Mara Ithrennyn
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- Messages
- 37
- Character Biography
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Mara weighed the remnants of the handful of silver that had come from a farmer whose crop she saved from a wildland fire. There wasn’t much of it, but he’d been a poor man. She almost pushed off the reward, but the reality of her situation demanded some coin. Her boots were worn enough that she would have a hole or two soon, her clothes mended only by her poor needlework—clumsy hands—and her stomach ached for a regular supply of food. Crossing the plains was, in her opinion, miserable. The cold mountains or dense forest were far preferable.
The silver hadn’t taken her far. By the time she had new clothes and new boots, she only had two silver to rub together. It was a rough inn with questionable characters, but the price was right for a room, an icy bath, and suspicious but hot food. It was probably rat, but Mara didn’t care. Meat was meat, valuable to a traveler building muscle, as slight as she was.
Now the elf sat at a corner table, watching others drink too much and fall ill or aggressive. She had her mask pulled up over her face, green silk covering her from the bridge of her nose down to her collarbone. Hints of scarring showed ever so slightly beneath her left eye, but she was swift to correct it. She’d eaten in her room and was down just for amusement’s sake. She was around people so seldom that hearing voices, even if not directed at her, felt like a breath of fresh air.
Her wrapped and gloved hands rested on the table, ready for trouble to come her way as two men started riling each other up. One struck her as a bully and she was often a convenient target between the mask and being alone. She didn’t like having to talk people down or injure them, but sometimes there was no choice in the matter.
It was fine, though. Just one more challenge on her very, very long road.
The silver hadn’t taken her far. By the time she had new clothes and new boots, she only had two silver to rub together. It was a rough inn with questionable characters, but the price was right for a room, an icy bath, and suspicious but hot food. It was probably rat, but Mara didn’t care. Meat was meat, valuable to a traveler building muscle, as slight as she was.
Now the elf sat at a corner table, watching others drink too much and fall ill or aggressive. She had her mask pulled up over her face, green silk covering her from the bridge of her nose down to her collarbone. Hints of scarring showed ever so slightly beneath her left eye, but she was swift to correct it. She’d eaten in her room and was down just for amusement’s sake. She was around people so seldom that hearing voices, even if not directed at her, felt like a breath of fresh air.
Her wrapped and gloved hands rested on the table, ready for trouble to come her way as two men started riling each other up. One struck her as a bully and she was often a convenient target between the mask and being alone. She didn’t like having to talk people down or injure them, but sometimes there was no choice in the matter.
It was fine, though. Just one more challenge on her very, very long road.