Post by Lizaveta Serenitsa on Sept 26, 2024 22:36:03 GMT
LIZAVETA SERENITSA
THE BASICS
Name: Lizaveta “Liz” Serenitsa
Gender: Female (she/her)
Age: 27 | Winter
Current residence: Dain | Valstead
Occupation: Silversmith | Owner of the White Fire Forge
Social standing: Baroness
Loyalty: None but her forge
APPEARANCE
Face claim: Eugenia Kuzmina
Height: 5'8" || 8'6"
Weight: 143 lbs. || 5280 lbs.
Description:
To see Lizaveta without so much as a speck of ash on her being is to see her fresh out of a bath. She is a working woman and rarely finds herself a reason to be cleaned up. Her light hair is often a wavy mess, kept shorter for the ease of her work. Her pale skin is a canvas for the scars that adorn it from her days learning - burns from the forge or cuts from the metal. Accompanying the callouses that adorn her hands from the hours striking the anvil, there is a scar on the palm of her left hand left by metal far too hot for a once six-year-old to touch. Icy blue eyes contrast the daily dirt that makes its way to her cheeks, popping in comparison. Given her frequent exposure to drastic heat, her daily attire is the workman's clothes and the comfort of the finer leathers on her days of rest away from the forge. She only ever agrees to wear the proper attire for her title on special occasions, although in the rare situation the room generally agrees - she is a beauty to behold.
In her bear form, Liz attains a heavy white coat and beady eyes. The fur around her large paws is longer than the rest, creating a bit more bounce and flow as she moves. On the pad of her left paw, the burn mark transfers between her forms - contrasting the black with a vibrant pink.
To see Lizaveta without so much as a speck of ash on her being is to see her fresh out of a bath. She is a working woman and rarely finds herself a reason to be cleaned up. Her light hair is often a wavy mess, kept shorter for the ease of her work. Her pale skin is a canvas for the scars that adorn it from her days learning - burns from the forge or cuts from the metal. Accompanying the callouses that adorn her hands from the hours striking the anvil, there is a scar on the palm of her left hand left by metal far too hot for a once six-year-old to touch. Icy blue eyes contrast the daily dirt that makes its way to her cheeks, popping in comparison. Given her frequent exposure to drastic heat, her daily attire is the workman's clothes and the comfort of the finer leathers on her days of rest away from the forge. She only ever agrees to wear the proper attire for her title on special occasions, although in the rare situation the room generally agrees - she is a beauty to behold.
In her bear form, Liz attains a heavy white coat and beady eyes. The fur around her large paws is longer than the rest, creating a bit more bounce and flow as she moves. On the pad of her left paw, the burn mark transfers between her forms - contrasting the black with a vibrant pink.
BEHAVIOR
Strengths: Physical Strength, Loyalty, Silversmithing, Confidence
Weaknesses: Charisma, Politics, Formalities, Criticism
Motivation: Liz strives to be worthy of the name she holds. Her upbringing was dedicated to honing the work she would one day take on, and she continues to strive for better. As the first female heir in her lineage, she works to maintain the standards of her predecessors and improve on the craft they provide.
Personality:
Lizaveta is a devout person to her passions. To those she deems ally, she offers a reliable blade at a steady price. Among friends, perhaps we discount it and throw in some armor pieces as well. To her closest as family, she would give the world. The Dainish are said to be closed and guarded, but to those within the walls, they are the safest anyone could be. Lizaveta is no different - willing to upturn the world if it means those close to her would be happy or unhurting. That isn't to say that her heart is on her sleeve, however. On the contrary, Liz keeps her emotions to herself. Often if ever overwhelmed by them, she can be found in the back of the forge, hammering away for days on end.
To her work, Liz is meticulous. She has fine-tuned her craft and put in the extra studies to know how her works should behave. If it doesn't cut the air just right, it's immediately a dud. She prides herself in being able to put her name on the highest quality pieces - anything else is below her standard. It's because of this that she holds the confidence she does and rarely will she accept criticism from it. Unless she is working on an experimental piece, she knows her prices and would rather lose a sale then sell herself short. She crafts with purpose. In the event of doubts, she has specifically trained to be able to demonstrate most of what she creates - all the better to educate her clientele. She's far from the best swordsman out there, but it's the understanding that counts.
Socially, Lizaveta is a bit… unaware. Stoic and generally quiet in unfamiliar situations, she doesn't catch on very well to figures of speech. She is very blunt, and as such, hears the world in blunt terms. It's not something she's fully wrapped her head around - not that she's ever had to. She can laugh at a joke or catch a figure of speech only after it's been explained. Otherwise, she tends to find herself a bit confused. It's because of this that she's very poor at politics, as well as any attempts at flirting. To the poor suitor who should try to swoon her - it may go right over her head. But if she finds you appealing, it runs in the Serenitsa blood to let such information be known.
Lizaveta is a devout person to her passions. To those she deems ally, she offers a reliable blade at a steady price. Among friends, perhaps we discount it and throw in some armor pieces as well. To her closest as family, she would give the world. The Dainish are said to be closed and guarded, but to those within the walls, they are the safest anyone could be. Lizaveta is no different - willing to upturn the world if it means those close to her would be happy or unhurting. That isn't to say that her heart is on her sleeve, however. On the contrary, Liz keeps her emotions to herself. Often if ever overwhelmed by them, she can be found in the back of the forge, hammering away for days on end.
To her work, Liz is meticulous. She has fine-tuned her craft and put in the extra studies to know how her works should behave. If it doesn't cut the air just right, it's immediately a dud. She prides herself in being able to put her name on the highest quality pieces - anything else is below her standard. It's because of this that she holds the confidence she does and rarely will she accept criticism from it. Unless she is working on an experimental piece, she knows her prices and would rather lose a sale then sell herself short. She crafts with purpose. In the event of doubts, she has specifically trained to be able to demonstrate most of what she creates - all the better to educate her clientele. She's far from the best swordsman out there, but it's the understanding that counts.
Socially, Lizaveta is a bit… unaware. Stoic and generally quiet in unfamiliar situations, she doesn't catch on very well to figures of speech. She is very blunt, and as such, hears the world in blunt terms. It's not something she's fully wrapped her head around - not that she's ever had to. She can laugh at a joke or catch a figure of speech only after it's been explained. Otherwise, she tends to find herself a bit confused. It's because of this that she's very poor at politics, as well as any attempts at flirting. To the poor suitor who should try to swoon her - it may go right over her head. But if she finds you appealing, it runs in the Serenitsa blood to let such information be known.
HERITAGE
Birthplace: Dain
Family:
Ser Heinrich Serenitsa :: Father ::Deceased (55)
Direct lineage of the first Serenitsa, passed away to illness
Madame Sonya Serenitsa :: Mother :: Deceased (23)
Married into the Serenitsa name, passed away during childbirth
Silversmiths of the White Fire Forge
Having grown up among them, she sees every smith in her forge - new and old - as some semblance of family. It takes a village, and they were hers.
Ser Heinrich Serenitsa :: Father ::Deceased (55)
Direct lineage of the first Serenitsa, passed away to illness
Madame Sonya Serenitsa :: Mother :: Deceased (23)
Married into the Serenitsa name, passed away during childbirth
Silversmiths of the White Fire Forge
Having grown up among them, she sees every smith in her forge - new and old - as some semblance of family. It takes a village, and they were hers.
History:
The surname of Serenitsa is one that has spanned generations among the Dainish lands. Back in the times of the Great War, it is said that the Serenitsas were great suppliers of a fine armory. Their renown was one to cross continents little fighting had come to an end. Renown alone was enough to elevate their status among society. Their works became prized among the peoples, and greedy hands wanted a piece crafted by the very first would-be Baron Serenitsa. He, however, was a reserved man, of whom had simply wished to run his forge in peace. With the war over, he'd rather a break and train apprentices than slave for yet another sword or armor piece. He believed in purpose behind each piece, something that he had hoped to instill in his children - should he ever have them. It would be the daughter of a Dainish client, that of a duke by the name of Lord Kholvete, who took quite a liking to the silversmith. Her father saw profit and skill in the man through the dedication to his work, but he seemed to lack a certain business charm. Knowing the strengths of his middle child, he would permit her to see him, and offered her for the smith to court.
The two hit it off, and the Lord Kholvete’s daughter would make grand improvements to the operations and pricing of the Forge with full approval of the smith. She became a wonderful manager of trade and finance for him, able to negotiate on the behalf of others to him for a piece and vice versa. It’s even been spoken that she is the one who named the forge to be as it is known today. The story states that they would be wed which ultimately raised the name of Serenitsa to that of Baronhood. They were said to later have a son, who would have a son, who would have a son, who would have a son… all the way until present day.
For as long as the Age of Peace had lasted, the tradition never broke. It was the year of 3473 that the heir of the Serenitsa name would be born. It was as loud as expected of the childbirthing process - yet, the following of if would be the most silent the world could have fallen. As one body grew still, another began to squirm, wiggling in it's father's hands. It grew restless, crying out for warmth. The father was stunned, his cheeks were wet. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but the tradition of every family heir would be completed. He brought the baby to the side of the family’s forge and set its palm in the cooled ashes - something that was said to make a strong Serenitsa.
“Lizaveta Serenitsa, heir to the White Fire Forge and the Serenitsa name, let the fire light your way.”
It was guarded information, her father decided - that the heir to the Serenitsa line was to be a woman. The only ones to know were those within the forge itself - those who worked under her father and those with direct relations to the family. The basis of their relation was one that would be truly need-to-know, but as harsh as that may sound - the girl would never knew a day without familial love.
Liz, as she would be known, grew up within a house of lower nobility. Through stories spanning back to the family's very upcomings, she’d grow to learn that it was the status of choice for them. They were never short for wealth or fame, however the morals of those before her were to work for their place. She would become no different, accompanying her father to the White Fire Forge as soon as she could walk and learning to strike as early as she could wield a hammer. She was taught as every heir before her was, praised and scolded no different.
As with every person, she was not flawless as a child. She can't count the times she had accidentally burned herself or broke a piece. Yet, as she learned, the scars stopped appearing. She dedicated to fine-tuning her skills through implementing an understanding. What was each piece meant to do? How effectively does it achieve its goal? She would spend time studying a plethora of weapons. For five years from her 21st year, she wouldn't touch the forge until she understood how to wield her own crafts. It is only recently that she's returned to the fire as her father had grown ill. In his stead, she runs the place - tending to both metal, workers, and customers alike while praying his ailment goes away. It was five months from the current day now that Lizaveta was summoned to her father's chambers.
To see the strongest person she had ever known now hollowed in the face covered neck-down the wrappings of fabric was what had sent her heart into the pits of her stomach. They had attempted a number of things to help his recovery, for they were short of no funding. She stumbled to his bedside, breaking through the blankets to clasp his hand in hers. Her command to the caretakers to leave the room was hardly stable. It broke against her will, almost leading way to a wail - yet she bit it back. The room didn't dare to question the order, and as the door clicked shut, the girl collapsed to her knees. She buried brought her head down, resting her forehead against his hand as she began to sob.
To Heinrich, the sight must have been just as shattering. The girl he raised to be so strong, who he'd lifted and praised to the highest, now almost broken before him. He mustered the energy to rub his thumb over the palm, and would speak between rasped breaths.
“Little Lizard, chin up.”
The old nickname was one of her childhood. It was one of nothing but affection, although she used to protest it. Now, she clung to every word he spoke - begging to the gods that they would never end.
“You are strong smart. You have grown into a beautiful young woman - one to make the Serenitsa name proud. You, as the first daughter to claim the house heir in our entire history, have made me proud. It's time for you to take the mantle, Lizaveta.”
He coughed as she finally raised her head. Her gaze met the mirrored blues of her father's. Even now, in this moment, they held the same hue as ever. The skin around them grew dark and tired, but the light in his eyes was as wise as ever. Her lip trembled as she struggled to wipe the salt from her cheeks. He freed his other arm from the blankets, and pulled her into a hug. The shaking of her body hurt him, but he could not go out happier. As he held her when she came into this world, she would see him to his departure. She began to shake her head, unwilling to let him go. The decision was not hers, however, as he spoke once more.
“The world is your forge, child. Pick up your hammer and strike.”
His breath trailed off, and his body stilled. The wheezing and the shaking of her father dragged on for just a while longer before there was simply… nothing. It was the moment's pause that the world seemed to freeze. For a moment, she had clung to his spirit, keeping it, containing it within this plane. Yet, a moment only lasts so long. The warmth left. As it passed, perhaps it was a bird flying over that caused the noise heard throughout Valstead.
The service was held in the days to follow, and word spread almost immediately of the new Head of House. Those in Dain weren't much for gossip, but keeping eyes on notable silversmiths was a priority there. and this one - as others of the line - had rarely cared to speak with nobility. Her newfound role and title was but a formality that she didn't care for. In grief, she spent her days in the forge - putting every emotion into her craft. Only now is such a wound starting to heal.
The surname of Serenitsa is one that has spanned generations among the Dainish lands. Back in the times of the Great War, it is said that the Serenitsas were great suppliers of a fine armory. Their renown was one to cross continents little fighting had come to an end. Renown alone was enough to elevate their status among society. Their works became prized among the peoples, and greedy hands wanted a piece crafted by the very first would-be Baron Serenitsa. He, however, was a reserved man, of whom had simply wished to run his forge in peace. With the war over, he'd rather a break and train apprentices than slave for yet another sword or armor piece. He believed in purpose behind each piece, something that he had hoped to instill in his children - should he ever have them. It would be the daughter of a Dainish client, that of a duke by the name of Lord Kholvete, who took quite a liking to the silversmith. Her father saw profit and skill in the man through the dedication to his work, but he seemed to lack a certain business charm. Knowing the strengths of his middle child, he would permit her to see him, and offered her for the smith to court.
The two hit it off, and the Lord Kholvete’s daughter would make grand improvements to the operations and pricing of the Forge with full approval of the smith. She became a wonderful manager of trade and finance for him, able to negotiate on the behalf of others to him for a piece and vice versa. It’s even been spoken that she is the one who named the forge to be as it is known today. The story states that they would be wed which ultimately raised the name of Serenitsa to that of Baronhood. They were said to later have a son, who would have a son, who would have a son, who would have a son… all the way until present day.
For as long as the Age of Peace had lasted, the tradition never broke. It was the year of 3473 that the heir of the Serenitsa name would be born. It was as loud as expected of the childbirthing process - yet, the following of if would be the most silent the world could have fallen. As one body grew still, another began to squirm, wiggling in it's father's hands. It grew restless, crying out for warmth. The father was stunned, his cheeks were wet. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but the tradition of every family heir would be completed. He brought the baby to the side of the family’s forge and set its palm in the cooled ashes - something that was said to make a strong Serenitsa.
“Lizaveta Serenitsa, heir to the White Fire Forge and the Serenitsa name, let the fire light your way.”
It was guarded information, her father decided - that the heir to the Serenitsa line was to be a woman. The only ones to know were those within the forge itself - those who worked under her father and those with direct relations to the family. The basis of their relation was one that would be truly need-to-know, but as harsh as that may sound - the girl would never knew a day without familial love.
Liz, as she would be known, grew up within a house of lower nobility. Through stories spanning back to the family's very upcomings, she’d grow to learn that it was the status of choice for them. They were never short for wealth or fame, however the morals of those before her were to work for their place. She would become no different, accompanying her father to the White Fire Forge as soon as she could walk and learning to strike as early as she could wield a hammer. She was taught as every heir before her was, praised and scolded no different.
As with every person, she was not flawless as a child. She can't count the times she had accidentally burned herself or broke a piece. Yet, as she learned, the scars stopped appearing. She dedicated to fine-tuning her skills through implementing an understanding. What was each piece meant to do? How effectively does it achieve its goal? She would spend time studying a plethora of weapons. For five years from her 21st year, she wouldn't touch the forge until she understood how to wield her own crafts. It is only recently that she's returned to the fire as her father had grown ill. In his stead, she runs the place - tending to both metal, workers, and customers alike while praying his ailment goes away. It was five months from the current day now that Lizaveta was summoned to her father's chambers.
To see the strongest person she had ever known now hollowed in the face covered neck-down the wrappings of fabric was what had sent her heart into the pits of her stomach. They had attempted a number of things to help his recovery, for they were short of no funding. She stumbled to his bedside, breaking through the blankets to clasp his hand in hers. Her command to the caretakers to leave the room was hardly stable. It broke against her will, almost leading way to a wail - yet she bit it back. The room didn't dare to question the order, and as the door clicked shut, the girl collapsed to her knees. She buried brought her head down, resting her forehead against his hand as she began to sob.
To Heinrich, the sight must have been just as shattering. The girl he raised to be so strong, who he'd lifted and praised to the highest, now almost broken before him. He mustered the energy to rub his thumb over the palm, and would speak between rasped breaths.
“Little Lizard, chin up.”
The old nickname was one of her childhood. It was one of nothing but affection, although she used to protest it. Now, she clung to every word he spoke - begging to the gods that they would never end.
“You are strong smart. You have grown into a beautiful young woman - one to make the Serenitsa name proud. You, as the first daughter to claim the house heir in our entire history, have made me proud. It's time for you to take the mantle, Lizaveta.”
He coughed as she finally raised her head. Her gaze met the mirrored blues of her father's. Even now, in this moment, they held the same hue as ever. The skin around them grew dark and tired, but the light in his eyes was as wise as ever. Her lip trembled as she struggled to wipe the salt from her cheeks. He freed his other arm from the blankets, and pulled her into a hug. The shaking of her body hurt him, but he could not go out happier. As he held her when she came into this world, she would see him to his departure. She began to shake her head, unwilling to let him go. The decision was not hers, however, as he spoke once more.
“The world is your forge, child. Pick up your hammer and strike.”
His breath trailed off, and his body stilled. The wheezing and the shaking of her father dragged on for just a while longer before there was simply… nothing. It was the moment's pause that the world seemed to freeze. For a moment, she had clung to his spirit, keeping it, containing it within this plane. Yet, a moment only lasts so long. The warmth left. As it passed, perhaps it was a bird flying over that caused the noise heard throughout Valstead.
The service was held in the days to follow, and word spread almost immediately of the new Head of House. Those in Dain weren't much for gossip, but keeping eyes on notable silversmiths was a priority there. and this one - as others of the line - had rarely cared to speak with nobility. Her newfound role and title was but a formality that she didn't care for. In grief, she spent her days in the forge - putting every emotion into her craft. Only now is such a wound starting to heal.
PLAYER INFO
Name: Avalore
Pronouns: she/her
Contact: Forum PM
Last Edit: Sept 27, 2024 0:06:09 GMT by Lizaveta Serenitsa
