Sand

Tsavo staggered. He demanded, "What have you done?" He fell like a marionette whose strings have been severed. Sand said bitterly, "I've destroyed us." She stoppered the vial. Inside, something roiled like inky vapors.

Sand xxxxxThe long waterproof raincoat is the utilitarian sort favored by sailors. Hers is a hand-me-down faded to a pale brownish gray. Under this, she has a sleeveless men's undershirt, and old army surplus pants well on their way from olive drab to greenish pale gray. A "fanny pack" of black cloth is slung around her hips. A silvery flashlight with a loop of steel chain is clipped to her belt. xxxxxHer skin is a Latin American light brown. Hard work has put muscle bumps on her slender arms. She's on the slender side of average, and has very little in the way of a bosom. xxxxxSo what about her face? There's a streetsmart wariness, there, an outright wildness, on a squarish face with thin slanting eyebrows. An odd scar starts above her right temple, going downwards to the corner of her jaw, small branches coming off of it. Her dark hair has grown out to almost shoulder length. Her eyes are almond-shaped and prominent, with gray irises. She rarely smiles but when she does, it's dazzling. General Overview xxxxx'Sand'. It's the sole name on her ID, her legal name. Government records have her as a retired soldier for the British Navy. Her most recent assignment was across several nations in Africa, where a war with a death toll surpassing that of World War II has waged for generations, with the Western world still looking the other way. She was honorably discharged, but with an order to receive psychiatric care. xxxxxProspect should have been a place of healing. To Sand, it is a place of false friendships. The supernaturals only have a care for those they believe can somehow grant them prestige or power, and be their servitors. With few exceptions, they earned her contempt. Far better to spend time with the mortals now: Their hearts are pale and empty but but hold no ulterior motives on a par with those of the supernaturals. Conversation Starters She's a closed book. A faintly hostile one with a really boring-looking dark spine. Do I know you? If you're really old, you might have met Sand in one of her previous lives. Physically, she would look much the same. (I prefer to keep this serendipitous, and not just OOC declare it so. :) If you suspect your character and Sand might have met, we can briefly go through an "Orical" check. The way that works is, first, we lay out reasons for 'yes' and 'no'. (We won't bicker over which ones are strong and which are weak; there's no need.) Together, we come up with a number from 3 to 19, with 3 being "almost no way but we wanted to check" and 19 being "it's REALLY likely!". In addition to a yes/no, the margin by which the roll is made or failed implies a "how much". For example, if we set the odds at 7- and rolled [9 10], the Orical is telling us, "Not even close." If it was a [1 1], however, we might infer that they had met... possibly had personal relations... possibly fought together... or maybe even met across the battlefield.) Lifestyle Contact Juggler xxxxx She can be seen on the boardwalk at night: a mirthless jester performing contact juggling with several plasma balls. On occasion, she performs some close-up magic effect of the sort Harry Anderson made famous though they were already ancient in Moses's time. It is, perhaps the last vestige of the Gypsy in her.

300px Sand is a perfectly good Sand. Apparent Age: 25 Demeanor: Autist Occupation: Contact Juggler Tradition: Son Arete: ●●●●○ Charisma: ●●○○○ Manipulation: ●●○○○ Appearance: ●●●●○