Thyra Thorne

THE KNIGHT OF THE DEEP, CAPTAIN OF THE VECTOR GALLICA

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tidekiller

there is work to be done. There is always work to be done.Against the behemoths of the sea, the Captain cuts a sharp figure. At peace on the deck of the Nymian warship, that which adorned with red sails, a serpent and rose coiled in black.Just like the deep, this is a vessel is a home to hunters, and the Knight of the Deep, o' saltsworn Captain, purveyor of justice has collected her due over the years.On the land, her poise is more stiff - limbs more used to co-operating with the added weight of scale armour, a phantom straight line through the line bespoken to authority. There is little relaxed in her speech; she speaks directly and with power to the truth. Courteous, but aloof. A smile far to find. A steady, afflicted wyrmsblooded stare, slow to blink, steady.And those of aethersight would glimpse red and void darkness, coalesced, both splintered and infused; at one with the odd, ever-ravenous nature of The Vector Gallica, where the shadows seem to lengthen and darken most towards the bottom of the barricaded hull, off-limits to all. Where dreams are the most furious and starving.— There is always work to be done. And debts to be repaid.

wrist vein, of feral bloom,

long of Maelstrom renown - a dedicated soldier even back in her youth, a decorated soul of the battle against Leviathan with the Company of Heroes, and the ruinous earth of Carteneau. Loyal to the storm, to the Alliance, even now with her independence. Comfort is found most with fellow veterans and assistance extended to those pure of cause and in need. A trained spearwoman, but also a handy shot with a musket and quick cleaver with a blade.

petals and powdered bone,

a ravenous vessel, The Vector Gallica dedicates itself harbinger of justice and safety amongst more treacherous waters. A predator of monstrous inhabitants of Hydaelyn's oceans, whether beasts or man. Those who seek a bounty, or safe passage may find themselves a guest on the ship, expected to assist where they can, or stay out of the most obvious harms way. One may have heard odd whispers of a crimson glow to the wood amidst the battle. Of the wounds knitting back together following the demise of prey. Of dreams, some nightmares, and simmering hunger.

constellations sunk into the sea bed,

there are few privy to the Captain's personal affairs - a distance purposefully cultivated, apart from what she seeks out on her own accord. Those of a healing disposition to assist with an odd condition; the occasional fatigue and depletion of aether, bones and flesh re-woven with latent energy from another plane entirely. There are other pursuits — of attire and style, an appreciation of beauty, hewn elegance, of cuisine and fine drink.