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Misty

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About Misty

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  • Gender
    F
  • Location
    The Great White North
  • Interests
    Writing, reading, music, vidya gaems.
  • Occupation
    Snow Mexican, syrup bender, student of the urban planning variety.

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  1. Prestississimo and I fought at 5:05 PM EST today, and I was the victor. It was a very close, very fun fight!
  2. A figure clothed in the attire of a wanderer was standing, rather uncomfortably, in the middle of the crowded inn. Facing her was a gangly teenager, all elbows and long limbs, whose words were slurred and eyes were rimmed with red. There was far too much raucous laughter filling the air to make out her words as she spoke, but the tone was melodic and sweet, a stream burbling in the distant woods. The girl stood with a hip jutted to one side, slender right arm draped across her slight body, delicate fingers clasping the elbow opposite. Her head was canted to the right, strands of ashen hair tickling the curve of a narrow shoulder. Her skin was a sheet of parchment stained with midnight ink, meticulous brushstrokes painting a tapestry that cascaded down one pale cheek before disappearing under her neckline. A simple woolen tunic covered her torso, dyed a blue that nearly matched the cloudless sky as it brightened into day. Though the fabric was fitted across her chest, the sleeves draped just past her hands, leaving only the tips of her fingers visible. Soft brown leather covered her legs, the material clinging to the curve of her thighs before disappearing into the thick leather of brown travelling boots. The boots themselves appeared to have seen their fair share of hiking, grass and mud clumped on the soles and staining the dark leather. Similar leather made up a small satchel slung across her body, carefully positioned to keep curious hands from checking its contents. An uncomfortable smile adorned the woman’s lips. Her expression was the picture of forced politeness, a kind expression accompanied by vacant eyes and a distant gaze. Though her chin nodded along to the man’s frenzied conversation, it was clear to anyone who knew Katsa that she was not listening. She had approached the gangly teenager in hopes of assisting him, as it was clear something was not quite right with his head. But he had brushed off any and all of her attempts to ask what was wrong, instead preferring to ramble on excitedly about whether a bench was considered a chair. Only the frenzied entry of a rather dishevelled woman had been able to draw the man's attention away from the one-sided rant. Using the moment to flee, Katsa wove her way through the crowds of mumbling and laughing patrons to where the woman had burst through the front doors. "Excuse me miss, but are you alright?" A rather fuzzy thought popped into the nymph's head, then. Her words were a bit slurred too!
  3. P e r s o n a l Name: Cassandra, the Serpent Build: Muscular, six arms, lower half is that of a giant snake. Height: 9 ft Length: 20 ft Weight: 4000 lbs Skin: Fair Eyes: Crimson Hair: Raven black Attire: Intricate golden jewelry arrayed across her arms and around her waist. Her torso remains bare, and she wears an ornate golden helm decorated with crimson ribbons. B a t t l e Innate: Abyssal Scales Class: Whirlwind Warrior Primary: Multi-Weapon Fighter Secondary: Prehensile Tail Tertiary: Tanar'ri Summoner A r m o r y Name: Steel Longsword (x4) Description: Blade of strengthened steel, approximately 100cm long. Function: Slashing and stabbing. Name: Steel Dagger (x2) Description: Short blade of steel, primarily used to punch holes in armour or flesh. Function: Piercing and stabbing. D e f i n e Abyssal Scales – Due to her experience fighting against the Abyssal Hordes, many of whom utilize magical attacks, the black scales that make up Cassandra's tail are resistant to magic. Whirlwind Warrior – This multi-weapon wielder relies on speed and reflexes to weave a whirlwind of steel around them, from which they strike and harry their unfortunate opponents. They focus on overwhelming their foes with a swift onslaught of attacks from all angles and prefer to rely on their blades to block damage, wearing little to no armour. Prehensile Tail – Cass can utilize her tail as a whip or for constriction. The spiked tail attachment that she wears also grants her stabbing capabilities. Tanari'ri Summoner – Rarely used. The marilith can bring some of the demons under her command from the Abyssal Plane into her immediate vicinity for use in combat.
  4. Happy to! I'll get a profile posted later today.
  5. Aww you guys! I think this could be a very interesting concept to work out. Can't wait to get started on a profile!
  6. Very interested in this! Time to get out the glitter and unicorn frappichinos. Or something like that.
  7. Characters: Kainere'kowa, Vivienne LeBlanc, Sir Xander
  8. The last rays of a setting sun faded into dusty purple, the distant skyline of Kaurilia City standing stark against the velvet sky. The twilight was broken only by the occasional glint of a faraway star. Barely a stone’s throw from the coast and the city that sat upon it was an island, no more than an outcropping of rock that had remained safe from the savage tides. A lone pine stood behind three somber figures, three silhouettes in the fading light. The winds had not been kind to the pine, violent gales from storms forcing the tree’s branches to curl toward the rock as though grasping for safety. Standing beneath the tree was the first of the island's intruders, a woman with a feral glint to her brown eyes. Wild and tangled hair cascaded past her shoulders, twined with all manner of feathers and beads. She was swathed in leather and furs, haphazardly slung across her body in a manner that crudely resembled clothing. They emphasized the definition and muscle of her body, exposing powerful legs and the smooth expanse of her stomach. She wore no shoes, only leather cords wrapped around her ankles and wrists. From them hung teeth, claws, and other trinkets from a strange collection of creatures. Whether it was the strange attire or the look to her eyes, she gave the distinct impression of a wild animal. Barely contained savagery radiated from every inch of Kaianere'kowa's form. She was a Skinwalker, more beast than woman, with a wild sort of magic that connected her to the creatures that roamed the land and seas. The figure that stood closest to the city was masculine, broader across than both his companions. The cords of muscle that knotted his neck and strained the seams of his shirt bespoke a man who had spent most of his life on a battlefield. Tanned skin and calloused hands confirmed the notion, though the laugh lines that spiderwebbed from his sapphire eyes would better suit a storyteller than a warrior. The sword strapped to his waist had a leather grip worn smooth with use, and a sheath frayed with age. It was at odds with his face, smooth of wrinkles and decidedly boyish. Close-cropped brown hair showed no hint of grey, but the quiet contemplation in his eyes as he gazed toward Kaurilia City came from knowing the cost of battle. Seeing the ships that were beginning to flee from the city ports, he turned his gaze to the willowy woman who stood at the edge of the surf. She wore a dress with skirts and long sleeves of white, streaked and spotted with orchid-purple. The indigo bodice was bordered with a thin line of gold, and an ice-white cape hung from her shoulders. Her chestnut hair, half-up and twisted with a fuchsia ribbon, fell in loose waves that kissed the gentle slope of her shoulders and emphasized the delicate line of her collarbone. Her skin was fair, dusted with a layer of freckles that softened the distinctly elven slant of her features. She had eyes of the deepest green, touched by gold around the pupil. They shone with a warmth that soothed the souls of those she met and promised safety within her arms. Delicate rosy lips always seemed to carry a faint trace of a smile, as though she saw the beauty of everything before her, and their slight curve broke up the sharp angle of her cheekbones and made her beautiful. Not an alluring nor seductive beauty, but a kind charm that brought smiles to the lips of those who gazed upon her. Vivienne LeBlanc had not been seen in Genesaris for over a century, and yet here she stood off the shore of Kaurilia City, mere miles from the continent she had once called home. “My lady,” The man’s voice was a low rumble, cutting through the chaos of the surf to grace her delicately pointed ears. A slight tip of her chin indicated that she heard him. “The citizens have begun their evacuation.” How fortuitous, that her return had coincided with Whispernight. The chaotic destruction it wrought would provide a wonderful cacophony, a fanfare announcing Lady Vivienne LeBlanc’s re-entry into society. With a swish of silk skirts, the Lady turned toward her fierce companion. Grasping the wild woman's dirt-streaked hand in both of her own, Vivienne spent a moment searching her face for any trace of doubt. Finding no fear in the depth of the woman's calm gaze, she turned her sight inward and awoke the spark of power that lay dormant in her mind. Glimmers of copper fire wove through the Skinwalker’s body, twining their way around and through the red glow of her soul before spreading into the earth below. The gleaming threads were magic; Kai’s magic, binding her to the song of the Earth and the spirits that resided within. Vivienne took a deep breath and released the restraints that bound her consciousness, allowing psionic power to blossom forth and envelop the animalistic web of Kai’s thoughts. The coppery threads of fire began to twist toward the spot where their hands met, yearning to reach the promise of potential that the elf offered. She welcomed them, embraced them, and began to weave the tangled threads into a tapestry of flame. One by one she stoked the embers of wild magic, coaxing them to burn brighter and shine, transforming them into a copper inferno that blazed within the Skinwalker’s core. “It is done.” The gentle words barely echoed over the crash of the surf, but the wild woman would hear them resonate within her mind. “Kai?” Dark lashes fluttered open, revealing brown eyes gilded by the brilliant fire that shone from within. “Find him.”
  9. Shifting the leather pack off one aching shoulder and onto the other, Katsa followed closely beside her companion as the two entered the mercenary camp. It struck the naiad that the man might still be unaccustomed to Terrenus, given his brief and hectic introduction into one of its largest cities, Weland. Guilt made her footsteps heavy as they walked, weighing on her conscience. Disappearing as she had, she left the man to struggle through the foreign city alone without even a word of warning. Her flight from Weland and Ryu was still clouded and unclear in her memories, but she vaguely remembered thinking that if she were gone, it would spare him the frustration and danger of dealing with an antisocial fate who could barely keep control of her magic. “If anything, it's improved them! Trees are much less judgemental than people, after all.” A smile cracked her serious expression, the easy banter sweeping away any lingering concerns. Ryu didn't seem to blame her, so why should Katsa blame herself? Occupied by their conversation, the blonde barely noticed the attention she and her half-dressed companion received. It was a nuisance, rather than flattering. She would much rather be plain and completely ignored, than have this effect on people. It made things exceedingly difficult when she looked for true friends, rather than those people who were entranced by her exotic appeal. So far, Ryu was one of the only companions she had been able to trust. His wariness at her magic, when combined with his stoicism and straightforward attitude, made her feel at ease. Katsa had no doubt that, should she pose any sort of threat to him or anyone nearby, he would not hesitate to restrain or dispatch her. It was a strange thing to take comfort in, knowing that someone would kill you if needed. Yet Katsa and Ryu made a strange pair, and so the thought seemed much less extraordinary in comparison. Ducking under a muscled arm, Katsa strode into the tent and took in its simple interior. With a flick of her hand, the naiad waved off her companion’s apology. The sparse furnishings weren't surprising. In the brief time she had known him, Ryu had never struck her as the type to spend funds on knickknacks nor the type to furnish his home with unnecessary comforts. Simple and efficient were far more apt words to describe the lifestyle of the gentle giant. Settling onto the wooden stool with a sigh of relief, Katsa rubbed her aching calves as she decided how best to respond. While the journey had been without incident, it was still exhausting to a fae who had rarely travelled outside the immediate vicinity of her river. Her body was not happy at being pushed to this extent. “I've improved my healing technique, somewhat. Refined it to use less water and less of my strength, with promising results!” Her tone was excited, proud even. The improvement had taken time and a considerable effort, but Katsa was eager to prove that she could learn. Eyeing Ryu’s back out of the corner of her eye and assessing how his old wounds had healed, she chewed on her next words before rushing through them. “I can't progress much more on my own. I need a teacher, someone who knows the elements.” There, she had said it. Or rather, implied the reason that the woman had sought out her previous companion in the forest of tents. She needed a mentor, and Ryu had a seemingly advanced knowledge of the technique she required. Perhaps he would hear her meaning, and offer assistance. At worst, he would say no and Katsa would make the trek back to Weland. Though she tried to keep the hope clamped down, where it would keep her from being disappointed, she couldn't help but interject some of her excitement into her tone.
  10. Spinning, the drow caught the swing of her opponent with one of her own, barely blocking what would have sliced into her side. The hit was jarring for Lyra, who was wielding a two handed blade in an awkward grip against a much heavier sword. Sparks flew as the women clashed, and the drow was forced to retreat back a step. Annabelle’s sword was simply too bulky for the petite warrior to face head-on, requiring her to slow down and parry rather than dance through the girl’s defence. Having retreated, Lyra softened her battle grimace into a much more pleasant smile and resumed her two-handed grip on the greatsword. “Whoever trained you did very well. I'm impressed!” The drow was panting slightly, and the fact that she was tired was testament to the truth behind her words. Not all swordsmen (or swordswomen) could hold their own against a berserker. “Now then. Shall we continue?” This time, Lyra waited for Annabelle to come to her. The familiar rhythm of her heartbeat filled her hearing once more, pounding out a battle song for the warriors to dance to1.
  11. The drow waited patiently, hearing a masculine voice muttering curses and shuffling toward her from the other side of the heavy door. She clenched and unclenched her fists, prepared to face a grizzled veteran or sleazy criminal in need of a hired sword. As the crimson-stained wood swung inwards, Lyra arranged her features into an emotionless mask. Employers tended to be more impressed by a soldier who obeyed, rather than one who displayed their emotions for all to see. The dim light that leaked from the doorway betrayed Lyra as surprise flashed across her features, visible for only a moment before being quickly hidden behind feigned disinterest. Rather than greasy hair and scars, the man who had answered her knock was well muscled and rather attractive. Though she didn't miss the disgust in his voice and his posture as he took in her gray skin and pointed ears. Used to experiencing prejudice and distrust, especially from those who thought themselves above the 'common folk', the warrior simply shrugged it off. “You'll get no trouble from me. I'm here in search of work, nothing more.” Her voice was pitched rough and low, playing into the man’s perception of her as little more than an opportunist. Seeing his roving eyes, she placed a slender hand on one hip and thrust it to one side. The effect made her appear curvier, something he would likely notice. “Are you in charge here?”
  12. Violet's mind was starting to stall, like an engine that turns over and over, never kicking into action. She couldn't formulate a proper thought. Every escape attempt only lead to more pain and there was no way out of this place. No way out. She brought her hand to her throat, feeling the ring of dark bruises that stained her skin. The guards carried weapons, crude things of wood and metal, and they beat anyone they wanted whenever they wanted. Except for Violet. No lasting marks, they said. Nothing that would diminish her value. No matter how she struggled and screamed. She could not recall how long ago she was brought into this dark place. Long enough that the engulfing terror that made her sick with fear had become her everyday normal, settling into the pit of her stomach like a stone. Everyday was the same nightmare over and over. At first she sobbed when they brought her food, begging and pleading to be released. Now, she only felt a rise in her sickness. The dry bread might as well have been sand because she couldn't swallow even a bite to nourish herself. She felt like a hollow shell of herself, soft curves turned to sharp edges from starvation. But the hunger pangs never overrode the sickness, and so Violet continued to fast. When the guards came to take away the empty wooden plates, the beatings would start again. After all, starvation would diminish her value. If she died, how would they make a profit? Once the stinging pain of a hand to the face had faded, the angry red marks of tight grips on her skin fading to a deeper blue, Violet found herself alone again. Alone with the hopeless fog that filled her mind and consumed the person she used to be, leaving nothing but an empty shell. Maybe the next beating would be the last. Maybe someone would finally take pity on her. Maybe they would sell her off. Maybe. ~~~ In a flash of shock and dread, Violet twitched awake, finding herself in another cell. Her first instinct was to curl back into herself, roll over and hope the hunger would take her into the darkness before the guards did. Only the absence of cold steel against her skin gave the girl pause. Maybe they let me free. Hope radiated through Violet, warm and intoxicating, before she could shove it back into the dark corner of her mind it belonged. Of course they hadn’t freed her. This was probably a new game for the filth that guarded Slaver’s Enclave. Glancing around her new accommodations, she took stock. Rather than rusting metal and rotting wood, the walls were cold concrete that leached away her warmth. A lone lamp shone from the ceiling, its pale glow washing out her already pale complexion. Beyond the bed and a wooden rack, everything else was in ruins. Though the pain of her bruises had faded and the scrapes that adorned her body were gone, her wrists and ankles still bore the welts of the steel shackles they had kept her in, marks that she doubted would ever fade. The absence of her wounds meant that someone had magically healed her, and Violet couldn’t help but shudder at the thought. Hugging herself, she heard the crinkle of paper and glanced down in surprise. A note. The words were tough to make out at first in the dim light, but standing directly underneath the dangling lamp gave enough illumination to read by. “Dear Slave #2: Welcome to a game of tag. There is a Slave #1 in this complex. It is quite simple. Whichever one of you beats the other to within an inch of their life or past that, first, gets freedom and cookies and money and preferential treatment in Slaver’s Alcove. The other gets, well, a beating. That’s all the rules. There are no exits. You are being watched at all times. If time elapses long enough, nobody wins! You’ll both be beaten and put into a lifetime of servitude. This is a rare chance to earn your worth through entertainment of the masters. Good luck!” As the words registered through the fog of hopelessness, it was as though every one of Violet’s senses became sharper. Her mind was paranoid, every groan of a gear was her competitor, every thump the footfall of an unknown watcher. Each sound caused her scattered thoughts to jump to the most fearsome thing it could be, and her body prepared for a fight, or flight. It was only when her fist closed around the paper and crunched it into a ball, that she noticed a flash of ink on its backside. Scrawled onto the reverse of the parchment in smaller letters, the hand halting and stilted, was two measly sentences. “Don't waste this opportunity, or you won't get another one. This is your choice... so choose wisely." Perhaps not all of her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. The weapon rack contained two sheathed daggers, a revolver with a single bullet, and a pair of brass knuckles. Ripping a strip from her torn and weathered tunic, Violet wrapped her hand before slipping on the shaped brass weapon. Though her emaciated state would prevent her from swinging with a lethal amount of force, the metal would hopefully help her punches hit with more impact. The gun and one of the steel blades were tucked into her clothing, the metal cool and snug against her sallow skin. The other knife she clutched in her left hand, sheath snug to her other hip. Though daggers were made for puncture wounds, the edges of the worn steel seemed sharp enough that even a glancing blow would cause a bit of damage. Not to mention, the other slave would likely be in the same shape as she was. Grimacing and remembering the guards’ orders, she revised the thought. Her opponent could be in worse shape. Taking a shuddering breath, the young woman took a step. Nothing jumped from the shadows, and no one peeked through a hidden door to tell her it had all been a game. Legs shaky from nerves, knuckles white on the blade of her dagger, Violet walked into the shadowy corridor to find the person she would fight. Sometimes, you have to go through the darkness to get to the light.