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North and south met in the capital city. Her father from Stonedeep of the Nightgolds, and her mother a Hawkmour from Brassfall March. After a whirlwind romance and some convincing of either family that it was indeed a smart match and indeed a 'political' one, the two houses formalized their new alliance with Lady Hawkmour making her way to the north. Not even a full year passed and their first winter brought both blessing and tragedy. Her mother would never get to formally meet their first and only daughter. One goes out and one comes in. Choosing not to remarry, her father busied himself with duties for the good of the house. A stern parent but a loving one, the hardened man's heart bearing just one soft spot, for little Vesper. She was raised to dance both with a blade and without. She was taught on the proper etiquette of a lady and she taught herself how to ignore all of it. Vesper took more naturally to the world outside the keep. She would tag along with hunters and rangers, pester them, sneak out to join them even when she was not meant to. She often went missing, only to be found a few days later, once with a broken mandolin with only two strings she had found, singing off-key to herself deep in the surrounding wood. Eventually she was meant to go to Arx to find a husband and further the family legacy, if not to keep her out the trouble she was so prone to finding. Unfortunately on her travels to Arx, her caravan was assaulted by Abandoned. She fought fiercely, though the odds were against her and her compatriots. When it looked like all was lost, the Knights of Solace arrived, and with skill and bravery defeated the attackers. Vesper arrived in Arx to find a spouse as directed, but was a Godsworn Knight of Solace the very next day. Oops.

No stranger to physical toils, Vesper’s body has been proudly honed in the pursuit of strength. Lean muscle blends into a feminine figure, complimenting rather than overpowering it, which is preserved as if it, too, is worthy of pride. Long hair bears shades of gold that liken it to honey, and is often woven into an intricate network of braids that sweep across her sturdy shoulders. Brown eyes carry equal parts curiosity and vigilance, a hawkish gaze that fixates on her most pressing interest. Starting just above her right brow, narrowly missing her eye, and continuing a lengthy vertical trek across her cheek is a scar that serves as an ever present reminder of the narrow balance between life and death.

Possessed of an all too frequent resistance to expectation, Vesper has always been one to forge her own way ahead. Especially if it comes at the cost of tradition. As such, she doesn’t appear to be a woman easily ruffled by what others think. She’s driven by a tenacious sense of adventure that’s fueled by her hopelessly impulsive nature, and is always prepared with an embellished tale to validate her exploits. In tense moments of conflict, amenity and smiles are sheathed in favor of sharper tools, rousing in Vesper a latent ferocity deeply rooted into her being.