[hider=Lady Sara Medved] [center][img]http://pre12.deviantart.net/c317/th/pre/i/2014/145/5/0/burnt_lungs_by_fdasuarez-d7jpmqe.jpg[/img] [i]“I‘ve spent my childhood on a battlefield, it is time I spend my womanhood at Court.”[/i] [i]Sara stands at a slight 5’2”, but with years to mature into her full height, making her very average amongst peers. However, she is not often amongst peers, and thus her height is made more noticeable. She’s skinny, with a dancers physique, lacking both maturity in height, as well as shape. Her face is rather average, not overtly gorgeous, but with a potential for beauty woven throughout. Both eyes are a light grey, mirror to her father’s. Within an encampment, with men away from woman and wife for months, she draws stares, a forbidden fruit, prettier than most whores, at least the ones they could afford, but to even think of such an act could send the Captain wild. Her brown hair hangs down to the bottom of her ribcage, and holds only the slightest wave to its volume. Sara keeps herself well-kept when she can. On a retreat, or in times of true danger, her appearance may lack, but usually, she is as prim and proper as one might expect. She dresses in warm colors, nicer than the peasantry, but not nearly as ornate as most nobility. Her gowns are usually simple, though with fine embroidery, and pattern to appease the eye. Her modesty would distance her from the harem, but the color and style would also separate her from the cooks and wives. This makes Sara easily distinguishable from other ladies, and a known face to many.[/i][/center] [Indent]【[U]Full Name[/U]】 [indent][I]Lady Sara Medved[/I][/indent] 【[U]Aliases[/U]】 [indent][I]The Officer‘s Daughter[/I][/indent] 【[U]Age[/U]】 [indent][I]Fifteen[/I][/indent] 【[U]Sex[/U]】 [indent][I]Female[/I][/indent] 【[U]Sexuality[/U]】 [indent][I]Straight[/I][/indent] 【[U]Religion[/U]】 [indent][I]Monarchist[/i][/indent] 【[U]Family[/U]】 [indent][i]Father: Lord-Captain Nikolas Medved Mother: Lady Marcelle Medved (deceased) Sister: Lady Alycia Medved Uncle: Lord Derick Medved of Tivembre And a handful of nameless cousins [/i][/indent] 【[U]Birthplace[/U]】 [indent][i]Her families small lordship of Tivembre, which lies in the forests of northern Grosswik[/i][/indent] 【[U]Societal standing[/U]】 [indent][i]Nobility[/i][/indent] 【[U]Former employment[/U]】 [indent][i]N/A[/i][/indent] 【[U]Rank and role[/U]】 [indent][i]N/A[/i][/indent] 【[U]Personality[/U]】 [indent][i] Sara is an intelligent, but overall, soft-spoken woman. She is much like her father in those regards, with an aura of tranquility surrounding her. It is very rare to catch the girl in a moment of heated emotion, though when it rains, it pours. Unlike her father, however, her calmness does not act veil to a nasty streak of anger. Instead, she is far more prone to fits of extreme sadness, than those of heated argument. Some might describe Sara as a dreamer, with a value for the arts not often appreciated by many her age, and a wonderlust about her. Usually, the girl is smiling, and her fair attitude and appearance make her well-liked to many. [/i][/indent] 【[U]History[/U]】 [indent][i]The first half of Sara‘s life in a mundane one, more blessed than a serf girl, but still holding dreams of becoming a Princess as she roamed the halls of her Uncle’s castle. In her young mind, he was the King, and often, her Uncle Derick would confirm these suspicions by calling her Princess. Such disillusion might have continued, had her mother not gotten pregnant when she was eight. Her mother‘s pregnancy was a happy thing for Sara, her father come home for what seemed like forever, having spent much of her childhood away. Everything seemed too good for the girl, and perhaps it had been, because the goodness did not last. Instead, her mother had died. In her place, a tiny, screaming sister remained, and Sara vowed to never love the creature, the villain who’s life was paid for in her mother’s blood. That vow was broken in the weeks to come, her father telling the girl to pack her things, and for the first time, leave her home with him. It was just the three of them, there were guards and a nursemaid, but in the fog of an eight year olds mind, it was only the three of them, all huddled on one saddle, with her Papa holding the babe, and Sara holding her Papa from behind. It rained so much in those months, the months of early spring, and at every stop, they were warned not to travel farther: it was too dangerous for the baby, they’d say. Her Papa did not care, and bundled his children tighter, once he’d wrapped the shawl around Sara so tightly she could hardly move, but the rain still soaked through, and by the end of their journey, all had terrible coughs. They reached camp still with these coughs, Sara left alone with the small, coughing baby, sitting for once in a warm, dry tent, in warm, dry clothes, yet they still coughed. It was her first time alone with her sister, father whisked away as soon as they arrived, and she sat with the girl, feeling warm and comfortable. The pain in her chest continued, and she wondered if the baby felt that same pain, if the baby had felt the pain of losing her mother, and if the baby had screamed and cried so much because of what a terrible mistake she had made. Surely, the girl felt as terrible as Sara did, she too had lost a mother, yet she did not even get to meet the woman. It was hard to hate a thing that coughed so sadly, and felt so warm in her skinny arms. So Sara instead resolved to end her hatred, and instead love this committer-of-matricide. Years passed, and Sara only briefly returned to the keep of her uncle. Instead she banded along with her father and explored the world, perhaps the ugliest parts of the world, but the world nonetheless. She grew to act as Mother for her sister, a caretaker of a young child because her father was far too busy to coddle a toddler, or see to that the girl learned right from wrong. There was plenty of wrong around them, and so it was Sara‘s job to sort through it all, and given a caretaker role at such an early age helped to put her wise beyond her years. Wherever Nikolas went, the girl followed, and so began her life not as a Princess, but as the Officer‘s daughter.[/i][/indent] 【[U]Dreams, short term goals, and fears.[/U]】 [indent][i]Sara dreams to one day be a Lady of the Court; to one day find a husband, and a home more absolute than a tent. She is still just a girl, and wants after romance as any other, still, part of her knows she‘d be as content as simply a wife to a noble, as she was a daughter to an officer. Instead, she wishes to lead a life of purpose, of influence and reverence typically held only by men. At fifteen, she’s still unsure of where life will lead her, but insists on greatness. She fears death as much as any other, especially the deaths of her Father.[/i][/indent] 【[U]Skills[/U]】 [indent][i]Sara is proficient beyond her years with words, and relies heavily on reading, writing, and the arts to fill the constant void of boredom war creates for the girl. Drawing and painting are skills she has acquired and refined. Compared to other women, she is well learned, and her knowledge on the ways of war, and world events as a whole is own startlingly current. Sara is neither content with sitting at home, a pretty wife to some noble, nor sitting at a battlefield, unable to do anything productive. In private, she offers informal advise to her father, and takes pride in his trust in her. Her influence over her father could be considered a skill, given that he is a man who trusts very few, and his ear holds power over others.[/i][/indent] 【[U]Martial prowess[/U]】 [indent][i]Sara’s defense relies heavily on the fortitude of those around her. She’s grown up around violence, though the girl has never been apart of such. Upon attack, she might throw a punch, a kick, a bite, but holds little prowess with blade or bow. Still, Nikolas guards both his daughters zealously, and so she has never been in a situation where she has needed to defend herself.[/i][/indent] 【[U]Weaponry[/U]】 [indent][i]Sharp words.[/i][/indent] [/indent][/hider]