Ismae Yates

Minecraft account: 3v3r_Joy

Player: Nevermore or Raven!

Other character(s): Quinnik, Koehen, and Eudora

Character Name: Ismae Yates
Race: Human

Age: 23

Gender: female

Character Description: a woman of average height, an even 5’6 she is spindly in frame, spry in form. Her round face and lost expression gives the sense of ignorance and blissful unawareness as she walks, leading with her head and ever curious. Her hair is kept short, a shaggy bob of dark brown almost black hair. Her wide eyes never focus on one thing for long, hazel falling to various items that grab their attention. 

Almost always rocking on her toes she fiddles with her clothing as she speaks, pulling at her fingers and humming in soft, unfocused tones. 

Character Occupation: hunting, scavenging

Character Personality/Traits: Always a little lost in her own thoughts, Ismae tends to speak in soft hums and nods. She isn’t one to hold a conversation for long, and if she does, it’s often disjointed in topic, always bouncing to the next subject before finishing the first thought. She comes off as gullible, dreamy, in the clouds with her own world, though she often is always listening, keeping attention to those around her as they speak intently. She isn’t loud, often confused for mumbling or referred to as a mouse; she wanders from crowd to crowd, stall to stall, subject to subject, scurrying to learn from that moment and then onto the next. 

Character Biography: 

Dismay was common amongst the refugees of Barkamsted, never a moment to take a breath. Wary mothers and hardened fathers persevered through dangerous circumstances and unforgiving conditions to keep their small families alive, though many would find themselves in the ever constant throes of grief and despair, losing homes, belongings, security, and worse of all, their children. 

One such couple were the Yates. 

A family of five, the human couple struggled to keep mouths fed and bodies warm. Caz Yates, a simple woodsman and a bittering man with the environment worked day and night in hopes of seeing his wife and three children be warm and fed, though struggled to see them consistently fed, forgoing his own meals and comfort in these harrowing times to fill the gaps. This waned on his health greatly. 

Greta Yates, a fragile and glass like woman in temperament struggled to care for her three children alone while her husband worked. Recent in postpartum of her youngest child, a small boy she had yet to name with how new to the world he never left her arms. Fear of death or loss of the small boy clung to Greta in thick sheets of paranoia, even lashing out to her two daughters, believing they might conspire against the infant in vile jealousy. 

The oldest daughter, Francis, 10 years of age she days spent her hours with chores. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Assisting with her own family as well as others, serving as a wet nurse for the struggling mothers in their small community. She was a frail girl, pale and seen as pretty amongst the aged women she assisted. 

The second daughter, Ismae, only 5 years old tried her very best to keep up with her older sister, though she met the wrath of her mother frequently, never allowed to assist anywhere near her young brother. Ismae attached to her father when she could, wanting to be helpful and often coming with him on his various jobs just to be out of her mother’s way. 

The family functioned in these harrowing times, though the world wouldn’t be kind to them or many others. The farm blight took hold, causing the already struggling family to flounder. Feeding his family became beyond difficult for Caz, and his wife grew more hysterical with the struggle to keep her little boy healthy. Desperate to comfort his wife, haggard with the constant wails from her he gave in to a horrible request. 

In need of food, and fewer mouths to feed, Caz took Ismae with him to go foraging, giving the small girl a basket and having her go seek out berries while he searched around in the area. Ismae, delighted to help her father would begin her hunt, but unbeknownst to the young girl, her father would return home without her, knowing his child would get lost in the woods on her own. 

6 years pass and Ismae steps out of the Barkamsted swamps, still holding her empty basket now twisted with brambles and her skirts torn and mud covered. A haze, still quietly calling out for her father, still the five year old girl.

The still 5 year old Ismae made her way back to the roads, being brought back to Barkamsted by some guardsmen. Taken in she continued to vaguely call for her father, lost as the men guided her and tried to figure out who she was. 6 years is not a long time and it wouldn’t be long before Ismae was identified as the Yates’ child, much to the horror of her parents. Having not aged a day, but having looked as if she had been lost for the past 6 years frightened her parents greatly, her own infant brother now older than his older sister.

With the farm blight passed, the family was indeed doing better with one less head to worry about, and Caz had almost broken with the return of the daughter he had left to die, guilt ridden and heart still broken to have followed the request of his crazed wife, he made the choice to leave her, taking Ismae with him as he saw this as a new start, a way to amend what he had done. He gave Francis the choice to choose where she went, now 16, though she chose to stay with her mother to help care for their now 6 year old, Cyrus. 

Greta was thrilled to have the clearly demon possessed Ismae away from her and her children, and called Caz many names, screaming that he had been tricked. 

Caz took Ismae to Falkvard with him, hoping to keep her away from the bane of her mother while he nursed Ismae back to the point of talking. She had been despondent, often staring out windows or walls as if lost in their small home. Caz was of course worried, even refusing to leave her home alone in fear she may just wander out the door, and not wanting to repeat what he had done to her years prior, he always kept her with him. 

Strange girl. To his dismay, many found her despondency off putting and even creepy. She spoke little and when she did it was in disjointed sentences, often referring back to conversations Caz had attempted to have hours previous. 

Many would grow to avoid Ismae, often speaking with her father and giving her odd glances. 

She’s mad. Soon the avoidance extended to her father, the community avoiding him as he defended his daughter vehemently, pointing out the cruelty of outcasting a child. 

This year with her father would not be a long one, as the Sons of Itiris would attack Falkvard. Scooping up his daughter, he ran from the attack, but wouldn’t make it far before he would be punctured through the back by arrows. Caz collapsed to the brick streets, Ismae tumbling from his arms. 

“Da…” she once again started as if still returning from the woods. She pulled on his sleeve, uncertain as to why he had suddenly fallen, completely unaware of the chaos that unfolded around her. “Da… let’s go home… I want to go home…” he couldn’t reply, and Ismae continued to try to rouse her dead father. 

Ismae would be picked up again, pulled from her father’s corpse by guardsmen and taken somewhere away from the attack. Cries of children and mothers, fear echoing throughout the streets, Ismae began to try to walk home. Slipping away and through the streets she walked uncaring back to her and her father’s home, empty and quiet. She sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the door for hours, perhaps days before there came a knock. She’d stand and with her little form open the door, peeking out to see two guards, checking for people and to inform them of confirmed deaths. Seeing just the small girl, they began to seek other relatives of Caz, eventually locating Greta in Barkamsted. They’d inform her of the death of her ex husband, and that her daughter was still here, refusing to leave the home. Greta would refuse to take Ismae in, but Francis would come to Falkvard to try to convince her young sister to come back with her. 

Ismae would play quietly with small toys while Francis over the next few days attempted to coerce her to leave the home. Ismae never made eye contact, never said more than a few words, and would never be convinced to leave the small home. Well, she was almost 6 now, and it wouldn’t be hard to just take her back to Barkamsted, to which Francis finally allowed the guard to help her with. 

Ismae cried. She cried and cried, never able to fully explain why, just asking for her father and to go home. Even if that home wasn’t what others thought. She explained in vague descriptions and feelings of what she thought home was. Loss, familiar, home. It’s the only word her small mind could muster.

Back in Barkamsted, Greta left Francis to raising Ismae, having little to nothing to do with the girl. Ismae and her brother Cyrus weren’t allowed to speak with each other, but that was only ever enforced when their mother was present, so they would get along fairly well as Francis watched over them. Ismae was prone to bouts of wandering, leaving the home to attempt to return either back to Falkvard, to the swamps, or where ever else her feet took her. Francis spent many days chasing Ismae down to return her home, and while Ismae was still young, she often sobbed any time she was brought back to home, insisting she wanted to go home and find da. She was near inconsolable during these times, not for a lack of trying from her siblings, crying for hours usually until she slept. 

As the years went on, the start of the deep winter began, Ismae now 14, her sister now reaching adulthood, and her brother beginning to do farm work at 15 years old which unfortunately was cut short by the deep cold. Their mother continued with her distaste for Ismae, coddling her little boy and claiming Ismae was corrupting him as Cyrus had begun to join Ismae in her bouts of wandering, deciding it was best to wander with her and guide her rather than pick her up and take her home. 

Francis took charge of her two siblings as their mother grew ill in the cold, admittedly not trying terribly hard to care for her mother as she was already in her latter years and had been awful through their lives. Francis would allow the wandering more than in previous years, specifically when Cyrus would accompany Ismae, this allowed Cyrus and Ismae almost full reign to wander. Cyrus would have very one sided conversations with his sister, explaining his latest fixation about tinkering and mechanical tools to his sister while she nodded aimlessly. She occasionally chimed in with a random question, or deep cut dig at something regarding their life, which Cyrus always found odd, but would entertain any form of conversation with his sister.

With the voyage set out to hopefully cleanse the continent of the everlasting winter, Cyrus and Ismae had begun setting small game traps in the close woods of Barkamsted. Cyrus experimented with small contraptions to help feed the family while Ismae accompanied him, usually interested in letting the game free to follow them to their homes, but she never protested against the quick deaths of the small creatures as long as she hadn’t gotten to the trap first. She had always wondered what happened when they got trapped, what they would do to get home. Cyrus told her to not worry about such things. 

During this winter, their mother would finally pass in the night. This broke Cyrus’ heart, growing distant and quiet, but he was receptive to the efforts to distract by Ismae and Francis, Ismae now offering conversation instead. Long winded philosophical discussion about how creatures feel to be trapped and hunted, where do spirits go after death, and more. 

The pair continued to grow together, their sister working as a seamstress as the winter finally ended, the queen’s coronation passed. Ismae, now reaching 18, had gained a fondness for tracking and trapping with her brother, making some coin off the pelts and meat. Her wandering had purpose now, finding game. 

With the Queens wedding approaching, Francis would pick up in work but for ease had herself and her two siblings move to Falkvard so that she could seek the market of clientele looking for clothing for the celebration. Cyrus and Ismae, now nearing adulthood would begin getting familiar with the forests near Falkvard, though Cyrus wasn’t keen on staying single like his older sister, now deciding to spend more time with work inside the walls and be social with the community, which Ismae was never too keen on, only ever speaking with her siblings, even having them talk to others for her. So alone in the woods she spent most of her time, wandering but always close enough to return to the city

The cult attacked. Ismae was returning, entering the walls again when the alarms were raised, to which she found herself lost in the streets to find refuge. She needed to find her siblings, but instead found herself despondently calling for her father, wandering aimlessly until she was dragged along to find cover. And repeating as she had almost two decades previously, she slipped away, this time wandering to her home with her siblings. Francis wasn’t home, but Cyrus was, beckoning Ismae in and barricading the door. The two would only see their sister again to confirm a dead body, the body of Francis. Ismae reacted little to this, distant, while her brother was deep in the throes of grief, losing yet another mother figure in his life. He secluded himself, refusing to speak with Ismae, disappearing into obscurity in the distractions of lower society. 

Ismae once again alone, wandered aimlessly most days. Receiving odd looks and whispers as she took the same paths over and over throughout the weeks. Looking for a home she remembers but not quite, seeking absently the nostalgia she had grown to cover with her siblings and hunting. 

The void began to make itself present in that of strange phenomena across the city and outside of it, one such instance Ismae would be witness to in the woods. A shadow speaking to her, copying her. She followed, intrigued until it vanished with the sun. She’d continue to wander the woods for a time, seeking out the friend in the woods. Someone to talk to. It never talked back again after that. 

The mystics returned. Talk of impending doom. Ismae wanted to answer to the strange shadow, to the talk of ghosts unable to find their way home. She wanted to speak with them but speaking with people had proven a difficult task as her thoughts tended to wander. Hunting. She knew hunting. With the closing of the void tears, Ismae decided now was the time to try and seek people. Seek people who knew things she did. The hunters guild was her goal now.

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