Cerise Gideon

**Cerise Gideon** is a rogue, feels like she is in a glass case of emotion right now, and is a member of Cervus Cor.

## Description

### Appearance

Cerise is slight and small, with deep wine-colored hair that turns auburn when struck by light. Her large eyes are an almost glowing violet and her smooth skin is a pale lavender, evidence of her mixed sub-races. Her features are sharp and defined, but incomprehensibly soft at the same time. Cerise wears simple and well-worn medium grey leather armor over knit heather grey herringbone pattern light wool shirt and a charcoal grey cloak with an ample hood that is clearly of good quality, but not fancy. Her boots are weathered charcoal grey that matches her cloak, scuffed and full of character.

Her trousers fit tightly and match her heather grey wool shirt, and are held up by simple, but thick black leather belt with several leather pouches in various shades of grey affixed to it. The buckle is an inconspicuous medium grey rectangle with no ornamentation or lustre. Her pack is made of buckskin died a light shade of grey. It is crude, but clearly durable and functional, with dull grey metal clasps to fasten it. Below it is woolen bedroll with a herringbone pattern alternating between light and dark greys.

## Biography

### Background

The room was dark, made of grey fieldstone and hand-hewn wood beams. A sturdy, but worn wood table sat in the center of the room, a crude candlelit chandelier swinging ever so slightly overhead. At the table there was a small girl, late teenage years by the look of it. Drow…no, not quite Drow. Not a full drow anyway. Her features were somewhat softer, her auburn hair pulled into a tight ponytail, wisps of hair pulling free and tickling her forehead. Her skin was too light, no, she couldn’t be a drow but then what was she?

Her tattered clothes were in need of repair, all greys and browns, loose-fitting wools and other various fabrics mish-mashed together. Her hands were cuffed together with irons and they clinked as she adjusted her wrists. On the far end of the table from where she sat stood a man, his face hidden in the shadows cast by the chandelier above.

A loose red scarf hung from a thick, bronze neck, brown leathers covering his upper body with a tarnished bronze breastplate and insignia identifying him as a lawman in the area. In the larger cities the guards were dressed in neat uniforms and polished armor, but not out here. Rough leather trousers rustled slightly as he paced across the dirt floor. “Really kid? Graduating from swiping saddles to nicking the horses themselves?” The man’s voice was deep, almost grating, as if he’d swallowed a fistful of gravel. “What can I say, I’m an entrepreneur.”

The girl said, her large violet eyes defiant as she watched him pace. “If yer thievin’ don’t get ya killed, yer smart mouth will”, he said with a growl. He tapped his fingers on his beaten breastplate. “You keep it up you’re gonna end up bleedin’ out with a hole in yer chest girl.” Puffs of dust raised from the floor as each foot fell. “Someone sees you in the dark they’re thinkin’ drow raid. They ain’t gonna think twice to put a blade in ya just cuz yer a kid.”

The girl glared at him, her attitude clearly outsizing her stature. “I’ve lived out here since I was born, I know what it’s like…you don’t need to tell me.” She trailed off, her face scrunching, eyes looking to the corner of the room, piercing the darkness. “Yeah, I remember. I knew you when you weren’t knee-high to a halfling. Curious kid, always gettin’ into mischief, but nothin' like this.” He paused, hunching over and placing his palms on the end of the table opposite her. She could smell him, leather oil and whiskey burning in her nostrils. “I’m not gonna have yer death on my conscience and I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you run wild all over this town.”

The girl looked down, averting her eyes from his, the corner of her mouth twitching. The man leaned in closer, not waiting for her to make another smart comment. “I know you lost your mother, which is why I’m going to let you go this time.” He paused for a moment, eyes distant as if remembering something before continuing in a slightly softer tone. “She was a decent person, she deserved better than what she got, Helm rest her soul.” He made a gesture common among followers of the god Helm, then moved around the table toward her, pulling a large ring of keys from his belt.

“I’m even gonna let you keep the money you got from fencin’ that stallion, cuz yer gonna take that money and yer gonna leave this town and ya ain’t comin’ back kid.” “Or what? You gonna lock me up in jail with the drunkards and the poachers?” She spat, glaring at him as he grabbed the irons roughly, bruising her wrists. “Kid, you’ve wanted to get out long as I’ve known ya. This is yer chance. Go out and make somethin’ of yerself. Ya don’t have to be a horse thief. Yer ma raised ya better than that.” Though only words, they appeared to have the same effect as a slap to the face, the girl looking…startled, mouth open as the irons fell to the ground with a clank. “Now get out”, the man grumbled.

## Quotations

* **Cerise**: I figure now's about as good a time as any for some smoked cheddar though.
* **Cerise**: Fucking hell, I hate bugs
* **Cerise**: Nothing a blade in the heart can't fix.
* **Cerise**: This better not be some kind of weird bottomless garbage bag
* **Cerise**: Anger is a renewable resource
* **Cerise**: Ten out of ten times that's something bad
* **Cerise**: Fish isn't meat...
* **Cerise**: Every extra second we spend in this place makes me want to stab something
* **Cerise**: That's dumb as fuck
* **Cerise**: You'd think I'd learn to avoid goliaths with axes
* **Cerise**: Run...coward
* **Cerise**: A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B
* **Cerise**: You wouldn't know a democracy if it bit you in the ass
* **Cerise**: What a way to treat the person keeping you from dying a horrible death lost in a dark sea of pines