Marceline Hollander (Ardent Alt 2)
May 1, 2018 23:44:53 GMT -6
Post by Marceline on May 1, 2018 23:44:53 GMT -6
Name: Marceline Hollander
Class: Thief
Dragon Element: N/A
Age: 24
Born in: Etruria
Appearance: Marceline has a modest yet "cute" appearance, standing at 5'6 and weighing only 120 pounds. She has aquamarine hair kept out of her eyes by parting the front into two long tails and letting the back flow past her shoulders. Her deep sea blue eyes are complemented by a surprisingly clean face free of blemishes and scars that contrast her chosen lifestyle: no one is quite sure of how she would conceal the inevitable marks, but she never shares her secret to concealment. Though her build is about average, there is a slight hint of muscle tone to her arms that stands out.
The thief wears a viridian tunic that fits loosely enough to cradle several small hidden items securely to her person without causing a disturbance during combat. Lining her pockets are various medical supplies such as cloth for bandages, a flask or two of vulneary, and even small containers of ointment for issues such as poisoning or bug bites. Also among these items are an extra iron dagger, a shiv made from stone, and a small bottle of poison, although the dosage is not lethal without being ingested. The sleeves are torn at the shoulder, exposing her arms completely and allowing for more comfortable movement. The garment is complemented by a pair of black trousers designed for sneaking without making noise made from strong material as to avoid ripping. In order to find the best mix of stealth and speed, Marceline chooses to wear a pair of leather sandals rather than the typical heavy footwear of most soldiers. Around her neck is a pale blue hood tied to her via her tunic to be used on tasks requiring espionage or reconnaissance.
Personality: Contrary to her attire and equipment hinting at a trained killer, the Etrurian woman is a very caring and concerned figure. A listener at heart and very polite, she is a compassionate individual that is attentive and ready to assist her friends and allies with whatever they need from her. Marceline has a motherly tone that is often doting and worried more than stern and strict. The thief is very passive and prefers to follow orders rather than to question authority or do what she believes is correct. This has earned her a reputation of being a "yes man" of sorts, supportive of even very risky and callow plans.
As a former vassal of the royal family of Etruria, Marceline has learned discipline and integrity from her training with a blade. Though by no means concerned with her status as a knight, she is often wondering about if her contributions are enough to help those she cares for. The thief is humble of her talents and considers herself a survivalist due to the fact that she only fights so that her liege and allies may live to see another day.
History: Ever since she was a small child, Marceline had been fascinated with reading. A large part of her childhood and even some of her adolescence had been spend with her nose buried deep into a book, glancing from sentence to sentence as if she could see the plot of what she was reading like a play. Her parents, owners of a small inn near the outskirts of Etruria, noticed this desire to pursue advanced literacy and had suggested sending their daughter to Etruria's finest magic academy in Delfia. Their finances had limited them, however, and so their daughter was left to her own devices to find what she wanted to do. A small smile had already crept upon her face at the announcement as she snapped shut a novel she had been halfway through: the cover had a picture of what appeared to be a knight on horseback.
At the age of eleven, with the consent of her worried parents, the girl had already been set on becoming a cavalier of Etruria. Her plan was set in stone... That is, until five minutes after her departure with a close family friend she was timid and on edge around the horses. Marceline would not so much as touch the steed, instantly causing her to reevaluate herself. Along her journey, every time that she "decided" to become something as a knight, the idea was promptly discouraged. Her aspirations of becoming an armored knight were extinguished when helping to load supplies into her transporter's cart caused her to collapse, the idea of pursuing archery was scratched out after an incident that ended up in a broken wheel on the carriage, and even the option of magic was out of the question since she had neglected some intermediate information in her other studies besides reading. By the time that she had arrived, poor Marcy had no clue what she could do. All she had been given from her transporter was a dagger in case she was in danger: nothing else.
Fortunately for her, the girl was a natural with a blade. Her sharp dagger was forbidden from her initial training, but even the dull replacement was comfortable in her hands. Having a very light and nimble weapon allowed her to run full speed into the fray in combat practice, and the results of her strenuous work had been enough to spurn the girl into shape after only a year. By the middle of her third year, the now fourteen year old was able to hold her own with her dagger in hand. To sustain her urge to read, Marceline had spent time reading field manuals on emergency first aid: whenever she had been tripped, smacked, pushed, or even struck, after a brief cry, the girl was ready to do whatever she could to treat her injuries (if there were any). Regardless of whether or not she had wanted it, she had found something she was good at. When asked about it by her fellow trainees, she simply smiled and said "It's like reading. The motions flow like words on a page, and winning is like the satisfying end; I just want to get to that end."
However, her training days were far from carefree. Marceline still had her own troubles. Her body never truly adjusted to the physical punishment she would face in combat. Entirely dependent on being ordered around, her panicked mind when told to act as she saw fit would often end with her being thrown onto the ground with a thud. Her foolish notion of stopping a sparring match to pull up an ally that had been downed had often ended up with her down next to them. News of the Prophet gave her hope and drive in her hardest days, even in light of the death of the crown prince of Etruria. But not even word of the Prophet could stop her aching body from keeping her up at night.
It was the call to action at fifteen of an invasion that had spurned Marceline to take up the dagger in the name of her mentor, her future master, and her country. The older, experienced soldier was rushing off to meet a force that had been gathering around an area that she had never even seen. Already her adrenaline kicked in, pocketing two small vulneary flasks into one of her pockets before sprinting off after them. This man, she assumed, must be doing what is right. No matter what happened, she promised herself that she would follow what he did in the field.
What had happened next would be forever burned into the swordswoman's head. When the knight had turned against the group along with a small group of others, the girl hurried to support them. Upon a passing, she had drawn her dagger and sliced with a deep cut at a soldier that happened to be in front of her. As the experienced knight scooped up two figures near the castle, Marceline could feel herself being yanked up to a horse and whisked off herself. Turning around and brushing her hair away from her eyes, she could see the eyes of her own mentor glance down at her occasionally before focusing back on the road ahead of them. She never truly got another clear look at the experienced knight and his two passengers until later on when her mentor had met close to them near the border to Lycia. In particular, her eyes fixated on a peculiar boy that was situated with the veteran knight.
"...Curious about the boy? That's the crown prince, Marcy. Carlisle. We're getting him out of here. We're not getting another chance at this, so be ready and remember to brace yourself for a fight if you need to," her mentor commanded. With a slight bit of hesitation, the girl nodded with her eyes fixated on the boy. If he was a member of royalty, the knights assaulting them could not be from the royal family. Who would set out to slay their own kind? Through her own deductive reasoning, only one true answer came to light. Only one man could possibly have the means of massing this many Etrurian forces and could strive for power if he wanted to: the Prophet. Though she had her doubts, the act of the border guard now urged her not to think twice about this.
The sky darkened as they approached. A glance up had made her gasp in horror and instanty slide off the horse. Arrows were raining down upon the group as a hellfire unlike any that the novice had ever read about.
Before the arrows hit the floor, Marceline could hear a shout as her mentor had tossed her his shield. She caught the heavy object and held it above her head ridigly, crouching as low to the ground as possible. As the volley hit the ground, without even looking up to check if her mentor was okay, a thud could be heard as well as a groan of pain. Tears had already been flowing down the girl's face like a stream. The only thing that she could hear from him before he exhaled in relief was the name of a location: a clandestine meeting place in Lycia. Turning to see the front of the force, even the crown prince himself was hit. She was one of the lucky ones that was left with a pierced finger thanks to the shield that her mentor had brought with him. The trainee dropped the heavy protective gear and took off in a sprint towards the right to a forest, making use of her green clothing to use as a camoflague.
The rest of her journey to Lycia was a blur. Her tears had run dry since her mentor was slain, and even the concept of using her learned survival skills brought her no joy. Her friends in Etruria assumed she was dead and her homeland no longer seemed safe after what she had been through. Her medical supplies had served her well, even working to mend a scrape from an arrow that had nicked her knuckle. She had to do what she needed to do to survive, whether it be through swiping from animal dens to outright pickpocketing travelers. All throughout her struggle, the thought of fulfilling her mentor's last request was all that kept the thief going. She needed to survive and get to the rendezvous point in Lycia. She needed to do what he died trying to.
Marceline had arrived a tired, scarred girl. In Lycia, she met with was the experienced knight: no sign of his two passengers, specifically Carlisle. She had thought about him now and then during her expedition to Lycia, and the concern was driving her insane. Was the charge for the border for nothing? Had he been slain instantly by the shot?
Words could not express what she had to explain about the fate of her mentor. Luckily for her, the older knight (Percival, as he introduced himself as) understood. Though the reassurement that the prince was alive put her emotions at ease for the time being, her mind was still racing with the potential complications of what was unfolding. Was this a resistance force against the Prophet? Is Etruria even safe anymore? Worries from her parents to the fate of her friends in training constantly tore her apart whenever she thought about it.
Nevertheless, Marceline felt she needed to move on. Glancing down at the dagger at her hip, she knew that eventually she would need to rise up again. This would not be the end of her story, not yet. A now filling rage blossomed within her, a rage aimed at the man that had endangered her family, murdered her mentor, and forced her to be a fugitive of her own home. She turned to a group of soldiers that were considering creating a small mercenary guild in order to raise war funds while Carlisle recovered.
"Excuse me, but... I'm interested. Marceline Hollander, at your service from here on out," she said somewhat confidently. Though she was somewhat of a stranger to the other knights forming this mercenary guild, she was an able warrior that had technically ridden with the prince to escort him across the border. And so the thief was admitted into the guild.
Within the first few months of working in the mercenary guild, the Etrurian girl proved her worth by her skill using her knife. Each swing had grown quick and clean over the years of combat training, eventually earning her the privelege to start on missions. Her hands grew nimble and light from doing whatever she could to disrupt an enemy: her stone shiv made for a decent tool to make a lockpick when even so much as a twig was nearby, her ability to distract a foe in order to swipe something from them had improved since her stunts on the journey to Lycia, and Marceline had made use of her speed to pursue stealth and espionage whenever she could manage it. With the mind of an educated poet and the body of a prodigy bandit, her status among the other members of the mercenary guild had been growing exponentially until eventually she was able to take on missions singlehandedly. Even stabbing an incoming emeny had been something that she had overcome and learned to deal with. After all: the dagger was made sharp for a reason, right?
However, over the years of becoming closer to the guild, Marceline never truly had the heart of a leader to put the icing on the cake. Her personal attachments to her friends had caused her to see them as a type of family rather than simply cohorts in a rebellion. Because of this, the bandages and medicing once kept in her pockets for her use only had become priority for herself as well as her allies. Her advice was no longer aimed at solely to maximize the guild's potential, but also to be considerate and concerned about the well-being of her friends. Though at the end of the day blood might have crusted her blade, the most she could do was smile as she wiped it off knowing that it would be one less physically capable person that could get between them and the hope that they had all been pursuing: the return of the crown prince so that one day they would regroup and return to Etruria.
Now a woman of 24, Marceline had come a long way from the bookworm that dreamed of riding a horse into battle under the flag of her country. The book had been replaced by a carefully sharpened weapon and her curiosity had transformed into a deep connection with her allies. Her hopes of being a knight were replaced with the hope of the restoration of her homeland from what the Prophet had done.
And all she had to wait for was the prince's recovery: supposedly the man that is the last remaining member of the royal family and the one that could stop the Prophet. It was only a matter of time until Percival sent the letter for her to set out and meet them. After burning the letter near a candlestick and pinching the flame as the remnants of the memo disintegrated into ashes, she would grab the dagger gifted to her by a man that had known her since she was small and go to meet a man that had not seen her since before she was grown.
NPC fight: Alt
PC fight: Alt
Class: Thief
Dragon Element: N/A
Age: 24
Born in: Etruria
Appearance: Marceline has a modest yet "cute" appearance, standing at 5'6 and weighing only 120 pounds. She has aquamarine hair kept out of her eyes by parting the front into two long tails and letting the back flow past her shoulders. Her deep sea blue eyes are complemented by a surprisingly clean face free of blemishes and scars that contrast her chosen lifestyle: no one is quite sure of how she would conceal the inevitable marks, but she never shares her secret to concealment. Though her build is about average, there is a slight hint of muscle tone to her arms that stands out.
The thief wears a viridian tunic that fits loosely enough to cradle several small hidden items securely to her person without causing a disturbance during combat. Lining her pockets are various medical supplies such as cloth for bandages, a flask or two of vulneary, and even small containers of ointment for issues such as poisoning or bug bites. Also among these items are an extra iron dagger, a shiv made from stone, and a small bottle of poison, although the dosage is not lethal without being ingested. The sleeves are torn at the shoulder, exposing her arms completely and allowing for more comfortable movement. The garment is complemented by a pair of black trousers designed for sneaking without making noise made from strong material as to avoid ripping. In order to find the best mix of stealth and speed, Marceline chooses to wear a pair of leather sandals rather than the typical heavy footwear of most soldiers. Around her neck is a pale blue hood tied to her via her tunic to be used on tasks requiring espionage or reconnaissance.
Personality: Contrary to her attire and equipment hinting at a trained killer, the Etrurian woman is a very caring and concerned figure. A listener at heart and very polite, she is a compassionate individual that is attentive and ready to assist her friends and allies with whatever they need from her. Marceline has a motherly tone that is often doting and worried more than stern and strict. The thief is very passive and prefers to follow orders rather than to question authority or do what she believes is correct. This has earned her a reputation of being a "yes man" of sorts, supportive of even very risky and callow plans.
As a former vassal of the royal family of Etruria, Marceline has learned discipline and integrity from her training with a blade. Though by no means concerned with her status as a knight, she is often wondering about if her contributions are enough to help those she cares for. The thief is humble of her talents and considers herself a survivalist due to the fact that she only fights so that her liege and allies may live to see another day.
History: Ever since she was a small child, Marceline had been fascinated with reading. A large part of her childhood and even some of her adolescence had been spend with her nose buried deep into a book, glancing from sentence to sentence as if she could see the plot of what she was reading like a play. Her parents, owners of a small inn near the outskirts of Etruria, noticed this desire to pursue advanced literacy and had suggested sending their daughter to Etruria's finest magic academy in Delfia. Their finances had limited them, however, and so their daughter was left to her own devices to find what she wanted to do. A small smile had already crept upon her face at the announcement as she snapped shut a novel she had been halfway through: the cover had a picture of what appeared to be a knight on horseback.
At the age of eleven, with the consent of her worried parents, the girl had already been set on becoming a cavalier of Etruria. Her plan was set in stone... That is, until five minutes after her departure with a close family friend she was timid and on edge around the horses. Marceline would not so much as touch the steed, instantly causing her to reevaluate herself. Along her journey, every time that she "decided" to become something as a knight, the idea was promptly discouraged. Her aspirations of becoming an armored knight were extinguished when helping to load supplies into her transporter's cart caused her to collapse, the idea of pursuing archery was scratched out after an incident that ended up in a broken wheel on the carriage, and even the option of magic was out of the question since she had neglected some intermediate information in her other studies besides reading. By the time that she had arrived, poor Marcy had no clue what she could do. All she had been given from her transporter was a dagger in case she was in danger: nothing else.
Fortunately for her, the girl was a natural with a blade. Her sharp dagger was forbidden from her initial training, but even the dull replacement was comfortable in her hands. Having a very light and nimble weapon allowed her to run full speed into the fray in combat practice, and the results of her strenuous work had been enough to spurn the girl into shape after only a year. By the middle of her third year, the now fourteen year old was able to hold her own with her dagger in hand. To sustain her urge to read, Marceline had spent time reading field manuals on emergency first aid: whenever she had been tripped, smacked, pushed, or even struck, after a brief cry, the girl was ready to do whatever she could to treat her injuries (if there were any). Regardless of whether or not she had wanted it, she had found something she was good at. When asked about it by her fellow trainees, she simply smiled and said "It's like reading. The motions flow like words on a page, and winning is like the satisfying end; I just want to get to that end."
However, her training days were far from carefree. Marceline still had her own troubles. Her body never truly adjusted to the physical punishment she would face in combat. Entirely dependent on being ordered around, her panicked mind when told to act as she saw fit would often end with her being thrown onto the ground with a thud. Her foolish notion of stopping a sparring match to pull up an ally that had been downed had often ended up with her down next to them. News of the Prophet gave her hope and drive in her hardest days, even in light of the death of the crown prince of Etruria. But not even word of the Prophet could stop her aching body from keeping her up at night.
It was the call to action at fifteen of an invasion that had spurned Marceline to take up the dagger in the name of her mentor, her future master, and her country. The older, experienced soldier was rushing off to meet a force that had been gathering around an area that she had never even seen. Already her adrenaline kicked in, pocketing two small vulneary flasks into one of her pockets before sprinting off after them. This man, she assumed, must be doing what is right. No matter what happened, she promised herself that she would follow what he did in the field.
What had happened next would be forever burned into the swordswoman's head. When the knight had turned against the group along with a small group of others, the girl hurried to support them. Upon a passing, she had drawn her dagger and sliced with a deep cut at a soldier that happened to be in front of her. As the experienced knight scooped up two figures near the castle, Marceline could feel herself being yanked up to a horse and whisked off herself. Turning around and brushing her hair away from her eyes, she could see the eyes of her own mentor glance down at her occasionally before focusing back on the road ahead of them. She never truly got another clear look at the experienced knight and his two passengers until later on when her mentor had met close to them near the border to Lycia. In particular, her eyes fixated on a peculiar boy that was situated with the veteran knight.
"...Curious about the boy? That's the crown prince, Marcy. Carlisle. We're getting him out of here. We're not getting another chance at this, so be ready and remember to brace yourself for a fight if you need to," her mentor commanded. With a slight bit of hesitation, the girl nodded with her eyes fixated on the boy. If he was a member of royalty, the knights assaulting them could not be from the royal family. Who would set out to slay their own kind? Through her own deductive reasoning, only one true answer came to light. Only one man could possibly have the means of massing this many Etrurian forces and could strive for power if he wanted to: the Prophet. Though she had her doubts, the act of the border guard now urged her not to think twice about this.
The sky darkened as they approached. A glance up had made her gasp in horror and instanty slide off the horse. Arrows were raining down upon the group as a hellfire unlike any that the novice had ever read about.
Before the arrows hit the floor, Marceline could hear a shout as her mentor had tossed her his shield. She caught the heavy object and held it above her head ridigly, crouching as low to the ground as possible. As the volley hit the ground, without even looking up to check if her mentor was okay, a thud could be heard as well as a groan of pain. Tears had already been flowing down the girl's face like a stream. The only thing that she could hear from him before he exhaled in relief was the name of a location: a clandestine meeting place in Lycia. Turning to see the front of the force, even the crown prince himself was hit. She was one of the lucky ones that was left with a pierced finger thanks to the shield that her mentor had brought with him. The trainee dropped the heavy protective gear and took off in a sprint towards the right to a forest, making use of her green clothing to use as a camoflague.
The rest of her journey to Lycia was a blur. Her tears had run dry since her mentor was slain, and even the concept of using her learned survival skills brought her no joy. Her friends in Etruria assumed she was dead and her homeland no longer seemed safe after what she had been through. Her medical supplies had served her well, even working to mend a scrape from an arrow that had nicked her knuckle. She had to do what she needed to do to survive, whether it be through swiping from animal dens to outright pickpocketing travelers. All throughout her struggle, the thought of fulfilling her mentor's last request was all that kept the thief going. She needed to survive and get to the rendezvous point in Lycia. She needed to do what he died trying to.
Marceline had arrived a tired, scarred girl. In Lycia, she met with was the experienced knight: no sign of his two passengers, specifically Carlisle. She had thought about him now and then during her expedition to Lycia, and the concern was driving her insane. Was the charge for the border for nothing? Had he been slain instantly by the shot?
Words could not express what she had to explain about the fate of her mentor. Luckily for her, the older knight (Percival, as he introduced himself as) understood. Though the reassurement that the prince was alive put her emotions at ease for the time being, her mind was still racing with the potential complications of what was unfolding. Was this a resistance force against the Prophet? Is Etruria even safe anymore? Worries from her parents to the fate of her friends in training constantly tore her apart whenever she thought about it.
Nevertheless, Marceline felt she needed to move on. Glancing down at the dagger at her hip, she knew that eventually she would need to rise up again. This would not be the end of her story, not yet. A now filling rage blossomed within her, a rage aimed at the man that had endangered her family, murdered her mentor, and forced her to be a fugitive of her own home. She turned to a group of soldiers that were considering creating a small mercenary guild in order to raise war funds while Carlisle recovered.
"Excuse me, but... I'm interested. Marceline Hollander, at your service from here on out," she said somewhat confidently. Though she was somewhat of a stranger to the other knights forming this mercenary guild, she was an able warrior that had technically ridden with the prince to escort him across the border. And so the thief was admitted into the guild.
Within the first few months of working in the mercenary guild, the Etrurian girl proved her worth by her skill using her knife. Each swing had grown quick and clean over the years of combat training, eventually earning her the privelege to start on missions. Her hands grew nimble and light from doing whatever she could to disrupt an enemy: her stone shiv made for a decent tool to make a lockpick when even so much as a twig was nearby, her ability to distract a foe in order to swipe something from them had improved since her stunts on the journey to Lycia, and Marceline had made use of her speed to pursue stealth and espionage whenever she could manage it. With the mind of an educated poet and the body of a prodigy bandit, her status among the other members of the mercenary guild had been growing exponentially until eventually she was able to take on missions singlehandedly. Even stabbing an incoming emeny had been something that she had overcome and learned to deal with. After all: the dagger was made sharp for a reason, right?
However, over the years of becoming closer to the guild, Marceline never truly had the heart of a leader to put the icing on the cake. Her personal attachments to her friends had caused her to see them as a type of family rather than simply cohorts in a rebellion. Because of this, the bandages and medicing once kept in her pockets for her use only had become priority for herself as well as her allies. Her advice was no longer aimed at solely to maximize the guild's potential, but also to be considerate and concerned about the well-being of her friends. Though at the end of the day blood might have crusted her blade, the most she could do was smile as she wiped it off knowing that it would be one less physically capable person that could get between them and the hope that they had all been pursuing: the return of the crown prince so that one day they would regroup and return to Etruria.
Now a woman of 24, Marceline had come a long way from the bookworm that dreamed of riding a horse into battle under the flag of her country. The book had been replaced by a carefully sharpened weapon and her curiosity had transformed into a deep connection with her allies. Her hopes of being a knight were replaced with the hope of the restoration of her homeland from what the Prophet had done.
And all she had to wait for was the prince's recovery: supposedly the man that is the last remaining member of the royal family and the one that could stop the Prophet. It was only a matter of time until Percival sent the letter for her to set out and meet them. After burning the letter near a candlestick and pinching the flame as the remnants of the memo disintegrated into ashes, she would grab the dagger gifted to her by a man that had known her since she was small and go to meet a man that had not seen her since before she was grown.
NPC fight: Alt
PC fight: Alt
