Isabella Alice Weberg

[Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg]

Your Name: Maggie or bookie
Your Age:: 15
Canon or Original: Original
How did you find us:: A fellow RPer

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Name:: Isabella Alice Weberg
Alias:: Issie
Age:: 15
Job/Position:: She’s part of the strolling players, she sings.
Location:: Originally she was born in wayless woods. She joined the Strolling players after the Adderhead’s death. Right now she’s in Ombra still.

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Appearance:: Issie’s 5’8”. Her body looks as if some one grabbed her arms and legs and pulled. She’s gangly and awkward looking. Her face is peppered with freckles. The start on one side of her cheeks and span over her nose to the other side. Her eyes are black, black as night. They seem to hold some sadness in them. Sadness that seems to never end. Her lips are thin and pale like her skin. So pale that some people clamed she glows in the dark.

On her Shoulder is a birth mark. It runs down her arm like a river and ends at her hand, her hand and feet our small for her size, especially considering she is skinny, Almost unhealthily so.

She has always taken care to be clean. She washes often. This causes her red hair to be frizzy. Her hair when frizzy is down to her shoulders. But on that rare occasion that she can make it lay flat it goes to the bottom of her shoulder blade.

Distinguishing Features:: If any thing it’s the sadness that seems to come from Issie like a sickness. The only time one will ever see her smile is when she sings. That’s the other thing that makes Issie stand out. Her voice is amazing.

Personality:: Issie is a shy person. Shy and often quiet when not singing. When she starts to sing though a different person seems to come out, a happier person. The person Issie use to be. But after the song is over Issie goes back to the quiet scared girl she is. She flinches away when people try to touch her. She avoids conversations. She even goes out alone at night rather then have to interact with humans. Many people can’t recall her saying more then a sentence at a time. She still looks up to people like the black prince, and the fabled Dustfinger. Evan though she has never actually met him. Half of her hopes she dose. The other half want to never have to deal with the human kind again.

Strengths:: Her voice, her ability to lie well if needed, she’s a fast runner. She has an incredible memory.

Weaknesses:: She’s scared most of the time. Not sure what to do with her life. Tends to shut down when she’s afraid. Fear of deep water.

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Companions:: Usually she talks to glass men of fairies.

History:: Issie was born to peasants. They lived and worked in wayless woods. Issie had a hard life but a good life. She was a talkative child. She laughed and was always smiling. She had a sister who was 12 years younger then her. As she grew up she stays happy. Even under the Adderheads rain. But then one day the piper came threw the woods, he clamed to be collecting more taxes. Issie's Dad, who had always been hard headed, had finally had enough. He refused to give the taxes. Claiming that there family had nothing left to give. This was true. But that didn’t help at all. Instead the piper ordered the house burned down. Issue’s little sister was in the house sleeping. Her parents rushed in to save the infant, and got trapped inside. Issue ran into the forest. Their screams echoed in her ears and stayed there. Even to this day she dreams about her mothers and father’s screams of pain. On nights like this she tends to talk in her sleep. After that Issue changed. She became quiet and shy. She withdrew from all contact with any other humans that wasn’t necessary. In her mind Humans had caused her this pain. She became a strolling player because she knew she could make money with her voice.

RP example:: As Issie stood on the streets of Ombra, shrouded by fellow strolling players she felt the usual sense of strength which came with her singing. She closed her eyes for a second then opened her mouth. As usual the sound which came out was almost other worldly. “Oh the days of the Kerry dancing! Oh the ring of the pipers tune! Oh, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas! Like our youth too soon!” she sang. This was one of the many songs her mother had taught her before….but she couldn’t think of that now. She had to keep this tune light and that wouldn’t happen if she kept thinking about her parents.
People were adding money to her bowl now. Many had stopped to watch the girl. A satisfied smile appeared on her lips. She had them. Now she could sing the song that she wanted to. The first song was always happy. People wanted happy songs. The next song was going to be sad. It was easy to get people with a sad song. Sadness was a universal concept. The same things didn’t make every one happy. But every one knows what it means to be sad. Everyone understands that. Every one had suffered heart break. And many people caused it.
“Oh for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas! Like our youth too soon.” As her final notes dwindled into the air several of the onlookers applauded. Issie bowed slightly then started her next song.
“For she was a lass of the low country. And he was a lord of high degree. But she loved his lordship so tenderly. Oh sorrow, sweet sorrow. And now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod. And no one knew she loved him but herself and god.”
This song was sad. Often when she was done singing it there wasn’t a dry eye to be found. How interesting it was. People could both cause pain and felt pity. Maybe that was just Issie’s pessimistic mind talking. She wasn’t one for looking on the bright side of life.
She noticed one woman in the crowed who was crying at her song. Typical, Issie thought sarcastically. It was a sad story of a peasant who fell in love with a lord. Then when he didn’t love her back she killed herself. But wasn’t that how most famous stories ended. “And then they killed themselves.”
Killing yourself seemed like a kind of wimpy thing to do to Issie. It was basically saying that you thought life was too hard. Issie was fairly certain that life was never so hard that you just couldn’t go on. Her life was hard, yet here she was, quite literally singing for her supper.
“And now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod. And no one knew she loved him but herself and god.” Again her voice faded away. This time the crowed was silent, a sad type of silent, a type of silent that seemed to echo Issie’s own sadness.

[``roxane]

A nice profile. Accepted, but it would be nice if you went through manually and corrected some spelling errors.