Jocelyn Ivey
Posted: Tue Oct 07, 2008 5:05 am
Name: Jocelyn Ivey
Age: 20
Race: Half Elf/ Half Human (Couldn't resist. My apologies
)
Occupation: Hunter
Physical Description: Jocelyn stands at around 5'5", taking after her mother's petite frame. She weighs around 120, although she is insulted you'd ask. She has chestnut brown hair that falls to her shoulders, but is usually kept up in a tight ponytail. Her warm, golden eyes are the spitting image of her father's. They resemble the turning autumn leaves as the summer heat transforms to a crisp, fall breeze. Her skin held a ghostly glow that the sun could never wear away. Her skin looked like dull porcelain that spread to her round face and nose, all the way to her slightly pointed ears. Her almond-shaped eyes oddly accentuated her pursed, constantly scowling lips.
Possessions: Jocelyn's wardrobe varies depending on what activities she's doing. When traveling or doing housework, she is mostly seen in a simple dress, burgundy in color. It is lightweight and enables movement without being hindered, which is just how she likes it. Sadly, it rarely gets washed and is almost as old as her. It is often mistaken as a rag at times. While hunting, she wears a crudely made leather set, featuring shorts, boots, and a tunic. Jocelyn made the set herself out of a couple of deer kills. It's not the most fashionable, but it covers the important parts while providing a light sense of protection. While hunting, she carries a strong, mahogany bow and leather quiver with whatever arrows she's able to make, buy, or find. She always carries a small dagger with her for protection. It's not beautiful or expertly crafted, but it's been in her family ever since she can remember. It's hilt is onyx in color with her namesake "Ivey" carved into the blade in lovely script.
She sometimes carries a small brown pouch with various items, such as bandages for first aid, string for quartering and tying up kills, spare coins, and the like. Most times, though, she tends to forget the bag at home.
Powers or Strengths: She primarily relies on physical combat, preferring to use her bow for long range attacks. She feels more comfortable at a distance, especially since her close combat skills need some more mastering. She is quick with a bow and finding a target is second nature. Years hunting rabbits and squirrels definitely increases one's reflexes, aim, and stealth abilities. Jocelyn feels close combat is too personal for her liking and wants to avoid it at all costs.
She refuses to have anything to do with magic. Although she feels a sense of "connection" with her family's dagger, she has no idea what it means and she wants nothing to do with any kind of "powers".
Weaknesses: Jocelyn is fool-hardy and no sense of humor. She has a hard time filtering out her thoughts from her words and people often mistake her non-existent humor for rudeness. Her foolishness often times leads her into difficult situations, but she is doing her best to learn to keep quiet. Her foolishness extends even further, muddling her mind and clouding her memory and sense of responsibility. People know better than to ask her for a favor because it's a miracle that she's able to leave the house while remembering to get dressed in the morning.
"Better to remain silent and thought a fool than speak and remove all doubt."
Her combat skills also have weakness, as mentioned before. Her close combat and hand-to-hand skills leave a lot to be desired. Being so close to a person panics her. She can see the emotion in the being's eyes, watch them take their last breaths, see the ebb and flow of their essence as their blood drains...it messes with the mind too much for Jocelyn to handle. Seeing death up close could be described as "scarring" to one's being and Jocelyn is living proof to that testament.
History: Jocelyn was born to an Elven father, Tythe, and a Human mother, Lenore. She's heard so many stories of how they met that she has no idea which one of them shows a shred of truth. First she heard her father was a wanderer that had met a fair milkmaid named Lenore, but oddly enough, her mother had no idea how to milk anything, let alone a cow. Then she was told her father rescued her mother from a band of vagabonds, but her father had the temperament of a lamb so who knows whether or not that was true. Regardless of how they met, her parents were a perfect match for one another.
Lenore was a simple woman who knew basic fighting skills, nothing too exotic or extravagant, but enough to protect herself if need be. She was petite with dark, brown plaits adorning her hair. Her bright green eyes were always lit up with a smile. She was a baker and sold her wares at the local market. When she was stressed, she baked. When she was happy, she baked. When she was sad...she baked! It was a miracle that her father never got fat. She received decent money for her pastries and bread, but it never seemed enough. Taxes had to be paid, things needed to be mended around the house, Jocelyn needed clothes, and the list goes on.
Tythe was very complex and a bit of an opposite entity when compared with Lenore. He was tall and graceful, of course. He kept his pale hair short and out of his way. He was a busy man and disliked things that got in his way. He was a priest of sorts, creating topical ointments and creams, potions and elixirs, that could cure various ailments although nothing too serious. He was not allowed to heal dangerous diseases or anything of the sort. He could, but that would require magic. Sadly, they lived in Marn and every magic user and non-magic user alike knew what that meant. So he kept those powers to himself, only healing his daughter's scraped knees or his wife's muscle pains.
Marn was not the ideal place where Tythe and Lenore wanted to live, but it would do for the time being. They were doing their best to stock away whatever money was leftover to find a better atmosphere, but that would never happen. Jocelyn was fourteen when the knock came. The harsh rapping at the door of the small house had woken her up from her nap. The family cat, Dex, arched its back and hissed. Something was not right. Her mother was at the market making her father the only one home. He rushed to the door and was abruptly pushed back, but Jocelyn saw no hands exert force. They rushed in, recklessly knocking over a small cupboard near the door. Its contents spilled across the floor as the men stomped over the threshold. Three of them stood in front of her and her father. Two of them wore the silver armor of Marn's city guards, but those gloves...those crimson gloves, like the color of freshly spilled blood. They stood out like a sore thumb. Jocelyn had never seen a battlemage before, but as soon as she laid eyes on him, she knew at once what he was. His dark, unforgiving eyes flashed to her and she sank deeper into her blanket as she sat on a small cot. Tythe pushed himself to his feet, a gash marred his otherwise perfect skin. The impatient guards dragged him to his feet roughly as the battlemage approached. His voice was like cool darkness, enveloping you in paranoia and uncertainty.
"You have violated the rules," he calmly stated. Her father didn't deny it, but only replied in defense, "I was only trying to help them."
The battlemage held up his palms about a foot apart from another and slowly moved them closer and closer together. She heard her father scream as blood seeped out of his ears and roll down his cheeks. Jocelyn could look no more and hid her face as she whimpered. She covered her ears with her blanket in an effort to drown out the sounds of her father's pain. Suddenly it stopped and she peeked through the cotton fabric. They were taking him away, his feet dragging across the dusty floors, leaving trails behind. The battlemage took one last look at her, sending shivers through her body. They didn't even bother closing the door. She could see the townspeople standing outside her doorway, just standing...staring. No one bothered to offer solace or any comfort. Jocelyn remain there, not moving a inch. Dex curled around her feet and waited as well, never leaving her side. The black cat kept watch, waiting for Lenore.
Lenore stopped in the doorway. She was simple, but she wasn't stupid. She knew where he went and she began to cry. She had known Tythe was using magic, but she had never thought it would come to this. Ever. She noticed her daughter wrapped up in her blanket, laying in the fetal position, staring into space. She rushed to her side and embraced her immediately. Lenore soaked her daughter's hair with her tears. "Did you see them?" she asked.
All Jocelyn could do was nod in response. She could convey no emotion; not in speech nor in expression. She was emotionally paralyzed if she had to describe it. Her mother released her and began going through the house, room to room. She was gathering and grabbing things as she went. After she was satisfied at the pile of belongings packed in the center of the room, she grabbed her daughter. She looked at her. Jocelyn could remember her mother's puffy, swollen eyes. "We're leaving this place," was all she uttered as she grabbed her little girl's hand. Dex hopped off the cot and followed suit.
They had settled across the river on a tiny farm in Shim. They tended vegetables and fruits in a small garden, but nothing more. They had tried their hand a livestock but with no success. Jocelyn traveled into Marn every week or so to sell her mother's baked goods as well as produce and so they lived. They never spoke of the incident, only when Lenore found her husband's dagger and passed it along to her daughter. Lenore taught her daughter the basics of a bow and arrow and let her child catch the night's meal for them.
Four years later, Lenore became ill. Jocelyn tended to her mother like a mom tends to a babe. No matter what she could remember from her father's treatments, which wasn't very much, nothing seemed to work. She became paler and starting coughing up blood.
One night, Jocelyn fell asleep at her mother's side while she held her hand. When she awoke, her mother had passed as she still gripped her only child's hand. Jocelyn buried her mother that night, shedding a waterfall of tears that had built up from years and years of pain.
Jocelyn kept the farm where she continues to live. She travels to the market to sell whatever she is able to grow as well as whatever she is able to kill. She's an amazing hunter and predator, but cooking is another story. She has long since given up trying to carry on her mother's wonderful baking ability.
Jocelyn rarely engages in social activities, seeking only to confide in Dex. She's waiting, like a true predator, for the hunt to turn in her favor. Where the controllers in Marn make one false move and she can target something vital. She would give her life if it would mean that he would go down with her.
Those crimson gloves...
Age: 20
Race: Half Elf/ Half Human (Couldn't resist. My apologies
)Occupation: Hunter
Physical Description: Jocelyn stands at around 5'5", taking after her mother's petite frame. She weighs around 120, although she is insulted you'd ask. She has chestnut brown hair that falls to her shoulders, but is usually kept up in a tight ponytail. Her warm, golden eyes are the spitting image of her father's. They resemble the turning autumn leaves as the summer heat transforms to a crisp, fall breeze. Her skin held a ghostly glow that the sun could never wear away. Her skin looked like dull porcelain that spread to her round face and nose, all the way to her slightly pointed ears. Her almond-shaped eyes oddly accentuated her pursed, constantly scowling lips.
Possessions: Jocelyn's wardrobe varies depending on what activities she's doing. When traveling or doing housework, she is mostly seen in a simple dress, burgundy in color. It is lightweight and enables movement without being hindered, which is just how she likes it. Sadly, it rarely gets washed and is almost as old as her. It is often mistaken as a rag at times. While hunting, she wears a crudely made leather set, featuring shorts, boots, and a tunic. Jocelyn made the set herself out of a couple of deer kills. It's not the most fashionable, but it covers the important parts while providing a light sense of protection. While hunting, she carries a strong, mahogany bow and leather quiver with whatever arrows she's able to make, buy, or find. She always carries a small dagger with her for protection. It's not beautiful or expertly crafted, but it's been in her family ever since she can remember. It's hilt is onyx in color with her namesake "Ivey" carved into the blade in lovely script.
She sometimes carries a small brown pouch with various items, such as bandages for first aid, string for quartering and tying up kills, spare coins, and the like. Most times, though, she tends to forget the bag at home.
Powers or Strengths: She primarily relies on physical combat, preferring to use her bow for long range attacks. She feels more comfortable at a distance, especially since her close combat skills need some more mastering. She is quick with a bow and finding a target is second nature. Years hunting rabbits and squirrels definitely increases one's reflexes, aim, and stealth abilities. Jocelyn feels close combat is too personal for her liking and wants to avoid it at all costs.
She refuses to have anything to do with magic. Although she feels a sense of "connection" with her family's dagger, she has no idea what it means and she wants nothing to do with any kind of "powers".
Weaknesses: Jocelyn is fool-hardy and no sense of humor. She has a hard time filtering out her thoughts from her words and people often mistake her non-existent humor for rudeness. Her foolishness often times leads her into difficult situations, but she is doing her best to learn to keep quiet. Her foolishness extends even further, muddling her mind and clouding her memory and sense of responsibility. People know better than to ask her for a favor because it's a miracle that she's able to leave the house while remembering to get dressed in the morning.
"Better to remain silent and thought a fool than speak and remove all doubt."
Her combat skills also have weakness, as mentioned before. Her close combat and hand-to-hand skills leave a lot to be desired. Being so close to a person panics her. She can see the emotion in the being's eyes, watch them take their last breaths, see the ebb and flow of their essence as their blood drains...it messes with the mind too much for Jocelyn to handle. Seeing death up close could be described as "scarring" to one's being and Jocelyn is living proof to that testament.
History: Jocelyn was born to an Elven father, Tythe, and a Human mother, Lenore. She's heard so many stories of how they met that she has no idea which one of them shows a shred of truth. First she heard her father was a wanderer that had met a fair milkmaid named Lenore, but oddly enough, her mother had no idea how to milk anything, let alone a cow. Then she was told her father rescued her mother from a band of vagabonds, but her father had the temperament of a lamb so who knows whether or not that was true. Regardless of how they met, her parents were a perfect match for one another.
Lenore was a simple woman who knew basic fighting skills, nothing too exotic or extravagant, but enough to protect herself if need be. She was petite with dark, brown plaits adorning her hair. Her bright green eyes were always lit up with a smile. She was a baker and sold her wares at the local market. When she was stressed, she baked. When she was happy, she baked. When she was sad...she baked! It was a miracle that her father never got fat. She received decent money for her pastries and bread, but it never seemed enough. Taxes had to be paid, things needed to be mended around the house, Jocelyn needed clothes, and the list goes on.
Tythe was very complex and a bit of an opposite entity when compared with Lenore. He was tall and graceful, of course. He kept his pale hair short and out of his way. He was a busy man and disliked things that got in his way. He was a priest of sorts, creating topical ointments and creams, potions and elixirs, that could cure various ailments although nothing too serious. He was not allowed to heal dangerous diseases or anything of the sort. He could, but that would require magic. Sadly, they lived in Marn and every magic user and non-magic user alike knew what that meant. So he kept those powers to himself, only healing his daughter's scraped knees or his wife's muscle pains.
Marn was not the ideal place where Tythe and Lenore wanted to live, but it would do for the time being. They were doing their best to stock away whatever money was leftover to find a better atmosphere, but that would never happen. Jocelyn was fourteen when the knock came. The harsh rapping at the door of the small house had woken her up from her nap. The family cat, Dex, arched its back and hissed. Something was not right. Her mother was at the market making her father the only one home. He rushed to the door and was abruptly pushed back, but Jocelyn saw no hands exert force. They rushed in, recklessly knocking over a small cupboard near the door. Its contents spilled across the floor as the men stomped over the threshold. Three of them stood in front of her and her father. Two of them wore the silver armor of Marn's city guards, but those gloves...those crimson gloves, like the color of freshly spilled blood. They stood out like a sore thumb. Jocelyn had never seen a battlemage before, but as soon as she laid eyes on him, she knew at once what he was. His dark, unforgiving eyes flashed to her and she sank deeper into her blanket as she sat on a small cot. Tythe pushed himself to his feet, a gash marred his otherwise perfect skin. The impatient guards dragged him to his feet roughly as the battlemage approached. His voice was like cool darkness, enveloping you in paranoia and uncertainty.
"You have violated the rules," he calmly stated. Her father didn't deny it, but only replied in defense, "I was only trying to help them."
The battlemage held up his palms about a foot apart from another and slowly moved them closer and closer together. She heard her father scream as blood seeped out of his ears and roll down his cheeks. Jocelyn could look no more and hid her face as she whimpered. She covered her ears with her blanket in an effort to drown out the sounds of her father's pain. Suddenly it stopped and she peeked through the cotton fabric. They were taking him away, his feet dragging across the dusty floors, leaving trails behind. The battlemage took one last look at her, sending shivers through her body. They didn't even bother closing the door. She could see the townspeople standing outside her doorway, just standing...staring. No one bothered to offer solace or any comfort. Jocelyn remain there, not moving a inch. Dex curled around her feet and waited as well, never leaving her side. The black cat kept watch, waiting for Lenore.
Lenore stopped in the doorway. She was simple, but she wasn't stupid. She knew where he went and she began to cry. She had known Tythe was using magic, but she had never thought it would come to this. Ever. She noticed her daughter wrapped up in her blanket, laying in the fetal position, staring into space. She rushed to her side and embraced her immediately. Lenore soaked her daughter's hair with her tears. "Did you see them?" she asked.
All Jocelyn could do was nod in response. She could convey no emotion; not in speech nor in expression. She was emotionally paralyzed if she had to describe it. Her mother released her and began going through the house, room to room. She was gathering and grabbing things as she went. After she was satisfied at the pile of belongings packed in the center of the room, she grabbed her daughter. She looked at her. Jocelyn could remember her mother's puffy, swollen eyes. "We're leaving this place," was all she uttered as she grabbed her little girl's hand. Dex hopped off the cot and followed suit.
They had settled across the river on a tiny farm in Shim. They tended vegetables and fruits in a small garden, but nothing more. They had tried their hand a livestock but with no success. Jocelyn traveled into Marn every week or so to sell her mother's baked goods as well as produce and so they lived. They never spoke of the incident, only when Lenore found her husband's dagger and passed it along to her daughter. Lenore taught her daughter the basics of a bow and arrow and let her child catch the night's meal for them.
Four years later, Lenore became ill. Jocelyn tended to her mother like a mom tends to a babe. No matter what she could remember from her father's treatments, which wasn't very much, nothing seemed to work. She became paler and starting coughing up blood.
One night, Jocelyn fell asleep at her mother's side while she held her hand. When she awoke, her mother had passed as she still gripped her only child's hand. Jocelyn buried her mother that night, shedding a waterfall of tears that had built up from years and years of pain.
Jocelyn kept the farm where she continues to live. She travels to the market to sell whatever she is able to grow as well as whatever she is able to kill. She's an amazing hunter and predator, but cooking is another story. She has long since given up trying to carry on her mother's wonderful baking ability.
Jocelyn rarely engages in social activities, seeking only to confide in Dex. She's waiting, like a true predator, for the hunt to turn in her favor. Where the controllers in Marn make one false move and she can target something vital. She would give her life if it would mean that he would go down with her.
Those crimson gloves...