'Scruffy' might be a first impression. By way of a thesaurus, 'bedraggled,' 'threadbare' or simply 'mangy', owing to the state of her hair, might be included in a second through fifth. She is notably clean. What remains of her sun-lightened brown hair is thick and naturally curly, and this means it's frizzy much of the time. The rest has been sheared inexpertly, short but variably patchy. She's wearing glasses with thick lenses, and her hazel eyes are a bit owlish behind them. She also frankly looks to be one big freckle, made more obvious from time spent outdoors. Her hands have clearly seen work.

Given that she is swamped in her clothes, even at an average height, she is probably wearing hand-me-downs. The airy-sleeved tunic is faded blue to gray, falling well past her hips; this impromptu dress is belted at the waist with a woven cord, highlighting her thin build. She is wearing trousers underneath, roughly chopped short so that they don't drag. At least her shoes are in good condition, broken in but not fraying at the edges like almost everything else about her.


Mora's history is short, given the nature of it, and she only has so many turns under her belt besides.

She was born near one of the minor holdings in the vicinity of Xanadu Weyr, and there she has lived. She and her parents were close enough that they could work the hold's farmland, do miscellaneous errands, and trade for the occasional goods. While it would behoove a family to stay in the hold for any number of reasons — a place to sleep, food to eat — Mora's parents were somewhat atypical in their sensibilities; if there was some particular reason for this arrangement, Mora doesn't know. Her father built them a hut, and given the generally mild weather, they fared well enough on their own. They planted their own crops atop giving time to the hold, hunted, scavenged, built or wove what they could, and scrimped marks for what they couldn't.

Vermora, raised in this manner, simply grew into the way of things. When she was around twelve turns old, her father failed to return home one day. If there is a story behind that, Mora doesn't know it. So she and her mother made do. Without the need to devote her time to a singular Craft, Mora devoted her time to doing what was necessary. She can cook, she can weave and sew, she can farm, she can preserve, she can hunt, she can tan, if it has teats she can milk it, she can cut wood and do rough practical things with it. Her skills are rudimentary but well-practiced. Technology, reading and writing are the sort of things that are beyond her scope of knowledge.

Things got real difficult around her sixteenth turn. Her mother had become increasingly mentally and physically ill, and by this time, she had great difficulty caring for herself and vehemently refused a Healer. So Mora cared for her, dodging her increasingly erratic moods, making ends meet by burning through what supplies and marks the family had saved. As one might expect, her mother passed.

Grieving or otherwise, Vermora had developed a mile-wild streak of practicality. She gathered what useful items she had and set off on foot. Making for the holding would have been the logical decision—and here her practicality did briefly desert her. Because her parents had disapproved of living there, Mora bypassed the hold and headed for Xanadu Weyr, a place they hadn't said much about. There is sure to be lots of work there.


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There are no RP logs for Vermora

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