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| Freya Hamilton-- Redux | |
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| Topic Started: Sep 24 2013, 06:22 PM (116 Views) | |
| Dory | Sep 24 2013, 06:22 PM Post #1 |
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Flames billowed through the mesh of wire as the gates slammed closed with a clank to deafen the hoard on the other-side; and the chain swung, serpentine, to lock the heavy shafts together. Metal, rushing like water, swam over it's links to form a pad-lock, but not one the assassin intended to rely on; and the mesh began to close, dripping, digging and twisting in to the concrete above and below. Flare's hands drifted idly by her sides, leaving a plume of cloudy fire in their wake when she turned as though by instinct, and strode past the pair behind her partner to clear the building. The wall shuddered. Xanthe recoiled to watch the cascade of bullets punch goose-flesh in to the barrier, and shook her head. "It won't hold for long." "It doesn't need to." Rhiannon gave her only the smallest of looks before she turned her eyes grimly back to the trembling woman beside her. Freya looked so small without the sword at her back, her lower lip quivering as, for the first time her counterpart could remember, fear glimmered in her golden eyes. She wasn't certain that she was ready for this-- ready to simply let it all go. All her training, all her strength; the need and the sword which had given it to her, though perhaps at the cost of her sanity. Her memory was the least of her worries, and was that not all she was? But the contact seemed to steady her, if only for a moment. Xanthe took a step toward them, eyes wavering back and forth between them as unspoken words tangibly filled the air there. "We only need a second;" Rhiannon spoke distantly. "A second, and a fresh start. Nature will do the rest." The way they both turned their heads toward her at once was uncanny, and the assassin barely suppressed a shudder as the woman concluded, "You can provide both. Just open the door; I will see her through." Name: Freya Hamilton Race: Lycan-- Panther Gender: Female Age: Early twenties Abilities: Portal, Rage, Shadow Lance Appearance: A slight woman, Freya stands at only slightly over five feet with obsidian black hair which cascades over her shoulders and down her back to the base of her rib-cage. Her figure is well defined, though her legs are noticeably more muscular than any part of her upper body; and her face is one which might belong to a younger woman. Pale of complexion and quick to blush, pure golden eyes pierce through thick dark lashes which stand starkly at odds against her ivory skin. Clothing and Attire: Tight black pants hug her legs and slip under the knee-high combat boots which keep her strides surefooted, tied over the sides of her legs to allow for quick and easy shifting. Similarly secured over her chest and a portion of her stomach is a second strip of black fabric. Personality: Freya is a hunter gatherer by design; a builder with her attention on the details. A nigh photographic memory retains as much information as she can gather, archived and tagged for quick referencing. Agility and efficiency is her 'thing', the ability to sort through and act upon the knowledge her most basic means of survival. Having spent the majority of her lifetime prowling alone, her graces of her actions is limited, primarily, to the prowl; but she is a woman with both the potential, and every intention of impacting the world... just as soon as she figures out how. History: The dual moons bathed part of the meadows grass blue, part pink, and violet where they mixed and the air split low over the ground. Shimmering soundlessly, an orb coalesced; refracting light as though each molecule had been transformed in to tiny diamonds. Slowly, ever so slowly, the budding life which was a soul took root, there; and the body of an infant came to form around it. For the rest of the night, the baby grew at an excellerated rate; until the bubble popped, and Freya woke with the dawn. She was hungry. A basic imprint of memory indicated that this meadow was her home. She always rose with the sun, traveled behind the herds of deer or bison which migrated across these plains; consumed a feast within the cloak of darkness every night, and took shelter within the barns of whatever farmsteads she came across along the way. She hadn't found one the previous night. She was headed West. But the curious orb flitting through the wan air before her eyes was headed -south- west. And so she had a decision to make. Though she could never before remember having tired of her way of life, it was merely survival; and with the quiet mystery of the light-- drifting away only to reappear before her eyes, as though beckoning; something stirred deep within her. Something more than curiosity: a yearning, a need. Slowly, she rose to follow. Living History: |
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| Luthe | Sep 26 2013, 12:27 AM Post #2 |
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Luthe has given this profile a rating of Complete. You've got technically all of the parts, and I appreciate the brevity. Sometimes we don't need hundreds of pages of fluff when we're just playing for fun, ya know. |
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9:11 AM Jul 11