Post by Naomi Verre de Forgernon (I) on Apr 30, 2008 22:37:16 GMT -5
Name: Naomi Verre de Forgernon
Age: 18
Race: D’Angeline
Residence: Maison de Verre (House of Glass), East Borough
Appearance: From that first flash of teeth, brilliant against lips that are without the need for carmine is a face both feral and sweet, and one knows she is part of that sacred ancestral tree. The wild gypsy’s mane of black hair is given to float much like the wings of a cormorant about features that are fair, almost translucent. Had her parents sold her to the Night Court, no doubt with her coloring she might have gone to Camellia or perhaps Jasmine, but no, a merchants daughter she was born and a merchant’s daughter she would remain learning the trade secrets of glass and how it could come to life with even the faintest breath. Beauty is appreciated by the D’Angeline in all its forms and a well crafted item in glass is no less a work of art than that of the hands that made it, for those too were lean and delicate, with nails carefully sculpted into gentle crescents so as to appear more fluid while in motion. Though her body may be lithe and supple as the newly budded branches of a willow, there is an element of steel in her spine that gives her the presence of one much older than all of ten and eight years. Elusive yet warm, her eyes are a deep shade of night sky that failed to glitter in the same fashion as those of Kusheth, twilight eyes that hold only the mar of black stripes from iris to pupil to give her the caste of some strange cat that lurked in the deepest jungle of Debehoe.
History: With parents that are both strict and gentle, she grew up beneath a bower of affection and attention. Though her life is one of labor, it is one of love that bore the fruit of mutlicolored jewels that seemed to breath life once comleted. Glass is not an art that all might delve, and those with the touch find themselves at the beck and call of the gentry, those landed nobles with coffers that brimmed over and simply waited to play patron on an artisan like the Verre de Forgernon. Her father hailed from Siovale, an astute and somewhat bookish sort who enjoyed working his mind as much as his hands over the follies of business. He has the same eyes as his daughter, but his smile isslower in coming from the angular jaw that is indicative of those from that area. Handsome as a shadow, her mother had once said of her father, a woman who teases with her smile as she does with her eyes. Soft and brown, they were tilted much like a cats, and for all the color may have come from her father, it was the personality of those eyes that Naomi took from her mother. Friendly with many of the Tsingani and those who traveled from afar into the White City of Elua, Madame Verre de Forgernon guarded the purse of the house with a shrewd fist and a skillfully cunning mind. When one was raised in Byrony House it was hard not to be so keen when it came to coin.
Naomi has taken up the reigns as apprentice to her father's affairs and now seeks to surpass the reputation that her parents have built through the years. With the forges heated, and the sand sieved finely she plies her soul to the very art that gave her birth ... that of the Glass House. But one wonders about a young woman whose gift seems better suited to inanimate objects than persons who live and breath? Although softly spoken, Naomi has a voice that is both suitable for a drawing room and the recitation of poetry and one that is pleasant while singing. She sings often to the forges, preferring the heat of open flames rather than the heated arguments of her parents and those are as prevailent as the monsoon season of the Nahar River. She has a fond respect for books, and an uncomingly dark sense of humor that more often than not is completely elusive to the understanding of her parents. Yet, she is polite always and constantly seeking the input of others to the point of badgering the patrons of her father for ideas and suggestions regarding the world at large and how she might relate it to the glass within her hands.
Age: 18
Race: D’Angeline
Residence: Maison de Verre (House of Glass), East Borough
Appearance: From that first flash of teeth, brilliant against lips that are without the need for carmine is a face both feral and sweet, and one knows she is part of that sacred ancestral tree. The wild gypsy’s mane of black hair is given to float much like the wings of a cormorant about features that are fair, almost translucent. Had her parents sold her to the Night Court, no doubt with her coloring she might have gone to Camellia or perhaps Jasmine, but no, a merchants daughter she was born and a merchant’s daughter she would remain learning the trade secrets of glass and how it could come to life with even the faintest breath. Beauty is appreciated by the D’Angeline in all its forms and a well crafted item in glass is no less a work of art than that of the hands that made it, for those too were lean and delicate, with nails carefully sculpted into gentle crescents so as to appear more fluid while in motion. Though her body may be lithe and supple as the newly budded branches of a willow, there is an element of steel in her spine that gives her the presence of one much older than all of ten and eight years. Elusive yet warm, her eyes are a deep shade of night sky that failed to glitter in the same fashion as those of Kusheth, twilight eyes that hold only the mar of black stripes from iris to pupil to give her the caste of some strange cat that lurked in the deepest jungle of Debehoe.
History: With parents that are both strict and gentle, she grew up beneath a bower of affection and attention. Though her life is one of labor, it is one of love that bore the fruit of mutlicolored jewels that seemed to breath life once comleted. Glass is not an art that all might delve, and those with the touch find themselves at the beck and call of the gentry, those landed nobles with coffers that brimmed over and simply waited to play patron on an artisan like the Verre de Forgernon. Her father hailed from Siovale, an astute and somewhat bookish sort who enjoyed working his mind as much as his hands over the follies of business. He has the same eyes as his daughter, but his smile isslower in coming from the angular jaw that is indicative of those from that area. Handsome as a shadow, her mother had once said of her father, a woman who teases with her smile as she does with her eyes. Soft and brown, they were tilted much like a cats, and for all the color may have come from her father, it was the personality of those eyes that Naomi took from her mother. Friendly with many of the Tsingani and those who traveled from afar into the White City of Elua, Madame Verre de Forgernon guarded the purse of the house with a shrewd fist and a skillfully cunning mind. When one was raised in Byrony House it was hard not to be so keen when it came to coin.
Naomi has taken up the reigns as apprentice to her father's affairs and now seeks to surpass the reputation that her parents have built through the years. With the forges heated, and the sand sieved finely she plies her soul to the very art that gave her birth ... that of the Glass House. But one wonders about a young woman whose gift seems better suited to inanimate objects than persons who live and breath? Although softly spoken, Naomi has a voice that is both suitable for a drawing room and the recitation of poetry and one that is pleasant while singing. She sings often to the forges, preferring the heat of open flames rather than the heated arguments of her parents and those are as prevailent as the monsoon season of the Nahar River. She has a fond respect for books, and an uncomingly dark sense of humor that more often than not is completely elusive to the understanding of her parents. Yet, she is polite always and constantly seeking the input of others to the point of badgering the patrons of her father for ideas and suggestions regarding the world at large and how she might relate it to the glass within her hands.