Margaret "Winger" Korwyn

Born and raised on a farm in rural Aerilon, Maggie learned farming at her father's knee. By the time she turned 13, she knew farming inside and out. She could ride a horse with the best of them, but her plowing left a lot to be desired. The tractor was a recalcitrant beast, it seems, and would only travel at angles. By this time, she was growing bored with farming and was looking for a way out. Her cousin convinced Maggie's parents to allow her to learn to fly an old crop duster. She took to flight like a bird to air. Meaning that after a few false starts and bad landings, she did pretty well. By the time she was in her late teens, the business her cousin started was doing well. Maggie took some time to get more 'schooling', though her family felt it was a waste of her time and talents. After only a few years, she agreed. Rather than return to her cousin's company, she signed on with a small trading firm and flew as first string pilot for several years. She became a bit of a hot-shot and fancied herself to be an 'ace' pilot. While the business prospered, she sent money home to her parents to keep the farm afloat, spent money on good whiskey and fast men, and generally had a good time.

All things come to an end, however. Due to upper management corruption, the business failed rather badly. The owner blamed the minions rather than admit that his relation had 'issues'. Rather than face the scorn and derision back home, Maggie looked for other options and settled on a military career. At least, if she played her cards right, she might be able to fly again. A bit older than the typical 'grunt', Maggie entered the ranks as an Ensign at 32ish. With her prior experience flying both small crop dusters and larger cargo ships, she could have gone with Raptors or Vipers but she soon found an affinity for the smaller, tightly maneuverable fighter planes.

Immediate Family

Maggie's parents are alive and well, living on the homestead. She has a variety of brothers and sisters who shall remain nameless until and unless RP brings them out. In other words, I am semi-open to the idea of having someone claim a family member as a PC. The family is pretty close knit and generally happy with the normal sibling rivalry and jostling for attention that happens in largish clans.

Service Jacket

Entered the Service as an Ensign at the ripe, old age of 31 and went pretty quickly into Viper training. With her civilian experience, this went well and she was stationed on the Cruiser Prometheus. After an accident involving the commander's shuttle, a viper, and a freshly swabbed flight deck, she was sent to patrol duty around the Picon shipyards. Due to the incident, she was assigned the callsign "Winger."

Korwyn was promoted to Lieutenant JG in accordance with her time served and dedication to her post. At the end of her third year in service, she had proved her dedication to the military and willingness to get the job done. Her CO felt that her talents were wasted on patrol around Picon and transferred her to the Cerberus.

Physical Features

Hair the color of autumn on fire falls in soft, gentle waves about this woman's face and down to the middle of her upper back. Red blends to auburn to russet and back again, giving the shimmering masses the look of flame. High cheekbones and a narrow chin give her a nymphish look, the etherial otherness augmented by eyes the color of a moonless midnight and skin more golden brown than fair. A smattering of freckles dusts her nose and skips playfully across her cheeks, just to lead the eye astray. The otherness is broken when she smiles, for warmth spreads from the upward tilt of her lips and hints at laughter just waiting to brighten the moment.

Standing at about 5'6", this woman is neither tall, nor short, though the length of her limbs lends the illusion of height to her frame. The shirt that she wears is one of those ultra-soft brushed cotton affairs that button down the front, have long sleeves with button cuffs and a swagger sewn into the hems. She wears it well, with the top few buttons left undone, the tails tucked into jeans and the sleeves rolled up to just below her elbows. The fabric is a dark green that sets off the rose of her cheeks and the flame of her hair. It follows the line of her pleasing curves, billowing just enough to suggest fullness here and narrowness there without giving away all of her secrets.

The jeans she wears are a deep russet-brown denim with a button fly and a belt of ebony leather. Neither tight nor loose, they look casually comfortable without pretense or ostentation. The cuffs of her jeans are tucked into the tops of dark brown leather boots.