Kas Saernovian

She was everything a Saernovian should be: educated, beautiful, and solid.

The Saernovian family was an old, brutal one, with hefty ties to the criminal underworld, and one that had managed to work and worm their way through one crisis after another to ever increase their power, with the assumption that the newest generation would fall in line with the rest.

The stuffy, even insidious reputation of her fore-bearers didn’t match the woman bearing it now; she had a laid-back grace about her, the quiet cheer she brought with her often culminated in a friendly smile that curled naturally flushed lips away from very white, even teeth. Her features were quite delicate, with dark lashes framing large, deep green eyes on either side of a button nose. Unlike her older siblings, her skin was rather fair, with a spattering of freckles across the pale skin. Long strands of dark honey-hued hair were often twisted into a bouncing ponytail that swayed to her mid-back, a few strands occasionally escaping and falling free against her cheeks.

The unmarred nature of her natural features ended abruptly once one was close enough to notice them: a pair of partially-faded scars tore across her flesh, one stretching from beneath her right eye, down across her lips, across her neck, and disappearing beneath her shirt at her left collarbone. The other, darker than the first, slashed from beneath her left eye, across her nose, through her right eye and splitting through her eyebrow. Though time had faded them to some degree, she stubbornly continued to bear them, rather than have them removed, and somehow, the jagged nature of the marks suited her.

Her frame was tall compared to the women in her family, standing at 5’8”, and while she was perhaps on the thin side, from skipping meals while working, she carried a healthy amount of muscle, and her frame was not without a softness to her curves. More often than not, her work attire was the outfit she was most commonly spotted in: comfortably snug leggings with pockets sewn into the thighs, a comfortable tank, and a finely-made, black jacket with a high collar, and a single green leaf emblazoned upon the back, ending with a pair of knee-high, fine leather boots as dark as the jacket she wore.


Misc. - Modern Settings Only

Profession: Botanist at her family’s research center, grower at a friend’s cannabis grow.
Misc: Often smells like cannabis, wealthy but tends to hide it, surprisingly perceptive


WIP