Ylva slinks around Pumpkin Hollow like an animal that's been kicked a few too many times. She's not sure what happened. She's not sure what happened to the ship, or her friends there, but she does know several things: one, she has once again found herself separated from all the people she knows, which is a thing her heart can hardly bear; and two, this is a real place. Curse or not, it's a real place, with animals and plants and the comforting present of life all around here. It's been so long.
She's lanky and androgynous, with a mess of long red hair and a freckled, tanned face, and the pointed ears of a half elf. She makes eye contact rarely, and occasionally lifts her lip in a defensive, silent snarl, should someone's attention linger. Still, she's more visibly nervous than she is truly aggressive.
Other times, people might encounter something else: a large, tawny wolflike dog (because a wolf walking through town is surely unthinkable), or a particularly intelligent-looking crow perched on a fence. The wary mannerisms are the same.
Famine
But people are hungry. She is, whatever else she is, a wolf, and wolves have particular ideas about the sanctity of the pack. Ylva, despite all her wariness and concern, would rather like to make a good impression. She can, in fact, do something about it.
She went out to the woods. She hunted -- felt hot blood in her mouth for the first time in years, a deeply satisfying thing she had missed -- she butchered, and now she's wandering about the streets of town with a large bundle on her back.
"I have meat," she says, without introduction. "Do you need meat? It's deer, mostly."
Ylva Wolfsdottir | OC (D&D), existing player with new character.
Ylva slinks around Pumpkin Hollow like an animal that's been kicked a few too many times. She's not sure what happened. She's not sure what happened to the ship, or her friends there, but she does know several things: one, she has once again found herself separated from all the people she knows, which is a thing her heart can hardly bear; and two, this is a real place. Curse or not, it's a real place, with animals and plants and the comforting present of life all around here. It's been so long.
She's lanky and androgynous, with a mess of long red hair and a freckled, tanned face, and the pointed ears of a half elf. She makes eye contact rarely, and occasionally lifts her lip in a defensive, silent snarl, should someone's attention linger. Still, she's more visibly nervous than she is truly aggressive.
Other times, people might encounter something else: a large, tawny wolflike dog (because a wolf walking through town is surely unthinkable), or a particularly intelligent-looking crow perched on a fence. The wary mannerisms are the same.
Famine
But people are hungry. She is, whatever else she is, a wolf, and wolves have particular ideas about the sanctity of the pack. Ylva, despite all her wariness and concern, would rather like to make a good impression. She can, in fact, do something about it.
She went out to the woods. She hunted -- felt hot blood in her mouth for the first time in years, a deeply satisfying thing she had missed -- she butchered, and now she's wandering about the streets of town with a large bundle on her back.
"I have meat," she says, without introduction. "Do you need meat? It's deer, mostly."
Wildcard
Something else? I'm easy.