Alatiel - The Flower | Tale of Banners Roleplaying Community Forum

Alatiel - The Flower


New Member
Jan 16, 2021

- Alatiel -
A girl of two worlds

Full Name: Alatiel, she has no surname to call her own.
Nickname(s): Little Flower, halfling
Sex: Female
Age: 18

Orientation: Unsure
Nationality: Oserian-Northwoman

Physical Description
A lithe, fair maid, standing at an unimpressive 5'0" tall. Her hair reaches her waist, a tumbling mess of thick ginger tresses. Her eyes were large and round, hosting the softest azure orbs in their sockets. She is small, petite, and as her peers would say, she is the perfect example of weak. Simply put, she was not built to raise a blade on the battlefield. She doesn't weigh any more than one large sack of flour. (around 90lbs)

Flowers, baking, horses, sunshine, making new friends, dancing, singing, sewing, embroidery, herbs, cooking, rabbits, sweet berries, music, healing
War, drunks, loud noises, spiders, monsters, arrogance, evil-doers, her father

Backstory (told from her POV)

I don't have much of a tale to tell... I'm not as interesting as others you may be reading about. I was born in Averlash to a Northern wench and an Oserian trader looking for a warm woman in such a cold place. It was not a loving exchange, from what I understand now. She was nothing but a whore to him, a quick lay only to leave the next morning. My mother did not talk about it much to me. She didn't sugarcoat it either, though. He was married, he had another family to return to, a family of pure-blooded Oserians who would inherit his wealth whenever he would perish. I would get nothing. I was stuck in the cold north with a mother who drank her sorrows away while he took no responsibility for what he had done to us.

When I was young, I often wandered into the forest while my mother was asleep or too busy to care for me. I picked the cold-weather flowers and poked rocks around with dull sticks. I was adventurous, and I loved discovering new plants and whatever critter I could get my hands on and bring home to my mother, only for her to tell me to "throw it outside."

I didn't understand my mother's pain when I was young. She had a child that shouldn't have existed, if not for that trader. I was a mistake, a mistake that could destroy a family and a woman's psyche. Despite that ever looming feeling, I kept my head up, smiling at my most vulnerable moments, blinking back tears and saving them for when I was alone.

My mother passed away when I was fourteen. She had drank herself to death. The tavern keeper was kind enough to let me stay and work there, picking up what my mother left me. It's been four years now. I don't hate it, but, I think to myself: there has to be something more for me out there.