A New Generation
Short spunky angry
Standing at 5’2" and weighing in at 111 soaking wet Sorcha finds herself on the wrong side of criticism more often than it snows (and it snows where shes from a lot!) She has short cropped black hair that hangs to the side of her face (see character portrait for reference). Her skin is pale like the snowy lands she is from, and her eyes are blue like the glacial formations she crawled as a child. Her nails are chewed almost down to the bone from stress/anxiety/anger.
She wears a simple black vest, black leather pants, with furs around her waist. Thick worn boots. A small assortment of jewelry adorns her left hand and wrist, in-bedded with sapphires, with a complimentary necklace. On her back is a long/ over-sized sword wrapped in furs, even up to the hilt. Not seemingly ready for use.
On her right hand is a gauntlet of furs/metal/tusks.
Growing up in the Frozen Wastes, Sorcha
like all her people grew up as only a person living in the tundra frontier can, hardy and tough. Iron-blooded, her people were dubbed, so called because legends said that their founding mother, Amiri, drank molten iron to warm herself in the coldest winters. Whether the legends were true or not, her people seemed to have a strange ability to last the cold like no other, wearing less than most who tried to brave the deadly lands. And as Sorcha could testify through trial and error, their bones were harder than most, “harder to break than a iron bar” they were. Born second to her line, she was not destined to rule the clan. Rightfully so too, she didn’t want to take her sisters place. (Though she had earned the title"Ice Queen" when she got into a bucket of Woad paint as a child, staining her body a fading blue for several weeks.) Cinder could rule their people, leaving Sorcha to keep her time with getting in trouble and challenging anything that dared stand in her way. That was until Cinder met her end at the hands, or rather tusks, of a terrified tundra boar. It had been charging towards Sorcha, who stood in shock terror as it had surprised her while drying off from bathing. It was her most vivid memory…She stood naked beside the hot-spring. Using a spare wolf fur to dry off. She was used to being alone, a free spirit who loved to explore. When she heard the grunting of a hungry boar she spun, met with the low gaze of the tusked beast. Learning the dangers of the tundra was the first lessons their people learned at a very young age. Images of her uncle Iken’s deep gashing scar on his side came to her mind, his stories of narrowly surviving a boar goring. When it noticed her it squealed, stomping its hoof. She backed away, hoping to part ways without incident. She heard Cinder call her name, causing her to jerk her head in that direction. She could see Cinder come up over the rise just as the boar took to charge. Her sisters quick reflexes and thinking were the only reason she was able to shove Sorcha back into the spring. As she sank into the burning pool, she could see the water begin to be infected by a vibrant red liquid.
Her sister’s duties became her’s. Her inheritance, her power. The sword, passed down from Amiri herself, was hers. She didn’t want any of it. It was all stained with her sisters blood.