Difference between revisions of "Pyrrha Devolt"
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| + | <tab name="History" style="padding: 10px; margin-left: 0px; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 10px; border-color:#852f2e; border-radius:15px; background-color: #ffffff;"> | ||
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| + | <div style="margin: 10px 0px; padding: 5px 0px; background: #852f2e; font-size:14px; color:#FFFFFF; font-family:tahoma; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px black; letter-spacing:0.25em;border-radius:15px;"><center>'''a mending heart'''</center></div> | ||
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| + | <i>'Y'er my light house, m' darling. I will always find my way back t' you.'</i> | ||
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| + | Pyrrha had always smiled with her eyes. Her big doe eyes, as her father would call them. He'd always said they were so full of promise and light, and that they held the world. Five years old was a bit too young to hold the world she thought, but it was something to believe in. It sounded brave and important, and she wanted to be the embodiment of those words. | ||
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| + | So she smiled with her eyes. Because the upwards twitch of her lip was far too risky in front of the eyes of other children. It was so much easier to seem disinterested, to keep quiet and do as your told. They'd play and she'd watch, wondering why she was so different with her horns and scales. Her father called them lucky charms; beauty marks that made her stand out in a crowd, so he could always see her. But at seven, she was starting to lose grip of those promises. The Admiral's odd-one-out daughter, always staring at the sea and never speaking a word. She become the embodiment of those words. | ||
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| + | And when you don't quite fit in anywhere else, you find a purpose. Pyrrha's was given to her the day of her ninth birthday in the form of a wooden cane. Not too fancy but certainly not cheap, the hearty hyur man with the stubble on his chin clasped a hand on her shoulder and proclaimed, 'something to believe in'. What started out as an occasional study with a flick of magic become daily routine. Books upon books, spells upon spells. The comforting warmth of healing magic was like nothing she'd ever felt before. Moth to an open flame, she took to it so well that her father not only encouraged it, but enforced it. Her wooden staff collected dust on a bedroom shelf after being replaced by a staff, and she never looked back. | ||
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| + | Medic was a fancy title. One that made her cheeks flush red and her heart slam into her rib cage. | ||
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| + | --- | ||
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Revision as of 00:15, 17 November 2018
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Pyrrha Devolt daughter of the sea. About
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. Scars & Markings: --- Voice: --- Clothing: ---
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'Y'er my light house, m' darling. I will always find my way back t' you.' Pyrrha had always smiled with her eyes. Her big doe eyes, as her father would call them. He'd always said they were so full of promise and light, and that they held the world. Five years old was a bit too young to hold the world she thought, but it was something to believe in. It sounded brave and important, and she wanted to be the embodiment of those words. So she smiled with her eyes. Because the upwards twitch of her lip was far too risky in front of the eyes of other children. It was so much easier to seem disinterested, to keep quiet and do as your told. They'd play and she'd watch, wondering why she was so different with her horns and scales. Her father called them lucky charms; beauty marks that made her stand out in a crowd, so he could always see her. But at seven, she was starting to lose grip of those promises. The Admiral's odd-one-out daughter, always staring at the sea and never speaking a word. She become the embodiment of those words. And when you don't quite fit in anywhere else, you find a purpose. Pyrrha's was given to her the day of her ninth birthday in the form of a wooden cane. Not too fancy but certainly not cheap, the hearty hyur man with the stubble on his chin clasped a hand on her shoulder and proclaimed, 'something to believe in'. What started out as an occasional study with a flick of magic become daily routine. Books upon books, spells upon spells. The comforting warmth of healing magic was like nothing she'd ever felt before. Moth to an open flame, she took to it so well that her father not only encouraged it, but enforced it. Her wooden staff collected dust on a bedroom shelf after being replaced by a staff, and she never looked back. Medic was a fancy title. One that made her cheeks flush red and her heart slam into her rib cage. ---
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