Post by zkjt on Jul 9, 2013 14:21:28 GMT -5
Age: 26
Race: Human
Allegiance:. Hive
Physical Description: Vel die kleur van die nag, oë net so donker..ah wait. I forget myself. I can’t expect you to understand my native tongue. You wanted a.. beskrywing..no; A..description yes? I will to the best of my ability, but you must understand me for some faults in my wording. I haven’t had to abandon my native tongue in quite some time. Hm..where to begin though..
As I’m sure you can tell, I am darker than most people of Broddring, at least that I have seen. Much darker, in fact. Where I come, the son, no sun, is always above us, which my people believe to be the reason we are so dark. Comparable to night, no? So, in this way I am no different from the Abewah, my people. My youth however, is one of the few things keeping the…the.. lyne van die liggaam? No. The..wrinkles, yes wrinkles, from my skin. Smooth..though in the years to come, I can’t say I will be free of them. For the moment, oils and cosmetics aren’t necessary. Also similar to my tribe is my height. I am approximately at 6 voet. Feet? Never understood that, but feet. 6. 6 feet. Damn hierdie taal. This language, I struggle, I apologize. I stand at 6 feet. Couple that with my weight, 145, and some say I can make an posing figure. Huh? Is that not right? Oh yes, imposing, yes. An imposing figure. This is just my body though, and most say it as a joke; however, my weight had always bothered my ma. She feared too easily.
I was called beautiful in my tribe; Before...well just before things happened. I haven’t heard it in years. Pragtige. Oh, how the boys would call out to me. Praise my hair, my face, my eyes. Ahh, forgive me. I must sound so… whiney? Yes, whiney. But my face, to me no different from the women of my tribe. Lower cheekbones then the blankes, your people. There’s a story behind this, you know. The story of the Great Goddess Yeine-ennu. No? Ah. It’s said our people were blind, we had no eyes. So, Yeine-ennu carved them into our faces, giving us lower cheekbones so our eyes had more vision, to grant us a gift we had never had. Seën yeine-ennu. Eyes though; no one from my tribe, in my generation at least, has ever had colored eyes. We call them blessed, because those with color from my tribe, Yeine-ennu has touched. Brown, sometimes so light as to appear like sjokolade, chocolatl. Others, dark as our skin. To me, I was the latter. Not so dark as to appear black, there is still a contrast, nevermind how faint it is. A dark brown then, no? They’re turned downward, almost similarly to the people from the east..oh! My eyes I mean. Curved inward slightly, folding over in the corner. My eyelashes are prominent, one of the few things not considered a norm with my people. Very obvious, both at the top and bottom of my eyes. My tribe doesn’t use any sort of cosmetics..but then I said that already, no? No? Oh. Well we don’t. So, plain eyes. My nose, nothing special. My family was never fond of the ander plekke, that some of my tribe used. In noses, lips, ears, even body. My lips, full. One feature I can praise. Full…large, with a shine. I don’t know. It’s what the boys would yell to me. But now, my face, we must be done, no? My hair. Dark, common to the people of the desert and my tribe. Those with light or colored hair are shunned; For how can someone be fully of our tribe and yet disgrace us with their differences? My hair is short and kinky, falling just past my shoulders in an odd mess. I wear it up, at all times. Save for when I sleep that is. I find it frames my face nicely as well, no?
Ah yes, there’s the body, you would want me to tell you that no? Men. Compared to varke in my tribe. Large hips, oh how my mother praised Yeine-ennu for delivering her only daughter with such wide hips. Perfect for childbirth, though that was never in my future. My curves – ah how your face twitches, I see that now. Large. No further description, lest I drown in the pool of spittle forming at your mouth. [Do I kill him now? No, no. There are still people here. Soon.]
Personality: What am I like? Well..I’m not sure I even have an idea on how to answer that. I’m..I don’t even know you enough, my good sir, to tell you this. Although I can tell you a story about a girl from my people. Her tale was quite infamous…have another drink, no reason not to, no? Out of coin? Ha! One more over here! [Dumbass.] So, some background on her before the story maybe? This is a long verhaal. Her name isn’t known, at least by me and those of my tribe so we will call her Che. Che was…her circumstances were rough. And those circumstances formed the girl she would become.
She is a hard person. Compare her to rock, granite. It doesn’t necessarily mean she is a bad person, no? An example…her views. Strong, and unblinking. You could say she is very opinionated, though the opinions that were ground into her were not necessarily hers to begin with. In fact, arguing with her when heated is a joke, because she is too hardnekkige, stubborn, to bother trying to understand others. So, stubborn. Opinionated. Is that good enough for you? Ah well. Aggressive. Cunning. You drive a hard bargain, but sure. Examples..well.
From a young age, she was a fighter. Born to it, bred for it, trained for it. This, coupled with an inhuman aggression to others created quite the fighter in her. The other kids didn’t cross her. They knew it would just lead to a veg, fight. So, they left her alone. Thus, she grew accustomed to the loneliness, which Yeine-ennu teaches us a person should never have. The solitude she went through…only added. To her aggression, yes. Violent, aggressive, lonely yet too proud to say anything. A warrior. Hot-headed yes, but it was her mother, [Fucking bitch.] who taught her daughter to reign her emotions in, mask them, hide them, she was quite the whore wasn’t sh- Oh. No. I didn’t know her. The story has been told so often though, sometimes it’s hard to not get emotionally..emotionall what? Betrokke. There it is. Involved.
Through her mother, she learned some of the most important things she would learn. However it divided them, but that will come later. Through practice, and other…methods, Che leveled her head. Oh, her emotions were still a violent as ever, but she had a klip gesig..um..a..I don’t know actually. Unreadable face. She became hard to deal with, a liar. A weaver of stories, [Oh yes she did] and why? Oh and now the story comes. Do you realize it yet, my new friend? She was being trained. [Oh yes, her sweet mother and father were able to train her, into slitting your pathetic throat after you were done choking on your own vomit.]
History: The story comes now, yes. Are you ready? No, no. Sit up. I actually want you to hear this last bit, my friend.
Che was born in the desert. But you knew this already. We call it Vuurherd, this land, the desert, though it’s precise meaning has been lost. This land, and desert, has always been divided into various tribes, or families. Che’s was one of the strongest, with her father leading it, through the manipulations of her mother. Yes, her mother, very smart, very beautiful[so debateable]. 9 kids she had. All, of doubtful parentage. She had enough allies to secure herself in a position of relative strength in not just the tribe, but the desert. But she lacked something, she desperately wanted, if not needed: someone on the outside. Who would go though? No one wanted to, it wasn’t a necessary thing. But she had 9 children. Her property, no? Krag. Her strength. 8 boys and one girl. It would be easy, right?
Two years from Che’s birth, 3 of her siblings were dead. One, died of an illness, common to the infants of the desert. One, killed by an ex-lover of Che’s mother. He was executed in the common Abewah way: buried in the sand so only his head and was showing, and then he was sustained with water and food until the sun, child of Yeine-ennu, baked him to a crisp. Approximately 5 days. The third child, was killed by Che’s mother actually. The poor child was beginning to show signs of slowness, and so Che’s mother killed the boy himself. The tribe suspected, but no one said anything. The wife of chief is the ma to all. Never crossed.
Of course Che’s mother fretted. How could she not? [Soon. Only a couple patrons left.] 5 children left, but the remaining boys were already molded by the tribe; independent in their thoughts, warriors, hot-blooded. Oh how she hated her husband. But one option remained: the toddler. A girl, the weaker of the sexes, easy to manipulate. She made her choice then and there. Do you understand friend? Answer me! Good, good. Let us continue then?
Che grew. Early on, she was alienated from the other kids, because of her parentage. Too much power in her blood, too much influence. Her father, naturally, took over her training when she was old enough, which was when she began her fighting. Hand to hand first, she was only 7, and then on to weapons. They were brutal training sessions, with few rests and little emotion. Living in the desert, strength was held in the highest honor. And strength didn’t permit love, no? [Ah, father did you ever love me? When you would break my arm, when your brother took me that one night and broke me more than you ever did, did you ever care for me?]
As I said earlier, she had no friends. She got into fights, with both kids her age and older. At this point, at the age of 13, she had two brothers left. Yeine-ennu took who she took when she took them, it was life. That was when her mother stepped in. Wake up dammit! Did I say I was fucking done with the story? No? That’s what I thought...please listen for a while longer friend. Soon, very soon. So, her mother stepped in…
Che was strong; she could fight with her hands, a staff, the adribajil, double-sided knives holy to their patron Goddess, and a handful of other weapons. But Che’s mother knew that that alone wasn’t enough to keep her alive in the other world, the world outside of the Vuurherd, but she needed this child and she needed her trained more, as a spy. So, she began her training. It started off as conversation; something that Che wasn’t meant for. She was barbaric in her speech and rude in her gestures, everyone commonly accepted this. [Though they didn’t like it. Nobody ever liked me. Ha.] But Che’s mother wouldn’t have it. After observing her daughter and finding her not to her liking, she began to mold her. To her credit, the bitch tried to be civil with her teachings. She taught her language, mathematics, but how did she know this? I don’t know, nobody does. Che fought against the teachings, naturally. But once she began being reprimanded, and violently too, she changed her ways. She began listening. She grew educated, further alienating herself from now not just the children, but the tribe itself. Her mother was a demoness, it was commonly held, and now the days and nights being spent with her mother was beginning to seem strange to the tribe, though they said nothing. Suspicions flourished.
When she was 20, Che was as educated as she could be from her mother. She hated her. Hated her looks, her talking, her walking, EVERYTHING! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Almost done, then I’ll take you home.
When she was 20, things changed. At this point, Che was a pariah. She embraced it…on the outside. Loneliness hurts the soul, but she held strong. Che’s mother of course was happy; she had her tool. But before she could wield it, the world collapsed.
Though she hadn’t known it, Che’s mother was losing power. Her husband was old and weak, she herself was losing both beauty and influence, and her allies were leaving her side quicker than they had gotten there. One of her remaining sons, power-hungry and cruel, wanted the title of regeerdeer for their tribe. Being in such a cruel environment, he had no qualms about murdering our father. Which he did, see? Murdered him while he slept, and then his wife beside him. But, he couldn’t be done yet. There was one more person who scared him, who he needed gone. [You fool. I was always father’s prodigy, no matter how weak you thought me.] Can you guess who it was? Yes, you’re right. Che. He stole into her room that same night, the blood of his parents and brother still on his hands. Oh yes, he killed his last surviving brother as well. A power hungry pig that one. He crept to his sister’s bed…there she was, beautiful, sleeping. Could he use her before she died? Did he consider it? Like his uncle before him? Oh, but he never got the chance. For Che had woken up, and she attacked. It wasn’t a long fight, though it was long. Their screams and grunts alerted the rest of the tribe, who reached the tent not long after Che had snapped her brother’s neck. And what did the tribe think? Che, the spawn of her mother, her little pet, killing her family for power for herself? Oh the irony. Alas, they exiled her. They could have killed her, executed her, kept her around as a gevangene, prisoner, and yet she was exiled. So she left. Into the world.
In Broddring, she met a trio of women, and they recognized her potential almost instantly. After a year, they knew most of her story, and I knew theirs. Oh yes, my friend, how could you not know until now? But hush. They were members of a great faction, though recently reduced in power: the Hive. With enthusiasm, I joined. While I'm still relatively low on the hierarchy, I am able to spy, gather intel, and, on occasion, get rid of scum littering the great city of Broddring. Oh yes my friend, the Hive sends it's regards...
Roleplaying Sample:N/A
