User:Riselet

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This page describes a character who is dead or retired from Hollow.

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Basics

Name: Riselet Eirvelhys
Alias(es): Multiple unfortunate nicknames
Gender: Female
Age: Early twenties, more or less
Born: August 9th
Race: Half Elf (Elf mother, Drow father)
Class: Assassin
Eyes: Ultramarine
Hair: Grey beige
Build: Limber but brawny
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Status: Single, probably forever

Trivia & Minutiae

• For reference, she looks like this. (Both drawings are by the player of Riselet.)
• Resembles a wood elf at first glance, but a double-over soon has one questioning that idea. Stare too hard and she’ll stare right back.
• Isn't necessarily out in the open about her status as an assassin, playing the part of ordinary traveler well.
• Far too honest to make a good cheat—she's only an assassin for the sake of riddling people with crossbow bolts. Sometimes merc work, too.
• Not inclined to speak much about her past. Will never give the full story, probably.
• Likes to collect rare weapons. A knife nut, a bow enthusiast.
• In spite of being from two magically-potent races, Riselet can barely cast a spell.
• Has a surprisingly high voice for someone so gruff, much to her chagrin.
• Meticulous regarding her face and hair; self-conscious but will never admit it.
• Generally cares about function over fashion. And having lots of belts to store things like daggers, daggers, and more daggers. Still, a part of her wants to buy out Lucy's Crossing and go to town. Maybe her inner seamstress?
• Speaking of which, she's talented with cloth and will happily stitch clothes for free. Clothing and design, in general, is one way to get her to open up fairly quickly. Don't ask her to stitch limbs back together, though.
• Most importantly, she has a terrible sense of direction in spite of growing up in a city. She can't find her way out of a paper bag.

Items of Interest

Nothing. Hoping for a shiny new crossbow or ten.

Appearance

A strange amalgam of two opposing races, yet at first glance one can mistake her for a pureblood elf. Riselet possesses deep-set cerulean eyes and thick ivory locks—mostly elven—but her sharp, angled face and near-permanent glare give off the aura of a drow. Her skin, both fair for a drow and dark for an elf, is the most obvious sign pointing towards a crossbreed heritage. Her features are bullish and hard, hands calloused, torso littered with scars and gashes. She stands at around 5’4’’ (yet tries her hardest to look taller), her stance relaxed and gait confident. She handles her lithe body and long limbs clumsily, as though a mockery of two proud races. Riselet, while not relishing in the prejudice she receives, makes very little effort to hide the conflicting nature of her appearance.

Riselet's ensemble has been scraped from the bottom of the bin, but somehow she makes it work. Pulls her hair back into a ponytail or braids and takes an inordinate amount of time styling it. Often found wrapped in a worn mauve scarf far too big for her and a button-down cloak that hides all sorts of surprises. Partial to leather andgarb that gives off the appearance of a weary wanderer—only to contrast it all with gold accessories aplenty. If one got a look under her cloak (oh, not like that), they'd discover an assortment of hidden belts and pouches filled to the brim with powders, poisons, and sewing apparatuses. To her side she carries two packs, the smaller one stuffed with cheap food and alcohol—much of it half-finished—and the other scraps of fabric, spare blades, crossbow bolts, a very rudimentary first-aid kit, small trophies from those she's robbed, miscellaneous pieces of jewelry she picked up at one point or another... She likes to consider herself well-stocked.

Personality

The definition of rough around the edges. Riselet means well (most of the time, anyway), but lacks both elven refinement and drow cruelty, making her a wonderfully despised anomaly. A living contradiction, Riselet is coarse, blunt, and short-fused, though can be intelligent, thoughtful, and compassionate. She takes herself incredibly seriously—to comedic heights, usually—but is earnest in her approach with others even if they’re wanting to kill her, which is often. Not one for conversation, she fumbles her way through small talk and awkwardly deflects personal questions with humor, a weapon that has thankfully defused plenty of would-be duels.

Touts her abilities as a fighter despite being rather weak, making up for it with sheer dexterity. Her eyes and mind are keen from a lifetime of experience, allowing her to size up any foe with relative ease—but bites off more than she can chew on account of pride. Riselet can be terribly childlike. She's stubborn, with volatile temper that is easily exacerbated by most anything, from alcohol to sheer adrenaline, and possesses an insatiable curiosity for things she finds novelty or strange. Because Riselet's worldview is somewhat restricted due to her upbringing, this includes, but is not limited to: drow, vampires, werewolves, dragons, magic, deserts, books, and the concept of disposable income. In her mind, anything and everything can become an adventure or discovery if you make it one.

Years of scavenging and stooping lower and lower and lower have turned her into a pragmatic, if pessimistic person. A fiery exterior envelopes, but does not burn out, a more solemn persona. Riselet is quick to blame herself when something goes wrong, her ego easily shattered into pieces. Riselet prides herself on her skills and experience in the open, though in reality she is incredibly hard on herself; the slightest misstep has her subconsciously berating herself, digging herself deeper. Riselet stresses her bravery and courage but is fear incarnate.

In spite of her half-drow lineage, Riselet isn't fond of shedding blood for the sake of it, even in light of both her class and her love for fighting itself (the latter bleeds into a sort of deep-set sadism she resents). She refuses to kill without reason and has a tendency to be unnecessarily merciful to a downed enemy. Perhaps she is trying further to estrange herself from her past. Or perhaps the amount of blood already on her hands makes her feel uncomfortable. Guilty, almost, as though her sins are clear as day.

She'd never admit any of this, of course.

History

Riselet never met her father. According to her mother, he was a surface drow, a mercenary who needed to blow off steam one night. Miss Fereine Eirvelhys, herself, was a seamstress from Sage but enjoyed the bustle of Cenril much more, calling it home after a few years’ stay. She dabbled in work that her kin balked at, and even in the seaside city of Cenril, a diffusion of cultures, working girls were no higher than dirt. A single night together was all; the drow soldier left as quickly as he came, only a handful of gold to prove that he was ever there. Convinced that she was infertile, Fereine hadn’t suspected that she would bear a gray elf until it was far too late.

Riselet was born in the height of summer, all long afternoons and chilly evenings. The city was beautiful this time of year, and Riselet, then innocent and naive, always cherished the view of the port from their cramped flat. She would spend her younger years skipping stones and playing games with other children until dusk. There was never quite enough to eat at home, so she got by with petty thievery and threatening the smaller, weaker boys who crumbled after a few mean words. This gradually turned into something bigger when she started running with a group; even now, she remembers them like family. The city’s small yet active underground was her entire life up until the day she finally bid farewell to Cenril. Those days, she still resembled an elf, if vaguely.

She was taught to cook, clean, and sew by her mother (sewing the only thing she remembered) but nonetheless saw a vast distance between them, one that was only reconciled when her hair was pulled or her body marred with bruises. This was in perfect concurrence with their diverging appearances. Fereine was pale and graceful, with shimmering blonde hair and sky-blue eyes; with each passing year, Riselet was less fair and more dark, her hair muddying, her eyes the bay at the dead of night.

The young halfling grew restless as she found that she was nothing like her mother, nothing like her cabal, nothing like the men that visited dear Fereine on dark, foggy nights. She began to question herself. (Surely she was not turning into a drow?) —It was not until she was called a “gray elf” for the first time that Riselet made the connection. Mother, always so infuriatingly collected, calmly spilled everything when asked about the phrase, almost surprised that her daughter hadn’t figured out her origin sooner. Turned bitter by the revelation, Riselet took to wandering off for longer stretches of time "on business"—absent for weeks doing who knows what, only to return with a small bag of gold before departing again. Her mother quietly accepted the offerings, did not scold her, did not bother to ask where the money came from. Riselet could not answer if she was ever asked. Suffice to say, both her blade and fellow rogues were sated.

Every so often, Riselet would let her mother braid her hair, who complimented how thin and silky it was, just like her’s, though they both knew otherwise: “What wonderful hair, Riselet! You’re such a pretty, pretty girl. So dainty, so fragile. Sometimes I’m afraid you might break, dear."

In spite of what her mother said she wanted, and what she herself wanted, Riselet could see with each summer that she was straying from the safety of the docks, the small gang she ran with, their home, their life. She realized soon enough that her mother carried her like stigmata, that her off-hands approach to rearing her was a way to have her wander off and never return. Surely the shame of having a gray elf daughter—an illegitimate one, at that—could take its toll on anyone, sooner or later.

So she left for good. Fereine looked to be saddened at her final departure, though did not call out for her daughter once she stepped out the door. Even now, Riselet wonders: was she just glad to be rid of her, this thing she had never asked for? Or did mother simply think she’d come back like every other time?

It was midnight. The air bit at her skin, salty winds bitter like pinpricks. She silently walked past the docks, entering a new world. A harsher world, but a world she would weather.

Current State of Affairs

• Departed for greener pastures, starting with the Sage Forest. Outside of Cenril—her element—for the first time, Riselet is slowly adjusting to life in Kelay Sage amidst odd stares from the locals.

About the Player

Hi! I'm very new to the world of Hollow and MUDs in general, but I love to roleplay. I'm thrilled to be a part of such a close-knit community and I can't wait to see this game has to offer. I can be very reticent on occasion, but please don't let that deter you from approaching me—I'm really, truly excited to get to know all of you and your wonderful characters. Hit me up for an RP anytime! It's easiest to contact me through Tells or Hmail, but if we've talked I certainly don't mind giving you my Skype.

I draw sometimes, so if you'd like for me to draw your character(s) I'm more than welcome to oblige! I heartily accept donations in any way, shape, or form. ;^)

Shout out to my main drow Lyros for introducing me to Hollow! <3 I can't wait to see where our two little grumps go.