[b]Name:[/b] ?
 
[b]Age:[/b] b.1981, apparent age is 25 (retained when she was taken to Arcadia) but more likely in her mid-late thirties
 
[b]Gender:[/b] Female
 
[b]Seeming:[/b] Elemental (Woodblood) - crafted from the very essence of her mortal and Fae being.
 
[b]Court:[/b] None at this time...
 
[b]Appearance:[/b]
Standing tall and lean at almost six-foot-one, Bryn’s Mask changed drastically from her shorter and thinner mortal self from whence she was pulled from years ago. She'd retained, for the most part, her identifiable facial features, light brown skin, and dreaded locks of dark hair that now seemed to be more on the wiry side from her “woodblood” Fae form. Very rarely, if at all, does she wear shoes, as they cause discomfort and possibly wounds, as though the very roots of her true nature scream out for freedom. 
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[img]https://image.ibb.co/cX3H1m/sam_elemental.png[/img]
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Her Mien, a literal “walking tree” of sorts, slightly taller in stature than the mortal shroud she now wore in her homeworld, with thick corded branches, vines, and various sweet smelling flora which adorned her feminine shaped frame. Her long hair, made of deep emerald vines twisted and contorted around her head and draped over her angled shoulders, slowly ripple independently or perhaps when certain emotions present themselves.
[hider=Mien image]
Until I can find a suitable image, I'll keep it to the description...
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[hider=History]
[i]”Where words fail, music speaks”[/i]
 
The dark-haired girl stared intently at the quote scribbled along the top of the promotional poster  hanging just outside the Boston Symphony Hall on Massachusetts Ave, that portrayed one of her favorite violinists. Not just a favorite, but a mentor of sorts, an inspiration and reminder of how much greater her talent would need to be in order to make it to the top one day. To be admired by others rather than simply passed by on the street like a nobody. Although contrary to these fleeting thoughts, Bryn was never much of a social person, nor did she enjoy being in any kind of spotlight. In fact, she hated it. Mostly self-taught, her musical talents were above average, and she found the violin to be a most pleasant instrument in her grasp, as each note and melody produced a vast mixture of emotions that she could relate to on many levels. In the grand scheme of things, however, the girl didn’t need to be on top, but rather sought affirmation that she hadn’t wasted her years plucking at the strings of a tool which didn’t produce some kind of enjoyment for herself, or for others. Bryn was still an artist, and the perfectionist side never seemed to allow her to move to the next level, no matter how hard she worked. 
 
An artist had to eat, right? And so came the small venues here and there throughout Boston, as well as paintings she’d created in her spare time that connected to the music she wrote. Bryn made a decent living from the meager earnings her artist talents produced, and to an extent, she’d become content with the lifestyle and “romanticized” living of a young bohemian Boston-born artist. As time passed, she’d fallen in love and married, eventually had two kids, and did her best to carve out a life with a new family, all the while continuing to pursue a more lucrative musical career.
 
Yet, little did she know that on any given Saturday afternoon while taking her young children for a stroll through Boston Commons, her life would be drastically altered forever.
 
As she approached the large brick laden tunnel she’d crossed through dozens of times in the past, a young dark-haired woman about Bryn’s height and weight, barefoot and dressed in a flowy lavender sundress that looked strangely familiar, stood at the very opening. The stranger held in one hand a dark wood violin, encrusted with small shimmery gems, and in the other, a deep brown lacquered bow with a series of beads at the base. As Bryn approached, still pushing the doublewide stroller with her twin infant girls, she slowed her pace to a crawl, noticing for the first time that the woman’s facial features resembled her own! The stranger, void of any real expression, cocked her head slightly to one side and lifted the stringed instrument to her chin, where she began to play a low key and rather morbid sonata. 
 
At first glance, Bryn was stunned, unable to vomit out a single word in protest, and certainly had no idea what was going on as this seemingly average “clone” continued to play a tune which held the young woman’s attention against her own free will. Was this a dream? A dream within a dream? Bryn hadn’t realized that time around her began to slow to a standstill and it was only her, the two children, and the other moving in real time. Curiosity took hold, as the music called to her, chiding her to approach the stranger. As she passed the front of the stroller, the girl noticed that both her kid were asleep, which hadn’t been an unusual occurrence during their afternoon walks. Her attention then pulled back toward the other until they were both within arms length, and the stranger ceased her playing, but rather holding the instrument out for Bryn to take, which she did without much hesitation to her own surprise. The violin felt heavenly within her grasp, a surge of excitement and wonder that she hadn’t felt in a long time surged through her, and she immediately closed her eyes and began playing music she’d never played before. Musical compositions that were on a level she’d never reached before, and yet there she was, playing them effortlessly and for that small moment in time, the world she’d been born into and raised up in was forgotten as the music enraptured her very being.
 
And then an abrupt push from the clone -the [i]Fetch[/i] as is later realized- that plunges the girl into another realm altogether, with the last visions of her two sleeping children and their new “mother” at their side, smiling wryly and waving as the portal closes behind the now lost young woman... 
 
An undetermined amount of time had passed, and even as Bryn opened her eyes from what seemed as though it were a long slumber, she was greeted by a lush and beautifully maintained garden, one of which seemed vaguely familiar. Even the scent that permeated throughout brought her joy and comfort, a place she hoped to never leave again. Her mind told her to rise up, as though she were actually laying down, yet it occurred to her that she was standing all along. Even moreso, the young woman felt as though she’d been here before...many times, in fact. Bryn tried to walk as she’d done every day of life, but she was stuck, rooted into one place and as her stiff neck turned and pivoted her head toward her legs, the realization struck her like a thousand blades to the heart. What replaced her lower body was the massive trunk of a tree, it’s roots spread in every direction, going deep into the ground to soak up the water and nutrients it offered. Her arms and hands, thick twisted branches and vines that took the shape of what was once human appendages of flesh and bone. Even what she could see of her upper body, was covered in bark and more corded and woven vines that made up the rest of her body. She brought a shaking limp up to her face, and without being able to see her own visage, knew that it was less than what it was, but still a shadow of it’s former self. She was what one would consider a [i]Dryad[/i] from folklore, a hauntingly beautiful creature made up of an array of wood, thorny vines, various flowering plants, and the blackest of soil to bind it all together. 
 
The girl wanted to scream in protest to whatever had happened, her mind raced and thoughts carried her back into time, countless years to the point of her first being pushed through the gateway and into the darkened Hedge. The massive Ogre who carried her nearly unconscious body through the thorny pathways into Arcadia, where he’d kept her for many days in a workshop full of sculptures made of every kind of element you could imagine. Bryn grew weaker as the days passed, still in her human form that slowly felt as though it were fading away, as though her flesh slipping away from the skeleton that held her up. The Ogre -her [i]Keeper[/i]- had bled most of what was left in her body into a pot, adding it to the strange brew that was simmering day after day within the morbid workshop he considered his home. As the last vestiges of life drained away into whatever concoction the beast had, Bryn died, but only her body faded away. Her true essence, her soul if you will, carried on into the wooden golem that she now inhabited, its structure, once just a base design, twisted and formed into a closer image of what her mortal form had once been. Just more…[i]tree-like[/i].
 
Time passed, and the Ogre continued on with his new bondservant, treating her as less than equal but paying little attention to her other than being a mere tool for his trade or an exquisite “show piece” for his vast architectural landscapes and gardens. It was then, surprisingly, and after several years of hard labor, that the Ogre presented Bryn with a beautifully crafted violin that had a rich, deep red color soaked into the wood itself. The beast never forgot the girl’s true potential and gift of music, and he wished to take advantage of yet another aspect of the Changeling's rebirth into the land of Fae: Magic.
 
Learning to play this newly crafted instrument all over again as a reborn [i]Woodblood[/i] was challenging but the girl was determined to bring back the one thing that truly kept her happy and at peace. She brought herself up to speed in no time, playing tunes she'd remembered from her mortality and learned new songs by simply listening to the environment all around her. The Ogre’s work flourished with each harmony, and many of his sculpted pieces came to life as a result of the magic that flowed through the red violin. The instrument was a part of Bryn, and she, a part of the instrument. 
 
Forever inseparable. Or so she thought.
 
Many cycles later, in a fit of rage, the Ogre ripped the instrument from his slave’s grip in a single violent stroke, taking with it pieces of her wooden limbs that slowly regenerated. The violin body cracked, and strings broken away from the tuning bolts, an emotion erupted in the girl that has never been there before. Where fear and subjugation had been the dominant factor, they were quickly replaced by a heated anger that unleashed in a flurry of attacks against her keeper. The first of many, gouging the beast's eyes out with the sharpened ends of her fingers, causing the branches to grow and penetrate into the creature's brain matter until it reacted by swatting her arm away, snapping it in half and leaving the wooden shanks lodged in his head. 
 
Bryn shrieked as she’d lost her forearm, but knowing full well it would regenerate with time, but at that moment she only wanted to flee and create as much distance between her and the Ogre as possible. So she scooped up the broken violin and ran, using the time that her Keeper was blinded and distracted to hide in the thick of the dark forests, a place she knew would allow her sanctuary, if even for a little while.
 
And so the two worlds collided once again.
 
Up ahead, canvassed by large trees and flanked by two pillars of layered stone and glass, a tall but narrow rip in the fabric of Arcadia revealed the mortal realm, a world where Bryn knew she'd belong to many years past. Slivers of memory came back as she gazed into the gateway, keeping focus on what lied beyond, and using what little she could remember about the portals to make a possible escape. At that moment, however, fear and doubt once again rose up and kept her petrified. She wanted to run, to escape the unknown years of slavery and reclaim what was once hers on the other side of the gateway. But what [i]did[/i] await her?  The girl could hear voices in the distance, and she'd realized that it was now or never to cross. With a deep breath and a renewed sense of purpose, Bryn bolted toward the portal and leapt through the narrow passage just before the [i]glamour[/i] which held it open dissipated and the spot where the gateway appeared returned to its original state.
 
Most of what happened next seemed to be a blur, memories of the transition from Arcadia to the mortal world again hit her hard. Her body took on the Mask of a rather close approximation of her former self, but still different, with certain aspects of her true form, her Mien, seeping through the magical disguise she wore to protect her identity. She'd landed in a place that was foreign to her, a city that had never been her home before, and was far from where she'd started. What's more, she knew she had to escape to the mortal realm, yet she could not recall who or what she had prior to being taken all those years ago. Did she have family? Was there a home for her to go back to?
 
The basics of survival were still with her, and little by little, she discovered that the Fae magic coursed through her veins even in the strange new city. Her arm, the one damaged during her escape from the Ogre, formed properly but was still not fully functional, and felt weak compared to the rest of her body. A small price to pay she supposed, but hopefully something that could be rectified as her journey begins in New York City.
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[b]Personality: [/b]
With the heart of an artist and the grace and temperament of one who allows classical music to influence her very being, Bryn does her best to keep the dread of her captivity at bay with the beauty and harmony created through her own musical works. Meditation and focus is also a significant part of her life that she kept from her mortal days, surrounding herself with the beauty of the outdoors as she allows her body to recharge. Due to her Fae nature, she also has an empathetic connection to the flora, sensing it’s own emotions, which in turn, influences her own well-being, whether good or bad. 
 
[b]Skills:[/b]
Primarily a professional-level violinist and painting enthusiast, her magically imbued violin has a chance to animate objects and artwork that are otherwise inanimate. 
 
[b]Supernatural Powers:[/b]
Redwood violin she plays -one carried over from Arcadia- is imbued with her own Fae & mortal blood, causing it's music to bring certain plant life, and to a certain degree, inanimate objects.
Her skin is tougher than most, a sort of “bark skin” that will activate seamlessly when under duress as a defense mechanism.
Empathic connection with flora, can feel their emotions, which can empower or perhaps disable her depending on the severity.
 
[b]Weaknesses: [/b]
Due to her nature, her Mask’s skin can become rather dry or cracked in appearance and she may become weakened physically and mentally unless she is properly hydrated with water throughout the day. Because of this drawback, Bryn has been known to spend time in areas that have a higher degree of moisture, especially during the colder, dryer months.
 
[i][b]Note:[/b] Certain waters -whether bathed in or ingested- imbued with magical properties allow her to heal from wounds or general ailments at an accelerated rate.[/i]
 
[b]Possessions:[/b]
Violin, crafted from her own Fae blood, wood, and hair (bow string)
 
[b]Other:[/b]
TBD