that all budding teens endure. It was during this phase that she took a sojourn through the woods with nothing but a backpack and her clothes, though she returned after only a week when she discovered she would get very hungry very fast doing that. Later, at twenty, she was the only young woman her age in the camp who had not attracted some kind of romantic notion from a suitor, mainly because of her snappish, suspicious nature. Some would whisper behind her back that she'd been dropped on her head as a baby and was touched in the head, never to be healed. Others pointed out her lack of a trade and questioned her rights to live with the other Holdless and eat their food.
Fearing (unjustly) that she would be culled like the herdbeasts for her inability to apply herself to a trade, Amnixiel set out again, this time a little bit better prepared. With the backpack she took provisions, and tools to facilitate their upkeep; food did not propagate itself, it needed to be cultivated and harvested from other things. Namely, plants and animals. She taught herself to use the bow, taking first birds and tree rats and on occasion, snakes and such, then had to learn how to butcher and how to preserve what she couldn't eat straightaway.
Spending more than a decade in the forests living alone has warped her mind somewhat, though not beyond the point of sanity. She will sometimes hang upside down from thin branches grasped between her toes and bob in the wind, singing to the trees – and when asked, will admit just that – and on rare occasions when the season is amiable and the nights are bright, she sometimes will dance nude.
When she was twenty-three, she came into a large sand pit that had dried and was subsequently home to several flitter nests. The area had already been raided by tunnelsnakes and other ravenous critters, so when the egg she found turned out to be gold, Amnixiel at first thought it must be a blue egg stained badly brownish from the hot, black-mud bowl underneath the sandy top. When it hatched, it was indeed a gold flitter, however, and turned out to be a particularly loving, adoring creature who thought everything in the world – including Amnixiel – was wonderful.
Impression to the little flitter changed many things for Amnixiel, as she saw for the first time that a soul beyond herself could, after all, be found trustworthy, and she regarded her newfound flitter as the best friend she'd ever known. This joyous union lasted a spare three months, sadly, when a small pride of felines found Amnixiel while she was harvesting wild spices. Only the flitter's timely intervention, only just recently flightworthy as she was, enabled Amnixiel's escape from the hungry felines. But the young gold failed to snap between fast enough once and was crushed in the jaws of one of the pack.
Amnixiel felt bitter rage at the felines for the incident, and despite the danger – being no great huntress herself – proceeded to hunt down the pack one by one until they were either driven into traps lain by other feline-hunters or she caught up to them and killed them herself.
She sometimes still weeps for the loss of her baby gold flit, despite the years that have passed since then.
Of late, Amnixiel has been sifting through the crumbles at the edge of an old granite plate jutting out of the forest on the backside of a hill, picking up some of the prettier stones to trade to jewelcrafters for marks or other things they might have that she would find useful, and has been seen frequently around the edges of the Weyr, rather than hanging near the flanks of the Holdless' camp. She also has a small collection of raw iron ore fragments, though not even enough to make a spoon from as yet.
