Gwenndylon Faye
"That's Faye to you. I ain't no Galdor with my head up me ass."
Race: Wick
Birthday: 07.07.2693
Age: 27
FC: Rashed AlAkroka
Birthday: 07.07.2693
Age: 27
FC: Rashed AlAkroka
Place of Origin: Florne
Current Location: Old Rose Harbor
Occupation: Smuggler | Career gambler
Player Name: Crack_n_Tea
Current Location: Old Rose Harbor
Occupation: Smuggler | Career gambler
Player Name: Crack_n_Tea
Physical Description
"Watcha lookin' at, cat got your tongue~?"
On any given day, if one knew to look in the right places, you could probably see Faye sauntering down the streets of Old Rose Harbor, the characteristic ‘tap, tap’ of her sharp boots audible from miles away.
Bearing no love for the elaborate dresses and gowns favored by the Galdori, Faye’s style revolves around trousers of all kinds, whether it’s straight, form-fitting, or a loose, flowing cut better described as a bloomer. The style is complemented by an abundance of blazers in the men’s fashion, offering an ease of movement that’s much more agreeable for her line of work.
Born with a matching head of jet black hair and eyes dark as a starless night; set against a porcelain visage, the unusual mixtures of Faye’s heritage is reflected from her appearance. Standing proudly at a distinguished (or not, but she can dream) 5’5, she is of medium height amongst her fellow Wicks.
Her occupation has given her a lean but muscular build, though her naturally pale skin hasn’t managed to tan over the years—something that used to bother a younger version of herself—but no more, for she’d long moved past it. She walks with what has been described as a sort of feline-like grace, tinged with a sense of carefree ferity by her gait that’s reminiscent of a predator’s prowl.
Bearing no love for the elaborate dresses and gowns favored by the Galdori, Faye’s style revolves around trousers of all kinds, whether it’s straight, form-fitting, or a loose, flowing cut better described as a bloomer. The style is complemented by an abundance of blazers in the men’s fashion, offering an ease of movement that’s much more agreeable for her line of work.
Born with a matching head of jet black hair and eyes dark as a starless night; set against a porcelain visage, the unusual mixtures of Faye’s heritage is reflected from her appearance. Standing proudly at a distinguished (or not, but she can dream) 5’5, she is of medium height amongst her fellow Wicks.
Her occupation has given her a lean but muscular build, though her naturally pale skin hasn’t managed to tan over the years—something that used to bother a younger version of herself—but no more, for she’d long moved past it. She walks with what has been described as a sort of feline-like grace, tinged with a sense of carefree ferity by her gait that’s reminiscent of a predator’s prowl.
Personality
"Tis' a harsh world out there. It'd be a shame for it to also be boring."
Hotheaded by birth and attuned by her circumstances, this is a woman who's never managed to put a filter on her mouth, nor found a need for one.
Bright, brash, bold—And just a bit crazy.
That was how Faye operated. Walking through life with a certain swagger that’s best voiced as because I can, she traverses through the world with a sort of carefree playfulness. Everything is a potential source of stimulation and entertainment, and nothing is considered too sacred to screw with.
Coupled with her almost insatiable curiosity, this makes for a very refreshing (Faye’s words) combination that, incidentally, often lands her in trouble. Owing to this fact, the witch has gained over the years an uncanny ability to charm her way out of sticky situations. (that and the skill to look gracefully knocked out on the floor, though she doesn’t mention this part as much.)
Ups and Downs
The Good
♦ A naturally quick thinker and smooth talker, she knows how to be charming when the need arises (given her quick tongue the need also arises very often, but we don't talk about that)
♦ Bold. Isn't afraid to hide her wants or preferences, and is extremely straightforward as a result, which is refreshing to some and a turn off for others. [/list]
♦ A very good gambler, and for some reason this skill increases with her level of drunkenness. The more alcohol, the better luck she seems to have.
♦ Blessed with a natural affinity for the Mona, Faye’s relationship with them has always been extremely intuitive. She openly expresses to them her ambition and desires, and in return, they’ve answered her calling.
♦ Protects her own. Somewhere behind that cocky exterior of the woman lies a fiercely loyal heart, one which won’t hesitate to spill blood in order to preserve those she’s claimed as her own.
The Bad
♦ Did I mention sharp tongue? This woman is extremely straightforward and will not dress her words. While this has more to do with her naturally teasing nature and less about being actually mean, it's also gotten her in a good bit of trouble over the years.
♦ Does not suffer fools gladly. Can appear condescending to those she doesn't care about.
♦ Nasty drunk. Becomes even more talkative than she usually is, and her words somehow bite harder, too.
♦ To bystanders, she can come off as selfish and self-serving. For Faye, there’s always been this extremely pertinent divide between them and us. Her care is reserved for those of her own, and the rest can eat a rat’s ass.
♦ Cannot stand boredom. She actively seeks things to do, avoiding it like the plague. Even amongst the free-flowing spirits of the Yellow Eye, which gave ample room for her shenanigans, it’s commonly agreed that when Faye gets restless, it tends to get messy—and not in the nice way.
♦ Has a somewhat reverse discriminatory attitude towards the Galdori, more out of spite than anything (though she will forget this with the right price).
Backstory
A cheap gambling den; Flornes
“N-NO! Impossible…. I raise, I RAISE!!!”
The woman stared, wildeyed, at the cards before her. Her hair was an untamed forest, whipping wildly behind her as she muttered to herself aimlessly, reassuring herself of her immediate victory. In truth, this would be but another addition to her numerous losses at the table tonight. If anything, Antonella was in for a rude awakening.
“Your loss. Again. Passive.” Her opponent sneered, reaching a large, grubby hand over the table for his earnings. Unfortunately for him, Antonella was more than run dry, her wallet as empty as a barren woman’s womb past her prime. She had nothing left to offer, except….. “Take her. She’s a good hand around the house. Already knows how to work the Almanac. Gwenndylon, show them!” The incapitated gambler pushed a scrawny girl forward, her wide, dark eyes looking curiously towards a figure in the back of the room.
Clasped from head-to-toe in full black, the stranger moved towards the spectacle rapidly developing in the center of the rundown chamber. Stopping before the hodgepodge trio, she extended a delicate finger, pointing towards the young girl.
“I will gamble for her on your behalf. If I win, she will leave with me. If I lose, I will pay double the amount you owe this fine…. gentleman.” The mysterious stranger’s lips curled at the description of the man, turning to face him. Eyeing the pistol clasped at her side, he gave a gruff grunt, accepting the bargain. And so, another round of gambling began….
At the end of the night, the little girl left with the peculiar woman. She called herself: Maddi.
An untold number of years later.....
A not-so-cheap gambling den; Old Rose Harbor
“YOU BITCH. Ain’t der’ no way you won against me hand. It’s one of you filthy wick tricks ain’t it?”
The exceedingly large man slammed his fist on the table, the ruckus (and the promise of trouble) luring heads away from the game as curious eyes began to gather towards the scene. A raven-haired woman was seated across from him, body remaining elegantly rooted to her chair as if nothing had occurred.
“A trick?” Gwenndylon Faye stared at the galdor in amusement, tilting a glass of crimson liquor in her hand. “Unless you have a way to back up your claims, I’m afraid Lady Luck simply wasn’t on your side tonight. But fret not. It’s only four birds, nothing you can’t win back in a round, unless that’s too much for you?”
The witch eyed her opponent slyly, watching as his face that was already flushed with an ungodly amount of alcohol somehow grew even darker, ruffled by her underhanded prodding. She could tell he was tempted, but while the fish was on the hook, it needed another nudge. Sighing dramatically, she leaned back in her chair and gave the glass of wine in her hand a deep swig. As if spurred on by the alcohol, Faye splayed her generous pile of chips (previously stacked into several neat rows) down on the table with a push—a wordless taunt.
“Tell you what. I’ll go all in. Can’t a woman get some quality gambling round here? Or are you just too p—”
She was cut short as the galdor angrily flung a chip in her direction. Dodging it with a tilt of her head, Faye grinned like a cat who’d just caught a very large rat as the galdor shouted (rather loudly) for another round. Score. She wasn’t kidding when she said four birds was only a small sum…. There’s so much more potential for destruction tonight.
“Excellent. A gentleman like you wouldn’t refuse a woman’s request for another drink, would you?” Tapping her finger on their table by way of signifying to the dealer to start another game, she smoothly pushed an exquisite bottle of fine wine (the letters produced in Florn were proudly printed on the front) towards him, pouring herself another glass as well.
“Yer think she could take the golly?”
“Clocking hell! By the hour she can! Osbourne’s a damn good hand.”
Drawn to the scene as sharks to blood, other gamblers had begun to crowd around the duo, eager for the ruination of yet another soul tonight as the two sealed the terms of their gamble with a glass of bloodred liquor—all in or nothing.
The game itself was simple, an age-old favorite that your common three-year-old could play. Blackjack. No strategy (unless one counts the use of mathematica, voided in this scenario because there is only one round), no skill, no frilly face reading or technique whatsoever. Only good, old fashioned luck.
“Hit or fold?”
“Hit!” “Fold!”
The smugness in the galdor’s (or as others called him, Mr. Osbourne) voice was palpable, almost thick enough as to be tangible. He had folded without requiring a single additional card, indication of his good hand.
Faye ‘hit’ thrice more, voice growing steadily unconfident, shakier each time. “F-fold.” As if her breath had been sucked away from her, she slumped downwards onto the table. The crowd edged in closer….
“YOU FOOL!” Without waiting for her to reveal her cards, the man flipped over his cards, triumphantly bellowing in the wick’s direction. Two tens. Impossible to beat unless she had a blackjack, which was nigh impossible when she had needed to hit three more tim—“Blackjack.”
Almost as if in slow motion, the witch flipped over her cards, one by one.
2
6
9
3
A
21. Blackjack.
The crowd roared, drowning out her laughter that grew more jagged with each inhale. Gwenndylon Faye hadn't been hanging her head lowly because she was afraid to lose. She was doing so to hide the wicked grin that could not be shoved off her face.
Ah, there’s simply nothing like gambling…
Many years later, she'll think back to this memorable night. What happened after was a mere blur, but she could vividly remember the expression on the galdor’s face as she revealed her last card; the abject surprise, the genuine horror, the raw anger, the tinged desperation. Her first foray into high stakes underground gambling at the age of, would you have guessed, 21.
Excuse me—I may be getting ahead of myself. You may ask, how did we get to this point? Let’s rewind the clock, back to that dark, stormy night so many untold winters ago.
The story is simple, really, starting with the birth of one Antonella Giordano, born to the expectant faces of two aspiring Galdors who were ready to raise a first-born that will carry on the family name. Alas…. Having gone through a great series of trials in order to prime their beloved child for a prestigious magical life, imagine the disappointment they felt when, at the tender age of five, Antonella was detected to have no magic flowing in her veins whatsoever.
She has no field, and will never produce a spell no matter how fluent the Monite she speaks. Devastated and viewing her as a blot on the family name, the couple threw their young child out of their home, leaving her to the wolves. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) for Antonella, she was adopted by a passing group of Wicks who will raise her as their own, having taken pity on the abandoned child. In being so young, she bears no recollection of the fact that she was a Galdor at all, instead being raised to think that she’s Parse, a small mercy. However, while the mind may forget, the body never does.
Maybe it was an instinctual desire to take back what she’d lost, or maybe it was just the cruel machinations of fate, but whatever the reason, Antonella will fall in love with a Galdor man, and, in time, produce her own child. Of course, no respectable Galdor wants a bastard, a daughter to boot, and to round out the package, produced by a Parse. Antonella, in her desperate attempt to awaken whatever fatherly love the Galdor should’ve borne, named their child after his family name—the name she should’ve rightfully taken on.
Gwenndylon Faye.
Not that it worked.
Because it didn’t.
Having become heart-broken and utterly destitute, Antonella turned towards alcohol and the dice to numb her pain—a deadly combination. Which was how we arrived at the scene, seven years later, that would lead to her gambling off her own daughter.
In a strange twist of fate, getting gambled off for the price of a bottle of cheap beer—by her own mother to boot—was the best damned thing that ever happened to Faye. Freed from a Passive mother who was half-broken by love and unshackled by, to Faye, her burdensome Galdori heritage, life with Maddi was everything her family was not.
In the two decades since she was led away from her birthplace of Florne and across the continent to Old Rose Harbor, Anaxas, a lot has changed.
For the first time in her young life, only seven at the time, she was truly amongst people she could call her own. A “merchant” who was based in Old Rose Harbor, Maddi offered to Faye her tutelage, guidance, and—in time—love. A trader by day and smuggler by night, the enigma of a woman took the young wick under her wing, allowing her to mingle with those of her own: The Yellow Eye.
True to their wick spirit, Faye’s tribesmen were more than accepting of her wild nature, moreover fostering it during her time of youth. It is here that she will gain access to the Yellow Eye’s version of the Spokes’ Almanac, learning both magic and tricks. After all, power is power, and Faye doesn’t discriminate.
Driven by her natural wanderlust and innate desire to be entertained, she took great pleasure in travelling between the realms during her younger years, always on the road, always looking for something new, something she hasn’t yet seen. Maddi’s work made that an easy convenience, as she peddled her less-than-legal wares across the nations.
Yet, as the young witch grew, she increasingly found that the carefree exhilaration of youth, previously so readily available to her, was now gone. Unlike her fellow wick peers who were content spending their days in idle nothingness, she wanted more. As Faye’s ambition took root around the time she reached primacy, she became increasingly shackled to Old Rose Harbor in both spirit and body.
And thus, having been cut off from her old source of stimulation, she’d begun frequenting a new type of establishment: gambling dens.
A born dare-devil who does what she wants, when she wants, this new pastime suited her quite well. The thrill of winning against all odds as the crowds jeer and boo in the stands, waiting for your demise that never comes—to Faye, it was intoxicating. Moreover, there was no better school that taught one how to read faces than a gambling house (the only reason why Maddi turned a blind-eye). No matter your status or position in life, galdor or passive, human or wick, the dice treated everybody equally (or not, in Faye’s case. Mr. Osbourne wasn’t wrong about her use of tricks, but who’s she going to tell?)
It was here that she found her crowd and, to Faye, her true calling. She didn’t just want to come out on top. No, she wanted to do so in the spotlight, where she could openly stare down at those who thought her lesser just because of what she was, not who she was.
Wick.
Disrespectful lowlifes.
So what if yer have magic? It’ll never measure up to what the Galdori have.
Though Maddi’s influence in the city warded off most of the unsavory attacks against her background, the dark belly of Old Rose Harbor was not as kind. Since her youth, Faye’s noticed that whenever she goes out with her Wick peers, they’re always viewed a certain way no matter their conduct or dress. Taken for thieves, belittled by “respectable” society at every turn, and treated as if they were lesser.
It infuriated her, in turn souring her view of the Galdori in general. To Faye, what they have with the Mona is but a twisted, unnatural form of communication they can only call conversation, as if it was a dreary formal affair one was acquired to attend. So how dare they look down on her—moreover, on her people?
This is the seed for Faye’s ambition, and it’s with this spite in her heart that she labors day and night, trading her beloved travels for one city that, no matter how grand or bustling with life, always felt too small. And until her dreams are realized and she can stand at the top of this harbor that’s riddled with crime, yet teeming with life, Faye will not stop.
Aptitude Skills
Mental
Average
Average
Physical
Average
Average
Social
Good
Good
Focus Skills
Career and Income
Housing and Inventory
Goals
With power comes release. And with release comes freedom.
