Sharry has curly sandy-brown unkempt hair. Her face is round and seemingly always smudged with some sort of dirt or grease. Her prepubescent frame sticks out of her now undersized blue dress—blue only in memory, now more of a greyish colour like an evening sky. She’s thin, but still retains some baby-fat. She is just cute enough of a kid to avoid punishment for some of her antics, but never anything major. Sharry hasn’t ever worn shoes, and thinks that they are “stupid and ugly.”
Sharry is a runaway. She tells everyone that she’s an orphan, but the truth is that her parents are still very much concerned about her, even though they have all but given up hope on her still being alive years ago. Sharry believes that she was escaping an abusive father, but again, the truth differs somewhat from the reality. Sharry was a difficult child, forever causing some sort of trouble. Until she ran away, her childhood was much like that of other Formourian peasant children, and she was no more cruelly treated than what would be typical punishment for her transgressions—in many households, a spanking for throwing the cat into the boiling stew is getting off light. She snuck inside a haystack of a wagon bound for market in a nearby town, and from there stowed away on another wagon bound for her current home of Argent.
It’s amazing how someone living on the streets—and coming from such humble roots—can be so spoiled. Sharry is quiet and timid, but something of a bully to children much smaller than her. When there’s something she wants, she’s not afraid to demand it, which gets her into trouble with local shopkeeps who catch her stealing. She then promptly demands that they give her whatever she was trying to steal, and makes her getaway while they stand there perplexed over such boldness. Sharry has a habit of twirling her hair on her finger, which only adds to the wild curls. She has some skills as a pickpocket, but rarely uses them, or other theivery, as she is afraid of being caught. When she feels it will benefit her, Sharry tries the cute act, and if that doesn’t work, she tries to play upon the heartstrings with her sad (fictional) life’s story. Her best weapon, is her ability to cry on command: rivers of tears streaming down her dirty face, trembling lip, short sobbing breaths, quivering & pleading voice, the works.