Name: Nepenthe, called Croe (I suppose both names should be added to the directory…)
Gender: female
Appearance: Croe, as she is known by nearly everyone who’d call her by a name, is pretty in the way a sword can be pretty – honed and sharp. Her body is of medium height and slim but solid build, with a bit too much muscular definition (and too little in the way of curvature) to be considered very feminine. Still, there is a kind of grace to her movements, and certainly a competence, that could make her attractive to some. Her skeleton is birdlike, with wrists like spindles, long fingers and pronounced, high cheekbones. Her large eyes are framed by such lashes that she always appears to be wearing eyeliner.
Croe’s coloring suggests her name. Her hair is a lustrous black, thick and silky, and her eyes are so dark they might as well be black, too. Her skin is tanned from exposure, with a cast that suggests Mediterranean origins. That skin is extensively tattooed: her right thigh, back and left bicep are all covered in a combination of sweeping abstract and geometric forms, and slightly more delicate designs adorn her right forearm and left calf. For the most part, none of these embellishments are ever seen, as she tends toward neck-to-ankle clothing, always in black.
Defects: Myriad, but the most immediate is her amnesia. Due to the traumatic nature of her arrival in Shaman, she has very little recollection of her life on Earth. (More on that, below)
Croe lacks social graces…one might even say she possessed some variety of disorder. One could also call her erratic, reckless, withdrawn, and unforgiving. Or at least, these used to be her defects. With her memories buried deep, she is experiencing something like a personality reset.
Physically, her left knee is weaker than the right. Constant exercise and care must be taken to ensure that this old injury does not worsen.
Age:28
Personality: In flux. On Earth, her upbringing and occupation led her to be withdrawn, slow to trust, and aggressive at times. Stripped of all these learned behaviors and prejudices, however, she is left with an intelligent mind, natural curiosity, a handful of instincts, and an inherent disregard for her own safety. She must question everything, because she is sure of nothing.
History: Nepenthe was born to a wealthy political family, whereupon her parents decided that procreation was not really their deal. Caught between the polarizing influences of being indulged and ignored, the child grew into a reticent woman, filled with contempt for luxury and status, most comfortable in solitude. She attended her nation’s best university, where her professors described her as “gifted, but stubbornly opposed to using her talents.” After receiving her first-rate education, she astonished her family by joining the military as an enlisted soldier.
The first years of her service were hard, as a woman and as a fairy. Her superiors deemed her unfit for leadership, but she managed to ascend the ranks anyway, owing to her exceptional talent for secrecy. It was not long before she was converted into a full-time intelligence operative, and within a few years she was recruited by the Alliance. It was there that she earned her nickname and became an adept spy (and, at times, assassin).
Croe remembers very little about herself and her past, at the moment she arrives in Shaman. What she does remember from her life are the basic facts of existence: her pseudonym (but not her given name), age, that she is Fairy, that there is a Fairy Council. She also retains her physical faculties, though she does not necessarily remember what those are.
Sample post:
“Darling, won’t you wear something else?”
Nepenthe contemplated her mother over the rim of her mug, the expression in her eyes carefully blank. “Darling?” The fact that she had been asked to change her attire barely registered. She was in the throes of adolescence, after all, and one intensified by the mutual dislike between herself and her parents. Her fingers drummed the vivid red ceramic, steam rose from her tea in sinuous gusts.
“No,” she answered, emotionless. Xanthippe threw up her hands in exasperation, turned with a swirl of silk skirt.
“You look like you’re going to a funeral. This is a gala, Nepenthe. A fundraiser. It is important to your father’s career.”
“So?”
“So you should have a care, or maybe you won’t be invited to the next one.”
“That,” Nepenthe sighed, “sounds perfectly lovely.” Her mother’s mouth twisted into its typical, contemptuous sneer.
“I am unconvinced you were not switched at birth.”
“As am I.”
“I’m calling your father.”
“Suit yourself.”
And with that, Xanthippe exited the parlour.
Nepenthe knew her father would have nothing constructive to say. He, at least, was aware of how little he understood his child, and that there was no real place for blame in their situation. He’d been unprepared for parenthood, he conceded. He was more comfortable lobbying and fundraising and governing than he was nurturing. Xanthippe was not a natural at mothering – even if her child had resembled her more, she wouldn’t have leapt at the chance to tell bedtime stories, wipe spit from a baby’s chin, or restrict her own daily motions to accommodate a child. It was no one’s fault, really. But the fact remained that Nepenthe hated her mother, and barely tolerated her father.
That is, the idea of her father. Her interactions with him were so rare.
There were a few beats of silence, during which the only motion was that of the steam, and a breeze pulling some gauzy curtains from the window so slowly that they did not even whisper against one another. Nepenthe stared into space, then down at her clothes. She hadn’t, in fact, been planning on wearing this outfit to the gala – she just hadn’t bothered to change, yet, and didn’t take as long as her mother to dress. But now that so much had been made of the situation, she was going as she was. Skirt and blouse, where there should have been a gown, maybe pearls. She snickered, set the mug on the table, rose to her feet.
At least, dressed like this, she wouldn’t be forced to dance.
Anything else you wish to include: I don’t need to use that coin yet :)
Your player name: Dema (sometimes Stinger).
How you found out about us: Alora, really. Although I had also seen your advertisement on Alanor’s board, ages ago.
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