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Name: Liel Mórdha (He/They/She depending)

Nickname: N/A at this time.

Age: 23

Birthday: December 17th

Sign: Sagittarius

Gemstone: Turquoise

Blood Type: O-

Fav. Food: Roast Beef sandwiches – and best of all, mashed potatos with “”good”” gravy ( a subjective topic)

Hated Food: Brussels Sprouts, Mushrooms. Quinoa – the last on moral principals.

School: Graduate

Hobbies:

Hopak - a slavic form of dancing. It's not perhaps a terribly normal hobby, but he seems to enjoy it. While it's a very serious effort that goes into this kind of dance he tends to refer his own skills at it as though they are silly. Plus he enjoys the fact that some of the dance moves look like you're trying to dislocate something. He will occasionally refer to it as "Being able to dance like a pixie got into the vodka."

Bathbombs: Leil enjoys making bath bombs, it seconds as a means to make spare funds because while he enjoys mixing the colors, the scents, and pressing them into molds, there really isn’t enough time for him to take that many baths.
He sells the ones he thinks turned out well on an home-crafted goods web page to moderate success. It does mean that he will often be found coated in powder, and smelling of curious perfumes.


Knitting: there are few things that are more relaxing, than knitting; At least in his opinion. Unlike the bath bombs there is no attempt to sell the things he knits. Normally its oversized sweaters that are stuffed into donation bins, the patterns frequently being unusual, the colors frequently random but the purpose as much being to create the sweater and to be able to identify it if it turns up.

Virtues:

Perspicacity – aka astute, he’s able to assess a situation, or a circumstance and draw conclusions that will aid him even in the heat of the moment.
Being able to assess the situation doesn’t necessarily mean his assessment will provide a successful outcome. But ultimately it means he’s good at thinking on his feet.

Reliable – if he says he’ll do a thing he’ll go out of his way to make sure he gets that thing done. Sometimes, to be fair, he’s just trying to undo some trouble he caused. (That ugly sweater that turned up at your Significant Other’s house with your name on it, in just the colors she hated.)- Helping you get out of the doghouse, probably without admitting it was them all along to be fair. But he’ll help you undo what he did, if you ask.


Flaws:

Cocky: Leil can be rather full of himself. While he does enter like a proverbial lamb, he is prone to deciding that he's got things well in hand.
Once he has decided are comfortable’ in a situation,He tends to assume he's got a handle on things.
This does include situations like picking fights with people bigger and stronger than them, and needing to beat a hasty retreat is of course something he meant to do all along. Worse, he won’t always have the sense to retreat, because he’s sure he can turn the tables.
In his lifetime he's ended up with more than a few black eyes, and sometimes more severe injuries because he was were too sure he had a handle on the trouble he got himself into.


Erratic: his personality, not unlike his temper can be all over. One moment he’ll he happy and playful, the next he can swing as far as to be malicious and, or furious. Often such mood swings can be clearly seen as being triggered by being caught, which often promotes a sulk, or when things don’t go as he hoped or planned.



PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

Eyes: Green, - leaning towards almond shape and cunning.

Hair: Long – Auburn. Tends to include braids and beads at random places because of some suspicion of his heritage, or at least simply because of they enjoying a certain TV series.

Face: A sharp face, but also leaning towards androgynous. They could be handsome or pretty depending on how they choose to dress for that day.

Clothes: Flannels with sleeves rolled up, v-neck t-shirts. Too many necklaces, enough bracelets in leather and stones that is probably an impediment to reaching into close spaces Rings on multiple fingers, thumb and index especially.

Roll Plays -


Regular -







Battle -

He was stuck waiting for them to be turned out by the doctors. He wasn’t of rank enough to pull it, or even hope to pull it, to be able to go in and see them. He had to half-assume that a few of the nurses or doctors were officers. He had been scolded to stop pacing because he was disturbing some of the other patients. He wasn’t positive he cared, but after the second scolding and threat to throw him out, without either of their civilian contact information, he sat down and found a way to pick his feet up just enough to swing them back and forth anxiously.
His boots, well worn and scuffed half to bits, brushed their worn toes against the linoleum as he waited to hear that he could see them. Either of them at this point.
He knew, in the sort of way that you knew things but held them in simulated denial, that it wasn’t his fault what happened. But at the same time he couldn’t help thinking about what he could have done differently, what he should have done differently.

He kept rewinding in his mind to being perched on the roof and watching them get out of the car. If he’d just seen then that the man that Markeb went for had a gun. If he’d noticed… something, anything. He knew he didn’t know what he was looking for, and it had been a concealed carry. But it still made him sick to think about it.

He wondered if the one he’d roundhoused in the head had a gun. How lucky had he been in that particular battle? Should he have done more to that first man? He knew it was frowned on now to do what he’d done to the second man… but there had been a gun. How was he supposed to deal with the gun otherwise?
He could have broken the man’s other wrist… he could have done a lot of things.
His stomach twisted as he thought about it, staring at his hand, the same one that had sunk into the man’s chest and found the starseed within. How warm it had been, how strange it had felt in his hand when his fingers curled around it.

He’d taken a life.

He had taken … a life. That man was going to waste away and die if he wasn’t already centipede monster food. He was probably centipede monster food.

The world spun and twisted, and the next thing he knew he was rushing for the restroom so that he could hang over the toilet and worship the porcelain god. He would have sold his soul for a hair tie in the brief moments of clarity between moments of desperately clinging to the seat like his personal gravity depended on his grip.

He was finally able to slump down to a seated position on the tile and breathe despite the taste of bile in his throat.
He’d killed someone…
But maybe he’d saved some people as well.