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Warla

Warla Cartwell
| Name | Warla |
|---|---|
| Status | Active |
| Occupation | Bree prowler |
| Age | Young, around 19, but looks younger |
| Race | Man |
|---|---|
| Residence | Currently prowling around Bree |
| Kinship | None |
| Outward Appearance |
Race/Ethnicity: Bree lander of southern mixed blood line Skin Tone: Pale but with golden tan Height: 5 foot 4 Build: Skin and bones but athletic Eyes: Large and long shaped eyes, with dark brown iris bordering to black. Her eyes are placed deep, making her gaze strong and bold. Hair: Raven black, cropped short with longer bangs. Clothes Style: She wears an too small robes that she overgrown a couple of years ago for sure, continuously patched and repaired she has a scoundrel look upon herself. Using only cheap and easy attained dyes like those that are made off moss or tree bark, her robes are dark, green-brown or almost black. It is not armor but only layers of fabric made of cotton and brushed leather. Tattoos, Piercings, Marks, Scars etc: She has a mark of Blackwolds on her shoulder, an branded cross with an skull in middle. And few scars and marks on her body, but most prominent is her birthmark on right side of her face, just above her upper lip. Appearance: Warla was always a pretty little thing, with charcoal eyes and raven hair..but life was not kind to her since childhood, leaving her smaller then most, sickly and with pale anemic appearance. Her cheeks would flatten and would become more gaunt and eyes appear more deep under her brushy brows. But there was a smile with a birthmark over her upper lip, that would lighten up the expression of deathbed gaze. Her life was not easy or blessed and it reflects on her manic biting of her nails, nervous glances around or general nervous tapping with anything. Religion: Coin is the Saviour. Education: No education formally. Cant read or write but few letter marks. Languages spoken: Westron only. Weapons: Two old daggers. Handful of stones, or empty tankards, anything that could be thrown on someone or something while she runs away Occupation: Hard to tell, burglar, thief and wench, but what future brings? Special abilities: She is silent and swift on her feet, athletic with skills in opening locks, climbing, sneaking and throwing knives, serrated blades or anything she can grab in the moment of need. But she is not very much trained in all of that. Average at best. Serious Problems/Flaws/Disabilities: Where to start? She is weak in face to face confrontation. Sometimes just items on taller shelf make her problems to reach them. She loves to "collect" things as a souvenir of people she likes. And its very hard for her to understand what is good or bad deed, sometimes just doing things that in her mind seem very normal and completely innocent. Drinking is her problem, together with easily impressed character making her easy to comply to anyones will. Afraid of Hound woman (Rhyva Red), Bert Slitherhand (her father), Fey (her mother), anyone that is able to make her feel smaller then a crumb of bread. Self esteem? Courage? Justice? Trust? List goes on.
I dont own banner art, but i edited it, transformed. Original artist: Serviadeath, follow the link for more art.
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Background
Wounded with those who should protect her, her mother and father, she lived her life in well of filth, surrounded by murderers, rapists, wenches and thieves of Blackwold brigands.
Starved she entered Bree in search for safety from family and life that brought her nothing but misery.
| Friends | Few stray cats |
|---|---|
| Relatives | Mother Fay is a former wench (lady of the night) now turned to a Madam that seeks and provides girls for men, father Bert Slitherhand a wolfmaster for Blackwolds, no siblings she knows about but it is possible |
| Rivals/Enemies | Bert Slitherhand her father. |
| Loves | Drinking whiskey or rum, pies and sweets, cats, to win an any kind of game |
|---|---|
| Hates | To be a looser, hungry or poor. |
| Motivation | Get wealthy and live in lap of luxury |
| Quotes | "I am hungry" |

