|Mortal Name:||Rosalind Jaffe, Roz|
|Fae Name:||Ashajubal [ah-sha-jew-BALL]|
|Age (Seeming):||23 (Wilder)|
Like most of her Kith, Roz lives for passion. Music in particular. She likes a good drink, a good song and a good story, and maybe all three at once. To her customers, she's got a ready smile and a jovial manner, and sometimes even does the entertainment herself, there at the tavern. But, there is and underlying sadness to her, not quite over the tragic and traumatic deaths of her mentors and her own experience there. She tends to have flashbacks of that time, when under stress. And she is prone to bouts of deeply felt depression. Highs and lows, hardly ever a middle ground.
Glamour: 4, Willpower: 4, Banality: 3
Strength: 2, Dexterity: 5, Stamina: 4(with Kith bonus)
- Specialty: Flexible
Charisma: 3, Manipulation: 2, Appearance: 3
Perception: 2, Intelligence: 2, Wits: 2
- Althetics 3
- Empathy 3
- Insight 3
- Integrity 1
- Sensitivity 3
- Marksmanship (Archery) 3
- Melee (Swords) 1
- Performance (Dance) 4
- Specialty: Expressive Dance
- Academics (Medieval Literature) 1
- Finance 3
- Lore (Changeling) 3
- Medicine 2
Contacts: 1 (single major contact: Lord Ineyos, sidhe noble)
Arts & Realms Edit
- Wayfare: 3
- Primal: 2
- Nature: 3
- Scene: 1
- Actor: 3
- Prop: 2
- Fae: 2
- (3 point flaw)
- Roz's flashbacks are a kickback to witnessing the torture of her mentors as well as experiencing her own. Things like basements, chains or restraints will certainly trigger these (although, not limited to those).
- Changeling's Eyes
- (1 point Flaw)
- Her eyes are a startling lavender, clearly unnatural with the way they seem to shimmer from time to time. Most mundane folk probably brush this off as a pair of creative contact lenses, but anyone with any knowledge of the supernatural would, at the very least, get the sense there was something there to investigate and some may even be able to directly peg her as a Changeling.
- (3 point Flaw)
- Roz doesn't know this is a curse in effect, she just knows that electrical devices tend to malfunction, break or simply not work when she tries to use them. The mysterious stranger who killed her mentors laid this one on her.
- Perfect Balance
- (3 point merit)
- Perhaps due to her lifetime of dance and dance training, or just luck, Roz does not fall down. At least, not easily.
- Past Life
- (2 point merit)
- Slowly coming to the surface now that she's living in a freehold and tends to spend most of her time there. Roz is connecting more and more with the Faerie Soul within her and (less so) to the lives it lived before it came to her mortal vessal.
Roz gathers Glamour, when not using her Freehold for it, by witnessing the joy of children at play. This is something she developed when she started working closely with them after moving to Crystal Springs.
- Willpower: 4 (Started with 2 dots)
- Abilities: 4
- Backgrounds: 1
- Arts: 10 (Started with 3 dots)
- Realms: 18 (Started with 5 dots)
- Merits: 5
- Flaws: -7
- Total: 35
Mortal Name: Rosalind Jaffe "Roz"
Fae Name: Ashajubal [ah-sha-jew-BALL]
Seelie Legacy: Courtier
Unseelie Legacy: Riddler
Birthday: June 6, 1986
- Shadow's Wind
- If the user is blending into the background/shadows/hidden at all, and with the expenditure of a point of Glamour, the fans will make the eye slide right over her, so long as she can remain still and silent. Both fans are needed, if there is only one fan being used, the effect will not work. If she moves or makes more noise than it takes to breath, the enchantment breaks and she'll be visible as normal.
- Lord Ineyos
- While the politicos of Kithain society aren't particularly interested in Crystal Springs at the moment, Roz has some light connections to the sidhe nobles through her once rescuer, Lord Ineyos. He's a very old grump and while he was once in power, now he serves as more of an adviser to the younger, more energetic lords and ladies. He is trusted and well liked among his peers.
- One, she owns a tavern/freehold. The tavern is open to whomever would care to patronize it (in the good way) and is a totally throwback to the days of yore. Very 'Tolkienesque' in décor and design.
- Two, I suppose, would be the dark fae who had them all tortured and her mentors killed. I'm leaving it open as to who/what she is, as she very well might not be 'fae' at all, but Roz assumes she is. She is one of the tall, dark and terrifying figures, much like the Maleficent she's compared to in the history. She and Roz's mentors had some sort of agreement, likely she tricked them into agreeing to something they didn't realize at the time, and then they skipped out on the deal. And hid. And were eventually found.
- There is also Lord Ineyos, some lofty Sidhe who liked Mrs. Whatsit, Who and Which. He knows where to find Roz, should he ever need a favor. (More detail in GM Info.)
- Also! She works for a childcare facility in the city. And she's likely the kids' favorite, since she's got good, fanciful tales and will play make believe with them at the drop of a hat.
I was dancing in my oldest memories. Or, at least, my oldest memories from my mortal life. Who knows, I may have been dancing in my truly oldest memories, perhaps that is why it always came so naturally to me. My mother, that is, the mortal human who gave birth to my current vessel, she would claim that I was dancing before I knew how to walk. But you know how parents exaggerate.
Dancing made me feel... fantastical. I'm sure the other children had their jokes at my expense, that they mocked and pointed and jeered, but their cruelties went almost entirely unnoticed by me. After all, when you're a beautiful princess, or an elvish warrior, or riding on a unicorn, or dancing through a field of golden flowers, who has time to notice? When I passed the age where making up my own steps and style was cute, my parents sent me into formal training, but through all those years, I still preferred to let my imagination and the music guide my feet. It was difficult to get me to stop, in those early years. For school, for dinner, for bed, I never wanted to stop. My mother was often frustrated, but my father would encourage. When mother wasn't looking. I remember when I found The Red Shoes under my pillow. A gift from my father. I still have that very book.
Dancing wasn't the only thing my father encouraged. He would play the great dragon hoarding away treasures and eating young maidens. He would be the black knight, the roguish pirate, the noble king... But, there came a time, of course, when I was meant to outgrow such things. When a young girl's mind turns to boys and make up and clothes, not elves and unicorns. The only boy I was interested in was my imaginary friend, Prince Gregory. The only clothes I care for were the flowing gowns an suits of armor I donned in my thoughts. Of course, I was teased. But it didn't change me.
But things did change. I heard my father commenting to someone on the phone that he'd wished I would just do something normal girls did. Anything. Sneak out with a boy all night, even. I couldn't tell you when his thoughts on my behavior changed, but the fact that my father, my playmate, thought just like the others... it shook me, I'm not ashamed to say. So I started to pretend... that I wasn't pretending. My fantasies stayed in my head. I discovered self control, then, and it was... depressing, how much more comfortable everyone was with me once I started acting normal.
Unfortunately, my imagination did not agree with my choice. It felt like the more I tried to hide my thoughts, the more they demanded they be expressed. I used my dance for this. It was acceptable, pouring imagination into an artistic expression... I even gained the respect of my peers and teachers, some of them, for my "innovative" choreography. It wouldn't be enough. It started to be a physical itch, to grab people and tell them about the army or trolls set to invade the school, or the demon gargoyles preying on the local playgrounds, or the tales of the mystic witches that lived on my street.
That one, as it turned out, wasn't much of a stretch. They lived three doors down from me, sisters and all widowed. The adults of the neighborhood sort of tried to help them out whenever they could. Things like "poor dears" and "such a sad state" whispered out of earshot. But I soon came to suspect there was more to it than that. My mind dreamed up a thousand stories about them. And when they actually started to take notice of me... I became sure there was something there to find out. But whenever I tried, they just chased me right off their property and sent me back home again.
But, as usual, things changed.
I remember that night with amazing clarity. No one else really seems to. Even right after it happened, everyone seemed fuzzy on the details. Some outright refused to even talk about it. As I said, my imagination was rebelling against the lack of expression. It was the day of the big dance exhibition. Myself and my fellow dancers were putting on a series of dances that various choreographers had put together, complete with costumes and scenery and lighting, the whole nine. It really was going wonderfully.
But, I was feeling more and more pressure. A physical pressure. The more I tried to ignore it, the harder it pushed until, during one number, my imagination burst into reality, birthed from my very mind, like Athena, fully formed. The music became a war march, urging the room unto battle. Most sat there, puzzled, but when the savage warrior band showed up, the audience fled. A bow appeared in my hand, armor on my chest and sister warriors at my side.
I couldn't tell you how long it lasted, or who stayed around until the end, I just know I fought until I fell. But I glimpsed three figures rushing in toward me before the black clouded my vision. They were odd creatures, but still so very familiar...
I awoke, they tell me it was days later. I had been wounded. That and the trashed dance hall were the physical evidence that something had, in fact, happened. My mother was crying when I woke up, my father was standing with a hand on her shoulder... I guess the doctors weren't sure I would wake up again. But I did, and I suddenly... had a lot to adjust to. My imagination had completely overtaken me. My legs looked like a goat's and there were horns on my head. Just little ones. I was ancient, or I felt ancient, even though I was still a fourteen year old girl. The hospital... a place of dreams and hopes and fear and sorrow... it was like a nightmare. Things walked the halls, the walls and windows... weren't what everyone seemed to assume they were. Nothing was what everyone else seemed to believe it to be. I panicked so much and so often, they kept me sedated until it was safe to go home.
The three witches, as I had often imagined them, told my parents they wanted to help with my recovery, give me some things to occupy my mind and body until I felt myself again. My parents, who both worked by this time, were grateful for the help, as they felt they wouldn't be able to give me the attention I seemed to require for my recovery.
Well, they weren't witches, exactly. To my shock and surprise, when I knocked on their door, a Satyr answered. Just like out of the stories. Of course, it didn't escape me that I also looked like a satyr from the stories, but facing another was quite the shocking experience. There were the two others, of course. The Eshu and the Boggan. They told me I should call them Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which, respectively. This is not what they were known as outside of our afternoons together. And when they asked my name, I didn't say 'Roz' or even 'Rosalind', I said 'Ashajubal'. They laughed at my surprise over my own words, and teased me over my 'fancy' fae name.
They were beyond kind to me, my three true mothers. They taught me everything they could cram into my head. Not just about kiths and houses and courts, but of magic, of the Dreaming, of music and food and drink and laughter unlike any human as ever laughed. And more practical things, like bookkeeping and business; responsible, real world things. They showed me unconditional love, passion, compassion, wonder and the reality of fantasy. For years we went on like this, my free time was spent with them, and my mortal parents were happy to have a normal, functional teen daughter, for once. There were a few slip ups, of course, but my education was an overall success.
I went to college, for performing arts, of course. Dancing. I took some music, too. Acting. But my passion as been and will always be for the dance. Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which were all proud beyond words of my accomplishments. They cried at my graduation. My parents were far more practical about it, wondering what in the world I would do with this degree. Truth be told, I hadn't thought much about it. And, like so many others, I don't really do much at all with my degree.
Mrs. Who was the one who gave me my answer about where I would go next. In her many travels, she'd gathered a large number of properties. Among them was a tavern in Crystal Springs, Colorado. The Troll she had minding it at the time was being sent off on a mission for his liege lord, and she asked me to take his place. Well, that sounded alright with me, and since I was twenty two and ready to get out of my town, I agreed. I would leave after the summer.
It was supposed to be a summer of celebration, one of bittersweet goodbyes, long nights and parties here and there. Unfortunately, fate tends to have her own mind about these things. I remember the day the letter came. It was a black scroll sealed with the symbol of a dragon in blood red wax. It would have seemed pretty stereotypical 'goth' if not for the rather ominous aura it gave off. Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which looked terrified. As Mrs. Which read over the letter, Mrs. Whatsit started activating their defenses. Knickknacks I never looked twice at in all those years glowed and shimmered with power. They each took a set of fans, hand fans, and even gave a set to me. None of us were going to leave the house. And if anyone came calling, we were going to hide until the visitor decided we weren't there.
When I asked who the letter was from and what it said, Mrs. Who said only that if this were Sleeping Beauty, I'd be Aurora, they'd be Flora, Fauna and Merryweather and the visitor would be Maleficent. I never did get her real name. As for the letter, they said she was coming to collect old debts. Very old.
It was moonrise on the third day when she came. It took her two more days to get past the chimerical defenses. I have no idea what the neighbors saw as this terrible woman and her henchmen assaulted the house, but no one called the police, so I suppose the Mist was particularly thick at that time. By the time she got in and her gnarled, bent and deformed herd rushed in to search the house, we'd each found a shadowed corner to hide in, the fans making us hard to notice.
I had chosen the basement. I wish I had picked a different room. I'm not sure how or why the dark fae was able to find them, but her men dragged them down to the basement one by one. Mrs. Whatsit was angry, lashing out and kicking and punching for all her old body was worth. Mrs. Which just cried and cried, I've never seen anyone cry so much or so hard before. Mrs. Who was determined not to give them the satisfaction of a reaction, she simply stared straight ahead. Right at my corner. I'll never know if she found comfort in my presence, or if she even knew I was there. She was the first they killed.
I couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe too deeply, for fear of them suddenly noticing me. And I couldn't look away. I wish I had closed my eyes, but I'm not even sure I blinked. Each of them was restrained with cold iron, and each was tortured with tools crafted of the same. I'll forever hear echoes of those screams, of my bright and loving mothers cut and ripped into without mercy. And how long it went on. It felt neverending. I still don't know just how long it was. Silent tears ran down my face, sweat beaded on my skin, but I didn't make a sound. Not a move. Not until they broke Mrs. Whatsit. Mrs. Who had died, Mrs. Which died, their blood pooled on the floor below... The things they did...
But when Mrs. Whatsit was kneeling next to her sisters, sisters of the heart, she lost it. Her will, gone in a moment. And I could not hold in my sorrow. My heart broke for her, for them, for myself and my cries and sobs banished my fans' spell. It wasn't hard for them to get me, particularly in the state I was in at the time, bound as well. They weren't as awful to me as they had been, but I soon figured out why. They were not satisfied with just breaking my fellow Satyr. They made her watch, as I had watched them, as they cut into me as well. I... think it best if I leave out the details, for my sake as well as yours. But before too long, she was begging them to kill her. Begging. The dark fae left shortly there after, telling her minions to 'clean up'. I remember she looked and me and spoke, but I couldn't make out the words, her parting shot left unheard.
It was half a day later, I was still chained up and being tortured, Mrs. Whatsit hadn't moved. Her body lived on, but whatever had made her who she was, that was dead. Dead an buried. It was half a day later when help arrived. A squad of massive Trolls and their Sidhe commander rode in, the commander as old as my three mothers had been. They slew those who remained and freed me and Mrs. Whatsit. But she didn't stand up. She didn't move. I think she died then, but they carried me out too quickly for me to see. I never saw her alive again.
The Sidhe, Lord Ineyos was the name he gave me, took me away from the house, and actually sat with me in the hospital this time. The police asked a lot of questions about the men who'd done this, and what had happened before they let my parents come see me. I told them then, I had to leave. I couldn't stay in that town, with that house there and the memories... They understood. Lord Ineyos and his faithful troll companion, whose name I never did get, accompanied me on the train to my new home. He even lingered in Crystal Springs while I got the legal red tape over my inheritance from the trio cleared up.
Once the Toothless Griffin Tavern was mine, and the money they'd left me was settled, he wished me well, kissed my forehead and told me he had every respect for my mentors, and for their progeny. He left a card on my bar, for a local childcare business, saying that I would figure out what to do with it later. And then he left. And his troll, of course. And I was left, for the first time, truly alone.
But, there was work to be done. The previous minder left me all the books, some instructions and even a good luck wish. His letter told me that the tavern was also a freehold, and I was to care for it and guard it with my life from this point on. I threw myself into the work of running the place, keeping the books. By hand. These days, I have no luck with computers. Even calculators seem to dislike me. I didn't go to the wake for my mothers. I think now, I should have, but I could not celebrate then. I could not for some time.
It was dancing that returned my nature to me, reminded me about the passion they'd taught me, the love they'd shown and that they live on in me, as long as I don't let myself wither and die under the weight of sorrow. It was music that reminded me to smile and laugh and feel joy. And it was the children who reminded me of the magic in the world, in the flowers of the field, in the stars in the sky, in their hearts... and in mine.
|What||Type||Who||Approved by||Finished||Slot Status||Explanation|
|What||Type||Who||Approved by||Finished||Slot Status||Explanation|
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- +learn Melee 1, Expertise in Swords: 8/24/2009 from Michael
- +teach Appearance 4 to Michael 10/26/09