Black Board by NaNo
βWe're hindered by the excuses we make for ourselves. Believe that you can defy the odds, and you will."
Aislin Serafaena Anarane | pronounced ash-lin; seh-ra-fi-nah; ah-nah-rain
γ Nicknames γ
Ash | "It's ash-lin. Aaasshh-lin."
Twigs | "Only to my brothers, and only when they yearn to be terribly maimed."
Little sΓ©phling | "SΓ©phlings are lean, furry, violent, pumpkin-coloured beasts who roam Xairali deserts, or so I'm told. Papi says it was mama's name for me."
The Princess Returned, The Miracle | "I took my time relieving myself, so now they write ballads about it."
Ezea's Gift | "Flattering, but mildly exaggerated."
Prince Ash | "A running joke amongst the castle hands. Pah, I should have them fired."
Your royal highness | "Ngh."
γ Age γ
18
γ Affiliation γ
Anarane
γ Role γ
Princess of Ezea; Only daughter of the House of Anarane
γ Gender γ
Female
"If you're going to fight, fight for yourself and for the people you love, not simply because you were taught to."
5'8" || 173cm
γ Weight γ
133lbs || 60kg
γ Hair Colour γ
Cinnamon
γ Eye Colour γ
Fire
γ Voice γ
Mezzo-soprano
Aislin is of average beauty, meaning she does not quite possess "beauty," at least not in the typical sense. Her wiry frame, flat chest and knobby knees leaves much to be desired, although she did inherit her mother's wide hips. However, where the late Queen was moulded by the Gods themselves into the embodiment of femininity with her soft curves accentuated by the full skirts she wore, Aislin is all bones and muscle. Her hip bones are sharp enough to stab a man as viciously as the sword hanging from it and the coils of muscles unbecoming on a woman weave into her long limbs. Aislin stands taller than most women - and seems to still be growing - and even some men, exaggerated by her confident posture. She manages to avoid being gawky despite her slim, boyish frame through sheer will, of which she wields in abundance.
Unfortunately, Aislin's grace in sparring does not transcend immutable barriers, and her body has a tendency to select the largest, and richest audience to awkwardly jerk and trip in front of. Whilst she holds her head high and bares what little chest she has through her ease within her own body, others do not seem as much at ease with it. Aislin is a terrifying combination of a constant stream of motion and utter oblivion to how much she's grown in the past 18 years. Many have sported bruises and grasped at falling vases in the presence of Ezea's only princess, who seems to take every opportunity to destroy everything in her path. Her supreme tolerance for pain further aggravates this dilapidating condition, as she will never notice or react to her elbows slamming into the nose of her personal guard or her hip slapping a century-old portrait of her great, great grandmother from its perch on the walls.
Aislin is relatively mundane in appearance, being not ugly, but not quite pretty. Her lips are full but not quite full enough to be luscious and whilst her hair is soft to the touch, it is too untameable to be inspiration for a line in a ballad. Her skin is unblemished but too sun-darkened or sun-burnt to be lovely, her collarbones too sharp to be delicately refined and her heart-shaped face too scrunched in concentration to be appreciated wholeheartedly. The brilliance or lack thereof of Aislin's hair is of great debate, and a source of aggravation to her ladies in waiting, who coo at its length - although Aislin herself would much rather be bald or close to - but dismay at its cinnamon shade bordering on sunset, but not quite. If only Aislin were a little... More.
There is absolutely no argument, however, that Aislin Anarane has possibly the most startling eyes in the history of Ezea's long line of princesses, perhaps even in the whole of Ezea. The captivating luminescence of Aislin's gaze surpasses even that of her late mother, whose beauty only the late Queen Selene of Xirali has been able to rival. Aislin's eyes ignite like twin suns, a deep ruby red bursting from the dark pupils to bleed into the brilliant tangerine-amber of a setting sun and finally evaporating into a vivid, pale light. Her stunning eyes are emphasised by its size, large and framed by a thick curtain of maroon lashes, with almost sleepy, doe-eyed tilt.
Aislin has a very distinct birthmark on the curve of her left shoulder: a dark imprint of an inverted triangle with a T pressed to its centre.
"Let no one tell you who you are."
- β Fake dying plants || "The weavers make great fake plants, but they're almost too perfect. Nobody who knows me would believe they were real."
β Food || "This is uh... Only my second helping. Yeah. Sure."
β Outdoors || "Mountains to climb, white waters to raft, dresses to wreck..."
β Sparring || "Not your ordinary tavern brawl, but actual sparring."
β Counting || "A nervous tick, I guess."
β Felines || "I have a cat named Dog, just to mess with people's heads."
γ Dislikes γ
- β Wastefulness || "Why waste precious resources on unnecessary things?"
β Onions || "Vegetables are terrible enough without having to add a death-inducing aroma to them."
β Impracticality || "This tent on my waist won't save my life, will it?"
β Etiquette lessons || "I am content with being barbaric."
β Royal court || "Perhaps it's the facades, or the overwhelming reek of perfume."
γ Skills γ
- β§ Raen || A visual art form integrating traditional art with dance, wherein the performer creates permanent or transient artworks using his or her own body, typically by dipping the hands and feet into paint before performing the dance. This art form originated in Ezea and can only be performed by High Priestesses initiated into the Temple of Raena and women who are direct descendants of Ezea's first Queen, the Lady Raena. Aislin is said by many to be the greatest Raenar since the first Queen.
β§ Weaponry || Aislin is proficient in most weapons, although being ambidextrous, she favours twin swords, particularly her own set of twin sabres with an undulating blade.
β§ Ambidextrous || Besides being able to wield two weapons simultaneously with ease, it's a skill that hasn't been of much use, unless being able to unravel her braids and her corset at the same time is at all useful with handmaidens latched to her side.
β§ Horse riding || Horse riding is such an integral part of Ezean culture that even women aren't excluded it. Aislin is particularly good at it, having been taught by Riven, arguably Ezean's best rider in his life.
β§ High pain tolerance || Perhaps more a weakness than a strength with her tendency to bump into things. Aislin rarely notices her the injuries she inflicts upon other living things as well as inanimate objects by recklessly flinging her limbs about.
β§ Loved by animals || Having the temperament and mannerisms of a wild animal comes at a benefit to her ability to interact with and tame others of her nature. She is beloved by all animals, possessing a natural instinct and understanding of their desires and wellbeing.
γ Fears γ
- β¦Ώ The dark || Aislin sleeps with the candle burning, if she sleeps at all. She is strangely not afraid of the dark when she is outdoors, but only when she is in an enclosed space.
β¦Ώ Being trapped || This includes her movements being restricted, as well as small, enclosed spaces.
γPersonalityγ
Fierce || Defiant || Impulsive || Stubborn || Independent || Loyal || Virtuous
The Princess of Ezea bears startling resemblance to the wild animals that roam the mostly uninhabitable wastes of Xairal. She is quick to attack and will undoubtedly retaliate tenfold when she or others in her care are provoked or harmed, for the most part disregarding consequences. Her tendency to live in the moment and to stab first, think later - even if she is stabbing in the dark - has burdened her "future self" with insurmountable messes to resolve. Her belief that any and all consequences should be dealt by "future Aislin" transcends mere recklessness and impulsivity, impeding upon her ability to prioritise and tell time. Her ladies in waiting as well as her personal guardsmen are constantly frazzled and exhausted from shuffling the apathetic but immovable princess from one "bleh, responsibility" to another.
Aislin has no love for the frivolity of royal court, her disdain fuelled by her aversion to the "instrument of torture" that is the corset and any garment possessing more than a small, minuscule, insubstantial slither of lace. Diamond chokers and pearl necklaces are "chains that bind my mortal flesh to suffering and malady," where her favourite accessory comes in leather, straps to her belt and houses a sword. She has used many of her lavish gems to feed and better the lives of the Ezean citizens outside the castle walls, to the horror, surrender and reluctant pride of King Mirus.
Where Aislin has failed in most areas, she can be said to have redeemed herself in others. She is empathetic to the plights of others, perhaps overly so, and has determined to free her people from the tyranny of war. She is a fighter, her ferocity unparalleled, although her short fuse has caused more trouble than her minders would ever care to count. However, her virtuosity manifests in her refusal to submit to the enemy and to injustice, as well as her readiness to act where others might crumble. This fire coupled with her selflessness and unending loyalty for those held in her heart is the only reason Aislin hasn't shredded the engagement, being that she is bitterly aware of its necessity. This does not mean, however, that she has disillusioned herself into thinking they will become friends, much less lovers, nor does she have any desire to be such.
Despite her argumentative, uncooperative and bad-tempered nature, or perhaps because of it, Aislin is rather naive and oblivious to femininity and sexual desires. Being surrounded by overprotective men and wielding the title of Princess of Ezea has drastically dwindled her pool of options, not that she is particularly concerned. Aislin regards men as little more than furniture - practical, useful, gross when unclean, but not particularly "ticklish to my fantasies." She has never paid much attention to appearances or superficiality and all the gushing from her ladies in waiting have not stirred her excitement to meet this "- supposedly - incredibly, inhumanly, strikingly handsome Prince of Xairal. Blabla, blabla." Whilst other women of the court were busy cooing over the shiniest guard or duke, furrowing their little brows at this dress or that dress - "they both look the same," she wished to say - and frolicking about, or whatever it was they did with their spare time, Aislin was busy learning and fighting. From a young age, Aislin has begged, bribed and blackmailed soldiers, trainers, even her own brothers, to teach her to defend herself and her country. One by one, she has defeated her teachers, earning the respect of Ezea's soldiers. Well, some of them.
βI will die knowing I've won, or I'll live fighting."
4200722 minutes, 70345 hours, 2931 days, 419 weeks, 244 months, 8 years counting the ticks and the tocks in her head.
8 years of tracing the same cracks in the same walls that spread its fingers across her scalp that must've been new, because she could've sworn her old skull had burst.
1, 2, 3... 45... 219... 9182 steps and she was running, stumbling over feet that understood only the steps it took to pace 122 square feet of space, bursting through the sheet of falling liquid. She ran until her lungs screeched and her bones begged her to stop, stop, stop.
Until she fell.
Fell and stood, struggling to survive in this new world with its strange people who made noises others understood. A strange place where she became the outside looking in, staring at walls instead of the walls staring at her. She wandered, emaciated and desperate, until a blade smith took an interest in her small frame, quick feet and invisibility. He offered her food and a narrow space to sleep in return for her services, from heating iron to pickpocketing. For 281 days she stole from customers browsing his wares, as well as from unsuspecting individuals on the busy streets when she wasn't assisting him in his store. She learned to string 26 letters into a sentence, to skin a hare for the blade smith's dinner, even to dance a little from the street performers she gawked at when the blade smith was distracted or she was out on an errand.
She'd never once been caught stealing, that was until the 282nd day. She should've known something was different by the people who gasped and skittered to the sides or onto their knees, but she hadn't. It was not until the noble woman's coin pouch was in her fist and the young boy was snapping at her heels that she realised they were not ordinary people. The boy looked barely older than her, yet he was clothed in the sorts of silks she'd only seen servants purchase for their balding masters. He yelled and ran after her, but she ran harder. She might've gotten away if his legs had been shorter, or she hadn't rammed her growing limbs into a fruit vendor's stall. He'd tackled her into the ground, pounding the breath from her lungs with his weight and impact, snapping something she was too panicked to understand.
And then she was back.
The same 4 walls, the same 122 square feet of space, except this time she was armed with 26 letters she could speak, and a sharp tongue to deliver it. The young boy, "your royal highness" or so the guards had called him, returned 2 days later to do whatever, she would never know. Because she'd opened her mouth, and venom had spewed out of it. The guard at the door slammed the butt of his sword into her temple in anger. When she sprawled across the damp ground, her loose dress was jerked away from her left shoulder, revealing the curious birthmark it was said the lost Princess of Ezea possessed.
The next few weeks bled into one another. She vaguely understood what was being told. That nine years ago, Princess Aislin Serafaena Anarane was born in Wyanda, an ocean port a ways away from the Capital City of Varlance where the beautiful Queen Elayne was also born. The baby had come prematurely but all was well, even though King Mirus was unable to reach Wyanda to tend to his wife and newborn. Queen Elayne had been returning to her husband with their first daughter when their ship was attacked by Xirali pirates. The ship was sunk, and it was believed all aboard had perished.
King Mirus succumbed to a deep depression, refusing to leave his chambers or to touch his meals. It was said all he did was read and re-read his beloved wife final letter to him, delivered just before she boarded the ship. The letter spoke of Princess Aislin's red hair, "like yours," it had said. It detailed their baby's strange birthmark on the curve of her left shoulder, an inverted triangle with a T at its centre. Soon all of Ezea who grieved the loss of their beloved Queen and the little princess knew of Princess Aislin's peculiar marking.
The return of the princess spread even faster than news of her death, reaching not merely the corners of Ezea, but neighbouring kingdoms as well. It was a miracle. How had she survived the shipwreck? Did the pirates take her hostage? How had she returned after nearly a decade? And perhaps the most pressing question of all, why now? Why wait nine years to collect the ransom money? But there were no treasures demanded in return for the princess, no warning posed or statement made. The princess had simply reappeared from the dead with seemingly no inkling of what might've been done to her in the years of being lost.
All the girl remembered were the numbers. 4, 122, 26, 4200722, 70345, 2931, 419, 244, 8.
No matter, King Mirus has said. His daughter was home. A piece of his wife had returned like a lost fragment of his heart. In all the years following the Queen's death, he had never once glanced at another woman. The King gave Aislin everything, more diamonds, guards, handmaidens and teachers than even a normal princess would have possessed. Soon the Princess Returned seemed to have regained what was lost, and with her return, the King and thus his kingdom, was as it once was.
A childhood spent not as a princess but as a beggar and a thief, however, was not so easily undone. She possessed none of the gentle mannerisms or feminine qualities demanded of a princess, or even an average female. She was quick to anger and constantly picked fights with boys, girls, carers, strangers, even her own family members. The only creatures who seemed to be capable of placating her fire were beasts themselves. Animals adored her, unlike her governess, whose colour fled from her hair within weeks of meeting the Princess Returned. The lowly servants, however, praised Aislin's kindness and sensitivity towards them. She would often attempt to aid her servants in performing menial tasks, like washing the dishes or making her bed. This was initially met with the horror of her ladies-in-waiting and her father, but they soon relinquished control over the princess in this area. There were many more wars she insisted fighting, and her desire to help the scullery maid was not a particularly pressing issue. After all, the civilians seemed to hail their Princess as being gentle, selfless and caring, three traits even Aislin herself would not claim to possess.
Riven was the first of her long lost brothers Aislin grew to care for and he in return. He was truly 'gentle, selfless and caring,' and was elated at his only sister's return. With him came Bacchus, who was always at his heel, eyes gleaming with reverence. The two youngests were alike in their love of pranks and disobedience, although Aislin did not share his same affection for play in bed. They were inseparable until puberty whisked him away to some distant realm she never gained access to, one with lavish balls, sleepless nights and sinful decadence.
It was then that she turned to her remaining brother, who'd always seemed aloof and unapproachable. From whence they first met, she'd pestered him with questions, because he seemed the most knowledgeable of all three brothers. Or perhaps she was discriminating based on hair colour. Either way, she allowed him no rest as she bombarded him with myriads of questions: Why is the hall so big? Why do you have so many swords? Where can I get one? Are you a soldier? Why don't you look like Riven or Bacchus? Do you like onions? Can you eat my onions?
When she turned 11 and Bacchus 13 - and desperate for female company that was not his sister's - she sought the Captain of the Guard, and insisted that he train her. He'd guffawed none too subtly - the employ were quite comfortable with the princess - and insisted that girls did not fight, could not fight, and had no reason to. Thus she turned to the next best alternative, her scowling second eldest brother and coincidentally, the man who would ultimately become one of the greatest swordsmen Ezea had ever seen, better even than Riven who was a general of the army. She was modestly elated when he agreed to teach her but would soon realise he did it perhaps more for his own entertainment than his sister's wellbeing, for his method of "teaching" was to beat her senseless.
Training with a hailed fighter, however, had its benefits, and she proved herself worthy at the age of 15, when she disarmed the Captain of the Guard and poised her blade at his throat. Still King Mirus refused to allow her to go into war, asserting that "the battlefield has no place for women." She has since coerced, blackmailed and bribed many more fighters to share with her their expertise. Yet despite her many attempts to defeat her second brother, he has still defeated her more often than not, to her chagrin.
βIf I had a heart, where could I find it?
You smile a little and say, 'right here.'"