Name: Isolde d'Eresby
Age: 18 (roughly)
Sex: Female

Appearance:
Like her mother and grandmother, Isolde has long, wavy, copper-blonde hair (usually tied back with elaborate braiding) and pale complexion. Her face is round and heart-shaped, her mouth and nose small in contrast to her large, rather deeply-set grey eyes. Short for her age, but surprisingly strong for one so petite, Isolde is slender and sinewy beneath the folds of her dress.

Background:
Isolde is one of the last members of a race of humans who, at one time, bonded and even mated with dragons (or so the stories go). It is (supposedly) from those fire-breathing ancestors that her family gained its strength, beauty, and (it is rumored) magical ability.
It was jealousy that ultimately caused her family to fall from wealth and influence--her great-grandfather's enemies claimed the d'Eresbys were witches and demons and otherwise devil-worshipers. Wars were fought, bonds were broken, and whatever remained of the d'Eresby estate was divided among those to which it did not belong.
Isolde and her family lived most of her childhood out on a small sheep farm at the edge of the kingdom her family once ruled. That is, until she was forced from her home during an enemy raid and separated from her sisters in the dust and mire of a slave market miles down the coast from her former home..

ooc: Lovely to have you back. c:

bic:

She had to be led into the castle and practically held up by one of the guards. Staggering, the young woman did her best to overcome her weakened limbs and the pain all throughout her abdomen, but was finding it almost impossible. The man who had come to retrieve her (the head servant, as it were) hadn't had much time to clean her up and was absolutely infuriated to find his master's most recent purchase in the state she was in. The man had been blustering the whole way back from the slave market (though out of kindness or fear of his master, Isolde could not say), "I cannot believe this! They should have had someone watching over you! They should have captured those..animals! They should have...!!" Isolde had stopped listening to him after a time, to engrossed in simply trying to carry her own weight while walking.

Men had come upon her the night before (after she had already been bought, mind). She had recognized them--they'd passed through the market maybe a day or two before and seemed quite interested in buying her, though they obviously lacked the funds. She had smelled alcohol on each man's breath as they ravaged her..

"Wait here," the head servant commanded (perhaps with a little too much force--it wasn't as if Isolde could really run off in the state she was in), "I must inform the master of..." He gave her a look of genuine pity before disappearing behind a pair of elaborately-carved doors.

The guard who had been helping Isolde guided her over to the nearest wall and let her sink down onto the cool stone floor. She'd never felt so tired...

ooc: Oh, it's cool. I mean, I figured they wouldn't have found out about the issue until she got there anyway.

Well, she'll be very visibly weak, have bruises on her legs and upper arms, and some scratches on her face.

She didn't look up when she heard the man walk over to her. In fact, she bent her head lower until her chin practically buried itself in her sternum. In a low voice, almost a whisper, she responded, "F-fine. Just tired, m'lord." Then, as if to prove her words, she struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall behind her.

Though rest and medical attention were desperately needed, Isolde only wanted for some distraction. Cleaning something or taking care of children or..anything else, really, would help her remove the images of the night before from her head. At least..temporarily.

"What would my lord have me do?" She asked, her voice surprisingly steady as she requested her orders/job assignment.

She recoiled as the healers surrounded her, posturing as a cornered animal might when they reached out to touch her. With a barely concealed snarl in her voice, her eyes snapped back to the man who had originally addressed her, "..if it's all the same to you, I would prefer to get to work. Wounds heal themselves, medicine or not."