White Raven

CHARACTER OVERVIEW

Preface:
This is the tale of an elf searching for answers while trying to find a place and a purpose for the future.

* * *

Name: Branwyn (means “White Raven”)

Nickname: Raven, Bran

Place of Birth: Ardrigh Village, Kamasylve

Birth Constellation: Black Dragon


Age: The Elven equivalent of 16

Parents: Morholt and an unnamed female Elf descended from Vedir, who was captured in a battle between the descendants of Ganelle and Vedir.

Current Place of Residence:
Heidel, Serendia Dominion, Calpheon.

Ethnic / Social Background:
Elven Nobility (Sort of)

Political views/leanings:
She has no political leanings.  She has a little leaning towards the Elves only because they are her people. but she doesn’t always lean towards them due to their treatment of her.

What does she care about most in the world:
She’s unsure what she cares about presently.

Known Interests/Talents/Hobbies:
She tends to keep them to herself for the most part.  She is sometimes heard humming softly.  She can be seen reading occasionally thick volumes.

Guild: Ravens Of War

Physical appearance:

               Height: 5’2” (1.57m)
               Weight: 97 lbs (44 kg)
               Hair: Orange-red, long wavy
               Eyes: Deep-set emerald green, expressionless

Voluptuous build with well-toned muscles.  She has the habit of moving like a cat when she moves; both with grace betraying her heritage and stealth betraying her training as a ranger.  She is just under her majority, yet is out on her own.  Her youth is more evident in her features than anywhere else.  She bares a heavy resemblance to her father, including his orange-red wavy hair.  On her face, she wears markings which hide scars she received several years ago.  They also mark her as her father’s child, though she has no other indication of his truly claiming her.  Despite her innocent looks, she seems to have been exposed to things one of her age would not normally be, even for an Elf.  She speaks little, unless she has something to say.  Her eyes do wander as she watches people constantly trying to read them and their motives before she gets hurt by them.

Health/disabilities/handicaps:
Excellent health, high strength and stamina. No known disabilities.



Personality Type:
Distrustful of people in general, once her loyalty is won it is firm and unwavering.  She would rather do something for herself than wait for others to do it for her.  She doesn’t delegate well; preferring to do things on her own.  She believes if she fails it is her fault then and if she succeeds it is her success.  She doesn’t have to depend on someone else to get things done.  Her faith in Karmasylvia has stayed, but her trust in those who serve the inner circle has been damaged.  This makes it seem her faith is wavering.  Earning her trust is as hard as earning her loyalty.  Breaking either makes repairing them almost impossible.

Possessions:
Branwyn left the Elven lands with what she could carry: her bow and quiver, dagger, a leather bag with some clothes, trail food, and other personal odds and ins.  She didn’t have much she could carry so there was little with her as she made her way towards Heidel.  She wasn’t really aiming towards Heidel, but once there she found she could get quick and easy work.  Eventually she took a house there.  It is sparsely furnished as she still owns little.  Occasionally, she adds items.  Part of her expects to leave again with only what she can carry.

Education:
Basically raised by her uncle and aunt as a sister and handmaiden to her cousin, Branwyn was educated as one of the Elven nobility.  Therefore, her education was that matching her cousin.  She was taught everything an Elven High Priestess of Karmasylvia to be is taught.  Where her cousin did not excel in these lessons, she did.  Even her aunt noticed the Goddess Sylvia seemed to favor Branwyn.  However, this didn’t matter since her cousin was the one destined to move into her uncle and aunt’s positions of rule.  Branwyn was to be at her side and be her handmaiden and protector through her life.  As such, she was also trained as a ranger and a protector of the Karmasylvia.  As things would have it, this didn’t happen.

Sitting at her desk, she looks at the open book before her with the ink quill in her hand.  Writing it down.   Her reasons for everything.  The past.  Where to begin?  She couldn’t decide.  Then it came to her and she decided as she put her pen on the paper and started to write.

*Written in graceful Elven script within the pages of a small book within the bag she carries constantly*

Quote :

There is a shadow of a memory which I call my mother.  I don’t know if she is real or even was my mother, but I call those memories Mother.  There are no features only a voice - soft and musical.  I can’t even remember the words.  From what I was told, she died before my first birthday and was sickly from the moment of my birth.  Far before any memory should have formed, but still it is there.

I have wondered though if any of my features were hers.  Most seem to be my father’s, but I really don’t have a way to compare.  I don’t know if I will ever know.  There are no paintings or likenesses of her.  She was unimportant to those around me; a spoil of war - conflict.  I was an after product.  If not for my father, and who he is, I may have been tossed aside and left to die or be raised as a orphan.  

My father is a different story.  As a young child, I remember him being in and out of my life.  He was a leader of our army of guardians - archers.  He was a protector of our culture and all of Kamasylvia.  He was always off to the next campaign; the next hunt.  I was left in the care of his sister and her husband.  

I cherished his visits though, especially as a young child.  His visits were filled with excitement and wonder for me, even if I didn’t understand all that was going on.  It was him being there.  He didn’t have to do anything for or with me just be there.

He was a giant to me.  His voice was deep and authoritative most of the time.  However there were times when he thought I was asleep, when he spoke to me.  He would stroke my cheek or softly touch my hair as I slept while he spoke of his hopes for me.  His voice was soft and comforting, but it was only for me...when he thought I could not hear.

As I grew, I addressed him as Morholt, others called him “The Morholt.”  I didn’t understand till I was older what that meant.  I knew other children called their father by other names, though I thought I was special to have a different name for mine.  There was a lot I didn’t understand or even notice till I was older.  I must have been just entering my adolescence when I first started noticing the looks.

First, they were primarily from my Aunt and her family.  Noticing these made sense because, they were the people I had the most contact with.  My cousin, Esseil, was a few months older than me.
I guess as a child I didn’t notice the difference in the way we were treated.  As we hit adolescence though, there were distinct differences in not only how we were treated, but in how she treated me.  We had been like sisters, learning, playing, and growing together, or at least that was how I felt about it.  However, I knew no better.

It seemed to me there was a change in that relationship.  She no longer wished to play or learn the combat skills we were being trained.  No one made her continue them.  However, I was admonished to continue to learn and hone those skills.  Her time inside the house was increased with duties which kept her there and taught her the lessons of running a household as her mother did.  My time continued to be split between lessons in combat, both defensive and offensive, and household chores.

We were both were sent to the temple more and more with each year.  I watched my aunt’s frustration with Esseil and her lack of interest and skill in the spiritual arts we were learning.  At the same time, she was amazed and pleased with my seemingly inborn talent.  It was the only thing she ever seemed proud of me for.  It was why she pushed me to learn more.  My household chores were replaced with lessons with the priestesses of Kamasylvia.

This change in activity also made Esseil much lighter skinned than I, due to my increased and continued time out in the sun.  There were other changes in our clothing.  While the shades and styles had always enhanced our individual coloring, Esseil didn’t want our clothes to be too similar.  Hers had to make her appear more delicate and accent her pale skin.  Mine, while still being flattering and appropriate for a young woman of my age, was also functional and sturdy.  Where mine appeared to be made of delicate materials, it was an illusion of the fabric and leather.  Esseil’s silks and satins were covered in lace and would tear if the material was abused.  They also were designed to display her blossoming body.

My aunt and uncle began to treat me more like a companion to Esseil than her sister as I had previously been treated.  There were comments about how I was not expected to understand since my rank was not the same.  I didn’t understand these comments, but when I asked I was told it wasn’t for me to know   Eventually, tiring of my asking, my aunt told me I was being ungrateful by asking such things and if I continued I would be punished.  Never before had I done anything which had brought such a warning.  My questions stopped, though my mind was more alert to the differences in treatment and behavior.

She paused and looked around.  Her house was stark and bare.  There was none of the regalia she grew up with.  There was barely anything that was not functional or necessary.  She put the quill down and closed the ink bottle.  She would write no more tonight it was time to sleep and let the ghosts lay.

Branwyn was partially awake when she turned over with her eyes closed.  Her left arm stretched across the bed touched the body laying next to her.  She opened her eyes slightly.  “I thought you were leaving before sun up?” she mumbled in a bit of aggravation.

The male body moved as she felt him move closer.  “It’s not mornin’ yet love,” he said as she felt his hand moving down her back.

She lifted her head and looked around.  He was right.  It wasn’t morning.  The moon was still high in her window.  Internally, she sighed.  She knew what he wanted by the way his hands were moving down her body.  She had enjoyed their romp, but it wasn’t the best she’d ever been with.  He was trying to get her to turn over and she knew it.

“But you will be gone before dawn, right?”

“Hey, I don’t need to be seen coming out of anyone else’s house anymore than you need someone coming out of your house,” he said moving closer as he turned her over.  “In the meantime, I want to worship this beautiful elf body before me.”

Branwyn smirked a bit then let him have his way.  She wasn’t against it.  It also wasn’t like it wasn’t enjoyable and for the moment, he was the best available.

Hours later, the moon was setting.  Her male companion was redressing as she slept.  He stopped and watched her sleeping in the darkness.  She was the best lover he’d had in more than a few years.  He wished she was more interested in a long term lover.  He knew when he came back to her house she wasn’t looking for anything more than one night.

It was a few hours later, after he’d left, when she stirred again.  She stripped the bed and tossed the sheets out for laundry.  She made her way to the tub and washed off the man she’d been with completely.  He was out of her mind now.  She finished washing him off and moved on.  That was her life now.  She didn’t know if that would ever change.  She had no desire to get dependent on anyone, let alone close to anyone to trust them again.

As she strapped on her armor, she hoped she would be able to get some work.  She made her way to the Ravens’ headquarters and checked the board.  There was a fight that night for Omar Lava Cave mining operation, a holding they had held for weeks.  She was glad to sign up for it again.  When time came she headed out to Mediah and the battle.

Following the failed attempt to hold on to Omar Lava Cave mining operation against an onslaught of four organized groups of attacking forces, Branwyn reported to the Ravens of War medic, Jihl, for assistance with injuries primarily to her arms from the flame torrent she was in being blown up.  Jihl confirmed both of her arms were burned heavily.

Both arms were wrapped after being cleaned then having an application of a burn cream put on them before Jihl wrapped them in bandages.  Her left arm sustained significantly fewer injuries while her right arm had pieces of her leather sleeve and bracer melted into the second and third degree burns in places.  It would be several weeks before she would be allowed to work.  She left the medic’s office frustrated and wondering what she would do with herself.  Besides that, how could she make money without use of her arms.  

All she could do was hope the Ravens would need her for something non-combatant.