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Description
Application for

Name: Elowen Yorn
Gender: Female
Age: She will often tell people she has lived far past that of their great grandparents, have seen empires fall and rise, and have seen the tides change before her eyes. She will say to those willing to listen, that one hundred years is a mere blink to her kin, and will relish in their surprise. Despite all this, Elowen has only lived forty years, which is all but a sapling to the Haon.
Race: Haon
Tribe: Ziskor. She is well aware her presence is less than welcomed within this tribe, but a stubborn nature is often one's undoing. After years of being spoken to of Ziskor's splendor and openminded nature, Elowen developed a fantasy of what this tribe her mother spoke so wonderfully of. Of course, reality never matches a dream.
Ancestry: Her mother lived in Ziskor nearly all her life, but her father had lived much of his life within the capital city of Guarmi, Cymel. There, Elowen stayed for many of her years, until her father’s passing. You will often here her mother’s tirades of how the Ironworks stole his life, but that is just a story.
Within days of that event, her mother had stolen them from the life of servitude back into the forest she held most dear. Only, after years of absence, the forest didn’t entirely take her back with open arms.
Personality: A woman of high esteem, Elowen holds herself with the importance she learned from those she once served. She is self-centered and prefers the company of herself, not those within the tribe. They distrust her as one who dines on the shadows of trees, and she returns the favor with a snooty reply or haughty tone. She is stubborn, childish and more often grumpy to those she does not speak with. If someone dares to speak ill of her, she will return the favor with a fierce passion. Once she held her serpentine tongue, but no longer. She's outspoken, and never afraid to speak her mind.
Though she comes off with an air of indifference to most things, she is softer to those she warms to, and unoften as it is. When she finds someone to whom she wishes to put trust in, or respects, Elowen will hold her mouth and simply listen. She enjoys the comfort of children and their innocence, which is why she chosen the path of a caretaker. (Not to mention it is sometimes a joy to see the shock and worry in their parent’s faces.) A child does not talk back, and does not judge or act higher. With children, she is the most at ease.
Occupation: For much of her life, Elowen lived under a house in which she served, but now she cares for those much younger as a watcher of the children.
Story: My mother was the type to smile while she demeaned herself. “Yes, my Lord.” “Whatever you require, My Lord.” She’d bow her head with grace, tuck a strand of free hair back in place, and do what she was told. Her tongue would never speak out of place, nor would it ever speak ill of the Master or his ways. She would go about her duties with a kind smile and dainty motions. I inherited her grace, her fine looks and gentle ways, but I bore a wicked tongue that proved difficult to hold. I always wondered if my mothers thought how I did, if she secretly hated the castle and those who dwelled within it.

I was a child of that house.

I longed to be outside with the fresh air and warm sun, within trees I was meant to be. I was a candle snuffed out in the cold walls and high ceilings. Perhaps that’s why my mother named me after the sky; so I spread these metaphoric wings and fly the hell away. Then again, she is a simple woman, and I doubt her mind was so clever to think of such a thing.

I began to help her in duties at the age of six.

By the time I could remember, my elder brother was already at school (I felt jealousy that you cannot fathom when he left me in that house, all alone). Really, I never was alone, I had my mother and father, though I saw very little of the man. He was a strong personality that you needed a shield and hammer to warm up to, but i adored him like no other. He would tell me stories, tales of our kin being worshiped as spirits and gods. And how quickly the tide turned, how he ended up a worker to a house with a few hands of bad luck. He would speak of strength and how a life of servitude was no life at all.
How we found ourselves workers of this ancient house, I still do not know. I believed, or liked to believe, that my father was some kind of very important socialite, going to events and writing stories about the time he had. Now… I believe he was attempting to work himself to death. And succeeded.
Part of me is envious of his freedom.

I was to be primed and prepped to become the same house worker my mother was. Had you told me this was what my life was to become, when I was this girl, I may have just laughed in your face. You see, when I was helping to clean dishes and serve the Master, I was hiding my bitter tongue. How I craved and desired to speak my mind, join in debates between he and the men of the house as they smoked cigars more expensive than my own worth.

My Master enjoyed split pea soup.

Had I any less control, there may have been spit in it.

I never did, mind you, for I am the most delicate of ladies. I would never regress to such a level, but in my younger years I had toyed with the thought. The Master treated us well, or as well as most treat their house pets. At the very least, he had treated my mother to coin and my brother and I to an education. He was several years my elder, my brother, and it took me these several years to realize that I may not have been the most anticipated gift. But I came none the less, and my presence would not be soon pushed aside.
I made sure I was recognized.
Well, I had tried to. My father’s death came at the most inappropriate time, then again there is never an appropriate time for such things, I suppose. I had barely finished my schooling when he passed and my mother decided to leave the house without word. She left, with me in tow, without so much as a letter. I still wonder if my brother mourned, if he wondered where we had gone or if he simply lived to think us a distant memory.
When we returned to the tribe my mother once called home, she smiled and felt as though her presence was welcomed. I, on the other hand, saw the looks of distain and distrust etched into the features of each tribesman. We were not welcomed within these sacred trees, for at a time when my mother was once crowned a spirit of them, we were now the stealer of their shadows. A killer of what they held most dear. My mother went about, gathering plants and doing a duty she thought was vital, while I distantly kept watch.
Quote: Don’t touch me.
Alliance: Neutral. She doesn’t care much outside of her own circle of life.

Notes: Elowen's design is based on a mangrove! Though she was born in winter, I based her hair on the roots of a mangrove in the winter months. So the roots are thick and plentiful, but there is no foliage. Also, she's nude but I really wanted to show all her tummy details. Yay <3

Description
Application for

Name: Elowen Yorn
Gender: Female
Age: She will often tell people she has lived far past that of their great grandparents, have seen empires fall and rise, and have seen the tides change before her eyes. She will say to those willing to listen, that one hundred years is a mere blink to her kin, and will relish in their surprise. Despite all this, Elowen has only lived forty years, which is all but a sapling to the Haon.
Race: Haon
Tribe: Ziskor. She is well aware her presence is less than welcomed within this tribe, but a stubborn nature is often one's undoing. After years of being spoken to of Ziskor's splendor and openminded nature, Elowen developed a fantasy of what this tribe her mother spoke so wonderfully of. Of course, reality never matches a dream.
Ancestry: Her mother lived in Ziskor nearly all her life, but her father had lived much of his life within the capital city of Guarmi, Cymel. There, Elowen stayed for many of her years, until her father’s passing. You will often here her mother’s tirades of how the Ironworks stole his life, but that is just a story.
Within days of that event, her mother had stolen them from the life of servitude back into the forest she held most dear. Only, after years of absence, the forest didn’t entirely take her back with open arms.
Personality: A woman of high esteem, Elowen holds herself with the importance she learned from those she once served. She is self-centered and prefers the company of herself, not those within the tribe. They distrust her as one who dines on the shadows of trees, and she returns the favor with a snooty reply or haughty tone. She is stubborn, childish and more often grumpy to those she does not speak with. If someone dares to speak ill of her, she will return the favor with a fierce passion. Once she held her serpentine tongue, but no longer. She's outspoken, and never afraid to speak her mind.
Though she comes off with an air of indifference to most things, she is softer to those she warms to, and unoften as it is. When she finds someone to whom she wishes to put trust in, or respects, Elowen will hold her mouth and simply listen. She enjoys the comfort of children and their innocence, which is why she chosen the path of a caretaker. (Not to mention it is sometimes a joy to see the shock and worry in their parent’s faces.) A child does not talk back, and does not judge or act higher. With children, she is the most at ease.
Occupation: For much of her life, Elowen lived under a house in which she served, but now she cares for those much younger as a watcher of the children.
Story: My mother was the type to smile while she demeaned herself. “Yes, my Lord.” “Whatever you require, My Lord.” She’d bow her head with grace, tuck a strand of free hair back in place, and do what she was told. Her tongue would never speak out of place, nor would it ever speak ill of the Master or his ways. She would go about her duties with a kind smile and dainty motions. I inherited her grace, her fine looks and gentle ways, but I bore a wicked tongue that proved difficult to hold. I always wondered if my mothers thought how I did, if she secretly hated the castle and those who dwelled within it.

I was a child of that house.

I longed to be outside with the fresh air and warm sun, within trees I was meant to be. I was a candle snuffed out in the cold walls and high ceilings. Perhaps that’s why my mother named me after the sky; so I spread these metaphoric wings and fly the hell away. Then again, she is a simple woman, and I doubt her mind was so clever to think of such a thing.

I began to help her in duties at the age of six.

By the time I could remember, my elder brother was already at school (I felt jealousy that you cannot fathom when he left me in that house, all alone). Really, I never was alone, I had my mother and father, though I saw very little of the man. He was a strong personality that you needed a shield and hammer to warm up to, but i adored him like no other. He would tell me stories, tales of our kin being worshiped as spirits and gods. And how quickly the tide turned, how he ended up a worker to a house with a few hands of bad luck. He would speak of strength and how a life of servitude was no life at all.
How we found ourselves workers of this ancient house, I still do not know. I believed, or liked to believe, that my father was some kind of very important socialite, going to events and writing stories about the time he had. Now… I believe he was attempting to work himself to death. And succeeded.
Part of me is envious of his freedom.

I was to be primed and prepped to become the same house worker my mother was. Had you told me this was what my life was to become, when I was this girl, I may have just laughed in your face. You see, when I was helping to clean dishes and serve the Master, I was hiding my bitter tongue. How I craved and desired to speak my mind, join in debates between he and the men of the house as they smoked cigars more expensive than my own worth.

My Master enjoyed split pea soup.

Had I any less control, there may have been spit in it.

I never did, mind you, for I am the most delicate of ladies. I would never regress to such a level, but in my younger years I had toyed with the thought. The Master treated us well, or as well as most treat their house pets. At the very least, he had treated my mother to coin and my brother and I to an education. He was several years my elder, my brother, and it took me these several years to realize that I may not have been the most anticipated gift. But I came none the less, and my presence would not be soon pushed aside.
I made sure I was recognized.
Well, I had tried to. My father’s death came at the most inappropriate time, then again there is never an appropriate time for such things, I suppose. I had barely finished my schooling when he passed and my mother decided to leave the house without word. She left, with me in tow, without so much as a letter. I still wonder if my brother mourned, if he wondered where we had gone or if he simply lived to think us a distant memory.
When we returned to the tribe my mother once called home, she smiled and felt as though her presence was welcomed. I, on the other hand, saw the looks of distain and distrust etched into the features of each tribesman. We were not welcomed within these sacred trees, for at a time when my mother was once crowned a spirit of them, we were now the stealer of their shadows. A killer of what they held most dear. My mother went about, gathering plants and doing a duty she thought was vital, while I distantly kept watch.
Quote: Don’t touch me.
Alliance: Neutral. She doesn’t care much outside of her own circle of life.

Notes: Elowen's design is based on a mangrove! Though she was born in winter, I based her hair on the roots of a mangrove in the winter months. So the roots are thick and plentiful, but there is no foliage. Also, she's nude but I really wanted to show all her tummy details. Yay <3