Description: Pretty as a picture, Sloane's youth and vibrancy are offset by an old soul's hazel eyes, a knowing glimmer that promises knowledge she shouldn't have. Red hair, full and soft, falls in waves about her face, fair skin tanned from days spent out of doors. Freckles flick across her face and shoulders like paint specks. A full mouth smiles easily. Petite and lithe, she easily disappears into a crowd, but while her form is soft, her hands are callused from work of some kind.

Personality: Sloane Starling is an odd, tumultuous young woman. She sees the world in multifaceted hues as though through shards of mirrors infinitely reflecting it but never the same. She cries. She laughs. She loves. She hates. Her emotions rise and fall like the tides, sensitive to anything and everything around her. An empathetic nature contrasts with shameless self-absorption. Nothing in the world is as interesting as what she perceives.

Background: Sloane is a commoner whose family probably died in a plague or in a shav attack or some war or another. Regardless, she travels alone, having settled for some years in Bastion the great seat of House Grayson to ply her trade. A barkeep, a caretaker, nothing has brought Sloane quite as much infamy as her fortune telling reputation. She promises that with nothing more than a touch and a card she can predict a person's future. It's surely nothing more than a way to entertain travelers during a snowy winter's eve - or on one occasion, spark a fight.

Sloane hated the drudgery of working day in and day out to keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. She craved more. And when that craving became overpowering, she picked up her belongings and moved to Arx, there to apply for training as a Whisper and find a life of luxury and affluence.

Relationship Summary

Patron:

Venturo - I met a man upon the road and with a smile he said, /"Whistle, girl, to pass the miles, and travel e'er ahead."

Lianne - Don't whisper to the mirror, child, for it may whisper back.

Friend:

Tanith - There once was a salacious baker / Who joined on a fun little caper / We drank until dawn / And then with a yawn / We polished the young lord's long saber.