[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ZYgjpw1.png[/img][/center]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Name[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]Adra SonSauhl[/indent]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Age[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]30[/indent]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Gender[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]Female[/indent]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Race[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]Orc[/indent]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Appearance[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]At immediate glance one would know that she is an orc, there is nothing in her visage that hides it. Her green skin, hiding dark teals in the right light, her feral nose, and long tusks rising up from full lips were indications of her heritage. Her eyes, a deep lavender in color, were a bit more dainty but she usually narrowed them and quirked a black brow. Her features were strong but not unpleasing. Her pointed ears contained various pieces of metal jewelry that she created and worked into them. Currently, her long black hair is pulled away from her face and plaited, interwoven pieces of jewelry and metal accenting it. If one knew of orcish traditions, they'd know that was the hairstyle of one in mourning.

Her build may not be the tallest, but what she doesn't have in height, she has in stature. She's a statuesque woman with thick chorded muscles that shine through even in her bulky plate armor. Still, her feminine curves are not swallowed up by her musculature, if anything they're more accented because of it. Her armor is of an older orcish design, painted a rose color and with numerous scratches and gouges throughout. The metal collar is high and has well-taken-care-of fur around its top, coming right underneath Adra's jaw. She wears a shield on her back that is a mixture of a dulled silver and a soft gold. The design is interesting and aesthetically pleasing. If anyone knew of orcish customs, they'd know that was two family symbols interwoven--it was a marriage symbol. Her warhammer rests on her back holster. It's massive and made of a thick silver-ish metal. There are numerous, decorative filagrees across it, but one end has a square block of pure metal, the downswing on it unstoppable. And the pommel is a sharp, twisted blade.

On Adra's hip is a small blade, and treated leather pouch that holds a book, a quill, and ink. It is so she can document her journey. She shouldn't be a scholar without it. One might note that the bookmark is a thin silver chain with a well-worn ring looped through it.[/indent]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Personality[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]Adra can be summarized as independent, fierce, and regal--with a tinge of loudness to throw those descriptors off kilter. She is happiest when she is moving, and the world around her is as it should be. This might ordain her a bit of a control freak, but it’s a little different than that. She’s content to clean messes, no matter how they come, but she refuses to sit idly by and watch them pile up.While knowledge and instruction are very important to her, being told what to do chafes her in the worst of ways. 

The orc is intellectual. She doesn’t speak barbarically, especially considering that her race is far removed from those times, and she doesn’t wield her physical mass in conversation. She’s more than content to break one down with words. Though, no one should say she doesn’t enjoy a good ole fashion beating. 

Adra can be sweet, but it isn’t as accessible as it once was. Her heart is very buried, and if one starts digging, they’ll reach a part of her that is very new and very bitter. [/indent]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Background[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent] To hear tell of it, Adra’s parents loathed each other. In public forums, the marketplace, or even a street corner their words would be bolstered by vitriol and accusation. For many years, and well into her adulthood, Adra would hear of her parents' distaste for one another--yet she knew that not to be true. They loved each other very deeply and very differently. They were competitive, constantly striving to do better than the other and as such, they grew as intellectuals and sometimes unfortunate thrill seekers.

Adra’s childhood was peppered with mild bits of insanity. Her mother was a folk hero, of sorts. She’d traveled, she’d fought, she’d learned, and she’d hauled home a fair share of interesting trinkets. Her father was quite the opposite. He tended to the household, and he crafted. Adra still remembers him discussing how one can find the beauty in anything. The man had a skill with metal, maybe not as a weaponsmith, but he’d create things that were fascinating and useful. Eventually, he’d be enlisted along with a blacksmith to take to weapons, as there was a sweep of interest in orcish design. So, between the two, Adra never wanted for much, but she never knew wealth and privilege.

As she grew older, her father would teach her to read, write, to research, and inevitably to craft. Adra took a far more intense interest in weaponsmithing and armor working than her father would have liked, but she was his only child and as such allowed her to pursue interests. At least she had interests, he mused. Times, when her mother would come home, would be erratic for the family. At first, Adra would just squirrel away and read, but as she became older she actually tried to broker peace between her parents. It sometimes worked and it sometimes didn’t. Though no matter the calm or chaos in her household, when her mother returned she’d teach her daughter how to fight. She viewed it as a necessity if Adra was to grow up among other orcs, some taking to the old ways. Yet, Adra didn’t care for the wonton way that orcs enjoyed throwing themselves into fights. She wanted structure, but a structure that would allow for her strength to shine through. There had to be something--

One day, she was in the commons working on her stance with a practice dummy, an orc slightly older than herself sidled up next to her and offered to help. She shot him a look before grabbing his arm and giving it a firm twist--nothing broke, but he did offer a quick apology. She admitted to needing help, but she was far from any damsel that needed to be coached like a child. He agreed, backing away and babying his arm. Yet he didn’t leave, instead he instructed her from afar, adding a ‘m’lady’ to the end of every sentence. Adra would hide her smile at this, and he’d try not to laugh at how silly this entire situation was. His name was Garthan, and he’d be Adra’s greatest strength and greatest weakness. 

A few years later, Adra was to be wed. Not one to babble excessively and flit around, she actually buried herself in the creation of a shield to mark their two families coming together. Her father would hide away, tending to a weapon which she would wield much later. Garthan would be content to sit in the corner as Adra’s family took the lead on the entire preparation. Once again, standing away and only giving advice when prompted. He was never really heeded, but that’s what he loved about her. She was her own person. They were wed a day before Garthan headed out to fight with the Scorned. They needed the best, and he was among the top ranking orc warriors. Adra might have also had that position if she'd ever pledged herself to the art of war.

Adra had never suffered. She’d always worked hard and achieved. So, the day that the Sorned pulled her husband away was the day that she felt she had to work harder. He’d return, she’d think. And she would have achieved so much by then. She’d be an accomplished warrior and a scholar. They’d already be writing books about her, building monuments, and she’d have to shoo away swooning orcs. It was a wonderful fantasy, and she worked so hard to achieve it.

Time passed and in the pit of her stomach, she knew the truth. It would come to her on a rainy day. There were no happy endings in war--she should have known that. She’d read so much, much more than orcs usually did. Yet, a broken, bloodied sword laid at her doorstep felt like a reality she wasn’t prepared to handle. And, honestly, she didn’t.

Shrugging on her mother’s old, rose-colored armor, the shield that Adra had constructed, and the warhammer her father had forged for her wedding day--Adra left. She’d heard tell of the Emperor needing adventurers to head to the Ebony Mountain. She’d go there. She’d cut a path so straight and clean, people would sing songs about it.[/indent]
[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Combat Abilities[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent] ⚘ [b]Orc Strength[/b]
[indent] Adra is naturally strong, her bloodline insisting upon it. Yet, the years she spent with Garthan and the subsequent ones without him led her to build it up. This is both in resilience and in sheer attacking power. Her crafting skills have also given her a heads up on lifting, pulling, and pushing. As such, she may be slower than other races, but all she needs is to get a hit in.[/indent]
⚘ [b]Battlemaster[/b]
[indent]Years of training have left her with a variety of stances in which she can use to push herself forward, pull herself back, shield her allies, or be that immovable object between a foe and their goal. She knows numerous stances, and she picks up new ones when she fights her opponents. And if the stance is known to her, she can fathom how her opponent will attack and the best way to parry it. She also has two primary fighting stances: one with her shield, and holding her warhammer in a choke, wielding it as if it was a normal sized one, and the other is shrugging off her shield and gripping the warhammer low, allowing for devastating and ranged swings.[/indent]
⚘ [b]Craftsman[/b]
[indent]Adra didn’t sit around in her adulthood, just learning at whimsy and practicing whenever she felt like that. She worked alongside her father in his workshop. She enjoys function over form and avoids emblazoning gems or stones into her work, but she will inlay some filigree that could also serve as a cutting edge.[/indent][/indent]

[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Artifact of Dramoria[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]ARTIFACT[/indent]

[b][color=#E8B7A9][h3][i]Motive[/i][/h3][/color][/b][hr][indent]Altruism, she’ll say. She isn’t the sort to let the world end around her as she sits and twiddles her thumbs. Partially, it’s for glory. She did grow up in the shadow of her fame-seeking mother. Secretly, it’s for revenge, or it’s suicide. It is hard to tell. [/indent]