Post by Ophelia Timber on Aug 19, 2016 15:06:24 GMT -5
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[attr="class","ilbgdtraits1"]Explorer
[attr="class","ilbgdtraits2"]Female
[attr="class","ilbgdtraits3"]26
[attr="class","ilbgdtraits1"]Cartography
[attr="class","ilbgdtraits2"]Antonia Thomas
[attr="class","ilbgdtraits3"]Authored By Poe
Ophelia V. Timber
[attr="class","dropfrumbodytxt"]
She is a flickering flame that burns strong throughout the night until the wind sweeps through and she extinguishes. Ophelia yearns for the unknown, the sights that are just beyond the horizon, and there's nothing that she loves more than change-- and nothing she hates more than stagnancy. Flighty, non-commital, finicky, and utterly charming, she is the very personification of fire; devouring novelty until it is nothing more than charred and broken and the mystery has evaporated. Then, she moves on.
Yet, even through the hot-cold exterior she wears, there's a steel spine. She knows what determination is, she knows what it feels like to come to the point of breaking-- and then pushing on, she knows the pain and joy of survival-- and she revels in the harsh environment of PE. She was born an explorer, and an explorer she will always be.
SHE WAS BORN into the lap of luxury, with parents much too interested in silver spoons and oil farms. She lived amongst finery, in the rolling green countryside, alone but not too alone, free but not too free. And though she was taught etiquette by a private tutor, though she had been told countless times to walk softly and speak kindly, she chose a different path from the very start.
She was the child who tracked mud on marble floors and smeared the china cases' glass with fingerprints. She rode her bike indoors, she knocked into whole suits of armor, and once-- just once-- she accidentally hung from the expensive chandelier that her parents had imported from Italy. Every time she was caught, her mother pursed her lips, her father turned red. When she was old enough-- she was sent away.
Boarding school was her home then, an all-girls establishment. She was plucked and primped and made to stand straight and speak softly. Every day was monotony, every hour torture for Ophelia. On the eve of her eighteen birthday, with graduation looming not a weak since, Ophelia sat and made a singular decision to never live like that way again.
And she never did. When she'd escaped the boarding schools, she took to the high mountains and the low valleys-- claiming the profession of 'photographer' to appease her parent's and to make sure they kept giving her money for her travels. She took pictures, she won awards, she explored, she struck out into the wilderness just to see if she could make it...and she stayed as far away from schedules as she possibly could.
But...there really isn't much to photograph when everything has turned to ruin. Ophelia remembered seeing her parents once before boarding the shuttle to PE. She's still looking for them.
She has several scars on her hands and arms from accidents in the wild, and a birthmark on her right shoulder that looks suspiciously like a heart.
ITEMS
2 small
5 large
PERSONALITY
She is a flickering flame that burns strong throughout the night until the wind sweeps through and she extinguishes. Ophelia yearns for the unknown, the sights that are just beyond the horizon, and there's nothing that she loves more than change-- and nothing she hates more than stagnancy. Flighty, non-commital, finicky, and utterly charming, she is the very personification of fire; devouring novelty until it is nothing more than charred and broken and the mystery has evaporated. Then, she moves on.
Yet, even through the hot-cold exterior she wears, there's a steel spine. She knows what determination is, she knows what it feels like to come to the point of breaking-- and then pushing on, she knows the pain and joy of survival-- and she revels in the harsh environment of PE. She was born an explorer, and an explorer she will always be.
HISTORY
SHE WAS BORN into the lap of luxury, with parents much too interested in silver spoons and oil farms. She lived amongst finery, in the rolling green countryside, alone but not too alone, free but not too free. And though she was taught etiquette by a private tutor, though she had been told countless times to walk softly and speak kindly, she chose a different path from the very start.
She was the child who tracked mud on marble floors and smeared the china cases' glass with fingerprints. She rode her bike indoors, she knocked into whole suits of armor, and once-- just once-- she accidentally hung from the expensive chandelier that her parents had imported from Italy. Every time she was caught, her mother pursed her lips, her father turned red. When she was old enough-- she was sent away.
Boarding school was her home then, an all-girls establishment. She was plucked and primped and made to stand straight and speak softly. Every day was monotony, every hour torture for Ophelia. On the eve of her eighteen birthday, with graduation looming not a weak since, Ophelia sat and made a singular decision to never live like that way again.
And she never did. When she'd escaped the boarding schools, she took to the high mountains and the low valleys-- claiming the profession of 'photographer' to appease her parent's and to make sure they kept giving her money for her travels. She took pictures, she won awards, she explored, she struck out into the wilderness just to see if she could make it...and she stayed as far away from schedules as she possibly could.
But...there really isn't much to photograph when everything has turned to ruin. Ophelia remembered seeing her parents once before boarding the shuttle to PE. She's still looking for them.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS
She has several scars on her hands and arms from accidents in the wild, and a birthmark on her right shoulder that looks suspiciously like a heart.
ITEMS
2 small
- Camera
- 3 capsules of 35MM film
5 large
- Horse (+tack)
- Compound Bow (+quiver)
- 50 Arrows
- First Aid Kit
- 1 Tent
