Rowanis Crighton, ghost
Jan 9, 2014 21:22:48 GMT -5
Post by Harbor on Jan 9, 2014 21:22:48 GMT -5
Full Name: Rowanis Imiah Crighton
Nickname: Rowah
Race: human, ghost
Side: neutral
Birthplace: Teirm
Age: Was twenty-six when she died, about forty years ago
Gender: female
Birthday: Early summer
Eyes: dark green
Hair: mild red, paler highlights, always seen styled, as it was curled up when she died.
Weight: 140 pounds
Height: 5’ 9”
Magic User: Not born with magic, but in the last forty years she’s learned a few ways to either make her presence known or to entertain herself. For the most part she can restrain herself from ‘teasing’ people, but where she really loses her head is with the temptation to pick on people she thinks deserve it. She’s never caused genuine harm, but sleepless nights, misplaced possessions and stains that won’t go away are typically her fault.
Preferred Weapon(s): Sneaking without trying. The small harassments that stress people out far more than genuine problems do, but of course only to those who deserve it.
Appearance: A fully skirted crimson gown, made of thick, winter brocade, with a cream undergown, and a deep pink wrap to drape around her shoulders. The lacy white shoes she was wearing just before leaving for the solstice ball she’s still wearing, and since she doesn’t sense discomfort anymore she can wear them as long as she wants. Her hair is still as freshly lifted and curled as it was when she died, and she often carries her sewing with her because it was in her lap when she passed.
Personality: Rowanis was the perfect lady when she was still living, and aspects of that poise remain today, in particular when she’s trying to show somebody up or convince them to better themselves, but beyond that she’s become a bit of an old lady: nobody ever sees her misbehave, so when she’s bored she’ll shift every object on someone’s mantle a centimeter to the right, hang a husband’s trousers on the coat rack and fold his coats up in the drawer, or cut the cook’s potatoes in the shapes of hearts and stars. She is also just as content to spend a number of days or weeks sitting in one cushy armchair and working on her stitching, which improves while she’s paying attention to it, but unravels back to its original state the moment she looks away.
--->Likes: Sewing, fancy fabrics, music, watching children, harmlessly teasing people, taking petty retributions on mean or rude people
--->Dislikes: mean and rude people, not being able to make her exact sentiments known, hardly anybody being able to see her, when she knows something that a living person needs to know and she can’t find a way to tell them, frightening honest people
--->Strengths: teasing, pettiness where it’s deserved, occasional bouts of patience, sewing (which unfortunately never lasts), making small and helpful gestures to people in need
--->Weakness: the ache of knowing that she’s always wanted children and will never have any; the rare melancholy that slips in, knowing she’s dead and will never change, never have any of the things she had always wanted, and that causes her to disappear for months at a time
Family: Rowanis’s sister is an old woman now, with children and grandchildren of her own—Rowanis visits them as often as she can without making her miserable
History: Rowanis was born a triplet, the smallest of which died within the week, and the effort of carrying and birthing the three of them nearly killed their mother, who never had another child after the first ones. Rowanis and her sister spent their entire lives competing with each other, with the sugared sneer of genuine love hidden by the ensuing need to establish a hierarchy between themselves. Rowanis matured into her face and body first, but her sister excelled in musical instruments in a way that Rowanis could never match. Her sister was the first to receive offers of marriage, but Rowanis was the first one betrothed. Rowanis’s marriage was scheduled first, but when Rowanis died her sister was the only one to marry. Her sister was the one to find her slumped in the armchair by the fire, a thin ribbon of blood nearly dried on her upper lip, her sewing still gently in hand. They had been about to leave for the winter solstice ball, but Rowanis’s aneurism halted the entire family’s social life for the next six months.
Rowanis found herself as powerless as a cloud for the next several years. With extreme concentration she could move herself, follow her family around and quietly beg them to hear her, but it wasn’t until close to a decade later that she was able to influence the world of the living again, since it was no longer a world that belonged to her. In occasion she saw other ghosts, but as a habit, those who remain after their deaths are too concerned with the living to bother socializing much with the other dead.
Rowanis doesn’t know entirely why she’s stuck around so long. Most of her family is dead, though she visits her sister and her sister’s children and grandchildren as often as she can, but except for never having the life that she’d wanted she didn’t know what she could have left undone. She was no different than many others who died younger than they had expected to, and they hadn’t stayed drifting through the world they no longer belonged in. But she doesn’t know why she’s stayed, and she doesn’t know how to leave.
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