Phys: Emris intends to be immediately indelible from the get-go. Her hair is died a dark green; it's a gangle of braids done up like a crown, with a single vine of leaves hanging from her temple. She wears sticks and leaves in the mess of it, which she collects as she mosies along. There's a slump to her shoulders, like she's practiced poor posture for some time. Standing at 138 cm, but 132 at a light hunch, she hangs quite low for the tree branch she attempts to come across as. Emris has a darker complexion and a splattering of freckles. Cool amber eyes nest in a bed of thick lashes. The foliage of her hair and the leaves cast shadows, yet the bags under her eyes are darker still.

Mental: Emris isn't a troublemaker, he'd say. He's a fun-goer - there's a difference. He has a juvenile sense of humour, the sort most wouldn't find funny unless they were in on the joke. Perhaps they'd find it endearing, although no one's attested to it thus far. He prefers to rope randos into his shenanigans, but certainly he wouldn't be opposed to banding together with a cohort of like-minded and, uhm, "distinguished" individuals.

. A pure-blood whose family colludes in the whispers of those who traffic rumours, Emris is regarded for his deeply unorthodox presentation. He enjoys getting dirt under his nails, mud on his face, sticks and leaves in his hair. If he's well put together, it's because it was ordered of him. Get too close and he'll make sure you don't walk out unscathed either. So long as the energy is delivered from his bones, Emris makes a good study; his grades reflect his truth, even if he won't make a habit of exercising that intelligence outside.

The House Hortensia was a displaced assortment of manors comprising several pure-blood families. They lived a comfortable, rural life separate from the outside world, devoid of electricity. Among the families, Emris Hortensia would come up with nine siblings from the branch Praxa Ailanthus. Emris's kin would practice magic sparingly despite the quality of their blood. Their hands would callous and they'd be proud of the work, and although love wasn't verbal, it was expressed. Love was the set of the dining table when supper hissed, the time they filled with people because the monotony of labour was quiet. The House Hortensia is quite known for the deep navigation of uncharted land, its fluency in map-reading, tracking, its adaptability and endurance, and its knowledge of herbs, lycanthropy and magical beasts.

Emris was the youngest. They were brought up and raised to inherit a simple role, as the youngest. They failed to serve their role well, and rather unprompted, Uncle Lote reprimanded her for her outfit instead to pull attention from her mistake; it was embarrassing, if you knew his intention. He was pitying her. Uncle Lote's footfall aimed nearer, his large hand made the set of her shoulders, and in Emris's hurt, she accidentally willed magic into her surroundings and carved gouge marks into the sides of trees. The magic settled with a hum, she churned snow beneath her boots, and even though she only nicked the surface, Uncle Lote was even more severe in the face.