User:Rilla
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- Marilla O’Mordha, known only as Rilla.
- Former Admiral of Rynvale & Leader of The Fold, former Tactical Leader of Gisiae en Adon. Without affiliation since her return.
- Her current profession is never spoken of directly.
- Former-human sired at 27, running ever since. Unaware of her own potential.
- A widow.
Loose auburn curls and perpetually rose-tinted lips, Rilla dresses simply - always in dark colours, form fitted or robes with little in between - concerned more with function than appearance these days. She stands at 5’6” and just under 130 lbs, lithe and lean after years on the run, perhaps still a little too-thin from her siring. Her eyes are occasionally painted with deeper, smoky colours to set off her crystalline-blue gaze, the light blue only interrupted by a ring of golden hazel feathered out from her pupils. Her body is marked with silvery scars, a pinker and angrier one on her left rib cage shows a more recent stabbing, although that one has faded too over time. Wing tattoos run down her back, detailed with shades of red and gold faded into a black-and-white center. At one time they had been enchanted, but since her siring she struggles with the control necessary for such a thing. A thin gold band is always worn either on her right ring finger or on a chain around her neck.
Years within Hollow left Rilla empty, she caved underneath overwhelming pressure and loss. Nothing good could ever stay for her, but she never backed down from a fight. Not until the stakes were so high that running away could change the tides of power for the port of Rynvale. How dare she run off with that man, lured off by the chance to just be not-alone.
Despite being what she was told she would do all her life, the married life was never for her. The once honourable woman fell down a slippery slope, played the part of a trophy wife by day and assassin by night. Her fascination with blades ever-present since her childhood rough-housing with all the boys until she could no longer pretend she was like them. Guided by a twisted sense of right and wrong and the need for an adrenaline rush, Rilla felt almost alive again by cover of night.
False domestic-bliss made her softer, brought her guard down, made her sloppy and early one autumn morning it caught up to her. Her husband dead upstairs, Rilla found herself for the first time without the conviction to fight. If she’d truly failed at both paths, what more could there be? Death surely would have been a kinder fate.
She woke up alone and hyper-aware that she was changed, and through her panic she realized that if her husband was dead and she was this, she was likely the prize. Whatever the vampire wanted from her, she wanted nothing of it. With little other than the clothes on her back, she left through the window, disappearing once more.
Rilla ran, and ran, and ran until the forests gave way to familiar ground underneath her feet. Running from an enemy she had never laid eyes on left her wild, unfocused, little more than an animal in the midst of a two-year adrenaline rush. A life in ruins, she returned to the lands she had already let down once in search of stability, and perhaps a chance at redemption.