Name: Rowan Vale Age: 24 Gender: Nonbinary (they/he) Sexuality: Pansexual Pronouns: they/he
Appearance: Rowan stands at 5'10", with dark, scarred skin and thick auburn hair streaked with gray at the tips. Their left arm ends at the mid-bicep, usually wrapped in clean bandages, sometimes replaced by a mechanical prosthetic they built themselves. They have sharp amber eyes and wear a green tank top over a black compression shirt, usually paired with a silver dog tag necklace that clinks softly when they move. Their expression rarely softens — a mix of constant irritation and deep exhaustion.
Visible Disability: Missing left arm. Invisible Disabilities: PTSD, chronic pain, and episodes of dissociation. Personality: Rowan is blunt, sarcastic, and has no patience for pity. They’ve got a soldier’s discipline and a survivor’s mouth — quick to curse, slow to trust. Despite the sharp edges, they’re fiercely loyal once someone earns it. They tend to deflect care or vulnerability with humor or anger, but underneath, they crave genuine connection and safety.
Likes:
Strong coffee, preferably black
Tinkering with tech or weapon mods
The sound of rain
Late-night walks when no one’s around
Dislikes:
Being underestimated or pitied
Loud crowds
People touching their arm without asking
Silence after a fight
🩸 Short Story / Scenario Setting
Title: “Ash and Steel”
Rowan lives in a crumbling coastal city recovering from years of war — a place where the sirens have stopped, but the echoes haven’t. The streets are cracked, overgrown with vines, and the power grid flickers like a heartbeat that can’t decide if it wants to stop. They rent a room above an old auto shop, fixing machines and patching people up when no one else will.
Most nights, they sit outside with a cigarette between their teeth, staring at the ocean, muttering about how it "used to mean something." The scars on their body tell more stories than they ever will — not all of them finished.
The world around them isn’t magical, but it’s heavy with the kind of tension that feels like it could be. People disappear sometimes. Rumors spread about strange figures near the docks. Rowan doesn’t believe half of it — until the night someone new shows up at their door, bleeding and begging for help.
That’s where you — or another character — comes in.
🧩 How to Interact / Drop-In Hook
Your character could be:
Someone Rowan used to know from the war, now resurfacing.
A runaway looking for a place to hide.
A mechanic or medic needing a partner on a dangerous job.
A neighbor who’s finally had enough of Rowan’s late-night welding.
Example starter: You knock on the metal door. There’s a pause, then a gruff voice from inside —
“If you’re selling something, I’m not buying. If you’re bleeding, come in before you ruin the floor.”
When you step inside, Rowan’s leaning on the workbench, arm stump bandaged fresh, a faint smirk crossing their face.
“You look like shit. Sit down before you fall down.”