Player: Winter Mist
Height: 5’4” Weight: 120lbs Hair: Dark brown, worn long Eyes: Deep brown Complexion: Dark Build: Slight, but athletic
The gentle sound of waves lapping against Spray’s sides was akin to a lullaby for Evane. Born on the water, and born to the water, she was the only thing her mother prized more than her ship. Spray rose and pitched in heavy storms while Evane would be safely protected in her mother’s cabin, chaos pitching around her peaceful slumber. It was often remarked upon; her ability to find rest in even the most tempestuous of weather, and from a young age it was said she would follow in her mother’s bare footsteps.
When she came of age, Evane became a deckhand on her mother’s ship. As a crewmember, her mother could no longer display the same amount of favour she had done before, and it hit Evane hard. Long nights once comforted by the rise and swell of the tide were spent crying tears of bitterness, railing at the unfairness of being in her situation. Evane would have leapt from the top of the mast if it would have met with her mother’s approval, so much did she yearn for acceptance. At her mother’s stern direction, she spent days cleaning the bilges, repairing rope and net, and scrubbing the deck with a large block of pumice to make the surface shine. Grudgingly, in time, Evane earned her earrings, and worked hard to reach a commendable position of respect. She began to respect the authority her mother worked with and chains to link her earrings with her nose ring. And her mother began to put more trust in her once-favoured daughter, giving her errands of more importance.
“I want you to take over from me, Evane.”
“I will bring honour to the clan.”
Her mother nodded. It was the last time Evane saw her alive. When they parted that night a squall came up from nowhere. The unexpectedly high winds threw her mother backwards, slamming her against the mast hard enough for it to creak ominously. Driving rains and high winds lashed down, making the decks slick and it took a while for it to subside enough to regain control of the ship and make it safe again. Some whispered in dark corners that it was the work of the Dark One, but it did not matter to Evane. She grieved as was fitting, and was eventually selected to be the Sailmistress of the Spray, as her mother had wanted.
She wears the full adornments now, marking her station as Sailmistress of the Spray. The winds are harnessed, the Windfinder easing their passage to harbour. They will take on cargo or passengers, whatever pleases the Light, and life will go on. As endless as the ocean seems, it comes to port eventually.
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