Willow

[Willow]

GENERAL

Full Name: Willow.
Race: Human.
Age: 19, maybe (birthday unknown; she’s since chosen 1st Haring, the year assumed to be 9:21 Dragon).
Gender: Female.
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual.

Birthplace: Presumed to be Southern Ferelden, somewhere around Lothering.
Residence: The Gnawed Noble Tavern, Denerim.
Occupation: None. She will occasionally hire herself out as a mercenary if she needs money, or if she needs it quickly, she will simply cut purses.
Religion: None.

COMBAT

Class: Rogue.
Character Stats:

Strength: 1
Dexterity: 2
Willpower: 1
Magic: 0
Cunning: 2

Gear:
Weapons: Two short swords that she found in an Antivan market, both single-edged with a slight curve to the blades,. Three hunting knives; one in each boot and one larger one in her belt.
Clothes: She prefers simple cotton shirts and trousers that can tuck into her knee-high leather boots, occasionally wearing a leather jerkin over the shirt and bracers on her wrists. Any belts she wears are cloth, and there more as accessories than to hold her breeches up. Her ears are pierced, and often have fangs of some sort hanging from them.
Armour: On the rare occasions she actually wears it, Willow prefers leather body armour, but light steel vambraces and greaves. She prefers to avoid full-scale organised battle, however, and finds her usual attire sufficient for most scraps she ends up in.

CHARACTERISTICS

Appearance: Pale, though often with a light tan from so long spent outdoors. She’s tall and slender, with flat, lithe muscles. She’s covered in small, pale scars from duelling and generally growing up in hazardous conditions. She has hazel eyes and dark brown hair that reaches well past her shoulders, though it used to be far longer. Willow always wears it down, but will occasionally adorn it with beads or feathers when she feels like it. When she’s bored or preoccupied, she tends to start making tiny braids in her hair.

Personality: Willow is generally very easy-going, and willing to give pretty much anyone a chance. Despite her out-going demeanour, she’s someone who will be friends with almost anyone, but will trust and confide in very few, if any.

Spending a lot of her time in taverns or simply around drunks, she has had her fair share of letches fail to comprehend the meaning of ‘no’, and has learnt to either start a bar fight, or just knock the sod out. If she’s still around for whatever reason when they wake she will give them a second chance, but if they’re the same sober as drunk, Willow will make herself scarce, or hit them over the head again if they’re really annoying. She’s perfectly friendly to those who know when to back off, however, and is quite happy to sit with them and have a drink or several to relax at the end of the day.

Not much rattles her, and when it does she tries not to show it, either by not saying anything or trying to deflect concerns with humour. The exception to this is the rare time she comes across a demon – she will then attack on sight, and may have trouble sleeping for a few night afterwards. She is also likely to be hostile towards blood mages, more out of old fear than anything. Always willing to get into trouble, whether there’s a way out of it at the end or not, Willow’s ended up in quite a few scrapes, many of which include staying in a cell for the night. She takes it in her stride, however, and leaves the next day thinking that whatever landed her in custody was still a good adventure.

Although Willow would call herself brave, most others would say ‘reckless’ instead. She’s the one most likely to come up with what she says is a ‘thinking outside the box’ (hare-brained) idea to either pull off a job or escape from pursuit. She’s happy to comply with what she calls ‘the better idea’ if one is presented, but if not; she’s daring enough to attempt her own idea, and tends to improvise wildly if and when she has to.

HISTORY

As far as Willow’s concerned, her life started when she was approximately seven years old. Not due to a boring lifestyle up until then – though it may well have been – but a complete lack of memories. Found wandering in the wilderness with a raging fever by a travelling merchant in Southern Ferelden, the man did his best to treat the child and waited for half a day on the road, in the hopes her parents would come looking for her. When none arrived the man was forced to move on, though he took the girl with him, unable to abandon her to the elements.

Willow’s first memory is the roof of a caravan and the sound of oxen hooves and lowing. When the man paused for lunch and to try and give the child some water, he found her looking around the caravan, bemused and weak, but no longer delirious. When he tried to ask her who she was, or where her family lived, she merely shook her head. Asked if she could speak, she replied positively in Common, but that she didn’t know who or where she was.

Left at a metaphorical dead-end, the merchant continued on to Lothering, intending to ask if any of the villagers recognised her, or knew of any outlying homesteads she could belong to. None of Lothering’s inhabitants knew the child, and the merchant couldn’t afford to keep a child with him on his travels. A devout Andrastian, he left the child at the chantry, certain she would be cared for there.

Although she wasn’t treated badly there, and was nursed back to full health, she struggled to adapt. She refused to respond to the name given to her – Kordilla, after the founder of the Chantry. Often if she was scared by something, she would climb to the highest point she could find – bookcases and, on one occasion, a statue of Andraste in a vain attempt to reach the rafters.

The other orphans and, sometimes, the Chantry initiates would do their best to startle her, purely to see her wild reaction to ease their boredom. Her occasionally feral ways alienated her from the other residents of the chantry; an attempt by the Revered Mother to cut the girl’s knotted, knee-length hair ended in five adults pinning the hysterical child down as a sixth chopped her hair to just below her ears. A week later, once released from solitary confinement for her misbehaviour, she vanished. Though the Chantry posted a ‘missing’ notice on their board, ‘Kordilla’ was never found.

Begging a ride from a caravan train heading to Gwaren, the child chose a name – Willow – after seeing one on the road and later asked what she was called. When the caravans arrived in Gwaren, Willow melded into the crowd and spent the next three years living on the streets, desperation and naturally quick fingers making her a talented pickpocket. She soon formed a small unit with other urchins, enabling them to safely target more difficult – and often richer – marks.

Willow started playing with blades almost as soon as she hit the streets – two of the older street kids, Kaz and Veraz, took it upon themselves to watch over and train the younger ones. By age ten, she was completely comfortable with the two small knives she’d acquired, often juggling them when she was bored or for coin. She had mellowed considerably, and had learned to laugh and relax for the first time she remembered.

In the summer after she turned ten, Kaz and Veraz, fifteen by now, moved the gang to the docks. They’d seen a group of people coming in and out one of the abandoned warehouses for the past week, and said that whatever was being stored in there must be very valuable. Having spent their whole lives on the streets, they also knew that nearly all of the warehouses had old, rotten or broken boards in their walls. Adults may not be able to get in through them, but kids and scrawny teenagers could.

So that night they did their usual ruse. Half the group, led by Kaz, distracted the guards and led them on a merry chase through the warehouse alleys. The other half followed Veraz through the gaps in the warehouse walls, ready to plunder to their hearts’ content.

What they found was a pack of blood mages, several abominations and demons.

The children scattered, and the hunters followed. The older ones tried to fight them or stuff the younger children back through the gaps in the walls. Some had panicked and ran for the locked doors; others climbed the crates and tried to hide. One hunger demon nearly killed Veraz, distracted only by Willow jumping off a stack of crates and onto its back, stabbing wildly.

In the end, of the twelve children that had entered the warehouse, only five escaped. The others were either killed by the demons, or had to be cut down when the blood mages took control of them. The screaming had drawn the attention of the guards, then the Templars. They tried to contain the surviving five, unable to be sure the demons or mages hadn’t controlled them as well. They were thwarted by Kaz returning with the rest of the group and causing a second distraction.

After that, the group dissolved. They ran from the city, were caught by the Templars, or couldn’t cope with the memories. Veraz and Kaz managed to last a year before stowing away on a ship. A week later, Willow followed suit.

However, a ship bound for Antiva is often easy prey for the Raiders of the Waking Sea. Within a matter of hours, Willow went from a stowaway to the sole surviving captive.

Things took a decidedly odd turn when the Captain scared her, shouting and getting in her face. Her old instincts kicked in, and since she had nowhere to climb that didn’t have a pirate in the way, she lashed out.

Apparently accidentally knocking a pirate captain overboard was a good way to earn his respect.

Rather than the hold, Willow was stuck in the crow’s nest and given free run of the rigging. Over the next four years spent on the ship, her sword fighting improved, she learned to relax more and wasn’t as prone to lashing out in blind instinct. Her pirating days ended when one of the many attempts by the Orlesians to rid the seas of pirates succeeded in scuttling the ship just off the coast of Antiva. Close enough to swim to shore, Willow vanished into the city of Salle and evaded capture.
She spent a lot of time in the country, taking each day as it comes and living in taverns, never settling down for long, and has picked up some of the language. In the next few years, she slowly made her way south, finding herself back in Ferelden in her eighteenth year. She’s since taken up a semi-permanent residence in the Gnawed Noble Tavern in Denerim, choosing the large city for it’s proximity to the sea, the constant stream of news coming in from both inland and off-shore, and of course the plentiful opportunities to pickpocket a few nobles when money runs low and her rent is due.
Due to her pirating years, she knows a good number of the Felicisima Armada captains and crew, and has managed to avoid making too many worrying enemies. Her lack of origins doesn’t bother her (though she still refuses to cut her hair – its relatively short length is due to a stray fireball from a mage on a ship they attacked), and she even manages to be friendly with mages, providing they don’t use blood. Her only real fear is demons – she is incredibly prone to attack them on sight. Although she would like to find Kaz and Veraz again, and her private curiosity about where she came from is what lured her back to Ferelden, for now she’s happy enough; content with seeing the world and causing her own entertainment when she gets too bored.

BEHIND THE MASK

Player’s Pen Name: Yana, Hez.
Contact: [e-mail]

Roleplay Experience: Been roleplaying since 2007 on various sites; including admin or moderator on a few.
Language(s): English (native), and conversation-level in Spanish, though I’ve not had reason to speak it for a few years.
How did you find us?: Through Dragon Age: Absolution; Mike recommended this site.
Roleplay Sample:
Roleplay Sample: From an original short story I’ve been working on for uni.

‘So, your Granddad’s a horse?’
Leith rolled his eyes and shook his head at allowing himself to be cornered by 5’4’’ of stubborn girl who for some inexplicable reason, didn’t seem to shut out the impossible like normal human beings. Brooke, sufficiently recovered two days after her ‘accident’, had turned up on his doorstep as he was about to leave for one of the odd jobs around the village. She’d made it abundantly clear that she wanted answers, and had agreed to help him build a tree house for the Campbells’ two gremlins – children, sorry – while he talked. He was making the most out of her end of the deal, having her ferry nails and hammers and the next plank of wood up to him to save him the repetitive climb.
‘Not a horse. A kelpie – a Scottish water spirit. Demon. Whatever you call things that live in a lake and eat people,’ he said, pounding a nail into the base of the first wall.
‘A demon that lives in a lake, eats people, and looks like a horse,’ Brooke said flatly, apparently less affected by the ‘demon’ and ‘eats people’ part than the fact that Leith’s granddad had hooves and a tail.
‘Or a human. Depends on who we’re luring, and whether we need to get somewhere fast. Pass us another plank, would you?’ He asked, holding a hand down towards her without looking, more focused on staring critically at his work until he realised there was no sound of scraping wood and his hand was still empty.
Glancing down, he quirked an eyebrow when he saw Brooke still standing several feet from the pile of wooden slats, staring up at him.
‘What, you going deaf, or have I sprouted antlers?’ He asked.
‘“We”?’ Brooke repeated, still not moving from her spot.
‘I don’t speak French. Are you going to pass me another plank or do I have to send you home and do this myself?’
Scowling, Brooke finally moved, hauling another plank up and pushing it into his waiting hand. Grunting something that might pass as thanks, Leith turned back to work as Brooke elaborated, her tone decidedly cold.
‘You said “we”, as in, your granddad and you.’
‘And Mum. You think the only thing I inherited from the old man was my temper? I’m guessing you didn’t take Biology,’ he sighed, eyeing the frame he’d built with increasing distaste before lining the board up, all but ignoring the affronted girl standing ten feet beneath him.
‘I got an ‘A’, actually.’ Oh, she was definitely getting pissed off. Good; maybe she’d give up on interrogating him and go home.
‘Good for you, smartarse,’ he muttered. He didn’t need to look to know she was bristling as he finished the next plank and held his hand out for another. To his mild surprise, the coarse, sanded board hit his hand almost straight away. So, she was pissed, but not enough to stop her being curious. Irritating, but intriguing.
‘Murderer,’ she muttered as he hefted the slat upwards, and he laughed, more out of surprise than anything.
‘Listen, Brookside-’
‘Brooke.’
‘-would you call a lion killing a zebra stupid enough to wander into its den a murderer? No, you’d say, ‘that’s nature’, and maybe call the lion an opportunist and the zebra thick as shit,’ he said, starting to hammer the plank in place before eyeballing how many more he’d need before he finished the wall. Maybe eight, he thought with a silent groan.
‘So...you wouldn’t call killing people cannibalism, then?’ It was only when she spoke that Leith realised she’d paused for a long time before replying. She’d lost her combative tone as well; more like she was sounding out an idea for his feedback.
With a sigh, and deciding that if she could stop sniping at him, he could stop considering to drop the hammer on her head for five minutes, Leith shook his head, knowing she could see him.
‘We aren’t humans, Brooke, and we’re not horses. We just look like them, and can swap between the two whenever we like; call it camouflage if you want. But if you compared our DNA to a human or a horse, we’d have less in common with both than...I dunno; seaweed or something.’
‘So demons have DNA now?’ Masking her dubiousness was a definite sound of a grin. A glance back to the ground confirmed it as Leith laughed, holding his hand out for more wood.
‘Anyone else would be asking ‘so demons exist now’, you know,’ he said mildly as she handed up the ninth plank.
Brooke snorted.
‘Yeah well, they didn’t see your Granddad sprout a mane, tail and hooves right in front of them,’ she muttered, but she was grinning again.

Password: Divine.

[Morrigan]

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'Tis cleverness and not courage that breeds long life, and no girl that attacks demons without thought will know old age. Better that she'd simply died at sea and rid the world of such foolishness.