Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?
Social Rank: 8
Concept: The Omen
Marital Status: Unmarried
Religion: Pantheon (Mangata)
Hair Color: Umber
Eye Color: Pewter
Skintone: Sun-touched Fair
Description: In spending long stretches of time at sea, Scylla's umber hair has become dull and unruly, chafed by dry, salty winds and exposure to the elements. It is nothing that a mirror and a brush can't remedy, though it would seem she owns neither. Years spent swabbing decks beneath the blistering sun have had their way with her fair skin, punctuated cheekbones and forehead dusted with numerous freckles and a permanent rosy flush. More often than not, the woman dons a wide-brimmed leather flop hat, though whether its purpose is to protect her face from further damage or conceal the prominent scar above her right eyebrow is anyone's guess. Some wounds cannot be so easily obfuscated no matter the choice in attire. Skin the consistency of melted wax stretches from the left side of her neck across the same shoulder, runs the length of her right arm to the wrist, and materializes in uneven, circular blemishes covering both lithe legs. Betimes, fingers idly agitate the raised tissue, as though the recurring touch can somehow rub the ugliness away.
(A deluge of tawny tresses flow freely, brushed to a brilliant luster, and curl at the ends at the narrow lumbar curve. Soft waves frame her alabaster face in the form of long layers, then kiss the gentle rise of her clavicles. Powder black as midnight tints her upper eyelids and limns the lower, throwing pale silver irises into sharp relief.)
Personality: Mysteriously and rather helpfully, from the very moment she joined the crew of the Black Tide, Scylla has been fluent in the language of seafaring, lending credence to the crew's notion that she was likely a sailor in her former life. She has born up these and other anecdotes about her past with barbed wit and sarcasm, defensive measures she employs to evade deep topics or probing questions. When in doubt as to what social etiquette demands, Scylla relies upon the art of keeping her mouth shut. To that end, she is often a silent, observing party to events which do not directly affect her or anyone she feels obliged to concern. When in the company of any person she trusts in any capacity, she may feel more inclined to share her honest opinions, at times almost too curtly.
Though her true past remains a mystery, whether by accident or by choice, those inclined to forgive her evasive and ambiguous nature might consider her, if not a friend to be loved, a loyal ally to be respected.
Background: It took nearly an hour for the crew of the Black Tide, a Blackshore merchant vessel, to fish up a tangled mass of debris, hoist it onto the deck and discover the lifeless body of a salt-stained body buried within. She was not dressed as most other shipwrecked persons usually are; this woman wore the remains of a black linen dress, tattered, distressed and covered in holes featuring scorch marks where flames had burned through. Sections of skin on her neck, arms, and legs were the consistency of melted wax, and her forehead had been split wide open, rivers of blood staining fair features.
She was immediately declared dead, evidenced by the absence of a pulse. The ship's captain ordered his crew to wrap her in sailcloth and tie her ankles to an iron weight. Too far from the nearest port, she was to receive a respectable burial at sea. At the very moment her body was rolled to rest atop the flax fabric, the woman sat upright and regurgitated an unhealthy amount of seawater upon the deck. Gasps and murmurs resounded from the crew, not a one among them unfazed by her unprovoked revival. When asked her name, the anonymous woman could not remember. When asked from whence she hailed, the homeless woman could not remember. When asked how she came to be shipwrecked, the shivering woman, again, could not remember.
The captain considered the situation carefully, then made the determination that she posed very little threat to him or his crew. By his orders, the woman was to be fed, clothed, and assigned a cot to sleep on until they made for port where she would then be required to make a choice: stay on the ship and learn to sail, or disembark and find her own way. It did not take long for her to choose the path of least resistance, and so the captain gave her all the tools and training to earn an honest living. Having forgotten her true given name, she elected to rename herself Scylla. And yet many of her new crewmates adopted for her a more fitting epithet to gossip surreptitiously among themselves: Omen. What purpose did this anomalous amnesiac serve to receive the favor of the gods, or perhaps some other mysterious force? Was she a boon or a curse? To the superstitious lot, the miracle of her rebirth could not be reconciled by practical means alone. Therefore, it must have otherworldly implications, ones that spurred a few sailors to worry endlessly over her presence aboard the ship. Despite such fears and conjured anecdotes, Scylla put her head down and worked to surpass the expectations of the captain. He promoted her from swabbie to first mate after only three years of dedicated service. In winter of 1012 AR, the captain made for the port of New Hope. After a brief interlude, he returned to inform the crew that House Blackshore intended to repurpose the merchant ship for the coming war with Eurus. Those who chose to remain aboard would join the house navy or be forced to find work elsewhere. Scylla opted to swear fealty to the family and help them achieve their goals and win the war. In return for her loyalty and dedication, she was promptly rewarded with a promotion to captain of the Black Tide.
Returning to port for a stretch of time began to chafe at Scylla’s previous contentment to forget that she had once lived another life. It had been so easy to achieve surrounded by people who accepted that she was and would remain a mystery. It was not the same with strangers in Arx, all of them eager to poke, prod and pry into the new and unfamiliar. And so, with the spare time she contrived between preparations for war and honing new social skills, Scylla began to explore who she is and who she used to be.
|Castinus||She is a canny one, that much is for certain. A surprise, which is always welcome. Scylla is possessed of a quick wit, which is a rarity that should be, and shall be, treasured. Already I look forward to the day that she recovers her lost memories almost as much as she does, I suspect. I confess a great curiosity to what her dreams are like..|
|Deimos||Bold, as all good folk of the sea should be. She asked about my wounds straight away. I wonder if she is asked of her own as much as I am. There is little certainty in the life of a sailor, but there is this: we're bound for a friendship.|
|Dio||She is intelligent, and her experience at sea undeniable. It is easy to see why she is trusted by her sailors and her House. A seafarer could not ask for better company.|
|Fredrik||An Admiral. Convincing and well spoken, has some sort of 'swish' to her.|
|Lianne||Pain doesn't need to be a weight. I wonder what she'll do with hers.|
|Medeia||The Blackshore admiral's reputation precedes her, but what I was unaware of is her exquisite fashion sense and severe beauty.|
|Natasha||I've heard of House Blackshore's admiral but never met her until today. She is a woman of very little words, but given the look and air of her, I assume this is because she would rather expend her energy on quick, decisive action.|
|Orick||I appreciate humor and drink that flows without apology or hesitation, as with this preferable drinking associate.|
|Poppy||A strange woman. But maybe because she was drunk? Who knows!|
|Romulius||Admiral and loyal friend to House Blackshore. Without her command, my duties as Minister would be impossible. We are infinitely fortunate to count her amongst our ranks.|
|Savio||A definite pleasure to put a face with the kind writer of messages! Now we just have to meet again, to pair the music with the words.|
|Sivana||Oh, dear Scylla, such an interesting woman. So polite and yet she exhibits a type of ease of comfort amoungst the genteel I rarely find with baseborn. I have found a desire to paint whatever thoughts may lurk within that head. Perhaps she might permit me to make a muse of her?|
|Valdemar||The quiet sort, it seems, though certainly polite enough.|
|Yuri||When I had first met the Admiral, I did not have the proper time to get to know her as I would have liked; underdressed as we were. But fortune favored me when she wandered into my hideaway. She speaks with a bearing that can be mistaken for a lord or lady, yet brings an air of truth to a conversation where we both may speak plainly and words are heard clear. With no offense. I have a good deal to learn from the Admiral and I hope our friendship continues.|
|Zoey||She puts a lot to effort into seeming that she does not want to put in a lot of effort.|