Sophia Nider

Character Name: Sophia Nider, “Willow,” “The Smiling Princess.”

Age: 21

Sex: Female.

Race: Human.

Class: Mage.

Specializations:

Sophia’s magic is her heartbeat, as intrinsic to her as her own blood. It is only fitting, then, that Blood Magic be her forte.

Appearance:

“Yeh shee ‘er? You do shee ‘er, righ’? Naw, naw, no’ the wench wi’ the shackcloth on ‘er heid, be’ind ‘er, the blind one sittin’ on the porch o’er there wi’ ‘er inshtrumen’ on ‘er lap: use yer ears ‘s well ‘s yer eyesh, idjit! There yeh go… heh, heh, Ah shaw yer eyes goin’ wide noble-boy. Can’ shtop starin’, can yeh? Ah bet Ah could guess ‘xactly wha’ you’d like tae do tae her… Ah’ve gotten pretty good at it. Maker knows yer no’ the only boy whose made those eyes at ‘er. But don’ go gettin’ any ideas. She’s no’ tha kind of saleswoman. Bu’ she will sell yeh shomething yeh wan’, cross mah ‘eart. At a reasonable price too.

Shee, she plays tha’ piana-thing, any song you care to name. She’ll take yeh to another world, flyin’ on the wings o’ those notes: Solemn oath she will. Shee mah mouldy ol’ socket? Damn made it cry just as if the eye was still in it, what she played was tha’ beautiful. ‘Course you gotta pay, bu’ don’t gi’ ‘er money, no, no. Tha’s worth nothin’ to ‘er. Gotta gi’ her wha’ she wants. ‘S easy, don’ worry. Jus’ have t’ tell ‘er a story. Be’er the story, be’er your shong. Makes ‘er happy if its one she ain’t heard afore, so be’er make it one o’ yer own, sommat oot o’ yer past, jus’ tae be on the safe side. She’ll like yeh e’en more if it’s true. Oh, yer goin’ o’or tae ‘er? Good, shee? I knew yeh were a shmart lad.

‘Er name? Why dae yeh wanna…? Oh, fine. Lad, we all wanna know tha’. Bu’ she won’ tell. She jus’ smiles tha’ fey smile o’ hers. Bu’ if yeh have to call ‘er somethin’… Ah know. Call ‘er the Smilin’ Princess. Hah! Ah’ll bet mah remainin’ eye she’ll like tha’. She’ll like tha’ a lot.”

Afterwards, it’s her smile that her audience remembers. It’s almost unnoticeable at first glance, a slight curve, a hint of amusement flickering across her thin lips. But everything else just seems to fade out of focus. It’s not that she isn’t beautiful, in a quiet, whimsical sort of way: Sophia is quite tall for a human, a dancer’s subtle sinew lying hidden beneath flawless skin. She moves with the poised grace of a noble, fluid and almost languid. Although slender, her figure is still curvy enough to be noticed, fitting her nickname of “Willow” perfectly. But the eyes seem to skate away, fixating on the one thing that seems solid: her smile, shining softly from beneath the curtain of her chin-length ebon hair. Everything else seems… inconsequential. Ethereal. A reflection. Even her eyes, twin, hooded, sleepy-blue spheres, seem to be staring at some distant horizon, oblivious to the world around her. Blind? Maybe.

But maybe not. Look at her closely, and you might notice those cloudy eyes sharpen into a glittering sapphire. She’s watching. Always watching. Is that a thrill of apprehension that just ran down your spine? Excitement? Or maybe a hint of recognition for something you saw in a nightmare, long, long ago…

Favored skills:

Sophia favours a unique casting style: instead of the rote casting mundras popularised by the Circle, she makes use of twin ribbons she has christened Aria to literally ‘dance’ her spells into existence. For example, casting a draining spell would require her to ensnare her target in Aria’s folds. A lightning bolt would be drawn out of the air by the whirling of the ribbons. An arcane shield appears in a flurry of ivory energy as Sophia spins on one toe with her hands crossed over her head, Aria surrounding her in a protective helix. Of course, Sophia can use the usual mundras if she has no other choice. She just finds them… boring.

Sophia’s Hobbies…:

… are eclectic and seemingly endless. One night she might dance for her friends, stamping her heels to an invisible violin. The next evening could bring a softly sung ballad, or an enthusiastic attempt to brew a palatable stew out of any leftovers lying around (including, one one occasion, old leather boots.) She hurls herself from one pursuit to the next almost recklessly, a giggling child trying on mask after mask in an effort to find the few that suit her. Making tea is one of her favourite pursuits: she is never without a tiny silver tea-set of her own with which to experiment (beware her beetle-leg and mabari-hair blend…) and often insists on making a cup at the most inappropriate times… such as during a siege. However, her greatest love seems to be for the history of Thedas… stories, great and small. Poems, ballads, tales of love and hate, war, peace, stories to make listeners weep or cry out in ecstacy… countless tales, filed away in the misty vaults of her memory. Sophia calls them the Songs of the World… her personal symphony. To hear her talk about them or recite them, the warmth of true adoration shining through her perpetual smile, she might as well be talking about her own heartbeat… or that of someone she loves more then life itself. Needless to say, her search for good stories has landed her in more then her fair share of trouble. Other hobbies include daydreaming (often about grand, epic fantasies that take several nights to play out properly,) and playing the piano. She adores music, of any sort. Singers beware when Sophia is nearby: you may just attract a particularly ardent admirer.

Background:

Is she the disowned daughter of a noble family? A former street girl striking out on her own? A bard, down on her luck? An apostate mage, fleeing from the Circle? Sophia’s background changes with every telling, and each tale is related with the same sense of unshakable honesty. When confronted about her inconsistencies, Sophia’s only response is to say that all of these stories are true.

She isn’t lying. But what she doesn’t say is that they aren’t her stories.

Personality:

Calm, eloquent and gentle, Sophia is none the less a powerful woman in her own quiet way. She prefers to stay on the edges of gatherings, listening and learning via observation before interjecting with her own softly-spoken comment, and is more then happy to pass on her knowledge to those who ask for it. She is respectful to those who respect her, repaying love with love (she can become very huggy around those she adores, and it can take an annoying amount of effort to pry her off,) and hatred with pity. In fact, it seems almost impossible to annoy her. Jibes, taunts and insults slide off that perpetual smile like magic off a dwarf’s back. She hates to fight, using her magic reluctantly even when her own life is in danger: she would much rather talk her way out of sticky situations, and can be surprisingly persuasive when she wants to be. In the end, Sophia seems to be happiest when surrounded by happiness, a warm, friendly atmosphere where she can tell her stories and hear new tales in return.

But then why does she wake up crying at night? What are her companions seeing when her misty eyes sharpen suddenly, revealing something diamond-hard and ruthless? Something hard. Something cold.

Weapons/Armor:

At first glance Sophia appears to be unarmed, save for a single knife tucked into her belt: a razor-sharp weapon, but more suited for practical purposes then stabbing an opponent. She treats armour, at least on herself, with a good-natured contempt: chainmail just doesn’t suit her, but a life on the road doesn’t lend itself to flowing gowns and silken dresses. So she compromises, wearing a tough leather vest-leggings combination and stout boots, and mixes in subtle gems of beauty wherever she can. Two of her favourite treasures are her silken hairband (made out of black silk with three eagle feathers gathered in a cluster on the right hand side: when worn, they sweep back past Sophia’s right ear,) and a tattered red-ribbon choker, bearing a cameo of a winged girl. More unusual are the white ribbons wound securely around her arms from shoulder to fingertip, completely covering her skin and secured by modest bows hidden under the shoulders of her vest. While it could be assumed that the ribbons restrict her mobility, Sophia appears to be able to move her arms (and individual fingers,) without hindrance.

Sophia’s weapons are hidden in plain sight: unusually for a mage, she prefers to fight bare-handed in a brutal, no-holds-barred fighting style, defined by three simple rules: abandon your honour, purge your mercy, and don’t be afraid to break bones. A swift punch to the back of the skull is a quick, relatively harmless way of incapacitating an enemy, and it’s easy enough to throw a spell into the mix providing you have the foresight to combine a casting mundra with a kick in the face. Even accounting for her willowy frame years of practice have built up the necessary sinew, and she packs quite a punch.

But what of those ribbons on her arms? Snow white Aria, pretty, unremarkable … yet even a novice mage could sense the soft shine of pure magic echoing from every its every thread.