|Religion||Shamanism/Faith Of The Pantheon|
|Skintone||Pale And Freckled|
|Siblings||Valerian Redrain, Iona Bisland, Torrus Redrain, Angus Redrain|
|Uncles/Aunts||Kalen Ashford, Channon Redrain, Baelor Redrain|
|Cousins||Sherrod Redrain, Torrud Redrain, Torix Redrain, Bjerarg Redrain, Vigsi Redrain, Agatha Redrain, Elgana Redrain|
|Authored By / Featured In|
Ann is interesting to look at. Everything about her, from the coy lift of her dark, thicker eyebrows, to the good-natured, half smirk that most commonly graces her full lips speaks of an intelligence lying in wait behind her cobalt eyes. Raised, freckled cheekbones with a hint of ever-present natural blush to them are paired with a high, regal forehead, an aquiline nose just bordering on the side of thin, and a chin that is decidedly mannish and never seems to lower, even when it is. Her hair is dark and thick, a profusion of wild curl framing her face and twisting off in all different directions thereafter, a black so true it gleams almost blue in the right light. It's almost impossible to tell its length, tied back in a jaunty, ever-changing ribbon as it always seems to be. Of slightly above-average height, she is still only of slender build, a testament to the more bookish hours of her life, or perhaps nights spent hungry on the road.
For a supposedly stuffy old scholar, Ann is a remarkably devil-may-care Princess. For an older sibling, Ann has more often been the goad to temptation and the road less traveled. Any semblance to a bookish, authoritative woman is purely coincidental. But those are the two disparate sides to Ann Moriah Redrain, and they are as interchangeable as the sun and the rain, pulled out to suit the occasion or the mercurial nature of the woman herself.
Ann Moriah Redrain might have been someone's wacky, exciting spinster aunt, had her brother Angus had the courtesy of giving her nieces and nephews before he so rudely (and valliantly) perished in Night's Grove with the King and Sherrod. Even from a young age, she could have been this (though of course not physically). When her nose was not buried in whatever book of lore became available to her, or she was not sitting at the feet of wise men and women hearing and absorbing their tales, then she was off having adventures.
In her childhood, adventures consisted of crossing into a spooky copse of trees or venturing up upon a high mountain peak for the sheer exhilaration of it; as she grew to womanhood, the adventures became a little less childish, and a little more odd. Hearing tales of wondrous relics or academic tomes, Ann (or sometimes Moriah, depending on her mood) would plead, coax, and cajole an intrepid (or sometimes reluctant) member or two of Redrain to accompany her to explore the tale.
There were many near misses in both childhood and burgeoning adulthood, and some direct hits. She has seen her share of violence, been subjected to a broken bone or two, a scar or several to bear witness to her adventures. Tattoos, as well, though those are nearly always kept hidden. But Ann has made it this far, with her spirits undeterred, her loyalty unquestionable, and her brain like an eager sponge, ready to absorb new knowledge and new experiences.