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 Posted: Mon Aug 05, 2013 10:11 am
Elsbeth Jaeger
Age 24
Guardian: Kugrah, buck
Occupation Nobleman's daughter, otherwise unemployed
Orientation Pan -- sex and gender identity make no difference
Positive loyal, trustworthy, compassionate, quick-to-laugh
Negative blunt, hotheaded, untimely
Neutral mercurial, free-spirited, independent, strong-willed (could be good or bad depending on who you ask)
.....about
She stands at about 5'8", a little taller than most women, and often wears boots with a slight heel to give her even more of an edge. Thin, but pleasantly curved and compact, it is evident that she is a very active woman. Her clear, ice-bright blue eyes give away her emotions more clearly than any words whether it be laughter or the hint of some adventure. Her skin is milk-pale in the way of those from her country, and her blonde hair, nearly white, gives her the finishing appearance of some small winterland fae.
Don't let her appearance fool you, however. Beneath the smiles and laughter is a fierceness that burns hot enough to melt stone. She may know how to dress, and act, the part of a noble lady when it suits her, but much prefers the comfort and ease that pants and a shirt may provide. Certainly, she doesn't behave as an 'proper' woman might but then Elsbeth has always thought such a life would kill her faster than any ailment.
Her last name, after all, does mean "Hunter".
Though what, exactly, she's hunting for -- aside from her own sense of freedom -- she isn't sure. Fierce, quick to laugh, strong-willed and often stubborn, Elsbeth is something of an enigma of a woman. Yet she is young and, at times, feels the vulnerability of her situation and sometimes wonders if the things she does aren't just some elaborate pretense for a truth that can never be.
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Posted: Mon Aug 05, 2013 10:23 am
.....history
She is nine as she races through the gardens, imagines herself as swift and silent as a deer, leaping in great strides with a wild grin stretching her face, her hair flying in the wake of the wind she makes. Clutched in one hand is a ragged, splintered stick that she imagines is a great, shining, sword that gleams in the light of the afternoon sun. The wooden bowl clutched awkwardly to her head is pure steel to hold in her brains should anyone knock her about -- not that she'd let them!
Dressed in her brother's clothes she races up the steps to her home, and squeals with laughter atop Wally's back, the great German Shepherd barking as he carries her up the steps. The maids stare aghast at the disheveled, muddied, child racing through the main hall atop the equally muddied beast, but she doesn't care – she's a hero.
She fells imaginary foes left and right, her bright blue eyes alight with fire and....
---she steps into the ballroom, heads turning her way as her name is announced and she's sure the flush of fury in her cheeks must be mistaken for some ridiculous maiden's blush. How dare her mother force her into this... this, showring. As if she were a mare to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Well, they'd see just what kind of creature she was, alright, and she was no dumb beast.
Skirts sweeping the floor, she disentangles herself from her mother and chaperone, losing them in swirls of color and noise. Taking up a station near the wall, she picks up a glass of wine and swallows it in one go. A few moments later the room is buzzing pleasantly and Elsbeth closes her eyes for just a brief moment and sighs.
One man she sends away with a sharp, cool, glare – another with a well-aimed splash of punch to the face when he'd refused to take the hint. From there she picks herself up absconds up the stairs to the balcony, closing the doors behind her, and wraps herself in solitude as she listens to the night. Her heart aches for freedom, for a shape that is not her own, and as her knuckles turn white with rage against the brass, filigreed, railing she makes up her mind that she will not allow herself to be stuffed into a life not her own.
She heads into the manor down the quiet northern wing of the house and finds a room, after some searching, which belongs to whatever lord apparently lives there. Stripping herself with quick, angry motions, she jerks on a shirt and pants a tad to big for her slight frame and tightens the belt as far as it will go. The boots and gloves she pulls on last, and her long hair she twists atop her head and stuffs it up under a cap that she pulls low over her eyes. She is 18 and, as she heads out the front door with only a few curious glances, the jacket conceals her the curve of her breasts, she has never felt so free in her life.
Her mare is stabled nearby and welcomes her with a quiet whicker, and soon...
---soon they are flying across the open plains, green grass sweet and soft beneath Maple's hooves, the solid rhythm of her body like a second heartbeat to Elsbeth's own. She clutches her mane, the reins loose and useless between them, and let's the horse run where it wishes as she closes her eyes and breathes in the warm, salty, scent of her.
The pounding of hooves rattles into her bones, beats against her ears, the wind rushing into her face, and it's the best feeling in the world as she spurs the creature on with a whisper and a nudge of her knees.
Perfection is the moment they arrive in town and the young girl outside the bar, mistaking Elsi's grin of euphoria for one of interest, blushes and looks at her shyly. Dressed in her brother's clothes, astride proud, beautiful Maple, she understands the confusion. When she laughs, the bell-like sound cuts the spell and the look of confusion on the barmaid's face nearly makes Elsbeth fall off her horse.
She sits at a table and giggles with the girl for hours, talking of nothing and everything in between When she wakes in the morning with a pounding headache, she thinks of her mother – a man, her mother always said – and Elsi laughs.
When she returns home, two days later, travel worn and happier than she's been in her life even her Father's outraged yells that night cannot disrupt her mood. She nods where appropriate, but does not apologize. Eventually she's sent to bed, where she falls into her sheets smelling of wind, and grass, and wine, and dreams...
---dreams of deer as big as horses, tall and regal and proud, of green eyes that glow like faerie-fire in a night darker than black, of warmth all around and a feeling of belonging – of safety. She is a woman, and it doesn't matter. Here, she is needed. Here she is strong, and valued, desired for who she is and what she can do instead of for what and where she comes from.
He comes out of the darkness like a pale shade, indistinct but solid, and as she looks at him her heart swells with the sight of him. His nose is warm and welcome against her cheek, his fur soft velvet as she curls her fingers against his neck and presses herself to him – heart to heart-- and feels assurance, acceptance, fierce protectiveness, and love, love, love... and longing...
---longing in her like a brand against her spirit that drives her half-mad with a fevered desired to travel, to move, for something unnamed. She's gone for days at a time, and her parents worry. Her mother insists she needs to marry, that it will center her – Elsbeth disappears for a week. When she returns, she is 24, and it is midnight of her birthday.
Two months later, she leaves with a group of wealthy, traveling merchants, headed to Sunderland. A gypsy woman there takes care of her when she gets sick after eating something bad. They sleep curled up together, that night, when a fierce storm overtakes them – the snow too thick to travel safely by.
When she wakes the snow glitters like fine powdered sugar under the full moon, and the feeling to move is stronger in her than ever before. It's not to the road that her eyes wander, however, as she slips out of the caravan, but to the dark mass of trees to the East-- the Wardwood.
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Posted: Mon Aug 05, 2013 10:24 am
..... KugrahWhen she'd stepped into the forest that night, it was dark and thick with more than just the shadow of night. Something stirred in her heart, some anticipation, and fear, and as she went deeper a strange glow began to diffuse the air. There the ward-tree loomed out of the forest like something from a faerie tale. Time passed as she stood there, in awe, her mind blank with the beauty of the moment.
As Elsbeth clutched the totem to her heart and closed her eyes she was seized with a strong sense of affirmation and fierce, overwhelming, pride. Her dreams were more than just folly, her hopes more than a child's cobwebs to be dusted away with time. She may finally, finally, have the chance to prove herself as more than just a simple lord's daughter, a simple woman...
~*~
Kugrah is gentle patience tempered with steel and fire. Serious, stoic, possessive and fierce, he views the world as an endless canvas painted in greys and thus also tends to be rather unbiased in his opinions of others. The world is beautiful, strange, and sometimes savage and he takes it in stride. Often preferring to watch and listen before engaging, Kugrah makes no judgement that is not based on his own observation. That being said, he is extremely protective of Elsbeth and rarely lets the young woman out of his sight -- not that she minds. There is something to be said about having a large, horned, deer at one's side. He also shares in her sense of adventure, and has a playful streak if one manages to get close to him.
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