Post by ELODI BYTHELL on May 18, 2014 6:57:50 GMT
[attr="class","icoco"] | [attr="class","icoco"] | [attr="class","icoco"] |
[attr="class","qty"]"the star maker says, it ain't so bad
the dream maker's gonna make you mad"
the dream maker's gonna make you mad"
[attr="class","bxy"]
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
They are a strange trio a dwarf, a human, and an elf. Like something out of a bad pub joke. She doesn’t realize there’s anything different about them until she is much older and the two of them are no longer with her. Then she realizes, if an elf, human man, and dwarf ever walked into a pub together, well she’d definitely be suspicious.
Her childhood is spent constantly on the move—she has seen more of Thedas by the age of thirteen than most people will ever see their entire lives. Her human father is a hired blade, and her dwarf father is a merchant. One killed for a living, the other lied and swindled, but looking back on them now she realizes they were the best people she has ever known.
Despite the hazards of their occupations she lives a stable life, does not want for much, and lives almost blissfully ignorant of the goings on of the world. At meals her fathers grumble quietly about political coups and foreboding signs of a blight, while she frowns at her vegetables and disappears when they’re not looking to go through their newest wares.
They instill in her a love for stories, all things beautiful, and an amount of naiveté that is absurd for the kind of place the world is becoming.
She is fourteen when her human father passes.
He is too honest a man for his occupation. The concept of a fair fight is not one that his colleagues are as familiar with as he is, and they leave Elodi and his partner nothing but his head, delivered in a beautiful iron chest.
“A relic straight out of Orzamar no doubt…” Her father mutters before opening the chest.
Elodi does not realize the extent of her ignorance until their family of two relocates to Orlais permanently.
Her father loses himself in his sadness and liquor, and it’s not too long before she loses him. Her sadness is not as crippling as she thinks it should be, and in the mess of thoughts and fears bubbling she is shocked by the one that is most profound of them all.
“How am I going to survive?”
For a while she continues to live among the humans, blinded by her ignorance and love for Val Royeaux. But the only thing stranger than an elf parading the streets with a dwarf and human is an elf parading through streets full of humans by herself.
For a while she attempts to live with “her people”. But the alienage is crowded, and her people are impoverished. They have a deeply encoded culture all their own and she does not have the patience or humility to learn it. The elves make her feel more ashamed of her existence than the humans do. She’d lived a life of extravagance compared to the rest of them; she’d been fed well enough to have time to care for things like gold and silks.
They force her out of the world she’d comfortably locked herself away in and she doesn’t care much for the way they scowl when her gold bangles clink against her wrists.
She doesn’t think anyone sets out to be a bard. The occupation just happened upon you, and it happened upon the types of people whose personalities couldn’t refuse the opportunity.
She’s good at speaking with her eyes, and just as good with a pair of blades—both skills courtesy of her fathers. A good merchant had to see into the souls of people, see their hopes, desires, and then convince them they wanted to buy their goods of their own agency, not because someone had told them they should. And well, what was any hired brute without a few fancy knife tricks?
For years the life of a bard is everything she has ever craved.
Every door is an open one, and inside awaited only the fast paced and glamorous. Bards were tools of the aristocracy, but she realizes for every bit of information she extracts and every neck she slits in the stillness of night, she holds more power to influence and affect than her anonymous employers ever did. The fates of so many are decided by the flick of her blades and the connotations of her smiles; the thought adds a bounce to her step and makes her realize she might be a bit arrogant.
Her colleagues tell her she’s fickle, and that that’s a dangerous trait to have in this line of work.
She never actually rid herself of her naiveté, she realizes.
She’d found her niche amongst other bards. They were a group of people who lived above the order of the rest of the world and in this way protected her from having to change herself to meet the expectations of others. She was selfish, and she was rarely capable of seeing past herself, and that was okay—even beneficial considering their occupations.
They lived in a world all their own, and she somehow failed to realize that the smaller the ecosystem the more aggressive its members would be in the face of even the most minor of disturbances.
The reason you never hear much about bards and their inner workings is because they’re sworn to secrecy when they enter the order, and when they leave—they’re silenced.
She is amazed at how content she is with being on the run. Every city is a new identity, and every shadow is the possibility of her yet to really begin life coming to an end. Being chased suits her just fine. The fear keeps her on her feet, and the lack of stability doesn’t give her the opportunity to be fickle.
The rare moments of quiet in between hiding from her own shadow and covering her tracks are the only downside. She thinks about her fathers, she thinks about the state of the world, and she thinks about how she has no one to unload these things onto so what’s even the point in thinking about them?
But the wind will sway branches, and in the distance a twig will snap, these thoughts will be smothered to a quiet hum and the perpetual game of hide and seek that is her life reconvenes once more.
LIST OF TALENTS: Deft Hands, Confusion, Twin Strikes, Cripple
LIST OF SKILLS: Lvl 2 Coercion, Lvl 2 Stealing
SPECIALIZATION: Bard
[attr="class","jigs"]TWENTY FIVE • MERCHANT/CON-ARTIST • ORLAIS • ELF
[attr="class","noccio"]ELODI BYTHELL
[attr="class","bb"]Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Her father tells her they found her in the offering box of the chantry in Jader, her other father tells her they found her in the arms of a beautiful Dalish woman who’d washed up on the banks of a river near Val Chevin. To this day she doesn’t know which one it is, or if either of them are true at all, but she doesn’t particularly care because both her fathers are fantastic story tellers and she enjoys having options.
They are a strange trio a dwarf, a human, and an elf. Like something out of a bad pub joke. She doesn’t realize there’s anything different about them until she is much older and the two of them are no longer with her. Then she realizes, if an elf, human man, and dwarf ever walked into a pub together, well she’d definitely be suspicious.
Her childhood is spent constantly on the move—she has seen more of Thedas by the age of thirteen than most people will ever see their entire lives. Her human father is a hired blade, and her dwarf father is a merchant. One killed for a living, the other lied and swindled, but looking back on them now she realizes they were the best people she has ever known.
Despite the hazards of their occupations she lives a stable life, does not want for much, and lives almost blissfully ignorant of the goings on of the world. At meals her fathers grumble quietly about political coups and foreboding signs of a blight, while she frowns at her vegetables and disappears when they’re not looking to go through their newest wares.
They instill in her a love for stories, all things beautiful, and an amount of naiveté that is absurd for the kind of place the world is becoming.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
She is fourteen when her human father passes.
He is too honest a man for his occupation. The concept of a fair fight is not one that his colleagues are as familiar with as he is, and they leave Elodi and his partner nothing but his head, delivered in a beautiful iron chest.
“A relic straight out of Orzamar no doubt…” Her father mutters before opening the chest.
Elodi does not realize the extent of her ignorance until their family of two relocates to Orlais permanently.
Her father loses himself in his sadness and liquor, and it’s not too long before she loses him. Her sadness is not as crippling as she thinks it should be, and in the mess of thoughts and fears bubbling she is shocked by the one that is most profound of them all.
“How am I going to survive?”
For a while she continues to live among the humans, blinded by her ignorance and love for Val Royeaux. But the only thing stranger than an elf parading the streets with a dwarf and human is an elf parading through streets full of humans by herself.
For a while she attempts to live with “her people”. But the alienage is crowded, and her people are impoverished. They have a deeply encoded culture all their own and she does not have the patience or humility to learn it. The elves make her feel more ashamed of her existence than the humans do. She’d lived a life of extravagance compared to the rest of them; she’d been fed well enough to have time to care for things like gold and silks.
They force her out of the world she’d comfortably locked herself away in and she doesn’t care much for the way they scowl when her gold bangles clink against her wrists.
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
She doesn’t think anyone sets out to be a bard. The occupation just happened upon you, and it happened upon the types of people whose personalities couldn’t refuse the opportunity.
She’s good at speaking with her eyes, and just as good with a pair of blades—both skills courtesy of her fathers. A good merchant had to see into the souls of people, see their hopes, desires, and then convince them they wanted to buy their goods of their own agency, not because someone had told them they should. And well, what was any hired brute without a few fancy knife tricks?
For years the life of a bard is everything she has ever craved.
Every door is an open one, and inside awaited only the fast paced and glamorous. Bards were tools of the aristocracy, but she realizes for every bit of information she extracts and every neck she slits in the stillness of night, she holds more power to influence and affect than her anonymous employers ever did. The fates of so many are decided by the flick of her blades and the connotations of her smiles; the thought adds a bounce to her step and makes her realize she might be a bit arrogant.
Her colleagues tell her she’s fickle, and that that’s a dangerous trait to have in this line of work.
She never actually rid herself of her naiveté, she realizes.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
She’d found her niche amongst other bards. They were a group of people who lived above the order of the rest of the world and in this way protected her from having to change herself to meet the expectations of others. She was selfish, and she was rarely capable of seeing past herself, and that was okay—even beneficial considering their occupations.
They lived in a world all their own, and she somehow failed to realize that the smaller the ecosystem the more aggressive its members would be in the face of even the most minor of disturbances.
The reason you never hear much about bards and their inner workings is because they’re sworn to secrecy when they enter the order, and when they leave—they’re silenced.
She is amazed at how content she is with being on the run. Every city is a new identity, and every shadow is the possibility of her yet to really begin life coming to an end. Being chased suits her just fine. The fear keeps her on her feet, and the lack of stability doesn’t give her the opportunity to be fickle.
The rare moments of quiet in between hiding from her own shadow and covering her tracks are the only downside. She thinks about her fathers, she thinks about the state of the world, and she thinks about how she has no one to unload these things onto so what’s even the point in thinking about them?
But the wind will sway branches, and in the distance a twig will snap, these thoughts will be smothered to a quiet hum and the perpetual game of hide and seek that is her life reconvenes once more.
LIST OF TALENTS: Deft Hands, Confusion, Twin Strikes, Cripple
LIST OF SKILLS: Lvl 2 Coercion, Lvl 2 Stealing
SPECIALIZATION: Bard
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