Advanced Character Profile

Character Name: Shashka Ringdotr
Gender: Female
Age: 17
Universe: Starcatchers
Canon or Original: Original

Appearance: Shashka stands at 5 ft 7 in, though her sharp presence can sometimes make her seem larger than she truly is. When she stands, she often does so by folding her muscular arms and holding her head aloft, her petite nose pointed slightly upward with the tilt of her oval face. When she sits, she reels in her long legs, sitting with them crossed. Her stature seems to say, "What?".

Her long, brown hair is thick and wiry, the deep brown a match for the color of her intense eyes. Long lashes and almond shaped lids combine to give her a pretty face, not that she gives a rat's tail what she looks like. Attempts to tame her mane go no further than a hefty braid that trails down to her knees. She has never once had a haircut, and it shows. Scraggles and wisps of hair escape around her face, and she hastily tucks them back in to her braid when they fall into her eyes.

Her skin is naturally tan, the color of baked earth. Despite not minding dirt, she does love to be clean and keeps her nails orderly and short for working and her skin clean with a nightly bath. Likewise, her clothes may become dirty but are always spotless after a strong washing. She wears deep red pants that taper out around her legs, tapering in to a cuff at her ankles. The flowing fabric lets her move more easily and keeps her cool. Her top is also deep red, a cloth shirt with two ovular holes cut in the shoulders for breathability. She cares to wear no jewelry, much to the chagrin of her jewel-maker father. Often, she does not even wear shoes, finding them cumbersome and noisy. She much prefers to feel her own feet upon the ground. When necessary, she will don a darkly colored pair of padded slippers which let her move swift and quiet and keep her connected to the earth.

Personality: Shashka's Papa affectionately refers to her Krashka, a portmanteau of Crack and her name, because, he says, she reminds him of a whip when she's in one of her moods: quick and stinging. She has never been one to mince words. Her sniping behavior has won her a reputation and many boys of Deepwall jibe at her with snide nicknames like Princess Shashka and The Little Viper. Their comments roll off her back - she couldn't care less about the opinions of boys. The only man whose heart has been worth anything to her is her dear Papa, whom she dotes on affectionately, though never in public. Her papa often pleads with her to be less harsh ("Please, little dove."), but she is not interested in future prospects of marriage, and so gives a sharp shrug of her shoulder at his advice.

Her standoffish nature has won her few friends. As an only child, she spends much of her time alone and has little skill in communicating with others or working in groups. This has caused her to have a skewed opinion of the abilities of others. If there is a team, she wants to lead it. If there is a project, she will be the head. Her stubborn and judgemental heart tells her that she often knows best, and those less skilled should set down their egos and move aside when there is work to be done.

Truth is a virtue to her. She has very little patience as a rule, and even less patience for liars. Were she a sword, she would strike all those untruthful down at the knees. She also believes in the value of hard work, though she does not wish to do pointless hard labor. There must be a good reason, a true goal, an end. Toil for toil's sake is a waste of precious energy, but working for a well-planned and achievable dream is time well spent. Maybe because of this attitude, she enjoys luxurious things. Fine silks feel cool against her skin and a warm, scented bath at work's end should be a daily luxury to indulge in - if you've earned it.

Any Unique Abilities/Skills:
- Swift & Stealthy: Shashka has the uncanny ability to walk at above average speed (but below a run) with quiet footfalls. Her dark complexion helps her blend into the background, especially in the dark or at night. A skill learned from trials with Deepwall's animal trappers, she has since honed this skill when sneaking out at night for sword practice (see history).

- Jewelry Making & Strength: Years of assisting Papa with the pouring, hammering, and shaping of jewelry from ore has made Shashka sturdy, though not overly strong. Her muscles are long and lithe, rather than bulky. She does not require the finess for the intricate detailing - her Papa takes care of that - but she can swing a hammer and move large equipment.


- Affinity, Fire: Shashka has always had a kinship with fire. Lighting and stoking the jeweler's forge as a spark lept from her fingertips, her face lit in the warm glow of the hot metal. This was when she felt most alive. Her kinship with fire has given her a slight resistance to its heat. She is not superhuman, fire still burns, but she is able to hold hotter than normal items, like a steaming teapot, with little trouble or pain.

History: Ever since Shashka was small, Deepwall has been her home, but her home within Deepwall has changed, drastically since her youth. If she casts her mind back she remembers laughter and the smell of baking bread, the sound of sweeping and her mother singing songs and the feel of her combing Shashka's thick black hair. This happy picture is now a dearly held memory, as Shashka and her Papa are all that is left of her happy family. When her mother contracted illness one harsh winter, she wasted away in her bed, coughing louder, growing more tired, until at last she took her final, restful sleep. And little Shashka? She was restless, helpless, inconsolable. She wept until she felt her eyes were on fire with stinging, and then, as if a spark of change overtook her, she wept no more. She picked herself up and decided to fight. To fight as she had been unable to in the shadow of the faceless monster of her mother's sickness. The little girl grew, swept the house, baked the bread. Her Papa had always hoped for a boy, had planned to have another child. Before her mother Anisha's death, he had sang with her, his gray beard trembling with the force of his operatic voice, his jolly cheeks pink, eyes twinkling. Now, his rounded belly was a little smaller, his eyes a bit less bright, and the singing was no longer. He had become quiet following the death of his wife, and Shashka had become used to interpreting his moods - a quiet day meant it was best for her to keep aside. A morning where he patted her head at the breakfast table was sure to be a good one.

Together, the two kept on with their little life, and all was not sadness. Papa loved Shashka dearly, and Shashka proved she could be just as useful as any man when it came to the heavy lifting of the jeweler's shop. In their own way, they said I love you - for Shaska, in the sweat of her brow as she swung the tools of her trade, for Papa in the loving glances as he watched his proud daughter help in his work. His hands were not what they used to be. Shashka had been born late in his life, and he was glad of her help. Together, they could be kept housed and fed.

Shashka's true dream is to become a member of the royal guard. Motivated by the death of her mother, she longs for a way to feel strong and secure. A position in the royal guard promises comraderie, a steady income for her and her Papa, and that she will never go hungry or be without a roof over her head. Aside from practical matters, it's a chance to face the demons of her youth, blade first.

Other Noteworthy Facts: Shashka has crafted a blunt saber, the length of her forearm, in secret. It is fairly useless in a fight - it has no sharp edge and is unbalanced. It's significance is more symbolic than useful.

She has completed various trials with farmhands, blacksmiths (where the beginner's lessons taught her little about smelting she did not already know), tanners, tailors (which was nothing short of a disaster), the militia (her favorite), trappers, locksmiths, spice traders (where she impressed with her ability to eat very hot peppers), and of course, jewelers.

With her, she has a pack where she will place her little saber. It also contains extra ribbon to tie her braid, a few small hammers from the shop that wouldn't be missed, and a small gift of a necklace from her father.


Universe Specific Information: Star Catchers - HC Event

Storyline Specific Information:

Spoiler:

RP Sample: Papa talked often of finding a good man to marry, someone to care for her when he was gone, but Shashka hated that talk. "I'll take care of myself!" She would snarl, giving a trademark toss of her head in defiance. Her Papa would shake his head. He knew she would come around. After all, she would have to. She could not run the shop, or live a life, alone. But Shashka had a different plan. In the evening, when Papa's snores became deep, she would slide out of bed. Unbolting the latch of their single room house she would walk down the path, hiding in the shadows of trees and stealing glances at the stars.

When she reached an open field on the outskirts of the town, she would fight for her life. Strike, riposte, counter, parry. Her homemade sword was unbalanced, cumbersome - she was a jeweler, not a blacksmith - but it was hers. She struck out again and again, the blunt blade making a sharp thwack as it connected. Gleaming with sweat, she turned, her feet quick, braid whipping through the air. The final blow struck the heart, her enemy fell instantly. She knew the wound would be fatal, and she wasted no pity for her attacker. "You'll have to do better than that, 'Crow." She stood back, appraising her felled foe. The barren wooden post stared back at her silently. Shashka knew it was a bit silly, pretending this naked scarecrow was really her nemesis. She had even named him: Scar Crow, tyrant and thief.  But, out here there was no one to see, no one to call names, and besides, it made the nights less lonely to make believe. She sighed at the post. It really is sad looking, she thought. Any stuffing or fabric had worn away from the scarecrow's frame long ago. Shashka had always thought that maybe she could learn to sew, could stuff an empty bag of rice and place it atop the wooden framework, but she had never been adept with handicrafts. Delicate and detailed work was a mystery to her. Give me a hammer and I will pound in the nail, she thought. Give me a needle and I will probably find a way to sew my fingers together.

The singing of a bird in the distance shook her from her thoughts. It was getting late. "Well, this may be our last meeting," she said. "You've proven yourself a fine opponent." She gave a dramatic bow, bending low, then straightening with a sigh. She reached out, one last time, and placed her hand in the center of the cross made by the wood. "If I make it back, I'll get you some stuffing. Deal?" Crow said nothing as she turned and walked home through the night.

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As her quiet feet padded from the house, Papa gave a great sigh. There she goes again, running off. Thanks to his daughter, he had become a master at faking a deep snore. The truth of the matter was that he could ignore it no longer. Shashka was grown now, and she would have to go. He turned on his mattress, certain the knowledge of what tomorrow would bring was making it feel so unusually lumpy. Shashka had made such a big show. "It's only five days, Papa, and those days are so far away." She had said that almost every day this past week. She's trying to cheer me up, to make me forget it, but how can I? It's not as though it's a small celebration. How can one ignore it? He rolled again, the boards creaking under his girth. The apprentice will come tomorrow and she will go. Heaving a great sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, lighting a candle to guide his way in the dark little house.

Crossing the room, he set his candle down on the brick stove and reached toward the top of the brick work in the wall. Grasping the hewn stone with his fingers, he wiggled one brick free exposing a small nook, and pulled a necklace from the cubby. Suspended from the silver chain was a piece of iron that had been hammered flat, then cut into a rough, bird like shape. Replacing the brick, he sat on the edge of the bed, the necklace between his palms. "Hello, my songbird," he said, running his hands over the uneven metal. He remembered making it, how proud he had been of his first real work. In comparison to what he could craft now, it was a trinket worth almost nothing, but to him, it meant so much more than any of the fine things his hands had made. "She's leaving tomorrow, my love. Can you believe it? She's grown so big, grown so fast," a tear snuck into the corner of his eye. "I know, I know. I shouldn't cry, but she's so much like you, so full of life. It makes me worry." He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. He held the little necklace a moment longer, then rose, reaching under Shashka's mattress. He pulled out the carefully packed satchel, and gently dropped the necklace inside. Replacing the pack, he let his hand linger on it a moment longer. "Go with her, Anisha. Protect our little dove." Returning to his bed, he wept, glad Shashka was not near to see it.

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The next morning, when Papa awoke, he would be surprised to find himself alone. A cold loaf of bread, baked yesterday was set at his breakfasting place, along with a glass of milk, and a note. Shashka had agonized over what to write. Starting the letter with "Papa," had seemed too cold, while "My Dearest Papa" had seemed like she was laying it on thick. She went over the note in her mind again, trying to pass the time as she waited for others to arrive. She had come early, wanting to leave without having to say goodbye. "To My Papa: Today is the day. I am leaving. I am going to Mount Everlast, and I am going to catch the star. When I do, our lives will change, I promise. All my love, Shashka." She shook her head. Too short. I forgot to mention why I'm even going!

She had been chiding herself for this since she arrived, but she hadn't been able to write it, hadn't really been sure herself. Am I going for Mama? Am I going for me? She wasn't a child anymore. She no longer believed that the power of the star could heal her mother, or bring her back from the dead. She knew now that reality was rarely so kind. No, what she wanted now was to fight, fight as she had been unable to in days gone by. She would cut a path to her future and grab it for her own. She would not marry a farm boy, she would not live her life alone. She would catch that star, bring it to the King, and then, standing tall, proud, victorious, she would ask to be made a member of his royal guard. She would train, be housed and fed, and have her fellow fighters by her side for companionship. The money she would bring in would ensure her Papa would never go hungry, never have to work again. Yes, she could see it, her future. And it's only one teensy little mountain climb away, she mused wryly to herself...

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