Post by PERDITA CASTLEBON on May 23, 2011 4:29:53 GMT 1
PERDITA THERESA CASTLEBON
of the FANTASY REALM. [/color]
[/center]CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]
»»FULL NAME:[/b] Perdita Theresa Castlebon
»»AGE:[/b] 335 years.
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] Nomad. Occasionally bodyguard, or mercenary, but more often the first than the latter.
»»FACTION:[/b] Fantasy Realm.
»»SPECIES : [/b] Werewolf.
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Neutral.
»»ABILITY: [/b] Due to her age and strength of will, she can is capable of achieving a shift outside of the phase of the full moon, unlike many of her younger kith, achieving a slightly more aware and controllable form of what has been idealized as the ‘classic’ werewolf embodiment, or full wolf shift if she should choose, though there is no controlling the beast once it is let loose, and will run rampant until its hunger is sated, or its injuries are too severe for it to continue. Upon rare occasion, if she must find it absolutely necessary to make a point without causing an overt scene, she is able to achieve a partial transformation, achieving enlarged talons or fangs, though such a feat is quite literally that, and requires a great effort of will on her part to prevent a full on transformation.
- - -Strength: She holds a supernatural degree of physical prowess; speed, strength, dexterity, durability, stamina, as well as all of her senses enhanced. These abilities are present in all forms that she might hold, though her natural weapons such as claws and wolf’s teeth are not present unless in some shifted form.
- - -Drawbacks: She is susceptible to the pull of the full moon, leaving her literally unable to avoid her shift during the two to three days of the lunar cycle each month. She also bears a severe allergy to silver; touching it burns, and if shards of it are in her physical body, or liquid silver enters her blood stream it can make her severely ill, nauseous, and even prove deadly over enough time and exposure. She is also susceptible to wolfsbane, with the same intensity that she is of silver.
THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]
»»EYE COLOR:[/b] Blue; steel-grey.
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] Brown.
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 5'10"
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Angelina Jolie
»»APPEARANCE: [/b] If almost anyone was given the task of finding a single word that in its entirety was capable of describing the first impression given by Perdita, it would almost certainly be -- long. Not tall, mind you, for while she is most certainly that, there is simply the underlying impression of length, be it the legs that seem to stretch on forever, or the graceful sway of her hips, the delicate and almost overly long fingers that drift against her thighs, the stretch of the toned stomach almost always left open to view, the soft hollow at the long curve of her collarbones, the graceful sweep of her neck, the long and delicate features of her face, or the cascade of multi-faceted strands of silken hair that falls almost to her hips.... she is... long. Still, she is not quite what one would describe as 'willowy' in her movements or form, there is too much of a presence of strength and power in her build to picture her as being swayed and buffeted by the wind.
She stands just a few inches shy of six feet, at a lean and lithe five feet ten inches, and despite her apparent youth, carries her height with ease and comfort, with no trace of ungainliness or awkwardness that one might expect. Her build is slender, the slight ripple of muscles evident beneath the pale and flawless peaches and cream skin, no trace of baby fat left on her body. She would almost be described as sculpted, except for the fact that there is no bulging definition to the lean muscles that make themselves so subtly known with her long and fluid movements, no bulging biceps or six-pack abdomen, merely a residual and omnipresent strength and agility that she seems well accustomed to.
Still, even with her height, and the almost lankiness of her build, there are few that would ever make the mistake of assuming her to not be of the feminine form; the expanse of sturdy rib cage curves inwards to her slender waist, to flare out into the slight curve of hips, the soft curves of her bottom, and the swells of flesh captured and bound at her chest are more than enough to provide an obviously womanly curve to her body.
Her hair is thick, and lustrous as it drifts around her, falling almost to brush against her hips when it is down, which is almost always. The predominant hue is a rich and dark brown with natural accents of streaks of gold and honey, and almost a coppery glint creating a beautiful array of blond in the mass; the only exception being the occasional streaks of a pale gray, almost silver that trail from roots to tips. Almost all of her hair falls to the same length to drift along her waist, and occasionally tease against her hips, though the ends almost seem a little ragged, no uniform or straight razor line to the lengths, with the single exception being the strand that falls to the right of her face, which has been cut off just beneath the shoulder to frame her face as an over long bang.
The features of her face are long, an almost oval shape to the overall image, a sleek and tall forehead leading to slender upswept cheekbones, a sloping jaw to a slightly pointed chin, creating an unusual but still somehow elegant effect. Slender and naturally arching, then slanting sharply towards the temple brows slide across her brow, while naturally dark lashes frame a quiet, if stubborn gaze, her eyes a dark brown that almost approaches black. Her nose cuts a slender line, ending in a rounded tip that darts downwards before flaring out to wrap around her nostrils, beneath which a angel's kiss hollow leads to softly plumped lips of a natural coral hue.
While in years past, finding clothes to fit her particular build and frame in any style that she actually appreciated, or enjoyed might have been close to impossible... she had come to relish the fact that there are now a multitude of chains, fashion designers, and couture fashions that are made, designed, and meant for those of her 'impossible' stature -- aka, the fashion models of the world, unite. While it might often be what others would consider a ridiculous splurge of hard earned (or fast-changed) money, whenever the opportunity presents itself she will happily snatch up any of the high-end fashion that she can find, be it at a consignment or second hand store, discount warehouse, or having 'fallen off the back of a truck' somewhere. While she mourns the occasional loss of part of a wardrobe, whether it is to having to pick up and leave without time to pack, or the occasional fight, or the unfortunate shifting... she would rather mourn their loss than not have them at all.
She tends to go for metallic and dark hues, opting for blacks and whites, silver and bronze and copper colored accents, though has found a certain practicality in mixing in a good amount of leather into her wardrobe, as it holds wear and tear far better than the dainty silks or sheers that so many of the blouses and skirts seem to be made of for the higher end fashions. She has spent the last few years attempting to perfect the right combination of 'leather and lace', or in her case, leather and silk, or leather and satin, to create the perfect air of the 'girl who you'd love to have kick your ass'... She almost always can be found wearing heels of some kind, most often as of late a gold or silver filigreed pair of knee high leather biker boots to go with the worn to comfortable skin tight leather pants, and short cropped leather hooded jacket, offset with a delicately woven or designed shirt that accents her tone midriff and revealing a peek of cleavage, with a few brazen feminine accessories in the way of jewelry.
WOLF FORM ::
The legs of this particular female wolf are long and powerful, her overall frame drifting towards lean, and sleek rather than the overtly powerful, but there is an undeniable strength evident in the toned muscles of the towering wolf. With massive paws, broad shoulders, and a sleek head and muzzle that meet the height of a man’s shoulder with ease she is a striking creature with a speed and agility that allow her to chase, and corner her prey with unnatural grace. The thick and lush fur that coats her is almost entirely of a perfect snowy white; only the tip of her tail, a streak along her spine, a few tufts at her massive shoulders, and a splash of color atop her ears and accenting the lean head and muzzle, accents of a dark silver and glittering grey the only interruptions to the pure white fur. Rings of glittering golden-yellow frame the wide black pupils that stare out of the creature’s face with an uncanny hunger, and almost greed, as if it would claim all within its sight as its domain, and woe to any that might stand between she, and her end game…
»»PERSONALITY: [/b] All in all, despite her flaws and fears, there is a natural buoyancy to Perdita's personality that shows through in her quick smile and brazen speech. While she may suffer from occasional bouts of self-doubt, all in all she is strong willed and confident, and once she has set her mind on a course of action there is little that will sway her opinion, or change her mind. She often plays the role of mediator, when a situation of conflict arises, opting to try and find middle ground for all those involved rather than resorting immediately to violence or sharp words, but will fight tooth and nail to defend herself, and her territory or those that she has come to call family. She is most often vibrant, and open, quick to start a conversation and dialogue, and likes to believe that she can find common ground with almost anyone.
Independent :: If she has learned anything in the struggle to control herself and her wolf in the last centuries, it is that there are few that can be relied on in this world other than one self, and that in the end it is only oneself that you have to blame when things go wrong. She has learned to survive on her own, and to look out for herself with surprising grace, though she does at times miss being able to travel with others of her kind, or to have companions of any sort of lasting relationship.
Brazen :: Defined as, to face boldly or shamelessly, this is a trait that she had worked hard to obtain in the last century or so of her life. It had taken her many lifetimes of regret and sorrow to forgive herself for the atrocities committed at her hand in the name of man’s version of God, but now that she has finally been able to come to peace with her sins, and the duality of her nature, there is little that she does not prefer to meet head on. Hardly one to deceive, or lie, she prefers to offer the simple truth whenever the opportunity presents itself, and to force others to face up to the consequences of their truths, and actions, or inactions, rather than dancing around a half-truth for fear of injuring another’s feelings.
Wise :: Above and beyond the obvious of being wise beyond her apparent years, there is a bank of self-assurance and slowly gleaned wisdom that extends even beyond what her lifetimes of experience should have granted, and is often evident in her attempts to negotiate or to assuage hurt feelings, or to be a cooling element in a fiery situation when she can do so without risking bringing too much in the way of attention to herself.
Likes:
+ (Technology)::(Always one to have an avid fascination of the world around her, and how things work, to her the world and all of its continued technological advances is nothing short of miraculous. She often can be found tinkering with some piece of electronics, or equipment, or rifling through manuals, whether out of date or top of the line, on how things fall into place to create the glittering steel and glass world that exists today.)
+ (Fashion)::(She has found herself fascinated, and exhilarated, by the freedom given to women’s fashions just in the last few decades, and can rattle off fashion designers of today, and past, at the drop of a hat, and snatches up bits of memorabilia and fashion whenever she can find something that her often limited funds allow. )
+ (Food)::(While it is rare indeed to find a child of the moon that cannot put away a few servings of any meal, after all of the places that Perdita has seen, and all of the cultures that she has indulged in, she has only a small number of foods that she would declare as inedible. She enjoys varied meals, and ingredients, and will try anything once. )
+ (Architecture)::(Another proof evident of her fascination with the world in its entirety, she enjoys exploring the styles of architecture, present and past, of the places that she travels to, and has a scrapbook of worn sketches and photographs of her favorite place tucked into a satchel on her motorcycle.)
+ (White Chocolate)::(Well… every girl’s got a fatal weakness to some decadency, and for her, it is the smooth and creamy deliciousness of white chocolate.)
+ (Faith)::(She often finds her resolute faith in some greater power, though by what name it is truly called, or what tenants or laws it would wish for her to truly uphold she cannot swear to, to be the one source of comfort, when she finds herself alone, and particularly sad, or feeling adrift in the sea of the world.)
+ (Leather)::(The feel of it, the smell of it, the durability of it, she is hardly found without at least one item of clothing made out of the material.)
+ (Motorcycles)::(Hell on wheels, and she loves them, the freedom and weightlessness that she feels with them as the world speeds by in one long blur, the feel of them beneath her, the power of them, the sound of them… She’s had to abandon more than her fair share over the years, but that does not stop her from trying again. )
+ (Flying)::(Much like the freedom she feels when she is on a motorcycle, she relishes the freedom of flight, though much prefers flying in helicopters or small planes where she can feel more of the wind whipping by than large commercial jets.)
+ (Libraries)::(Buildings overflowing with books of every subject and title and author and language imaginable, and even more so now with the online databases made available to their patrons; when all else fails, look for her at a bookstore or library. )
Dislikes:
+ (‘Religion’)::(While faith, unerring and true, is one of the building blocks of her very essence, she has strong reasons to dislike the ‘church’ of religion built by man, and distorted into what man thinks God would want, or mere puppets using God’s words for their own devices and profit. )
+ (Fear)::(She dislikes this trait in herself as much, if not more in others, finding that most of the actions that one regrets later are fueled by this emotions more than any other. In herself, she sees it as a weakness, and in others finds that it is often sparked by a lack of knowledge, or some inane prejudice, rather than a justifiable threat.)
+ (Selfishness)::(As with fear, she finds selfishness, pettiness, a detestable trait, perhaps a tenant of her old faith and the time when her service to the church was pure and unadulterated, believing charity to be one of the greater virtues.)
+ (Being alone)::(With all that she has seen, and learned, and experienced, she has a wealth of knowledge and history, and yet more often than that she finds herself alone, with only her faith and her thoughts to keep her company, with no one to discourse with, or to spend time with, or even the simple comfort offered by passing a night in quiet company with another that understands her. )
+ (Wolfsbane/Monkshood)::(One of the few things that can cause her discernible harm, having more than once run afoul of the substances, she tends to avoid it when at all possible. )
+ (Violence)::(While violence, and combat, and pain are all things that she is experienced with, and has been on both the receiving end of and the doling hand for, that does not mean that she any longer desires it, or savors the taste of it, or the feel of it. She will not shirk from it, should she need to defend herself, or any one that she feels is in need of protection, or any one that she has called friend, but will often attempt a diplomatic approach first. )
+ (Disrespect)::(Respect might need be earned, but simply because you have not known anyone long enough for them to have earned absolute respect, does not mean that they are not entitled to basic human kindness. Please, and thank you, and keeping a respectful posture and tone, and not running into everyone that passes you by... even to some extend, holding the door, or a chair out, are things that so many of the people today no longer associate as common manners, and this displeases her. Absolute disrespect, insults and words meant to harm and hurt, these will draw a quick reply from her most times, and should anyone challenge her own authority when she has paid her dues, she will rebuke them instantly, and once.)
+ (Lemon)::(Just one of those... random things that she does not like, the scent of or taste of, will cause her nose to wrinkle more times than not. )
+ (Deceit)::(Lying is a coward's path, and if you have done nothing to be ashamed of, you should have no cause to lie. She understands the need for certain subterfuges, especially in the day and age of technology and massive information databases, but will always opt for the truth or as close to it as she can get. )
+ (‘Invisible’ money)::(Despite her love of technology and gadgets, and all of the developments of the world, she has trouble putting faith in 'invisible money', or the money that is handled through banks and credit cards and checks. Above and beyond the fact that those transactions are more easily traced, she prefers the feel and weight of real paper and coin currency to anything else.)
Strengths:
+ (Intelligence)::(She has always been quick witted and smart, and with the lifetimes of learning opportunities behind her, and the wealth of resources at her fingertips in today's technologically rich age, she absorbs random trivia and core subjects of knowledge like a sponge.)
+ (Combat)::(Trained in her early years of life to become a living, breathing weapon, as much as she might have turned her back on many of the precepts of her early life, there are some things that she has held to. She has sought out other paths of 'enlightenment' through the course of her travels, as well, studying a handful of martial arts forms during the times that she sought to tame her inner beast and to focus her strength, and self-discipline. )
+ (Walking lie detector)::(Her training in the course of her religious life, and all the years of experience since then have made her practically a walking lie detector; few can tell a falsehood to her without giving something of themselves away. )
Weaknesses:
+ (Faith)::(She finds her faith, as much as it is a strength and pillar of support, at times a chain around her ankles, pulling her down and making her question more and more about what the world is coming to, and at times she suffers from a despair similar to that she suffered in her early teenage years, as she tries to find her place in the world, and her purpose. )
+ (Self-doubt)::(Guilt, and second-guessing her actions occasionally leave her hesitating, and wondering if she has in fact chosen the right course of action, though most times she will simply bolster herself and move forward, believing her gut instinct to have led her on the right course of action.)
+ (Loneliness)::(She has spent many lifetimes on the earth, watching as those around her grow older, get married, have families, and extended families, and part of her yearns to have that warmth and comfort for her own.)
THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]
»»FAMILY TREE:[/b] Her family are long dead as far as she knows; her mother died at her birth 336 years ago and she was never able to discover the identity of her werewolf father.
»»IDOLS:[/b] It has been many decades since Perdita has had anyone that she could call immediately friend or companion. She reveres the memory of those that trained her, and that she fought with lifetimes ago but it is in the fuzzy and vaguely familiar way of old and worn memories.
»»HISTORY: [/b]
The winter of the year of our lord sixteen hundred and seventy four was an especially harsh and bitter season for the slowly budding province of Medina de Rioseco Valladolid, Spain. The autumn harvest had been sparse, the crops having been left mostly untended in the spring as the populace had fought off a coughing illness that had ravaged the adult population, due to an unseasonably rainy beginning of the year... To say that it had been a trying year before the bitter winds and occasional bouts of snow flurries or sleet, would have been something of an understatement. And yet, the spirits of the towns people were not downcast, or downtrodden, as many might have thought to see, with such a year of precedence; instead, the town folk continued to rally around each other, and to focus their attention and hopes on the slow birth of the pinnacle of their province: the church of Santa Cruz, that after several long years of work and trials, was nearing its completion. A work of art, as much as it was to be evidence of the province's stringent religious beliefs and ardent faith, each stone carved in intricate design, each panel and fresco painted in painful detail, each galleon that had been able to be spared, and many perhaps that could not had gone into the effort.
So it was, as the final touches came to be put onto the church, that the town had begun to gather the last of its stocks and stores, in preparation of a holy feast with which to celebrate the dedication and christening of their blessed cathedral... and so it was, with great surprise, that the night before the great day, the priest was to discover the frail and swollen-bellied frame of a flaxen haired girl huddled on the steps that led to the main sanctuary. She was wrought with illness, delirious with the fever that wracked her painfully thin body, clutching to the taught stomach that held her yet unborn child, though it seemed that would change before the night was out. She spoke broken Spanish, as she pled with the Father, begging him to forgive her her sins, to protect her child, speaking of a devil, a monster that had done this to her, had forced himself upon her all those months prior, and she swore that he would find her again, before she had fled, only to learn as weeks on the run turned to months that she was to bear his child. She pleaded, with the priest, as her fever turned for the worse, and as the contractions bore harder, and faster, to save her child, surviving just long enough to name her daughter... 'Perdita', she had whispered, as her shaking fingers brushed her daughter's cheek, 'That she may stay lost to him, that his curse and his evil never find her'... And then she was gone, the first of the lost souls to be put to rest in the cemetary of the newly ordained cathedral, without even a name to mark her gravestone.
And so, Perdita's life began, under the ominous and yet simultaneously auspicious events, and it was decided that she would be fostered by the church, and she would be raised under the guidance and tutelage of the priest. Despite the initial concern that she would carry some sign of the illness and fever that had wracked her mother in those last hours, Perdita showed no signs of illness in those first days, and weeks, if anything she seemed to flourish, healthy and plump, happy and content in the swaddling cloths and goats milk. Her hair was flaxen, her coloration pale, similar to that of her mother's, leading the priest and his sister, who helped to raise Perdita, to believe that she was of perhaps of French heritage, though they could never determine anything more for certain. As a child, she was alert, and active, taking to her studies almost ravenously, just as quick to run and play, or work in the gardens and with the livestock, as she was to sit for hours caught up in the lectures of the Father, or to pore over religious texts that should have been far above her grasp.
She took to the stringent life of the religious order as if she had been made for it, born into it, vowing that she would remain chaste, and devout, in all ways, to the Lord God, and was intent from early childhood on finding any way that she could to put her talents and knowledge in His service in any way that she could. At the tender age of twelve, she took the vows of Sisterhood, and with a mixed sadness and joy, she departed the church that had been her home all of her life, to enter into a convent in Madrid. It was here, the first months that passed under the Mother Superior, and the new ardent rules and restrictions of behavior that she began to experience the first of troubles; her veracious desire to learn, her ardent prayers and almost feverish desire to find some way to prove herself set her at odds with the priest of the convent. He found her passion un-Godly, her desires overly wanton for her sex, and began to seek ways in which to restrict her, which caused not only innocent discontent in the young girl, but a blossoming despair.
By the age of thirteen, Perdita had fallen into something akin to a sapping depression, bound by the Father's wishes to nothing more than silent prayers in her dormitory, and the hymns and prayer services held for the convent as a whole. She began to pray, begging God to understand if she was wrong in her desires, if she was craven to desire tasks and yearnings above her sex and station, to try and comprehend how she would have been given these longings, this desire to achieve, if it was to be her curse, and her burden, rather than her strength and her blessing.
Her prayers were answered at the end of her fourteenth year, when she was sent for by a Cardinal of Madrid, summoned and brought forth to his chambers. He was not alone, but with him were a pair of soldiers of God, a champion of the sword, a Knight of the Holy Order, and a woman, her form and face mostly concealed beneath heavy crimson robes, bearing on her hand crimson gloves, and a gold and silver ring bearing the seal of the Church.
Perdita was to learn that her story had reached the ears of the two, each of them a member of one of the highest, and most secret orders of the Church, an arm of the Inquisition that was referred to only as the Confessors. Only the most devout, the most arduous and righteous could be used to cull the flock, to cut out the rotten infected flesh of the corrupt and heretical, and they desired to know if Perdita would withstand their trials, and uphold the impossible standards by which they lived, and died.
The next months were what any other would have called hell on earth, as she suffered tortured of the spirit and the flesh at the hands of those that would shape her, mold her, craft her into their weapon, and still to this day her body bears many scars that were gained in that phase of her life.. but she suffered it gladly, clinging to her faith and her God to see her through to the other side. By the age of fifteen she was sworn, bearing the signet and title of Confessor, and with a rank of the Knights of the Holy Order at her side, she began her sweep through the country, in the name of Queen and God, to pull the infidels from their homes, and beds, to burn and consecrate their flesh, to seek from them their confessions, and conversions, that the land of Spain might be made righteous and pure in the eyes of God.
----
For almost two years, her life passed in the purifying heat of battle and fire, sorting through the lies and truths, acting as mediator between lords and serfs, moving from town to town to seek out the infidels and punish them, convert them, to find the corrupt of the church and bring them to task for their crimes against Church and God. She was steel, and righteous fury, forged in the heat of her faith and beneath the steel and hammer of her tutors and mentors into the blade and cross of her Christ.
It was at the onset of her seventeenth year, as her body, long crafted into lean sinew and calloused skin, crossed with the marks of whip and dagger, began to change, softening and lengthening of its own accord as she began to reach the physical womanhood so long delayed by her stringent regimen and diet. And that was not all that was to change, for she found as night hours came, and slept over took her, that there were dreams that haunted her, tearing at her mind and soul, shaking her to the core as she tossed and turned, writhing in the cloak that served as blanket on the ground that served as her bed when she travelled, waking abruptly in the middle of the night covered in a thin sheen of sweat, gasping for breath and her heart pounding wildly, chaotically in her chest as she fought to recover herself, instantly falling into the long practiced regime of prayers to cleanse body, and soul.
She did not understand the meanings of her dreams, the distorted and flashed images, the forest and the cities streaking by at inhuman speeds, the taste of blood and flesh on her lips, rage and seething hatred in her heart that was foreign to her. Hands, that were not hers, tearing at clothes and skin, sating primal hunger and desires upon any that were unfortunate enough to fall prey... A face, darker skinned and fiercer, menacing, that reflected in the waters beneath her... For weeks, she found herself tormented by glimpses of these alien images, the foreign memories that plagued her no matter how much she prayed, or scourged herself, until at long last she found no other course of action but to return to her haven, the home of the Confessors, to seek prayer and guidance from the leaders of her sect.
The following days were spent in prayer, and in quiet contemplation broken by meetings with the priests and Mother Confessor, as they sought to come to the source of the sickness that seemed intent on plaguing their devout servant, and it was then that they turned their questions back to the priest that had guided Perdita into the world, and began to search for signs, for history of her mother, and the demon that had been set upon her all those months before she had passed in giving birth to her daughter.
Locked, in quiet prayer, in the near empty chambers that were her quarters in the monastery, Perdita sought answers, as the day turned to night... and there it would be found, though not for her to recollect or understand. For all she was to know that night was agony. Pain, tearing through her, as the sunlight faded, and the slow pulse of the moon rose, calling to her, to that part of her so long stifled, and hidden... Sinew snapped, and stretched, bones cracked and shattered, reshaping and molding her into something... else. Something fierce and horrible, animalistic and frenzying, that rent gouged in the walls and door, as it fought for freedom, for release from her prison... When the sun rose, she found herself worn, weary, aching, and nude, in the shambles of her quarters, with the somber collection of guard and the Priest and Mother Confessor waiting for her to regain herself.
It was a somber realization, as they spoke to her of what had passed in the night, confronting her with what they had been able to determine of her heritage, that she was born of one of these beasts, the demons that had made a pact with the lord of beasts, and man, to carry within their souls a piece of hell for the freedom to walk as man the remaining days and nights of the month, but in those nights of the full moon, to be lost to their inner demons. She railed, and wept, begging them for another answer, for another truth, for anything that could be done to rid herself of this curse, the curse of her father's flesh, passed to her from her sinful birth, but there was naught that could be done. The next years were spent, forging herself anew, as she fought with bitter frenzy and funneled the rage of her inner beast, whipping herself into a harder, crueler weapon, shedding any sign of human weakness, crafting her body into a leaner, tougher, harder form, pushing herself to the farthest limits of her duration and stamina and capacity for pain, and hunger, hoping that if she could find some point... some breaking point that it would weaken the monster that rose from within those two, three nights of each month.
To her surprise, and great relief, the Church did not shun her, as she suffered under the burgeoning illness, and curse of her father's sin, but instead continued to push her, to elevate her, and yet another door within the orders of the Church was opened to her. An elite unit, even among the Confessors and the Orders of the Holy Knights; the Hunters, those that sought to purge the evil and most foul creatures from the land. She learned of devils, their eyes colored the same hue as their foul sustenance, creatures that consumed the blood of the innocents to sustain their pack with the devil for their immortal life, which glittered like fire in the sun, and seemed immune to all but the fiercest of combatants, and the all consuming holy flame. Others, of her ilk, but without the righteous fire to temper them, to tame their beast, those like her father, that ravaged and raped, stole and tormented the innocents of the land, taking what they wished and moving on, leaving more of their evil seed, or their infected, in their wake.
Here, she thrived, relishing in the slowly growing strength, and agility, and it seemed above all else, speed, for she found herself moving at speeds that were almost a blur, to her 'human' counterparts, and it became slowly apparent that there was little that she could not recover from, most things within minutes, or hours, depending upon the severity of the wound, or what had inflicted it, perhaps at most days, or a week if it would have been something deemed fatal to one of her companions. She was untouchable, and she was powerful...
----
And it was these things, as they always are, that were to be her eventual downfall, for while she may not be only human, it was the fatal weakness of human pride, and arrogance, which at last would bring her world to shatter. It was no great battle, no painful loss of home, or conflict that brought her to her knees. No. It was merely, a girl. One girl, whose wrought and tear-streaked features shall ever be etched into Perdita's memories. The strike had been swift, a nest of the crimson-eyed devils was suspected to be hidden in the catacombs beneath a poor Spanish village, and she had swept in, with the half a dozen of her compatriots, to route the demons from their nest, cutting through any that stood in their way.
And it was her, that one face, the dirty blonde haired girl, clutching the bloodied hand of her mother, cut down by the sword that slowly fell from Perdita's hands, that captured her attention. No.. not just the girl, the girl's eyes, as she stared at Perdita, in metal and leather armor, the blazen cross upon her chest. Fear.
Fear?
She was not meant to be feared. Not by this, not by the innocent. She had been meant to be a whip, a hammer, to craft the land, to forge civilization into a pure and shining jewel... not this. Not to be the thing that brought terror and agony to a child, who would never forget the warrior of the church who had cut down her mother for what... For getting in her way? For not moving fast enough? She could feel her world shake, spin, as the sword fell, striking the ground even as she moved, spinning away, trembling fingers tearing at the armor that wrapped around her, leaving fragments, torn pieces of it behind her as she fled.
----
She lost herself, in those next months... years, perhaps? She lost track of time, of who she was, of where she had gone, where she had been, what she had done, as she tried to come to grips with the truth of what monster she had become. No, not of the wolf that ripped its way out of her each rise of the full moon, but ironically, the creature, foul and corrupted that she had become in the name of her God, of her Christ, in seeking to become closer to what He desired for her... she had become something... else. Something dark, and selfish, and greedy, power hungry and seeking death. She raged, again, at herself, at her own selfishness and stupidity, at her arrogance to think that she should know better than God, or man, or any other creature on the earth or in the heavens.
She turned, now, rather than to the organized church - which she came to see now had been her folly, for the church was nothing more than the temples built by man, in man's images - but to herself, and to the God that she found in the wilds of the lands that she exiled herself to. She sought the lands most untouched by man, where even the wolf's paws and run could not make her a threat, as she fought with herself, her nature, coming to understand at long last that she could not be Perdita, and the devil-wolf... but that she was one, and the same, and that if she had any hope at peace, and salvation, she would have to find some way to reconcile the two into... simply she.
By the time that she came to feel somewhat comfortable in her own skin once again, by the time that she felt certain enough of her control, and her sanity, to slip into the outer edges of society, again, as it was, she found that almost fifty years had passed her by in her solitude. She found herself amazed, at the change that what seemed like such a small amount of time could bring, to the world as a whole. The religious fervor that had seized the European countries had slowly begun to abate, as the corruption and inner turmoil of the Church had become more and more public, and the inner motivations for one to cry 'heretic' became more plainly seen. Kingdoms had fallen, and the world moved on. Yet she remained... at least, to all external references, the same.
The same features, the same hair, the same body, perhaps only the darkening of her eyes, the creeping wisdom and sadness into the creases at the edges of them, but she could not tell if there were any that would notice these things, or if it was just her perception of them. Slowly, she crept towards civilization, touching the outer edges of it cautiously, testing herself and it, like a child would test the waters of the lake, holding her breath in expectation of that drop off, that moment when she would simply find the ground gone out from underneath her, and to be drowning, flailing in panic.
And yet... it never quite came, though even to this day she still expect it, at times, glancing over her shoulder in wait for the waves to come crashing down, and snatch away what she had managed to make as her hold in the world.
----
By now, the last decades of the seventeen hundred had come to greet her, catching her almost unawares as the she drifted through the world, keeping still to the outer edges of it, disguising herself as a merchant, or a beggar, or a peasant, at times even taking the role of a young lad seeking temporary employment, or housing, as the city that she was visiting would permit, whatever would be least noticed.
Still, at the nearing of every month, as the moon grew fuller in the sky, she would seek to hide herself away, to lock herself away, fighting still for control enough over her wolf, to know that she would not endanger those around her.
Cities came, and went, as she drifted, changing names as often as she did clothes, and jobs, and homes, and every now and again, she would catch a glimpse of a crimson-eyed, pale-skinned creature loitering in the shadows, or blending in the crowd, and she would find herself tensing, her hand reaching for a sword that was no longer at her side, before she would rebuke herself, and turn, and slip away. Only a handful of times in the next century did she catch any sign of another like herself, until at long last she had traveled through Greece, where she came across what best could be described as a small pack of those like her.
They were not like those she had been accustomed to hunting, lifetimes ago, but more like she was now, nomadic creatures, seeking as normal a life as they could without obstructing or harming the world around them, and it was from them that she learned of the urge that had been long enacted against her kind. Children of the Moon, they called themselves, and were called by the ones that hunted them; the crimson eyed devils, the Vampyre, their royalty that of the Volturi, that held a long standing grudge against the shape shifters, though over what slight, they could not tell her, not dare a guess. She traveled with them, this small family, for almost two decades, before it became clear that traveling in anything more than two of them together was drawing too much attention to their activities, and with Godspeeds and best wishes, the small pack scattered once more, as the nineteenth century seemed to speed by.
----
She found herself slowly becoming enchanted, enthralled by the world around her as the entirety of it seemed to shift. Men, of all colors, began to live, and work beside each other, in some places even women slowly began to be heard, their voices and hands to count, their services to their homes and cities acknowledged. Technology the likes of which she had never seen blossomed, making it possible for education to become something that almost anyone, of any class, could obtain, machines replacing human slaves, and factory workers, electricity lightning the previously ever darkened streets, and shadowed alleys.
She began to apply herself, testing herself within these new boundaries, immersing herself further and further into the depths of society; attending collegiate classes, arguing philosophy and science with minds that would later be called fathers of their realms, and still, she flourished, and drank of the society and knowledge as she once had, so many many years before. Here, she was welcome, wanted, in this age, she could pursue all those things that sparked her curiosity and fascination, from chemistry and calculus, to literature and poetry, to history and languages, to geography and nautical and astrological sciences.
A new world, discovered, a land of savages and untamed wilds, where man could travel for weeks without the hope of seeing another town or area of civilization, and she was as good as done for, packing up what handful of things she had come to find a necessity in her new life, and she was gone. The new land, America, as it would be called, fascinated her as greatly as the schools and teachings had in Europe, calling to that wild and primal part of her that remained ever present, ever tugging at her thoughts and soul. She watched, in childlike wonder, as men came, and conquered, and built, and made cities of flat lands, and turned away in grief, as she watched the land stained red, as slowly what had been natural and beautiful, became just another territory, just another thing for mortal men's hearts to long for, to envy, to fight for and take and pillage.
Still, she could not pull herself away, as if ensnared in the roots of the land that struggled to survive, to retain its sense of self, as she once had, beneath the avarice of men, and she lingered, slinking once more towards the outside of civilization as cities grew taller, and louder, and men and women became equals, as governments fell, and rose, and men took to the skies, and to the seas, and beneath the land, and science finally won over faith, and religion became all the more a mockery of itself, a shell of what it was meant to be.
The last years have found her world-weary, while still she finds herself intrigued by the achievements of man and science, she fears for the soul of not only man, but of the earth, and wonders what future can exist for a world that tears itself apart.
----
She has spent the last years of her life slipping across the country, familiar and yet foreign to her, as the face of the world she has known for all these centuries rewritten and reshaped with each year that passes, where once it took a decade or more for a city to flourish, they seem almost to crop up or fade away within a year, or less. She searches, still, for some place to call her own, somewhere that she can settle and make a home for more than just the passing through, finding herself growing slowly weary of the nomadic and solitary life, made all the more cautious by the continuing leaps in technology and science, wary of where such an inquisitive mind may lead for those few of her kind that are left, or even for the vampires who she has come to see not so much as enemies, despite what they might think of her, but as other outcasts in a world that will only hide them for so much longer... And she wonders, and fears, what will come of them all, on the day when their existence becomes less than legend, and rumors, and undeniable fact.
THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]
»»YOUR NAME:[/b] Mandy
»»GENDER:[/b] Female
»»AGE:[/b] 29
»»TITLE:[/b] We all have our demons.
»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]
See Liz.
