Cendre

[Cendre]

Name
Cendre Arrugosa Ilor
(SEN jray | Air RUH go sah | AHY lor)

Nickname
Drea
(JRAY uh)

Gender
Female

Age
16

Element
Fire

Magic Level
0

Appearance
For Cendre, she hadn't just inherited traits and characteristics. Instead, her mother and father had passed on traits in a mix; also known as incomplete dominance.
A dark wave of brown hair--almost black--fell just above her waist. Often, it tormented itself into a tangled, brunette mass. With each strand being thin and vulnerable, leaving it alone when physically active would be abusive. Thus, she typically wore it in a braid when doing something that might lead to the trouble. And of course, this was all to blame on her father; the single trait she had inherited from him.
Hazel eyes, equivalent to her mother’s, were a perfect forest green fading into the small ring of gold lining the circumference of her pupils. Her swiftly arched eyebrows, however, stole away some of the softness her mother’s eyes had had. It wasn’t terribly intimidating though, unless she intentionally made it so. She had thin, pale red lips—almost what you could call pink, a nose that might be a little too big, not that anyone really checked, and overall, her face was sharp featured. Alone it was a bit daunting, but it was essentially up to her eyes to decide what her facial expression should be.
Standing at a total of five feet and seven and a half inches, Cendre was remarkably tall for 16 years old in the medieval period. Even then, she had not grown to full height. Towering over most girls—though lately encountering many tall people her age—she still stood shorter than most men.
Her skin was lightly tanned, enough so that her dark hair didn’t look horrible against her skin. Her voice had a subtle accent to it and was at a medium pitch that could never sing without shattering glass. Habitually, it reflected her mood.
Normally, she wore the classic-medieval outfit with a loose sleeved, low cut shirt, a bodice, and a light, ankle-length skirt. Occasionally, she wore jewelry, though normally not—thinking of it as a burden. Her clothes generally ranged in the darker end of the spectrum.
Like everyone else, she had her flaws. A long scar ran the length of Cendre’s left arm, once deep and painful. In a twisting pattern, smaller, more subtle scars followed the lengthier scar. From her shoulder, the scars came to an end at her knuckles and palm, wrapping around her whole hand. In a sort of rose pattern, the scars adjoined together in her palm. In a way, the scars wrapping around her arm resembled vines wrapping around a tree and giving way to a rose at its height.
Coincidence is the only thing to be said.

Personality
Kind, gentle, nice. Those weren’t exactly words people would call Cendre unless they were really, really close friends. Fortunately, people didn’t call her mean, bossy, or spiteful either. She was more of her own character, in general.
She was smart, but not extremely. Seeing past the obvious, often resulted in not seeing the obvious. That seemed to be her only falter.
Her social skills were somewhat good. If she made an effort, she could make friends. If she didn’t—well, that usually meant she didn’t want to. You’re annoying, too simply state it. However, she did have some issues with trust. Ever since she was five years old, she’d never trusted herself to trust others. The people she’d once loved and thought cared about her had betrayed her and left her in the dust. And now, she was simply afraid to trust others.
Thus, it often resulted in her cautious behavior---as some people might put it. She skimmed through the crowds, watching certain people until she thought possibly trustable. And then, relationships took much time to grow. It’s just a matter of gaining her trust and loyalty. Remember, though, as many tag-a-longs as she may earn, there is a difference between that and friendship.
Like many fire mages (or fire-mages-to-be), she was a hot-head. Normally, if she got ticked, you’d be the one down on the ground lying in your tears from either physical or verbal assault. Picking a fight wasn’t something she was for, but she loved using her swords and her harsh words. In an argument, she was more likely to use sarcasm and put-downs than start a fist fight.
She is cocky; a bit over-confident. Normally, that means you probably won’t earn her respect unless it’s obvious: Master, Mistress, Queen of England. That sort of thing. Most people who are down in her own ranking of social class would be more prone to get a bloody nose than an ounce of respect from her.
She was almost a bully, though it would kill her if she got stuck with that reputation. It was more in a well-known place where she’d show that side of her. Her history had developed that side of her. Having been a victim of others for a long while, she finally shoved it aside. It was time to take matters into her hands and do something other than hide behind the rock. An odd result, but entirely understandable at times.
Different was one way of putting it, but in some ways and some places, it seemed different proved to be exactly the same as everyone else.

History
Like many of Sahy, Cendre was one of those that had come because of her horrendous past and darkened history. People’s stories she’d heard often met in comparison to hers here. The same amounts and levels of agony, distress, and depression reached out to her, but hers was the only one she’d felt, experienced, and lived. It was the only tale she could spin.
At four years of age, Cendre and her father, mother, and brother lived together in a small house they called home. Located in a small village lost among everything else in the world so carefree, she and her family were actually happy and lived with strong family connections. The only falter was that Cendre and her father scarcely talked to each other, did anything together, or really even showed signs of love towards one another. And with father closer to son, daughter closer to mother, and no attempt to heal the fading bond, it would become something unimaginable.
For now, though, they were happy.
The night before her fifth birthday, Cendre slept soundly, although somewhat restlessly. Like the rest of her family, she had no idea it would be their last night together as a whole family.
In the darkness of clear, starry skies, something sinister and merciless lurked. A faint breeze blew and a full moon accompanied by lazily floating clouds illuminated the night faintly. Queer silence.
Two individual screams heard in the night woke young Cendre from her disturbed sleep. She rushed to her mother’s room to find no one there. Dashing from room to room, searching for the screams’ origins, and finding nothing, the sickening, overwhelming thoughts began to tear through her mind. A feeling that she truly didn’t want to know began to unveil itself.
Eventually, she came to the kitchen to see a single candle flickering in the bleak darkness. Behind the glow of the faint flame, her father’s face revealed his horrified expression, sullen and grief stricken. Even in the darkness, Cendre had the fleeting idea of what she was about to see.
Two bodies lay on the kitchen floor: her brother’s and her mother’s. Stepping forward, she felt her foot touch something shallow and strangely warm. It only took her moments to realize what it was: fresh blood.
“Father?” she ventured, her voice questioning and nervous. In the candlelight, she saw his eyes meet hers. His instantly turned to revulsion and dire hatred.
“You,” he hissed, “you could have stopped them.”
“I-I couldn’t. I—“
He cut her short, irrationally shouting a series of curses. “You could have stopped them!” he roared. “You could have done something. It’s your fault your mother and brother are dead now!”
“I’m sorry, Father.” Her eyes gave way to tears. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not!” he retorted. “You’re not sorry at all.”
The obvious she failed to see had finally broken the surface of reality, given its consequences. Father and daughter who have failed, deaf to the desperate cries of their fading love.
The years that followed, Cendre lived with her father. Everyday that followed posed a worsening threat of death, for her father still believed she could have stopped the assault on their family. At one point, she--like many through the village--suffered cholera when the local well became contaminated. Many died during that year. But miracle was bestowed upon her and she lived through the ordeal, somehow by chance without her father’s slightest bit of help. It made her realize how much he really didn’t care. By that time, she had become fed up with her father who was at least half-drunk every time she looked at him. With the amount of alcohol her father consumed, he should have been dead. With the amount of times he attempted to kill Cendre, she should have been dead. It seemed God had other plans.
The day she planned to leave, a faint breeze blew and a full moon accompanied by lazily floating clouds illuminated the night faintly. Queer silence.
The night seemed remarkably familiar; deja vu.
As Cendre snuck past the kitchen, something reflecting the little light of night came swiftly flying towards her. It smashed against the wall, just shy of her head as she ducked. Behind the glow of candlelight, she could see the man she used to call Father sitting at the table. His sunken back, red, and swollen eyes met hers. The rancid smell of cheap wine hung in the air, almost tauntingly. The sight made her heart cry with a devastating pain and she almost felt betrayal to her father at the thought of leaving him alone.
Another bottle flew past, instantly erasing the guilty thought. If he hadn’t been drunk, he probably would have hit her. “Where d’ya thin’ yur goin’?!” he roared in scattered speech, throwing a glass bottle like the one earlier. He staggered under his own weight as he struggled to stand, waving another bottle in his left hand.
Cendre took off running, trying to navigate in the white moonlight staring through the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father throw the bottle aside and grab two swords from the wall that hung as decoration. Fear and adrenaline then took over. She sprinted out the door, not bothering to close it behind her. Big mistake.
Both swords came flying at her along with the glass bottle, one after the other. She managed to dodge one sword, but the other sword and the bottle hit her with immense force. Her flesh gave way to the blade, leaving a dreadfully deep cut running the length of her arm from her shoulder to her clenched fist. The bottle hit her wrist as she tried to knock it away. It shattered and the shards of glass rained down on her. Most caught on her arm, sticking to the blood from the sword’s cut. The rest ended up everywhere including her hair, down her blouse, and in her mouth.
But, she didn’t really feel any of it. The only thing that pained her were her father’s words as they cried out in the dead night. “Don’t ever come back! You here me?! Never!”
Cendre simply ran. Ran until her eleven year old body couldn’t take it anymore. “Help,” she whimpered in desperation as her tiny legs gave out and her breath so labored that she could hardly breathe. “Somebody.”
Two swords rested beside her, the ones that could have been fatal to her an hour ago.
Since then, she essentially lived on her own. She didn’t have any other living relatives she knew of and she really had no friends—nor, did she make an effort to gain any. Six years passed by slowly and painfully. At one point, she was a street thief, but being neither subtle nor swift during her failed attempts to nick an apple, it wasn’t working. Eventually, she passed that life by.
She then lived in good enough standards that she never really got all that sick. She defended herself with the two swords that had nearly killed her years ago. She got jobs easily enough to make a living and buy food. It was hard work to accompany a hard life, but the only other option seemed to be death.
That is, until she heard of Sahy. Hearing of it as an opportunity to escape the reality world and learn the art of magic, she leapt at the opportunity. In general there was air, earth, water, and lastly, fire.
Easily, she found her way to Avalon. With enough money to pay her way to the island, she arrived. Choosing the element seemed to be the only thing left to do. Air, earth, water, or fire? She’d never really had any connection to any of the elements except breathing air. She couldn’t swim, grow a flower without it dying within a week, and wasn’t exactly a pyromaniac. And air was off in its own little world.
After long thought, fire was finally decided. Her personality was a match to the element. Easily ticked, stubborn, aggressive, cocky, cautious somewhat, etcetera; that was Cendre in general.
Becoming a mage was the only thing that really seemed worth the effort at this point in life. If it didn’t work, she’d leave empty handed. And all the same it seemed, she had everything to lose and absolutely nothing.

Image
(Posted Image)

Note: Hey, this is my new character, Cendre, replacing Arayna by account AraynaElmera. Yeah. Araina and Arayna were way too similar for my taste—and probably everyone else’s. If I had known there was an Araina before I made AraynaElmera, I would have done something different. So that’s my pathetic, pitiful excuse. All I got. Hopefully, Cendre and I can prove her worthy.

[Ignatius]

*munches grilled cheese sandwich* Looks good for the most part. There's a few typos in the appearance.

The start is kinda confusing "For Cendre, inheritance alone had not become of her. Instead, her mother and father had passed on traits more together-like; also known as incomplete dominance. Though looking carefully, one might see the connected ties." I sort aget what you're saying, but it's be easier to just say that she didn't take after one or the other- she was a mix of both her mother and father's traits.

"A dark wave of brown hair merely a shade off black" I think you mean 'nearly', not merely and 'of' not off. ^^;

Beyond that I don't see many issues other than why the freak she lived with her da' so long... but that's not a complaint.

[Araina]

I have a complaint! Tetanus is 100% fatal unless you get the shot right away. Also, the whole 'rusty nail' thing is fictatious, the disease is caused by a puncture wound, somthing that doesn't bleed.

[Cendre]

Really? I actaully did some research on the tetanus part because I'm a nerd. I blame Google and its links!!! I think I'll just change that part overall to something like measles.
And yeah, Cendre is just a mental case like me. Not moving out would be her stupidity. -shrugs- But where would a five year old run away to?
I'm not even going to argue about the typos. One, I'd bore you all to death. Two, I don't really even care. Three, I'd just ramble on and on and not get anywhere. So yeah, I'll go edit those bits.

[Ignatius]

Oh, I make so many typos- it's not a bad thing. Why, I can be thinking to type one thing and type something totally different. It's ridiculous some times. ^^;

I tend to google things like that, too, but I prefer using wiki. ^^;

[Cendre]

Post fixed.
Wikipedia makes my brain hurt. I looked there, but it was so confuzzling with the never ending links and bottomless page.

[Ignatius]

Thanks, working on your activation.

Heh, I like wikipedia- it's easy for me. And I can surf it in class without looking like I'm being totally unproductive.

Edit:
http://s9.invisionfree.com/Sahy/index.php?showtopic=806

There y'go. ^^