Iryla

Gender - Female
Age - 16(ish?)
Race - Half Moon Elf, Half ?
Nationality - Ashlands

Appearance - 

Short and scrawny are two words that easily describe Iryla. She generally looks like any other street kid you might see hiding away in the shadows of busy streets. She stands at about 5'2" and is mostly skin and bones with rough-hewn clothes seemingly made from the remnants of a canvas sack hanging off her shoulders. Though it's hard to see under all the grime, her hair is bright white and eyes are large and blue owing to her Moon Elf heritage. When cleaned up, perhaps she could be called cute, but the constant scowl on her face somewhat diminishes that...

Personality -

Iryla is both quick witted, and slow to trust. Having spent the majority of her life on the streets, she knows what it takes to survive on your own, but knows very little of what it means to be cared for. She has a bad habit of mouthing off to people whom she really shouldn't, because she always figures out a way to run from the trouble she gets herself in, but one of these days she'll find herself in water too hot to get out of. She's the type who tries to think carefully before making any moves, but will let her temper and childish impulsivity get the better of her. Though she talks big, she is actually quite shy and would not know how to react to someone showing her genuine compassion. In her eyes, the only people who offer you anything are those who want something in return.

History -

Much of Iryla's history is murky even to her. The earliest memories she can recall are of her life in a Darkveil City orphanage, where she was presumably left by her parents early on. The caretakers of the orphanage never saw who might have left Iryla there, and the young half-elf girl was only old enough to remember her name and not where she came from. They presumed she was around three years old at the time, but in reality, no one was ever sure, not even Iryla herself. 

As a child she was meek, and no one ever took notice enough of the quiet girl hiding in the corner to ever decide to bring her home. She was left in that orphanage until around age twelve, when it became too much of a burden to keep her as another mouth to feed among all the others. She was sent out into the city on her own at that point, where she very quickly learned that surviving on her own could be even more difficult than surviving in the orphanage.

Years passed, she never found a place to call home, but she did carve out her own existence. Though that existence is meager at best, it is hers, and she is fiercely protective of all that she can call hers. Even if what is hers is a cot made of scraps in an abandoned attic and her only momento from her parents, a locket she has never been able to open.