Neve Greenmarch

Neve Greenmarch
Social Rank	4
Fealty	Valardin
House	Greenmarch
Gender	Female
Age	18
Religion	Shamanism
Vocation	Noble
Height	5'7
Hair Color	Blond
Eye Color	Blue
Skintone	Milk
Family
Parents	Muiryn Greenmarch
Uncles/Aunts	Maeve Greenmarch, Murdoch Greenmarch, Marcel Greenmarch
Cousins	Marian Valardin, Marius Greenmarch, Monique Greenmarch, Niamh Greenmarch, Fiachra Greenmarch, Rowan Greenmarch, Eirlys Greenmarch
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Description

Neve is a wild thing brought up in a world of poetic earth and reverent silence. She is full of wonder and always smiling, finding love in her heart for any and all who cross her path. Blonde hair falls in wild waves and curls and braids and dreads often adorned with little gifts of the earth, glass beads, feathers, shells and ribbons. While she loves the many silks and satins and laces of Arvum, she's often barefoot beneath them - a perfect mix of a little shave heathen and a Lady of the realm.

Personality

If laughter rose up from the earth and built itself into a woman - she would be proud and unbridled and every gust of wind would be a song and every song would be a hymn and every hymn a prayer to the heavens. Neve stands at the cusp of womanhood, caught in that place between a child and a woman grown. Too, she stands at the edge of her history and the culture and past of her people and the future they are building in another world that seems liftemes apart from what she has known until now. She understands that this is a gift, that to be chosen to live in a time of so much change when so many of their people are are moving forward together, standing together to learn to become something else new and strong. Nature is her alter of worship and she is pious to it, feeling deeply the world around her and how it is shaped and moved and intertwined with their lives and destinies. She is eager with a ferocity that sits like hunger in her mouth and she is filled with vibrant hope for a world that might respect both cultures fluidly, side by side.

Background

Neve's parents both died the day she was born. In fact it is said that they both took their last breath the same moment she took her first. A battle had arisen, an old feud for territory and Roark rode out with his brothers to defend their home. At the same moment - Moira went into labor. It is almost impossible for anyone to know the moment of death for each of them - but it was simply understood that they died together - as though some unseen force had willed it so. In her world, that meant something. No sacrifice was made in vain, no offering went ignored or unappreciated. The world moved around them, and they with it and a part of it and always in tune. However, what that may have meant for Neve was always a mystery for her and nothing but a story of long ago, about people she had never known and knew nothing about other than they had loved her.

Neve was saved that day by Muiryn Greenmarch. He had watched her father die and laid prayers upon his body and made promises to a dying man that he never forgot. Neve has often wondered about that moment, how horrible and heavy it must have been for him to have suffered such deep loses and simultaniously have been shuffled neatly and unexpectly into fatherhood. But 18 years later, they were no less the worse for wear from it. So what if she may have spent her early childhood with her hair cropped like a boys because he could not deal with her howls when he tried to braid it. He put her atop her first Elk and taught her how to hunt, how to make her own bow and fletches and how to give thanks for every living thing that offered it's life to sustain them. He taught her how to skin and use every part of the beast, so nothing went wasted. He taught her of their people and their culture and for better or worse - her childhood was as charmed as a little heathens could be. It instilled a wilderness inside of her that could never quite be capped or tamed. As though she were always waiting for that moment when the wind would come along and whisk her away to all the things she's not done before.

Neve was Thirteen when the Greenmarch took the steps to join the Compact - and while her world was thrown into a temporary chaos of passions and pride - Neve was utterly charmed. She loved the life her ancestors and family have carved out for themselves, the work of their land and the hearts of their people but she was born knowing that possibility was endless - and finally... finally they may begin to see just how endless it may truly be. The night Muiryn told her they woulnd't be leaving Greenmarch for Arvum any time soon, was the first time she'd screamed at her foster father - and while it probably wasn't the last, it was the only one that lingered like heartache in her memory. She'd been more careful after that and bided her time - knowing that her wind would be waiting. So now five years have passed and she has grown into a woman - though still windswept and wild. She is finally in Arvum - the heart of Arx - where she expects every light to sparkle and every voice to sing and praise. She's heard tails of parties and gowns and dresses... She's heard stories of the elves and other creatures thought lost to lore and myth... She's heard of the beautifully appointed salons, the lush, rich finary... and all manner of things that she's never quite been able to manage. She has nothing but confidence that her two worlds the old and the new both, will be able to live in beautiful harmony.