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Avila Baravond

The Ferocious One

0 · 379 views · located in The Three Realms

a character in “...by leave of the King”, as played by burning

Description

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xxxA V I L A x B A R A V O N D
xf e r o c i o u sxxf ə ˈ r ə ʊ ʃ ə sxxά γ ρ ι ο ςx





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n i c k n a m e s x // x ila , savage

a g e x // xforty

g e n d e r x // xfemale

s e x u a l i t y x // xbisexual

o r i g i n x // xxalterra

s p e c i e s x // xdwarf

c l a s s x // xwarrior , barbarian






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D E C O R U S


h e i g h t x // x4'7"

w e i g h t x // x143 lbs

h a i r x // xlong and auburn, typically left to its own devices

e y e s x // xdull greyish blue

o d d i t i e s x // xIla is covered in battle scars ranging from soft flesh wounds to an irritated looking pink gash. Her nose has been broken more than one in a brawl and so the bridge is ever so slightly crooked, never having healed right the first time and only getting worse the more she broke it. All down her back are old scars from the past she'd sooner forget. Apart from her battle damage, Ila is heavily freckled with blemishes covering her from head to toe in little gingery brown spatterings. Someone once told Ila that her freckles made her look cute - that same person found his leg broken not a second later.

a p p e a r a n c e x // xSlighter than the average dwarf, Ila uses her size to her advantage when it comes to battle as not only is she a fierce warrior, but she's particularly light on her feet also. Very few beings have remarked on Ila's looks as being anything above slightly prettier than your average Dwarven woman, not that her appearance is something Ila ever thinks of much. Being underestimated by all of her opponents is something Ila uses to her advantage, actually enjoying being mistaken as a 'weak woman' and then being able to hand their asses to them. Dwarves are known for their burly appearance and strength in battle - the women being no different from the men - Ila is, and always will be, a warrior.






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F O R T I T U D O
xxxxxxxxxxxxx s t r e n g t h xx \ ˈ s t r e ŋ ( k ) t h \ x


f e a r l e s s x // x while Ila may not be actually completely fearless, she's very good at acting like she is. Running into battle with no qualms she does not fear death nor any living man.

b a t t l e x // x Ila was born to fight. Since youth she'd been a scrappy child, picking fights wherever she could. Now, Ila is one of the most formidable fighters to come out of Xalterra, which says a lot, considering it is always the men who get to hold that title.

f e r o c i o u s x // x some may not see ferocity as a strength, but Ila certainly does. She loves the cold chill she sends down meek mens spines as she passes by, able to terrorise a gentlewoman with a simple glare.



I N F I R M I T A T E
xxxxxxxxxxxxx w e a k n e s s xx \ ˈ w ē k - n ə s \ x


r u t h l e s s x // x a coldblooded killer, Ila doesn't care about your life or your family, if you wrong her she will hunt you down. Dagger at the ready, Ila will slit someone's throat without batting an eyelid.

s e l f i s h x // x Ila has learnt the hard way that this world isn't fair. She was never given a hand out so why should she offer one to others? Also, touch her food and she'll break your wrist.

e m o t i o n s x // x clearly Ila is only really good at expressing negative emotions. Never having done well with anything nice Ila prefers to hide that side of her as she believes it leaves her open and vulnerable.



M E T U M
xxxxxxxxxxxxx f e a r xx \ ˈ f i r \ x


p a s tx // x more specifically, Ila fears it ever happening again, despite knowing that she is stronger now.

l o v e x // x because of what happened to her, Ila is scared of ever having feelings for someone again, in fear that they will treat her the same way her husband did.





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P E R S O N A L I T A T E
xxxxxxxxxxxx fearless xx hotheaded xx crude xx strong x


Ila revels in the rumour which precedes her, stating that she is entirely fearless. While it may not be entirely truthful, the only things she's ever been scared of are love and a man long since deceased. Due to this, it's not hard to see why many would assume the woman to be without any fears, she is not afraid to die and will slit a throat without a thought of mercy. Ila's past has hardened her into the cold, brutal fighter she is today and anything that backs up this persona she present, Ila does not mind. Being able to rely on a rumour to make people believe that she is almost emotionless, Ila doesn't have to worry about brave souls attempting to befriend her, or worse, trying to woo her. Since she's fairly pretty, Ila would get a good amount of attention in her youth, but no longer to men approach her with such thoughts, something Ila is pleased about since she will never let herself have feelings for anyone else, ever again.

Though her blade may always be kept sharp, her tongue is sharper and Ila's quips can be cutting. However, while she may be great at pissing people off and telling them where to go, she isn't so great at lighthearted smalltalk. Preferring silence to awkward conversations, Ila will never be the first to initiate a conversation unless absolutely necessary, nor will she be one to prolong it more than needed. She doesn't have silver tongue and has never been able to rely on her wit to get her out of a sticky situation, which is why her life and wellbeing leans so heavily on her battle prowess.

With a mouth as obscene as her crimes, Ila doesn't shy away from any subject matter. Not understanding why one may be considered 'crude' for being honest about normal things all the species partake in, such as sex. What's the point in playing coy with people? Ila has never and will never be the type of woman to censor herself because she believes it'll insult someone else. They need to learn how to suck it up and deal with it.

It may come as no surprise that Ila is a hotheaded woman. Always having been quick to anger, many of the scars that cover her skin are from situations that she probably could've avoided had she not lost her temper. Though in the past she has been forced to contain it for fear of something much worse than just a little brawl, Ila has always had that fire inside her that may not help to keep her out of trouble, but certainly helps to keep her handy in a fight.







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H I S T O R I A R U M


so what terrible shit did they go through?





h e x c o d e x // x #5D2B39 x // x f a c e c l a i m x // x Rose Leslie x // x c r e a t o r x // x burning x // x c s x // x Scar.-

So begins...

Avila Baravond's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Bayard Volström Character Portrait: Phaedra Raephen Character Portrait: Varric Dalgaard Character Portrait: Theon Mercier Character Portrait: Avila Baravond Character Portrait: Ottaric Drengsorn Character Portrait: Erik Measborn Character Portrait: Aedan Tylarro Character Portrait: Asa Ilriane Character Portrait: Maedoc Thibault Character Portrait: Athelia Nelmos Character Portrait: Ephra Rouden Character Portrait: Helena Bigge Character Portrait: Thorund Kilhig Character Portrait: Erynion Reyyarus Character Portrait: Thadhrion Gaethdal
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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#, as written by mjolnir
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bayard volström
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bearx|xhumanx|xknight warrior
#8BA3A6x|xattire

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varric dalgaard
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ravagerx|xdwarfx|xbandit rogue
#960F16x|xattire

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phaedra raephen
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thalinx|xelfx|xassassin rogue
#B1AECBx|xattire


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Every day had seemed like the last for months in Ilyos. Not that Bayard minded, he liked the lull in action. It wasn't often that he had to be on his toes. Most of the Ilyosie never caused much trouble aside from the occasional drunken brawl. And what people who decided to break laws beyond that would spend the remainder of their now shortened lives in the dungeons. Of course, there was always something to do for the knights of the King's Guard, especially the Captain. But that day it seemed all that was needed was patrolling, if you could even call it that. It wasn't often that patrolling guards had to do much of anything, other than escort drunks home or help find children that stay out later than their curfew.

Bayard strolled slowly along the west bridge, making his way away from the keep. He didn't particularly have a destination in mind, but his feet always seemed to guide him to the same place. The docks. His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword, as the heels of his boots clicked quietly upon the stone walk way. He smiled and nodded his head toward people who passed by. With his attention focused on the gently rolling tide that lapped against the docked boats, Bayard didn't realize the sound of tiny feet pitter pattering up to him.

"Bay!" The small voiced sang from behind him as her little hand tugged on the hem of his shirt.

He couldn't fight the smile that crept across his face. Bayard quickly reached down, and scooped up the young Penelope. He spun her around playfully, before raising her up so that she could sit on his shoulders. The bubbly blonde giggled the entire time as Bayard held her hands and spun around with her on his shoulders. "And how is my favorite girl today?"

Penelope laughed happily, holding tight to his thumbs. "I brought you something!"

"Oh you did?" Bayard moved his hands to gently hold her feet as she wiggled on his shoulders. "Careful," he laughed, making sure she didn't fall as she squirmed.

After a moment or two of her moving around, Penelope's small hand shoved something into his face. "I made this for you."

"Wow," he said leaning his head back to try and see the gift. Her little arms held it so close to his face that it tickled his nose almost making him sneeze.

"It's a necklace!"

"I knew that," Bayard fibbed, just then finally seeing the small blue flowers tied together by their stems.

"It'll match your feather," she said as she tried her best to put the necklace over his head. Bayard raised his right hand and helped her get it over his head without breaking it. Penelope then grabbed his hair and pulled it up and over the chain of flowers. "Do you still have your feather I gave you?" she asked as her fingers started digging through his brunette locks.

"Of course I do," he said. Bayard reached his left hand behind his ear, after moment or two he found a deep blue feather that was fastened to a braid in his hair. Penelope instantly giggled when she saw it, running her finger tips over it.

Penelope sighed contently as she rested her cheek upon the top of his head. Her right hand continuously brushing the blue feather. Bayard adjusted her on his shoulders slightly before continuing walking toward the docks. "Hey, Bay?"

"Yeah?"

"The next time you go out on one of your adventures... Can you bring me back a feather too?" She leaned forward, looking down at Bayard. Her little hands grabbed the side of his face, tilting his head back so he could look up at her. Penelope's plump little face framed by her blonde curls.

Bayard descended the wooden stairs that lead down to the King's naval fleet. "Purple!" she chirped. Before he could respond, Penelope bounced on his shoulders with excitement seeing where they were. "What are we doing here?" she teased, as if she didn't already know.

"Visiting a friend," Bayard answered as they neared the ramp that lead to the ship. If he didn't hurry and get Penelope off his shoulders, she probably would have jumped off. He lowered her down to the ground and the second her feet touched the dock, she took off in a sprint. "Careful!" he called after her as she ran up the ramp to the ship.

"Aedan!" Penelope called out when she reached the deck of the ship.

Bayard followed her up the ramp slowly, not nearly in the rush that she was. He raised his hand, knocking his knuckles against the ships railing. "Knock, knock. Permission to come aboard?" He called out toward Aedan, even though he couldn't see him. Penelope continued to run around and search for Aedan furiously.

Just before he stepped onboard, he heard someone clear their throat from behind him. Bayard pivoted on his heels, turning around to face the culprit. Standing below him on the dock was King Guardsman Percy. "Sir Volström," he greeted with a bow. No matter how much he heard it, Bayard hasn't gotten used to the titles and treatments that came with being Captain of the guard.

"Percy," he replied. Bayard glanced over his shoulder toward Penelope, making sure she was in sight and ok. Then he descended down the ramp until he was face to face with the man. "Is there something you need?"

"The King requests your presence immediately, Sir. Along with Captain Tylarro."

Bayard sighed. Of course, a quiet day couldn't last forever. It never did. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the ship. "Aedan... Penelope," he called out to them, before turning his attention back to Percy. "What's wrong? Is the King ok?"

"Yes, of course, Sir. Sorry, I did not mean to worry you. Just following orders." Percy held out a rolled up piece of parchment that held his orders along with the seal of the king. "I've just been told he requests both of you, presently. He has sent messengers to gather you, Captain Tylarro, Ottaric Drengsorn, Athelia Nelmos and Helena Bigge. And that you shall head to the dungeons to meet him, immediately. I apologize, I do not know anything. Just that it is urgent."

Bayard raised his right hand, scratching at his beard. After a moment, he nodded his head toward Percy. He then turned toward Penelope who came running down the ramp to him. Bay squatted down so that he was more at her level. "Hey," he smiled, taking her hands in his. "I have to go. Percy here is going to take you back to the home. I'm sure Madame Charlotte is worried sick about you." He gave her a slight smile, playfully tugging at her hands.

Penelope frowned. "You always have to go."

"I know," he sighed softly, pulling her in for a hug. "How about this... When I'm done, I'll stop by and tell you all another story about Aedan and my's adventures. Deal?"

She quickly perked up, a smile growing upon her face. "Ok!"

Bayard stood up and walked Penelope over toward Percy. He took her little hand and held it out to the guard. "Straight to the orphanage, Percy. And you," he pointed down at the little blonde. "Don't hurt Percy too much. He's fragile." He laughed and patted the guard on the shoulder as he walked away with Penelope in tow.

Once alone, Bay looked over at Aedan, nodding his head in the direction of the keep. "We've been summoned," he said with a roll of his eyes. Although meeting in the dungeons was new territory, he didn't expect anything of it. It seemed anymore that every time they were summoned it was because of something irrelevant. But alas, they had to answer the call.

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The dungeon was dark, cold and wet. It didn't matter the time of year, or the weather outside, it never changed. The waterfall that surrounded the cells kept everything in the perpetual state of uncomfortable dampness. Instead of eery silences, the sounds of dripping and rushing water echoed throughout the handful of cells. Five cells total made up the small dungeon. It comes as no surprise in regards to the reputation of how Ilyos deals with their prisoners.

It could be argued that Phaedra was put in the worst cell of the dungeon, if there was such a cell. It seemed the waterfall tended to slip into this cell more than the others and she didn't know any better, it looked to be open to the heart of the falls. She sat with her back against the left wall, her legs stretched out before her and her ankles crossed. With a sigh, she let her head slowly lean back until it was resting upon the wall.

Her gaze did not falter from Thadhrion who shared the cell with Phaedra, sitting across from her. She didn't let a single emotion wash over her face. Instead, her jaw was clenched and eyes squinted in deep thought... Or potentially trying to smite him with her mind. But smiting didn't seem like a realistic option. As she stared, she couldn't help her foot tapping. Her nostrils seemed to flare with every breath like she was just waiting... Waiting for her top to blow or the words to finally form sentences in her mind.

A large drop of water fell from the ceiling, landing right in the center of her forehead. Phaedra growled out of frustration, wiping the water from her head. She pushed off the ground, quickly moving to her feet. Before she knew it, she was pacing around the small cell, walking back and forth from one side to the other. It seemed as though the more she walked, the more claustrophobic she got in the cell. Her hands quickly tore her scarf from out her neck and threw it at Thadhrion.

"Do you have any idea what you've done!?" And there it was. Phaedra's anger finally boiled over and formed words. Words that lashed out from her lips like a whip toward the elf in her cell. "If you would have just listened to me, we wouldn't be here!" She stormed over to him, snatching her scarf up from his lap. "I told you not to follow me. To leave, and forget about me. I am not who you think I am." She stared down at him. "Phaedra is dead," she hissed at him under her breath so only he could hear.

Phaedra walked over to the iron bars that faced out to the other cells. She raised her hands to grab them until her knuckles went white. Her head fell forward until her forehead was pressed to the cold metal. "You ruined... Everything. Mercier would be dead if you would have just let me be." She sighed, tapping her finger tips against the bars.

To say that Phaedra was livid was an understatement. Not once had a target slipped through her fingers. There was a reason she had the reputation she did. But then Thadhrion just had to show. He belonged in Avalon, far far away from her. If he would have just let her be, she'd have the King's head and be on her way to redemption. Now she'd most likely see the end of her days from inside that miserable damp cell. To say she wasn't tempted to jump out the hole and let the waterfall take her would be a lie. But she didn't. She simply stood there, grasping the iron bars like they were the king's throat, refusing to turn around and face Thadhrion.

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Unlike many of the prisoners, Varric didn't see his time in the dungeons as the end of everything. He has spent more than his fair share of time in cells throughout Xalterra and this was no different. There was just a lack of a wall and some water. No big deal. He didn't even mind it, aside from being wet all the time. His fingers had been prunes for days by that point. It was annoying but not intolerable. Varric spent most of his time trying to run through different escape ideas. Most seemed fairly improbable or unsuccessful if attempted, but that didn't mean if he were given the opportunity that he wouldn't try.

He laid with his back on the ground, far beyond caring about what parts of him were in puddles or being dripped on. Varric didn't even seem to mind the rats that scurried in every once in awhile. His short legs were stretched up along the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. On more than one occasion he found himself eaves dropping on the other prisoners in the different cells. He was particularly interested in Thalin. In all the years that he had known the woman, not once had she been captured or failed to kill a target. Interesting that when it came to this one particular kill... A King no less, that she failed. Varric couldn't help but wonder if it was a case of morals, a miss calculation, if she was outnumbered by guards... But as he heard her yelling from across the dungeons, it sounded more like whomever the frosty headed elf was played some part in her failure.

Varric sighed, swinging his legs from the wall and shifting so that he was sitting up. He ran his hands back through his hair and scratched his scalp as he sized up his cell partner. He couldn't fight the urge to smile at the fiery headed elf. Asa was definitely attractive. And the fact that she was a pirate elf just added to her appeal. After all, there was a reason he sought her out on more than one occasion when he needed someone with a ship. There was always something about a strong woman that got him going, and the fact that she seemed thoroughly uninterested only made it more fun.

"So, Red." Varric rested his head back against the wall. He entangled his fingers and then rested his hands in his lap. "What got you down here?" He cocked his head to the side slightly. "Because if it was my fault, I'd say I owe you a drink when we get out of here." Varric flashed her a sly smirk. "And if it was her fault, he continued, pointing at Thalin who stood in the cell across from them, staring right at him. "I guess that means I'd have to kill her."

From across the dungeon, Thalin laughed a could and emotionless laugh. "Oh, please,"she said with a roll of her eyes. "Could you even reach me?" She slid her arms through the gaps in the iron bars, letting her arms hang as she stared at him. She raised a threatening brow toward him.

"Is that a Dwarf joke?" Varric faked being offended, pressing his hand to his chest in shock. "I think that was a Dwarf joke," he said toward Asa.