Approved White Tower Bio for Aurora Dovienya-CC'd by Freelanders

[WhiteWolf]

Basic Info

Handle: Aurora

Characters: Aurora Dovienya (abandonded, re-activating)

Character Info

Name: Aurora Dovienya

Traditional character

Age: 14

PoB: Arad Doman

 

Appearance

 

Hair: Dirty blonde/light brown

Eyes: hazel; large and round

Skin: Creamy light brown

Height: 5’0

Voice: average pitch; often speaks in challenging and skeptical tones

 

Other

Special Skills: pick pocketing, acrobatics, diplomacy

Personality: pathologically inclined toward petty crime; deceptive, whimsical, selfish; possesses a minimal sense of common decency; covertly affectionate

 

 

I was born and raised the beggar daughter of a peasant beggar and his pleasant beggar wife in a city in Arad Doman. My parents had no professional aspirations of any kind, for themselves or their children. We lived in a wool merchant's den. We earned our keep by the Creator’s grace, for He had given both my father's family and my mother's dominant traits for large, round, sensitive eyes. My father would beg shamelessly, my mother would hold the youngest of my six siblings to her breast as she wept, and the rest of us would cough, cry, and ask questions like, "Mother, when will we get to eat again?" whenever in the presence of the merchant and/or his family.

 

My father roamed the streets everyday with his arm pulled into his shirt, my mother would pour water all over my youngest brother to make him appear to be perspiring hideously, and the rest of us would trail around the city pick pocketing, bargaining with imaginary money, and rubbing dust into our eyes to employ a pinkeye effect, and thus gain sympathy.

 

One afternoon, as I hurtled down a street to escape the enraged butcher on my trail, I swerved into an alley where I proceeded to chew happily on the length of raw, salted meat that was rightfully mine, as I was one of the poor and needy in the city, and those better off than I owed me their hospitality.

 

Once in the alley, my favorite companion and fellow thief, Valor Spartan – a self-appointed last name, for he had none – joined me with his share of our day’s earnings. He presented to me two gold coins, a shabby sleeve of silver chain mail, and half a mug of ale. I rejected the last, as my father always said, "A thief must keep her wits about her, and ale is only for those of strong minds." Such a person would, of course, be only himself.

 

Valor was a kind boy, though I imagine he had far more serious thoughts than I. Why I assume this, I do not know, except that he always seemed to know far more of me than I of him, despite our family-like closeness. I did most of the talking, and dictating, I might add, in the days we spent together, and once in a while, at the odd interval of my speeches, I would find him looking at me unexpectedly with those quiet, doe eyes of his. I thought nothing of it at the time, except that it was somewhat unnerving. Now, though, upon reflection, I suspect he might have taken a fancy to me. Yes, I think so. He was an adolescent boy, after all. I hope he is well.

 

It was not until the stumbling, red faced butcher came wobbling by, that the cool bricks behind me decided to grow an arm to snatch my prize and return it to him. Baffled and mildly alarmed, I turned, incredulous, to realize that beside me had lurked a man wrapped in a cloak the color and texture of the very wall on which I’d leaned.

 

"Nice cloak you got there, sir. Would you mind selling it to me?" I ventured, giving what I thought was an imperceptible wink to Valor.

 

"If you were sufficiently wealthy to buy it, why did you steal that jerky?" He replied smartly.

 

"Well by the Light, my lord, you insult me! How dare you accuse me of a crime for which you have no evidence that I committed?!" I made a mental note to praise Valor later on for his discreet extraction of four silver coins from a hidden pocket in the man’s cloak.

 

The skin at the edge of his mouth was dry and seemed wrinkled as the sideways smile spread slowly over his lips. He glanced down at Valor before replying. "Alright then, my lady, how much are you willing to pay for my cloak? If you aren't a thief."

 

After carefully trained squinting of the eyes and fingering of the fabric, speculative humming, and quiet mutterings, I said, "How about seven gold pieces?"

 

The man didn't laugh, but his smile seemed to widen. "Only seven! Give me ten!"

 

"Eight!"

 

"Done. Can you produce such dazzling wealth on the spot? I really must leave soon."

 

"Poltroon. You just don't want to sell me your cloak, even though I've agreed on a scandalously high price! What kind of fool would carry that kind of money around a city like this, where even the youngest of children can pick the pockets of the most weathered thieves there are?!"

 

He muttered, "You would know, it seems. But fine. I'll wait a quarter of an hour for you to bring it. My mistress will wait me no longer."

 

I flashed a bright smile of consent and ran off down the street toward home. On my way, I noticed Valor crouching among the crowd on the opposite side of the street with his hand in a robust woman's lazy stocking, staring at me with a look like resigned mourning in his shining eyes. I raised my hand to wave to him that I’d be back soon, but didn’t get to see his response as I inadvertently hurled myself into a woman in a long black dress with a wide red stripe down the front.

 

The stripe had curling, delicate embroidery at the edges that could have been woven gold. The woman had had a red shawl wrapped across her shoulders that I’d knocked out of place to reveal a gleaming golden broach atop her bosom with a mesmerizing stone trapped within. I sensed my voice whispering from the back of my mind what a pity it was that one would have to molest the woman’s breasts to grab that treasure. The forefront of my consciousness, meanwhile, had been captivated by the dazzling light of the stone, and I was nearly blinded when it suddenly flared like lightening.

 

I looked up to see her staring down at me, the shock of impact fading from her face. With my senses returning, I instinctively relaxed the muscles of my face for a thinner effect, rounded my eyebrows, and said croakily, "Spare a coin for the needy, mistress?"

 

She said nothing, but let an unsettling smile of serendipitous discovery grow over her lips. As I turned to run, I heard her call, "Odysseus! Collect that child!"

 

I was illiterate when I arrived at the White Tower. I can't say that the experience of being taken away from my family left me weary: my parents were happy to have one less responsibility, my younger siblings crying gave me a satisfying feeling of superiority, and the trip was enjoyable – bar the moral chidings I received from Tahira Sedai on a daily basis, every time I attempted to steal something from Odysseus. That man had valuable molars.

Edited August 25, 2011 by keyholder21

[keyholder21]

Since you're a returning writer, I'm guessing you know that our rps are written in third person not first?

 

Other than that, I loved it! Consider yourself CC'd and I look forward to rping with you in the Tower :).