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Margaret Yuthril; Cavorting Spirit
Topic Started: Nov 24 2017, 10:30 PM (66 Views)
Penna
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Margaret Yuthril: The Cavorting Spirit
“Ahh, that’s enough rest for my feet. Let’s keep going, shall we?”

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Age: 20 (Alive)
Race: Human
Class: Dancer


Margaret grew up in the coastal city of Hijemm, in a small two-story home tucked up within a row of similar ones. There was little quiet and even less privacy, for both her parents asked her to work at a young age with their respective jobs. Her father was a wine shipment distributor for part of the region, and her mother was an aide to a shipping company; two detail-oriented, hard-working adults who seemed to have had a child just to spice up their hectic scheduling.

The first book Margaret learned to read was a lengthy guide to basic dancing routines passed down from her mother. Since the parents were often too busy to teach her how to read it, she was tasked with finding free time to master it herself. In the mazelike city, there were some narrow back alleys with just enough space and solitude for her to train. Stumbling on trash, squinting at the pages propped up on a barrel or some crates in the limited sunlight, it was difficult work, and hardly rewarding considering she’d come home to be scolded for selfishly wasting the day.

Like most teens, Margaret quarreled with her father over this and that, from life trajectories to chores. She refused to be raised and grow up as a worker when she possessed the talent to do something besides labor. Her mother, at the very least, seemed to understand that when her daughter came home in the evenings with the dancing book clutched to her chest, she saw a younger reflection of herself, thin of frame and a head of light-chestnut hair trapping the spirit of beauty within.

At the age of eighteen Margaret still possessed the rather childish compelling to run away, finding no intention to stick around and fall into either of her parents’ legacies. She snuck downstairs in the middle of a warm summer’s night to find her parents waiting at the dinner table, calm and sympathetic at the sight of her with a pillowcase full of her brass jewelry and her dancing book in either arm. They only asked if she would like a basket of food to take with her, and when she refused, her father put a coin pouch into her trembling hands and she flew out of the house in tears without even bidding goodbye.

She lasted only a few weeks on her own, including a seven-day stint at a roadside inn (she had gotten cold feet and wanted to hole up in a safe place despite her purse draining away; it was a nice opportunity to get acquainted with other traveling men until the innkeepers suspected something and asked her to go). On a whim she detoured through some woods and fell into the hands of two ruffians - childhood friends from what she suspected. They seized her belongings and led her away to a remote cabin they repurposed for a base, Margaret being powerless to resist.

For close to a month, Margaret was their prisoner, given only the freedom to walk a few feet from the bed with a chain locked around her right ankle. It hampered her dancing considerably, and she felt her spirit was fading away the less and less she could practice. The two thieves were not cruel to her, preparing to sell her off to a slaver instead from what she overheard of them bickering. When one bandit would go from the cabin to search for contacts or resources, Margaret tried manipulation. She figured if she could get one of them attracted to her, it would drive a stake between the pair and they’d simply destroy each other trying to win her faith. It went unsuccessfully, for the first time she advanced towards the archer with a kiss, she was pushed roughly away and the men determined she was too dangerous to get near.

Her hope was ready to break just before the fateful day that a wanderer came by the window and spotted her. After the captors were killed and the anklet was broken, she did a series of pirouettes around the bedroom, laughing with delight, breaking some decorations that irritated her throughout the imprisonment that she just couldn’t reach. Ready to continue roaming once more, it didn’t particularly surprise her and rather relieved her that her savior, named Taluk, fell right into her stride without question. As to the destination, that was anyone’s guess.

She took the sword that Taluk seemingly thrust into her hands and learned to practice it herself only in self-defense. With her litheness and measured movements, she has confidence in her ability to survive a one-on-one sparring, but has yet to be challenged directly. Margaret is much more comfortable letting Taluk handle things, and the most care she can extend is putting her tidbit of experience in bandaging to help after any scrapes.

Margaret has the eye for the surreptitious and is quick to notice any odd gestures or shifts in posture. That ability came through for her at one point when at a rowdy bar with Taluk, she noticed a bartender had taken a cue from another sly-looking patron and something was dropped in her companion’s tankard. She took the mug and threw the liquid in the server’s face with a smile, slapped a gold piece onto the counter, and guided Taluk away without a word.

She maintains emotional distance from everyone out of habit. It’s not that she’s antisocial - gods, the attention can be so great sometimes, when people look with wonder and revel at the light being thrown on them as the moment dances by, but it’s rather that Margaret doesn’t need anybody close enough to start influencing her choices and her thoughts. She concedes to some of Taluk’s advice after enough mentions, like to dress modestly. Her midriff covered, her skirt with its exotic bronze-like patterning flowing loose and long. It is sensible to her to be outfitted for travel, and an overabundance in attention does no good for the pair.

Margaret is frugal with her money, partly because she’s at least aware that it’s a limited resource, and that neither of the pair have much of a steady income of their own. She actively resists the urge to spend at markets and stalls, despite how lovely clothes and jewelry might call to her. If anything as a result, she’s gained a sense of pride in herself to not be tied down by such common desires.

While Margaret practices her dancing frequently in front of Taluk, another one of her callings is to sing someday. She would only want to give it a shot on her lonesome, since while he is a fair audience for her routines, she believes men have less of an ear for music. She enjoys making friends with birds and keeps a pouch of seeds around her waist on the road.

Her birthday is March 21st.


Weapons: [Swords: Rank D] Iron Sword
Personal Skill: Bonds Aloof (+3 Speed, +3 Skill, -2 Luck when there are no allied units within 2 spaces)

Asset:
Independent - A free spirit in every sense of the word, she goes wherever the wind sends breezes through her hair. That attitude makes her a neutral force for positivity in the world, where she’d love to bring joy to someone but would rather not serve the same purpose for too long.

Flaw:
Careless - Perhaps supplemented by her naïve nature, Margaret stumbles into trouble without a guide or means of defense. The more she understands the nature of working with people, the more this obstacle diminishes.
Untested - It’s unknown how truly terrible circumstances - grave injury or open cruelness to her - would affect Margaret due to her arguably easy upbringing and unproven track record.

Supports:
Taluk Minthian - Support A
Edited by Penna, Jan 12 2018, 03:22 AM.
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