★ First Name: Scyra ★ Middle Name: Jade ★ Age: 18 ★ Gender: Female ★ Pronouns: She/her ★ Sexuality: Straight ★ Home island: Meditere ★ Race: ? Father was/is Egyptian and mother was Greek ★ Role/Status: Commoner ★ Appearance: Below ↓ ★ Personality: - Positive: Resourceful – She can adapt to nearly any situation with what's at hand, from surviving in the wild to improvising in a fight. Loyal (once trust is earned) – If you manage to crack her walls, she’s unshakably loyal, even if she’ll never admit it aloud. Observant – She picks up on things most people miss—expressions, patterns, lies. It’s almost unnerving. Independent – She doesn’t need to be told what to do or how to survive. She thrives on her own terms. Brave – She doesn’t hesitate when danger shows its teeth. Even when afraid, she pushes forward. - Negative:Aloof – She keeps others at arm’s length, even when it hurts her to do so. Stubborn – Once her mind is made up, good luck changing it—even when she’s wrong. Distrustful – Years of betrayal or loss have made trust a currency she doesn’t spend easily. Overly Self-reliant – She refuses help even when she needs it, sometimes to her own detriment. Reckless (when emotional) – Usually controlled, but when buttons are pushed or someone she cares for is threatened, she can act without thinking. - Neutral: Quiet – Not shy, just doesn’t speak unless it’s worth saying. Silence is a choice. Nomadic – She never stays in one place long—not because she’s running, but because she’s wired to move. Curious (in private) – She has a deep hunger to understand the world, magic, history—but she rarely lets it show. ★ Fatal Flaw: She pushes people away even when she needs them most. She’s so convinced that relying on others is weakness—that connection leads to loss or betrayal—that she isolates herself in critical momentsEven when help is freely offered, even when her life (or someone else’s) is on the line, her instinct is to shoulder it alone. It’s not pride exactly—it’s fear disguised as independence. She thinks she’s protecting herself and others, but in reality, she’s shutting the door right when she should be opening it. This flaw can (and likely will) cost her dearly: allies, opportunities, maybe even love or redemption. ★ Family: Mother – Deceased Once a fierce huntress, her mother raised her off the grid, teaching her to track, fight, and survive. Their bond was strong—too strong. When her mother died protecting her, it shattered her world. That loss became the root of her isolation. Deep down, she blames herself and vowed never to need someone like that again. Father – Unknown or Absent She doesn’t know who he is—or if she does, she never talks about him. He might’ve left before she was born, or been some wandering warrior or outlaw her mother refused to name. Maybe there are rumors, but she doesn’t chase them. Maybe he’s still alive, and that’ll come back to bite her later... Siblings – None An only child. Her mother was her entire world. Now, it's just her and the silence ★ non romantic relationships [enemy, friends, etc]: None ★ romantic relationships [crush, partner, etc]: None but is open ★ Birthday: December 31st ★ Likes: Swimming, hunting, reading ★ Dislikes: Falling for someone, betrayal ★Talents/Skills: Hunting, stealth ★ Codeword: She has a crystal necklace that her mother gave her
★ Appearance: She stands at just under 5'7", with the lean, wiry build of someone who’s spent more time on the move than in comfort. Her movements are quiet, deliberate—like a shadow that chooses when to be seen. Her skin is a warm olive tone, sun-brushed and wind-bitten, with the occasional faint scar along her forearms and collarbone, souvenirs from battles no one else knows about. Her face is striking, not in the way of royalty, but in the way of wild things—unpolished and untamed. High cheekbones frame sharp, observant eyes the color of storm clouds—gray with flickers of silver that catch the light like a wolf’s gaze. There’s an intensity in them, a constant calculation, as if she’s always mapping escape routes or weighing trust in ounces. Her hair is thick, dark, and long—falling past her shoulders in messy layers that she occasionally braids back for practicality. Bits of dried herbs or feathers sometimes show up in the strands, more out of habit than style. Her lips are often set in a neutral line, not unfriendly—just unreadable. She wears a patchwork of gear made for function: a dark, hooded cloak weathered from the road, leather bracers etched with simple sigils, and boots scuffed from a hundred miles. A curved dagger hangs at her hip, always within reach. Under her cloak, a simple tunic and dark trousers make her blend easily into forest or shadow. There’s a wild, feral grace to her—like a creature who’s learned to live by her own rules, and trusts few outside her own instincts. But in rare moments, when she lets her guard slip, there’s a glimpse of softness beneath the armor—an old sorrow, or maybe a piece of hope she’s kept hidden all this time.
