Newly minted Warden of the west, she is brash, contentious and brave to a fault. These same traits that made her scorned by the knights of Gorundia, made her valued to the party. Married to Orrin Kharne, the Bloody-Handed.
- Age
- 27
- Date of Birth
- 02 Needfest, 1203
- Gender
- FUCK YOU
- Eyes
- Piercing blue but hooded.
- Hair
- Long black wavy, somewhat greasy hair.
- Skin Tone/Pigmentation
- Pale.
- Height
- 5'5"
- Weight
- 160 lbs
In the bustling realm of knights and chivalry, there strides a figure whose presence is as unsettling as it is formidable. Known far and wide as Braga the Bitch, she is a knight whose reputation precedes her, not for her prowess in battle, but for her sharp tongue and venomous demeanor.
Braga, with her steely gaze and unwavering scowl, is as unpleasant as a winter storm, her words cutting like icy winds. Her armor, once gleaming with the promise of valor, now bears the scars of countless conflicts, each dent and scratch a testament to her ferocity in combat and her disdain for her adversaries.
Behind her hardened exterior lies a tale of bitterness and betrayal. Once a squire filled with dreams of honor and glory, Braga's ambitions were shattered by the treachery of those she once called comrades. Betrayed and cast aside, she vowed to carve her own path to greatness, fueled by a burning resentment that hardened her heart like tempered steel.
The tournament, with its promises of accolades and renown, beckons to Braga like a siren's call. It is not the glory of victory that she seeks, nor the adulation of the crowd, but the chance to prove her detractors wrong. In the crucible of combat, she sees an opportunity to silence the whispers of doubt that haunt her every step and to reclaim the honor that was stolen from her.
With her sword held high and her resolve unyielding, Braga the Bitch strides into the tournament grounds, a tempest of fury and defiance. For her, the tournament is not merely a battlefield; it is a battleground upon which she will wage war against her own demons and emerge victorious, or die trying.
Braga, with her steely gaze and unwavering scowl, is as unpleasant as a winter storm, her words cutting like icy winds. Her armor, once gleaming with the promise of valor, now bears the scars of countless conflicts, each dent and scratch a testament to her ferocity in combat and her disdain for her adversaries.
Behind her hardened exterior lies a tale of bitterness and betrayal. Once a squire filled with dreams of honor and glory, Braga's ambitions were shattered by the treachery of those she once called comrades. Betrayed and cast aside, she vowed to carve her own path to greatness, fueled by a burning resentment that hardened her heart like tempered steel.
The tournament, with its promises of accolades and renown, beckons to Braga like a siren's call. It is not the glory of victory that she seeks, nor the adulation of the crowd, but the chance to prove her detractors wrong. In the crucible of combat, she sees an opportunity to silence the whispers of doubt that haunt her every step and to reclaim the honor that was stolen from her.
With her sword held high and her resolve unyielding, Braga the Bitch strides into the tournament grounds, a tempest of fury and defiance. For her, the tournament is not merely a battlefield; it is a battleground upon which she will wage war against her own demons and emerge victorious, or die trying.
"Dame Braga, Warden of the West—she’s wearing a title that weighs heavier than her armor, and I’d wager she feels it every damn day. Plenty of nobles and knights still whisper about ‘Braga the Bitch,’ like she’s still that poor knight-errant scraping by on tournament winnings and fixing peasants’ problems. But they’re blind to what’s in front of them. She’s got the heart and strength to outmatch them all, if she can just see it in herself.
"Her marriage to Orin? Now there’s something worth admiring. Two people carrying more than their fair share of scars, but somehow they make each other stronger. She’s overwhelmed, sure, but give her time. Braga’s got more potential than half the so-called heroes in the realm, and anyone who underestimates her is a fool. She’s not just a knight anymore—she’s the Warden, and if the West has any sense, they’ll start realizing what they’ve got."
- Sorek Redmarch
Appearance
Physical Description
Stocky, fit, she's built like a hardworking peasant girl.
Body Features
Curvy but short, noticably muscular for the attentive, but can appear 'chunky' or 'fat'. Long, nearly uncontrolble black hair.
Facial Features
Round face, button nose, sleepy blue eyes.
Apparel & Accessories
Prefers road-friendly and sturdy clothes to anything 'fancy'. Likewise is adjusting to having new armor.
Social
Birthplace
Gorundia
Honorary & Occupational Titles
Dame-Errant of Gorundia, Marshal of the West.
Religious Views
As her Aunt and Uncle are prominent members of the Church of Heironeous, she is very devout, but in a practical sense. Her husbands utter lack of faith is wearing on her.
Social Aptitude
Unused to her opinion mattering, and having been scorned by her peers and her 'betters' for the last ten years, she struggles with the more diplomatic parts of her new role. She is fully aware of proper etiquette and protocal, but struggles with it. She does not lack self confidence however, and thus far, has been able to 'power through' any social instance.
Mannerisms
When nervous, she smokes or chews a cigar. She has a habit of pacing, and staring down at the floor when concentrating on a problem, but she always remains aware of her surroundings.
Hobbies & Pets
Her current favorite and best horse is "The Biscuit of Destiny"
Speech
Her voice is husky enough to pull a sled, and her laugh is infrequent, but loud and boisterous. She's prone to swearing like a cowherd, and when overly angry will sputter and spit.