Istkotyra
Oct 27, 2017 4:20:55 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 27, 2017 4:20:55 GMT -5
Istkotyra (Tyr)
Age: 10
Half-Elf
Description;
Bordering on 'scrawny', this half-elf child doesn't look particularly tame. She's got wild, messy coffee-brown hair that is generally at least halfway tied back in a 'tail, and wilder, sharp yellow eyes. Her skin is somewhere in the vicinity of dark, greyed taupe, and nicked here and there with little scars new and old. Here and there, still baby-soft patches of vibrant copper scales crop up. She's got ears that are quite long for a half-elf, one burned quite severely a long time ago along with a fair amount of the right side of her face and neck, the scars old and faded.
For a child as feral-looking as Tyr, she's surprisingly well-dressed. She keeps a small cache of clothes in jewel tones, a heavy, very soft woolen cloak in deep indigo, and more shiny accessories than you can shake a stick at. She's got copper dragon-scale bracers, a set or two of light scale mail armor, several rare baubles like belts in delicate metals, necklaces, and cloak-clasps a-plenty. The adopted kin of dragons, Tyr is not wanting for shiny things. She lugs around a gnarled hawthorn staff set with some sort of glowing stone or other; it's taller than she is, and quite heavy, but she's very attached to it.
Personality;
A little wild, more than a little wily, Tyr's draconic upbringing shows in her personality. The copper dragons brought out the girl's innate sharpness, shaped her cutting wit and perhaps her growing habits towards ostentatiousness. She has a deep love of puzzles, and a passion for shiny baubles that directly calls back to her having been raised amongst dragons. She also sometimes lengthens her consonants, rolls letters oddly, and just generally has an accented common that would be considered strange.
Beyond these things, she's a child – she loves 'adventures', building bigger things out of smaller things, wrestling, and green growing things. They were so scarce where she grew up that anything green and plantlike fascinates her to no end. Also scarce in her early life: humans, or any sort of two-legged person. She vacillates between wild distrust of humanoids and bright curiosity – what are they like, how do they live, why don't they all live with dragons? Who are they? Sometimes, the kid is obnoxiously curious.
History;
Tyr's first memories are of warm scales, the smell of stone, and the squeaky rise and fall of the odd voices of the only siblings she ever knew. She's not sure how she came into the keep of dragons -- or why she's been learning to control innate magic as long as she's been alive -- but she also doesn't actually ask questions. As far as she's concerned, her mother and father are dragons, and she has six wyrmlings who are her brothers and sisters, and it's not weird at all. It's weird that your siblings aren't dragons, alright???
Not long ago, Tyr, her largest brother, and mother, were flying -- well, they were juggling her midair like a sack of potatoes -- when magical calamity struck. None were quite sure what happened, but one moment she was laughing in Kzaur's talons, waiting to be tossed back to mother, and the next they were plummeting out of a sky entirely the wrong color.
These things happen.
Age: 10
Half-Elf
Description;
Bordering on 'scrawny', this half-elf child doesn't look particularly tame. She's got wild, messy coffee-brown hair that is generally at least halfway tied back in a 'tail, and wilder, sharp yellow eyes. Her skin is somewhere in the vicinity of dark, greyed taupe, and nicked here and there with little scars new and old. Here and there, still baby-soft patches of vibrant copper scales crop up. She's got ears that are quite long for a half-elf, one burned quite severely a long time ago along with a fair amount of the right side of her face and neck, the scars old and faded.
For a child as feral-looking as Tyr, she's surprisingly well-dressed. She keeps a small cache of clothes in jewel tones, a heavy, very soft woolen cloak in deep indigo, and more shiny accessories than you can shake a stick at. She's got copper dragon-scale bracers, a set or two of light scale mail armor, several rare baubles like belts in delicate metals, necklaces, and cloak-clasps a-plenty. The adopted kin of dragons, Tyr is not wanting for shiny things. She lugs around a gnarled hawthorn staff set with some sort of glowing stone or other; it's taller than she is, and quite heavy, but she's very attached to it.
Personality;
A little wild, more than a little wily, Tyr's draconic upbringing shows in her personality. The copper dragons brought out the girl's innate sharpness, shaped her cutting wit and perhaps her growing habits towards ostentatiousness. She has a deep love of puzzles, and a passion for shiny baubles that directly calls back to her having been raised amongst dragons. She also sometimes lengthens her consonants, rolls letters oddly, and just generally has an accented common that would be considered strange.
Beyond these things, she's a child – she loves 'adventures', building bigger things out of smaller things, wrestling, and green growing things. They were so scarce where she grew up that anything green and plantlike fascinates her to no end. Also scarce in her early life: humans, or any sort of two-legged person. She vacillates between wild distrust of humanoids and bright curiosity – what are they like, how do they live, why don't they all live with dragons? Who are they? Sometimes, the kid is obnoxiously curious.
History;
Tyr's first memories are of warm scales, the smell of stone, and the squeaky rise and fall of the odd voices of the only siblings she ever knew. She's not sure how she came into the keep of dragons -- or why she's been learning to control innate magic as long as she's been alive -- but she also doesn't actually ask questions. As far as she's concerned, her mother and father are dragons, and she has six wyrmlings who are her brothers and sisters, and it's not weird at all. It's weird that your siblings aren't dragons, alright???
Not long ago, Tyr, her largest brother, and mother, were flying -- well, they were juggling her midair like a sack of potatoes -- when magical calamity struck. None were quite sure what happened, but one moment she was laughing in Kzaur's talons, waiting to be tossed back to mother, and the next they were plummeting out of a sky entirely the wrong color.
These things happen.