dustymice
dustymiceRHIANNON HOWELL
dustyDEVOTEDdustymiceNOBLEdustymicePRINCIPLEDdustymicePRUDEdustymiceTALENTED
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• NICKNAME Rhi
• AGE 026xxxxxxxBIRTHDAY Jan 03rd
• HGHT 5 foot 6xxxBDY TYPE Hour-glass, athletic
• EYE C. BluexxxxHAIR C. Blonde
• GENDER FemalexxixRACE Human
• SEXUAL ORIENTATION Demisexual
• ( RUNIC ) ARTES
xxxxxxxx０ １ CONJURATION , SWORDS
xxxxxxxxxx┋xxable to create swords from thin air,
xxxxxxxxxx┋xxbut are only able to be wielded by
xxxxxxxxxx┋xxthe summoner.
xxxxxxxx０ ２ TELEKINESIS
xxxxxxxxxx┋xxcan pick up and move objects with
xxxxxxxxxx┋xxthe her will and mind. lighter the
xxxxxxxxxx┋xxobject, easier it is to lift. heavier it
xxxxxxxxxx┋xxis, the more strain it puts on her.
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DESIRABLE
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxsparring
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxhot baths
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxarmor/weapon maintenance
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxlaughter
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxrain
REPULSIVE
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxsour foods
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxcats
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxheights
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxdisrespect
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxchaos/needless bloodshed
xxxx❤❤❤❤❤xxxxx┋xxdeals with demons to gain power
VULNERABLE
xxxx┋xxone vs many • cannot fight out numbered; if concentration is split too much, she cannot use her artes
xxxx┋xxduty bound • even if she hates what she has to do, as a knight she is duty bound
xxxx┋xxstamina draining • the more she uses her artes, the less stamina she has; at a certain point she cannot use them anymore
TALENTS
xxxx┋xxsword play • howell line is known for skilled swordsmen/women
xxxx┋xxnever unarmed • can conjure swords for her use; she will never be unprepared
xxxx┋xxdetermination • will complete a task no matter the odds
xxxx┋xxsinging • more of a secret, rhi has a very soothing voice and is quite good at singing
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QUIRKS
xxxx┋xxrunning fingers through hair • nervous habit; either brushes bangs to the side or straightens them a bit
xxxx┋xxcrossing her arms • uncomfortable; either in the environment or by someone, she will cross her arms as if to put up a shield
xxxx┋xxtracing along her collarbone • embarrassed; also coupled with avoiding eye contact/glancing at one through the corner of her eyes.
xxxx┋xxbiting lip • angered; done out of attempt to keep from spouting insults
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HISTORY A lineage of swordsmen bestowed upon the first child of the new generation excellent capabilities in both Artes and pure talent. A single child to James and Helen Howell, Rhiannon was given her name from one of the first Howell knights: a woman with blazing red hair. In both namesake and skills, there was much to be expected of the young girl and it was in her early years that she was taught. She could not drift from the path laid out before her, giving her a sense of isolation from the other children who could laugh and play about the streets without a care in the world (she secretly hated them). Rhiannon would deal with the constant lessons and grow into a fine woman, easily passing the entrance tests for the military with flying colors. She earned the eye of the higher ups, they too coming to expect much of her.
(Like she cared what they thought).
Rhiannon's career in the military was easy, her advanced techniques overtaking even some of the more experienced men in sparring matches. They despised her for it, knowing that she would easily surpass them and earn the promotions they so desired (jealous pigs they were). And as they thought, she was promoted through the ranks with ease, her Artes of conjuration only impressing her superiors and comrades when she finally revealed it.
It had been a cold night, most having turned in for the night after a day of heavy mining. With the frequent attack by raiders, it was no wonder a select squad had been sent to protect the town. Rhiannon had volunteered to do herself, hoping to get a change of scenery and some form of stress relief (the men's jealously wore at her nerves). She was given just that and on a cold night, while the clouds covered the moon, a group of raiders attacked. Most of her men had been unprepared; yawning or griping about the temperature. They were taken by surprise, raiders tearing through the guards dispersed on the fringes of the town. One man escaped, a young and lanky thing, and fled to find someone, anyone. He would stumble upon the blonde, grab onto her shoulder and ramble out of the attack. "Alert the others." She pushed him away, patting him on the back as she rushed the way he came from.
It was bloody, oh so bloody. She remembered it well and still does, succumbing to nightmares in her slumber. The raiders had spared no one, men and women lay in the street, large gashes cutting into their clothing and flesh; their empty eyes staring up at the sky. (Quick, stop them. No mercy.) Rhiannon cared little if they were humans, for what they had committed was unbelievable. The first conjuration had slung through the air, finding it's target in a man covered in leathers. The raiders would look in her direction, watch as the blonde moved forward slowly, deliberately. Another was bold, rushing at her with sword held high, ready to cut her down in an instant. He was met with a swift death, falling to the side of her path. They were fearful now, watching as another sword appeared out of thin air, hovering there. It was as if time stopped.
(It did not, not for them).
By the time her comrades reached the site, the town was quiet again, except for the weeping woman. Had they been the reason the raiders killed the townspeople? She wept. Wept for the innocent people who had lost their lives that night.
Three days would pass before the group returned, reports in hand. The superiors wanted to see her Artes; they ordered her to demonstrate it. Rhiannon complied, allowing the blades to appear. Between their praise and the awe of the crowd, she thought little of the situation, knowing just what it would include: more jealously. Yet it would be two months after this reveal that her father would insist she marry, bringing man after man before her. Each time she declined, having found little interest in romance or a desire to have children. She was young and she wished to live her life, not cater to some old man who only cared for keeping his last name the upper most pedigree.
Rhiannon remained a single woman for the next few years, pledging herself to protecting them people and growing as a person. Promotions meant little to her, but she earned them nonetheless. It was only until the treaty was brought up that she felt betrayed. To offer up their own as bribes in hopes to not be destroyed by the other races....had they no faith in their military? They were monsters, but not immortal. Lycans and Sanguine had been killed countless times before. Could humanity truly feel so backed into a corner? The woman only grew more irritated when her own father offered up Rhiannon as a potential...breeder (it makes her blood boil and skin crawl). Yet as she rejected this, she was informed it was now a duty; that if she did not go through with it, humanity could very well be pushed to the brink. Defeated, Rhiannon accepted. No matter who she was to..breed with, it would only be out of duty, nothing more.
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4A67A1 ( COLOR ONE ) 2C2F3D ( COLOR TWO )
♘⋮WHEN THE HOPE OF MORNING〖 STARTS TO FADE IN ME ↘↘
