Evrali (prime)/Brisker's Cove: Difference between revisions

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OOC Note: The content below is not common knowledge. It is provided here for entertainment value and should not be taken as in-character knowledge unless shared in-game and in-character.
''Evrali, aged 12, in Brisker’s Cove, year 5093''

==Evrali, aged 12, in Brisker’s Cove, year 5093==


:A small girl, appearing approximately eight by human years, bends her head down over the wet and matted fishing net in her thin, calloused hands as she painstakingly untangles it. She bites down on her lower lip in concentration, her fingers working slowly through the intricate knots necessary for repairs. She carefully folds the net into a loose bundle and sets it to one side before standing and shaking out her faded, too-short woolen dress.
:A small girl, appearing approximately eight by human years, bends her head down over the wet and matted fishing net in her thin, calloused hands as she painstakingly untangles it. She bites down on her lower lip in concentration, her fingers working slowly through the intricate knots necessary for repairs. She carefully folds the net into a loose bundle and sets it to one side before standing and shaking out her faded, too-short woolen dress.

Revision as of 02:03, 7 September 2018

OOC Note: The content below is not common knowledge. It is provided here for entertainment value and should not be taken as in-character knowledge unless shared in-game and in-character.

Evrali, aged 12, in Brisker’s Cove, year 5093

A small girl, appearing approximately eight by human years, bends her head down over the wet and matted fishing net in her thin, calloused hands as she painstakingly untangles it. She bites down on her lower lip in concentration, her fingers working slowly through the intricate knots necessary for repairs. She carefully folds the net into a loose bundle and sets it to one side before standing and shaking out her faded, too-short woolen dress.
Hugging her arms around herself and shivering as the wintry winds whip around her scrawny frame, she hurries away from a ramshackle building near the docks. As she ducks into a nearby store, her dark eyes meet the faintly pitying gaze of the baker’s well-fed wife. Wordlessly, the woman pushes some two-day-old goods at the girl, clucking to herself as the door is pulled firmly shut again.
Returning home, the child sets the crusty breads on a table near the rusting iron stove and reaches for a long, narrow knife and a whetstone. She begins sharpening the dulled blade, but startles when a particularly strong gust of wind shakes the walls around her. She yelps in pain as the knife slices into her palm, nearly dropping it. Catching herself, she sets the two tools down on the table. Lifting her hand to better see the injury in the waning light seeping in through the greased paper windows, she stares at the deep cut with her eyebrows drawn together in thought. Slowly, the wound seals itself shut, leaving only a bloody smear on her palm.
Her face lights up with happiness and relief when the door opens and a tired-looking man comes through, carefully pulling it closed behind him. Holding her left hand behind her, she runs over to him, all but flinging herself at him in an exuberant, one-armed hug. Despite his apparent weariness, the man catches the small girl and swings her up into the air for a moment. Noticing the blood on her palm, he sets her down carefully and examines her hand briefly before glancing away and ruffling her tangled dark brown hair.