Florence
Appearance
Worn hazel eyes that more often than not seem to try and stare right through you and a coarse and roughed up skin from a long career of bruises and cuts. While most of the features spread across Florence’s face would have made any noble jealous once upon a time those days have long since passed. Through their training they picked up a scar across their temple, and from their later occupation as a mercenary they simply picked up more and more of them as they went along.
That is not to say they can’t clean up, but in all honesty they’d most likely shun the very idea of having to dress up to do anything for anyone again. The greatest variation of their outfit seems to be the tunic that they allow themselves to wear to balance out the drabness and colorless nature of their pants and boots. Depending on their current set of armor though, they might even be missing that.
Simply put they see themselves as little more than a tool, and a tool rarely need dressing up.
That is not to say they can’t clean up, but in all honesty they’d most likely shun the very idea of having to dress up to do anything for anyone again. The greatest variation of their outfit seems to be the tunic that they allow themselves to wear to balance out the drabness and colorless nature of their pants and boots. Depending on their current set of armor though, they might even be missing that.
Simply put they see themselves as little more than a tool, and a tool rarely need dressing up.
Skills and Abilities
Florence taught themselves how to use a blade as well as how to wear armor many years ago from a friend in passing. With pity taken upon her discarded form at the side of the road the man taught a young girl how to defend herself from the world when no one else would be there for her. Though it was a quite temporary arrangement, the lessons imprinted upon her mind was one that forever changed her. From that day onwards she trained as needed training, hunted as needed hunting, and when the time came — killed as needed killing.
In the end many of the skills she possesses are hardly skills of her own as much as the skills of those who live through her. From one stranger to the next it seems as if Florence simply soaks up a small part of what they leave behind. Because in the end, that is her true ability in this state of limbo that she exists in. Florence’s body was stripped of having just the one soul and now acts as host to not one but several spirits that utilize her as their tool for rightful and justified vengeance, or in some cases to simply get the closure that they need to pass on.
This ability has put a strain upon her. For each spirit that passes through her she is left with a small part of their own personality imprinted upon her own. A warlord may part with his seething hatred while a former nobleman may imprint a sense of pride and accomplishment. In the end the kind of spirit she picks up depends on where in the world she is. In battlefields she picks up the fallen, and in the open plains she may pick up a fallen farmer, and while the decision whether or not to let them into her being is her own decision she gets weaker and weaker for each person she says no to as if a greater entity has kept her alive for this purpose, and this purpose alone.
In terms of magic she is no real practitioner. The skills that was left on her mind from a dead wizard has shown her how to do little more than party tricks to entertain a crowd.
In the end many of the skills she possesses are hardly skills of her own as much as the skills of those who live through her. From one stranger to the next it seems as if Florence simply soaks up a small part of what they leave behind. Because in the end, that is her true ability in this state of limbo that she exists in. Florence’s body was stripped of having just the one soul and now acts as host to not one but several spirits that utilize her as their tool for rightful and justified vengeance, or in some cases to simply get the closure that they need to pass on.
This ability has put a strain upon her. For each spirit that passes through her she is left with a small part of their own personality imprinted upon her own. A warlord may part with his seething hatred while a former nobleman may imprint a sense of pride and accomplishment. In the end the kind of spirit she picks up depends on where in the world she is. In battlefields she picks up the fallen, and in the open plains she may pick up a fallen farmer, and while the decision whether or not to let them into her being is her own decision she gets weaker and weaker for each person she says no to as if a greater entity has kept her alive for this purpose, and this purpose alone.
In terms of magic she is no real practitioner. The skills that was left on her mind from a dead wizard has shown her how to do little more than party tricks to entertain a crowd.
Personality
Unstable to say the least. While Florence is a person who act with great respect for anyone they come across, they are still not alone with who they are anymore. One day they could be as open as they get, and the next they shut everyone out. A life on the road and on a constant move has left them with little in the way of friends, yet given how crowded it sometimes get within them perhaps that is for the best. It would be hard to explain to others that you are a host for a magnitude of spirits after all.
Trust them, they have tried many times and scared just as many people off.
Trust them, they have tried many times and scared just as many people off.
Biography & Lore
Bright flashes of blue and green had filled the girl’s vision and blanketed her in a hot fire unlike any other she had ever felt in her life. The smell of burning flesh rippled through her mind and crippling pain pierced all of her senses as her corporeal form was torn asunder and thrust into a state of temporary non-existence. For a brief moment a vision of the past, the present, and an immediate future was shown before her and in the next she was discarded into the wilds, naked and afraid with no recollection of who she was.As her eyes opened to the world around her it was as if the world opened its eyes back at her in return. Something began to flood her mind with an unbearable cacophony of voices that eventually settled on just the one. It was a soft voice, a young woman’s voice that urged them to get up, to keep on pushing for safety amidst the fog that had settled around her.
Cold, confused and most of all hungry they struggled to move through the forests until they finally stumbled upon what seemed to be an abandoned military outpost. The voices began to shift and simmer beyond the peripheral of her senses until finally, once more, they settled on a single individual, a former quartermaster that had once lived in the fort. A sad casualty in a long forgotten war. It was he who imprinted an understanding of how to wield a weapon and armor, and he who taught her how to use a bow. By taking control of her actions he managed to keep the girl fed until finally it was time to repay the debt and send him on his way. As his spirit parted her mind he left behind a strict sense of discipline and an idea of honor that has been part of her ever since then.
The world became an open road, and she has not settled since then.