𝓣𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓐𝓼𝓱𝓽𝓸𝓷

Art: above picture is simply a reference of what the character may look like!

The Basics ––– –

Name: Matylldah Becca Ashton

Nickname(s): Tilly

Age: 20

Birthday: March 26th

Race: Kul Tiran - Human

Gender: Female

Marital Status: Single

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Dark Espresso

Eyes: Caramel

Height: 4′11″

Build: Subtle Hourglass

Distinguishing Marks: Unblemished, though her hands are slightly rough. Her nails are kept short, clean, and unpolished. With two full-time jobs at the Blue Recluse and The Slaughtered Lamb, she had no time and no chance to visit the spa.

Tattoos: None

Piercings: Ear lobes.

Common Accessories: A small wicker basket used to store her baked goods.

Personal Information––– –

Profession: Waitress / Bartender / A skilled hand wherever needed at the Blue Recluse and Slaughtered Lamb.

Hobbies: Reading, Embroidery, Gardening

Languages: Common

Residence: A brightly colored Vardo parked in Stormwind's Port District.

Birthplace: Drustvar, Kul Tiras

Religion: None (for now)

Patron Deity: None

Fears: Witch hunts; to be wrongfully convicted

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: Single / None

Children: None

Parents: Gordon and Brenda Ashton (both alive)

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: Aunts, uncles, cousins (all in Kul Tiras)

Pets: Sir Randolph Ashton, a plump ginger tabby.

Romance ––– -

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch

Love Language: Acts of Service

Relationship Tendencies: Simple courting, dating, slow-burn romance.

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Never tried, but open to it.

Drugs: Never tried, but open to experimentation.

Alcohol: Occasionally.

RP Hooks ––– –

Drustvar: Born and raised in Drustvar, those who are from the area may know of Tilly or the Ashton Farmstead (hog farm).

Stormwind: Chronically overworked and underpaid, Tilly has been employed by the Blue Recluse and the Slaughtered Lamb. You may have seen her there working hard for her coin. During her breaks, you may have even seen her selling baked goods. You may have even tried some!

Hey y'all! Sorry for being so MIA, but my final semester of nursing school has been INTENSE!

The big news: I've started my preceptorship... and I'm heading to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU)! It's truly a light at the end of the tunnel now, and I can't wait to finish strong.

This picrew and the last song I listened to ( I was obviously Rping as @westfall-faith )

Tagged by @nixalegos

Tagging: @torbeen @tyra-greydawn and others who want to do this!

It's my 1 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

The salt spray stung Tilly's youthful face, a familiar bite that barely registered through the dull ache behind her brow. How many years had it been? Seven? Eight? How old was she now? Nineteen? Twenty? Birthdays blurred on the run, especially when you were framed for witchcraft and forced to flee Kul Tiras. She had just found her first grey hair in her mane of moonspun midnight.

Tilly clutched the handle of her old, mahogony wand with floured hands. She was working. So hard. Her eyes, the amber color that mirrored boiling caramel, scanned the desolate shoreline. He had been here before, in Stormwind. But how he got here was anyone's guess. Had it been a dream? Regardless, she was here for him, the enigmatic Nethermancer who haunted the ruins of Drustvar and the Lamb.

Their encounters were few, but each one had left her breathless. He spoke of shadows and whispers, of a power that thrummed beneath the world, a concept not far removed from the fire-and-brimstone magic she'd glimpsed back on Kul Tiras. He was a puzzle, a cryptic scholar who, perhaps, saw possibilities in her she couldn't even imagine. He challenged her, made her question everything she thought she knew.

Yet, for all his wisdom, he'd refused to teach her his arts. Frustration gnawed at her. Didn't she deserve a chance at real power? The power to clear her name, perhaps even return home someday. She wanted to impress him, to prove herself worthy.

Tilly squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the last time she'd seen him. That deep green that peered at her from his cowl, almost luminous eyes, his voice that echoed like whispers from the deep. He wasn't cruel, not exactly. There was a depth to him, a sadness that resonated with the hollowness in her own chest. Maybe it wasn't about brute force he saw in her, but something else entirely. Something she hadn't yet discovered. All she wanted was to impress him and capture his attention. To make him listen.

She had to impress him more. Impress him better.

Grime clung stubbornly under Faith's fingernails, a permanent souvenir of her self-appointed role as Moonbrook's unofficial clean-up crew. Her fiery red hair, usually pulled back in a messy braid, hung loose around her shoulders, the aftermath of a particularly enthusiastic sweeping session.

A calloused fingertip brushed against something rough in a familiar gap between the tavern's wall planks. A note. The note itself was terse, but not unfriendly. It was scrawled in neat script that mocked her own. Literacy lessons ended abruptly for Faith at ten, when her parents died of illness and she was handed over to the Defias. Nevertheless, she percisted at sounding the thirty-one word note out... despite getting stuck on the word "Lorenzo."

Faith scowled, a familiar fire igniting in her gunmetal eyes. They didn't know her very well, these people who dangled promises or threats in cryptic messages. She wasn't some naive farm girl anymore and hadn't been one for the better part of twenty years.... But… ice. The throbbing in her lip seemed to pulse in agreement.

With a sigh, she grabbed a scrap of parchment left over from, who really knew when, and a chunk of charcoal from the hearth. The end of her education was evident in her handwriting. It was messy, spidery letters slanting at odd angles across the page; barely even the basics but the reply was clear. Fine. Shady Lady. When?

Tilly bustled through her bakery. Her hair, the color of a moonless night, was tied back in a practical braid. There was a smattering of flour on her apron and on the bridge of her tiny, perfectly sloped nose. Her honey-colored eyes, usually warm and inviting, flickered with a haunted intensity. She moved as if, should she stop, Azeroth -- or her past -- might come crashing down around her. Despite her frenetic energy, she was a tiny woman, barely reaching four-foot-ten and no heavier than a sack of flour. Yet, within her slight frame resided an alchemist's touch. She could conjure any sweet treat imaginable, from flaky croissants that shattered into buttery shards to impossibly light angel food cakes that seemed to defy gravity. A disembodied voice, a whisper like a passing shadow, brushed against her ear. She flinched. A flicker of jealousy ignited within her when the shadow spoke of rest. He, after all, could simply fade away, unseen and untroubled. She, on the other hand, could not. Azeroth was a harsh place, and survival demanded constant vigilance, constant work. "Never saw a sea stalk take a rest from growning just because the water was too full of brine" she finally said, her Kul Tiran lilt heavy.

Rain lashed against the warped wood of the cabin, a relentless drumbeat that mirrored Tilly’s hammering heart. Outside, the wind howled like a banshee, tearing at the loose shutters. Inside, the flickering firelight cast grotesque shadows that danced on the log walls.

Tilly clutched a steaming mug of chamomile tea, its herbal bitterness a poor substitute for comfort. The rumors had been swirling in Drustvar for weeks – whispers about the Ashton homestead on the outskirts, about the shrunken hogs and the unnatural silence that clung to the place like a shroud. Some folks even dared to say "witch."

A sudden thump on the roof made Tilly jump. Her gaze darted nervously towards the small window overlooking the pig sty. There was nothing but a tangle of skeletal branches clawing at the night sky. But the memory of her earlier visit to the sty lingered – the vacant eyes of the shrunken pigs, their skin stretched taut over bony frames.

Taking a deep breath, Tilly tried to rationalize it away. Maybe it was just a disease. A particularly nasty one that stunted growth. But the whispers spoke of more. Of strange lights dancing in the night, of unnatural wails echoing across the fields.

A twig snapped outside, sending a fresh jolt of fear through Tilly. She strained to hear, her senses on high alert. Was it an animal? Or something… else?

Suddenly, a rasping came from her window frame. Tilly gasped, her grip tightening on the mug until her knuckles turned white. It creaked open a sliver, revealing the darkness beyond.

A singsong voice cooed from outside. "Miss Tilly? It's Evelyn."

Relief washed over her, so sudden and intense it almost made her dizzy. It was just Evelyn, her Evey, from down the road. She'd offered to check in on her after the rumors started swirling.

Tilly scrambled to the window, throwing it open. Evelyn stood there, her blush smeared from the weather. The lantern she carried swung like a pendulum from the crook in her elbow and cast a golden glow on her worried features. Rain dripped from her oilskin coat, soaking the ground below. 

"Evey! Thank goodness it's you. I thought…" Her voice trailed off. The weight of the night was catching up to her.

"Thought it was a banshee come for a visit, hm?" came another singsong chuckle, the sound surprisingly warm. "Heard all those silly rumors about your place. Nonsense, I say. Just a nasty case of hog flu going around."

She climbed inside, wiping her boots on the windowsill.  Even with her reassurance, the words felt hollow. But Evelyn's presence was a comfort, a shield against the encroaching darkness.

"Let’s light a candle and read by the firelight," she said, her voice warm and kind. "Seems like we both could use a bit of calming down tonight."