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[color=2E2C2C][sup]_______________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][hider=// INFO]
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[COLOR=D0D4E5][b]Full Name[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Lady Luenciel Aelissia Navietas[/COLOR]
[b]Age[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - 15[/COLOR]
[b]Gender[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Female[/COLOR]
[b]Heritage[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Grayle, The River Kingdom[/COLOR]
[b]Magical Affinity[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Water[/COLOR][/color][/SUP][/indent][/hider]
[hider=// PERSONALITY][color=2E2C2C]-[/color]
[indent][sup][COLOR=D0D4E5][b]Gentle As An Autumn Rain[/b]
[COLOR=807B84]Luenciel—or Lucien, as the case may be—is a soft, kind person. Though her social interaction up to this point has been limited, she hasn't changed, and they all point to the same thing: patient, gentle, caring, almost to a fault. That's not to say that she's gullible or easily taken in, not exactly. Rather, even when someone irks her, gets on her nerves, is a pain to be around; even then, she still cares.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=D0D4E5][b]Quiet As A Winter Mist[/b]
[COLOR=807B84]Though, that might not be immediately apparent sometimes if you don't know her. In order for her to show that caring side of her she (not always, but usually) needs to speak first. It's not like she's shy or a wallflower, that's not why she's quiet. She's always tended that way, really. Just a generally quiet person, And the wire that she walks now to avoid being discovered has only made this more prominent. She is keenly aware that her voice is not a man's. And while she can get away with it for now, there's always a chance someone will realize she's out of place. So the less she talks, the safer she is from discovery and expulsion.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=D0D4E5][b]Fierce As A Summer Storm[/b]
[COLOR=807B84]And expulsion is something she [i]does not want[/i]. For all the noblewoman in her blood, all the quietude in her manner, all the kindness in her soul...she's still training to be a knight. And that means something. It means that despite her alignment to water, there's still a fire in her, one that is impossible to snuff out. And though slow to rouse, when that fire is stoked, she turns from a quiet child with too many rumors floating around about her to a skillful, relentless, and [i]vicious[/i] warrior that belies her sheltered and pampered upbringing. [/COLOR][/COLOR]
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[hider=// SKILLSET][color=2E2C2C]-[/color]
[indent][sup][COLOR=D0D4E5][b]Crest Of The Wave[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Luen doesn't carry a weapon. Ever. But that doesn't mean she's ever unarmed.

The bracers that wrap around her forearms are scored all over with lines of runic script, each of which corresponds to a spell in Luen's trademark arsenal. She uses very little magic directly. Rather, it all gets filtered through the elaborate runes on her bracers. They conduct the water. Run it along their conduits. And finally, the water—whether liquid or simply condensed from the air—takes shape in her hand, and becomes a [i]weapon.[/i] A sword, a glaive, a spear, an axe, a knife; all of these and more are available to her through her right bracer, and only dissipate when she lets them, loses focus, or loses consciousness. Her left bracer can create arrays—from one to six, depending on focus, time, and available water—of watery knives that launch themselves at her foe.

Some may say that she's vulnerable without her bracers. It's true, she is. Take them from her, and she becomes a normal teenage girl. But good luck getting to them through the storm.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=D0D4E5][b]Born Under A Baleful Star[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Curse-child. Ill-starred. Monster. Thing. [i]Killer.[/i]

Rumors have spread a long way from the Navietas household over these past years. Whispers down the lane, growing ever more distorted as they've slithered from house to house, ear to mouth to ear again. [i]Dead-pale skin, like a corpse.[/i] And it only spun out as time had gone on, and her seclusion had remained. [i]Red eyes, red like blood.[/i] And though she lived in quiet, these rumors—[i]stark white hair, like all the light was drained from it[/i]—circled back around to her. Though her father tried to head them off as best he could, he was never able to stop her from wondering whether or not she's really safe to be near. After all, when something is repeated often enough...

...You start to believe it.
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[COLOR=D0D4E5][b]Quickstep[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]It might be surmised by her slim lines, weaker physique, and the fact that she uses magical water-blades instead of any real weapon, but Luenciel is not what you would call [i]strong[/i]. It's very likely that almost everyone else around her could overpower her through raw strength without a huge deal of effort (except maybe Julian).

And yet, she's still a competent combatant, because as much as she lacks in might, she makes up more than enough for with speed and technique. Doesn't matter if you're weaker if you're too agile for them to hit you, and too good for them to block (she can thank her dad for that one).[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[/SUP][/indent][/hider]
[/cell][cell][b]Physical Description[/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Ah, Lady Luenciel. To say that she cuts a striking figure would be something of an understatement. Much taller than her poor late mother was, she falls nearly to her father's height at an unusual and surprising 174cm. More intriguing is that she looks nothing like either of them, really; where her parents have tan skin, dark hair, dark eyes, Luen is none of those things. Whispers throughout the courts told of the Navietas child, born under an unlucky star, bleached of color, and light, and life. Quiet. Watching. [i]Waiting.[/i] And everyone knows so [i]little[/i] about this ill-fated child. Age, creed, name, even gender; all hazy and indistinct. Her father's reticence is proof: something about the second child of House Navietas is [i]wrong.[/i]

Though, that's not quite the truth. As far as Lady Luenciel Navietas knows...she's simply unlucky.

Nobody quite knows [i]why[/i] she looks the way she does. Not her family, not the soothsayers her father sought, not the books that she's read. But it's probably not from some kind of magical curse like people assume she has or [i]is[/i]. Her ghost-pale skin; her stark icepick-white hair; her narrow eyes, dyed a vivid sanguine crimson; just how she is. A strange, unfortunate twist of fate that would perhaps not be called [i]normal,[/i] but...harmless.

Tall, lithe, slender. Stick thin and skinny. While once upon a time she wore them openly, she tends to hide these aspects as best she can now, obscuring them with voluminous, billowing cloaks. Lucky she is indeed that she has very little obviously visible curvature, though underneath her clothing, she wears a well-kept, tightly wrapped sarashi to, as she would put it, "tighten everything up." Always best to ensure no clothing laying oddly on what should be a slender boy's frame gives her away, after all. What an embarrassing way to be exposed that would be. Her long, high cheekbones can give her a haughty, arrogant look that she tries her best to avoid.

Since determining her own fate to be a knight (or at least a cadet), she's had to change the way she carries herself quite a bit. Though she can't avoid the graceful, gliding steps that are so baked into her now, the primness in her bearing has gone the way of her her once-habitual curtsies and urge to take up less space. The urges are still there—one does not simply shrug off the years—but she's become quite practiced at avoiding them now.

...For the most part.[/indent][/color]
[b]Character Conceptualization[/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Asceron Navietas, Lord of a military family, is a man stricken by grief. His first child, Dicen, was a fine young man. He would've been eighteen now, by Asceron's reckoning. But he was taken young. Not by fire. Not by war. A strange fever that refused to break ravaged him, turning his tall, fit form into a shivering, wasted thing before finally, mercifully, letting him slip softly away into the night. And that, on top of his wife dying soon after childbirth years before, giving him his second child: a girl, who she named Luenciel before she passed. And a bizarre child she was; from the moment she opened her crimson eyes, Asceron knew that something was strange. And when her hair grew in stark and white, he was ever more concerned for her.

Her strange appearance, and Asceron's grief at Enuiel's passing, caused her life to be sheltered, secluded one from the beginning. And the spreading rumors—no doubt house staff who'd caught glimpses of white hair and red eyes, Asceron thought—convinced him quite well that he was right to do so. The outside wasn't just indifferent to her. It was [i]outright hostile.[/i]

For years, she sought solace in her father and her brother. Though...at one point, her uncle came to visit. She'd never seen him before, but...he seemed nice, right? And the rumors hadn't truly found their way to her yet. He saw his niece, one of the very few that Asceron had let see her at all. He [i]was[/i] nice. Gave her candy, patted her on the head, went to bed, and...the next morning, tripped and fell down the stairs. Broke his neck. And just like that, dead.

More grief from Asceron. Condolences from Dicen. And...confusion from the seven-year-old Luenciel.

A few years later, an elderly woman who lived next door to their house broke several bones from a fall and couldn't get up. She lived alone, and her voice wasn't loud enough. Unable to move, she stayed there until she died.

A year after that, a vendor hawking his wares in the street below seized, and his movement ceased as his heart stopped beating in his chest.

And then, when she was twelve...Dicen.

So very grief-wracked now, Asceron kept Luen inside not just for her own sake, but for his own. As strange as she looked, she was his [i]last family.[/i] He wanted so desperately to keep her close. And though nobles came and went, events were held and released from the manor of the Navietas—though he told her to stay in her room, flashes of her were noticed, just barely, and the rumors intensified—the years passed, and Luen remained.

By now, though, she'd heard the rumors. So, so many of them. Enough that she started to believe them some: that her being around someone put them in danger. So she looked at her father. She looked at his glaive on the wall. She looked inward. Did she really want to be locked away like this for her whole life?

No. No, she wanted to make something of herself. She wanted to see the outside for herself. She wanted to talk to people. She wanted to escape her curse. And as she thought of these things, an ember kindled itself in her chest. What she wanted was...

...To fight.

Two more years passed in the blink of an eye. She trained with her father, learning from him how best to leverage her water magic and creating her bracers. She remained inside. And then, as she packed to leave, she sat down with her father again. She talked to him about names. About how she wouldn't be able to go by hers, and would need to find a man's name. Her father—upset she was leaving, but unable to bring himself to stop her—thought for several minutes as they sat together in silence one last time.

"...Lucien."

And so, Lucien Navietas—scion of the Navietas family and a cursed child born under an ill-fated Star—left her—[i]his[/i]—family home. To see. To talk. To escape.

To [i]fight.[/i][/indent][/color]
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