
Born to a large family that made its fortune through trade and shipping, Eithna has left her home for reasons of "personal misfortune…" now, she seeks new purpose on the mainland.
ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ──⋄⋄⋄── What About Her? ──⋄⋄⋄──ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ
Her Name. Eithna Primriver
Where Her Date of Birth Lands. Thirty-Three Vernuses passed, the 8th of Firstide.
Her Social Status. An Estranged Aristocrat, born from new wealth yet now far from family ties.
And How Highly She Stands. A middling height, for her circumstance and stride.
How Heavily She Is Set. Quite light and thin, very much "like the feather of a pheasant."
The Culture that She Calls Her Own. Mistan, those who hold favor beyond the seaside.
Her Homeland, Lest You Forget. Sirensong, a busy port not as vast as it seems, and not unpleasant.
(5’7” ft / 171 cm) (128 lbs / 58 kg)
ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ──⋄⋄⋄── What of Her Physicality? ──⋄⋄⋄──ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ
Her Shape. Thin, or long if prone. Her shoulders are narrow, and her posture is typically straight and stiff. Or lax and casual.
The Complexion of Her Skin. Pallid, and mostly flawless. Except for her arms and legs, in addition to some other areas of her body, which possess a slick sort of skin dark in color with a carmine tinge, similar to that of an eel or hagfish.
The Hair on Her Head. It is straight, almost black, and well kept. There is a natural shine to it.
Those Shining Brown Eyes. Without pupil or iris, solid, chestnut brown. Yet most often hidden behind a pair of spectacles, the lenses of which are tinted cerulean, and upon closer inspect, may reveal a darkening towards the center of the circles. A suggestion of eyes.
The Wholeness of Her Face. Like many others of her family, Eithna possesses middleset cheekbones with little definition, and a relatively sharp nose that is small, but not especially so. On the left side of her jaw sits a single mole, and her lips are on the thin side. Her neck is long, and bears a patch or two of her smoother skin.
ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ──⋄⋄⋄── And Her Personality? ──⋄⋄⋄──ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ
Evasive. Cagey, slippery like an eel at times, or perhaps stingy with certain details; At others, a question answered with a simple, knowing smile.
Courteous. A set of manners is an important thing—it is what separates her from others who may be "crude" in her eyes, a justification for her place in society.
Vindictive. Never should she forget a face, nor a slight.
Envious. A joyless bitterness that typically follows the success of others. It eats at her. And yet it is outwardly silent, now—The mark of a mistake.
Impulsive. At some times only is she less restricted, more bold.
Caring. A notice taken of others. Their hardships, their connections.
ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ──⋄⋄⋄── Oh, and the Forces that Animate Her? ──⋄⋄⋄──ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ
What Compels Her
The Night Sky Above. The vast veil of the night sky, seemingly unreachable, yet ever alluring, a backdrop to the twin moons. Growing up, she found herself entranced on those clear, starry nights.
The Deep. Once a semi-frequent visitor to the sea, not quite a sailor. Miles of water, with nothing in sight; A tranquil scene, secluded from all, silence to think. The fathomless depths below always did capture her interest.
Foggy Days. That constant morning mist only truly was appreciated when she parted from it. While not the same away from home, it's still nice to be reminded of such a place. In some ways, at least.
Fine Things. Formed in the wealth of new nobility, her tastes would be bound to have some amount of extravagance, even if grounded by her immediate community, which she was not wholly separate from. Fine wine, good food, quality clothing, and fanciful entertainment—Surely tastes of the more distinguished.
Pears. There's not much to say of it. Her favorite fruit, sweet and soft, and something that teases simpler times.
What Repels Her
Muck, Filth, Slime and Sickness. She can't stand these things, like most others, being even more averse to them than others.
Shed Blood and Great Violence. Perhaps it is a necessity at times. Keep it out sight, out of mind.
Fish. There's not much to say of it. She's positively sick of the taste, and how the carcasses stare up lifelessly at her. Oh, and eels... Don't get her started on eels.
That Which She Fears
Pests, vermin, that which skitters and crawls and festers. But especially rats.
It bothers her, her mortality.
To what extent exactly does she take after her mother? Can she be free of such a fate?
And That Which Motivates Her.
Finding a more permanent residence.
Gaining new purpose.
Magic, at her fingertips... But at what cost?
Gathering a power most arcane



