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Name: Crimson

Nicknames Gained: Crimm

Age: Appears 23.

Gender: Female

Species: Natural blooded Lycan.

Height: 5' 8''

Weight: 145

Marital Status: Single (Divorced with 3 children)

Appearance: Long red hair that goes halfway down her back. Pale skin with scars on both her shoulders from battle and on her neck. She received the scars from a former lover. She was blinded by love and was unable to sense that he had been changed into a vampire. He tried to take a bite out of her in order for the lycan blood and vampire blood to kill her. She has sad red eyes that can peer deep into your soul.
Attitude: Crimson would like to think she was quite, reserved, and spoke only when needed but if she did, she would be lying to herself. She has a strong personality and that shows in every conversation you have with her. She is very stubborn and once she knows she’s right about something, it’s almost impossible to change her mind unless you provide her with scientific evidence and personal experience with reason. She doesn’t hesitate to speak whenever matters of great conflict arise. Crimson would also like to think emotions are useless, but only a fool believes that. She has learned emotions are necessary and natural occurrences within the soul. She is happy for the most part; however memories of her past sometimes haunt her. She can be extremely serious when she needs to be, like whenever her leadership position comes first. If there’s a stranger she will not hesitate to speak with them, she makes study them for a minute or two. She likes to analyze and decipher a person before she becomes overly involved with them. She enjoys studying and learning new things about the world around her. She has a passion for nature and animals, as well as things unseen. If someone crosses her or challenges her she can have a nasty temper. Because if her temper she’s usually referred to as a fire cracker. She’s unpredictable and dangerous whenever she’s set off.
Element: Crimson’s natural element is fire. She knows a little shadow but hardly uses it. She is learning to play with earth by tending to her garden every chance she can. She’ll also retreat there if she feels sad.

Weapons: Crimson fights with a Claymore, not just any Claymore though. This Claymore is thousands of years old, passed down through her family for generation to generation. The Claymore has been enchanted with the power of forbidden magic. The Claymore can never be broken and the jewel that was melted into the mouth of the dragon, on her hilt, contains the souls of all those she has slain. She does this by delivering a fatal wound to his opponent. As the victim fades away, she asks them if they are ready to die. If they aren’t ready to pass on, she proposes her deal. Their soul will remain with her until she passes on and it gives them the illusion that they are in paradise. So they know they will be in the perfect life and not wonder if they will go to heaven or hell. This Claymore is called Exile. She also has a dagger that’s just an ordinary silver dagger with the Celtic knot engraved into it.
Claymore
Dagger
Occupation: Crimson is the leader of the Fire Clan. She is skilled in many aspects of life. Though she prefers healing, purifying, and blessing. She can be a strong, determined warrior that will fight until death. She also can be a powerful wizard in the arts of fire, shadow, and sometimes earth.

Abilities: Crimson is extremely inn-tune with nature. She has the ability to cast spells that can manipulate certain elements, some elements she can go into further detail with. Fire is the easiest to manipulate. She has a bit of trouble with shadow and earth. The most trouble she has is with water and wind. Her spells come from her Pagan religion. She also has the ability to transform when she needs to. Sometimes if she doesn’t feed her lycan form takes over and goes on a massive rampage, killing anything in its path. She can retract and extend her nails and fangs as needed.

Powers: Crimson is a pro whenever it comes to defending the right and handing out justice. Whenever she was younger she often inspired to become a Priestess, though her species simply wouldn’t allow it. She was urged to become the strongest fighting female of her pack. She was never one for physical contact. She preferred to talk about arguments, she enjoyed reading and learning. Though that was quickly beaten out of her. Crimson eventually became a brutal and harsh Lycan like the rest. She invoked two mottos, “Kill or be killed” and “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” As a result of grappling, wresting, and enduring pain to her bodies limits time and time again, she has the will of a warrior. After Crimson found herself, she realized that her human soul was the path she should follow. She studied healing, purification, blessings, and she obsessed over Paganism. She found all these things absolutely incredible. She also learned that these things could be used as weapons when needed. Crimson can cast barriers, enchant weapons to hold certain elemental properties, make potions that inflict certain ailments, and much more.
Appearance: Crimson
Eyes: Her eyes...she has spent many a nights peering into them, trying to find a bases for her being. Something that makes her a concrete image in this world. While others have happiness, anger, jealousy, or anther emotion, you see nothing when you gaze into her eyes. The pupil within her eye is either large enough to make it appear as if it is completely black, a microscopic ring of smokey yellow surrounding it. The black circle can also be so small it seems she doesn't have one, just white clouds swirling around an orb of ruby. The iris shifts from a foggy haze of light red to dark, depts. of scarlet, depending on her moods. The red is speckled with tints of dark yellow. In the small splashes of fire in her eyes you are able to see reflections of her past, the pain she went through as a slave, and the bodies of her dead parents. Her thoughts aren't a safe place to be and she knows it, she tries to avoid eye contact with humans, who would surly go mad from a simple gaze.

Hair: Crimson’s hair is red, no doubt. It’s the color of fire, the natural element she was born with. Infact most of her characteristics reflect that of fire, none more so than her hair. Thick waves flow down her shoulders and rest half way down her back. Her bangs part to each side, more hair clings to the right rather than the left so her right eye is entirely covered. Her left eye has a few strands blocking your view but otherwise it’s completely visible. She believes that mortals shouldn’t make eye contact with her, as her eyes have the ability to reflect her past, she keeps them covered on purpose. Crimson doesn’t style it or cut it in certain ways, she allows it to hang freely about her shoulders and frame her face. Her hair is thick and smooth, it frizzes on hot days sometimes, and on windy days it’s a horrid mess to untangle but her mother had long hair like this, so she keeps it this way to honor her.

Body Build/Details: Crimson’s build is rather unique. She’s not petite but she’s not so blucky that she is pure muscle. She is muscular, as most lycans inherit that trait. Her shoulders are broad and powerful, more so than a normal female. She has a full figured body, something she gratefully gained from her mother. The clothing she chooses to wear show off her toned legs and arms. Her hands are soft to the touch from the years of vacation from war. There was a time whenever they were rough and she could hold the blade of a sword and jerk it from her opponent without flinching. There was also a time whenever she refused to sleep, feeling rivals were also close at hand. This rewarded her with dark circles under her eyes, now though she sleeps peacefully at night. She stands 5’8’’, a bit over average for the height of a woman. She has a small waist and toned abs. Her father was a tall and powerful man, so she towers over enemies even if she’s shorter. She appears to be a treating and sexy foe to those of any intelligence. Most enemies underestimate her and as a result most of them are dead.

Whenever she is around people her face is glowing and she eagerly hands out smiles. Whenever she’s alone, it’s another story. Her face is emotionless and cold, she is trapped in thoughts of her past. She won’t let go of it, no matter how people beg her to do it. She believes the past is the key to the future and will die saying that. Crimson can have a soft appearance when she is showing sympathy or remembering happier times of her past or horrible times, holding onto the pain. Her eyes show a distant world. She can also have an emotional side, where she blushes and stumbles over her words. Her cheeks turn a light scarlet. She is very pale ordinarily though. She has high cheek bones, making her face slender and her neck is slender as well. She has several scars upon it, one thin, long scar is across her windpipe. Another is two deep indentions on the side of her neck. She once got into a fight with a vampire and he attempted to drain her blood dry, though he was unsuccessful. The vampire had the ability to do mind control on her at one point, she had to hunt him down and kill him in order to stop it.

Deep wounds were carved into her shoulders once, whenever she was made a slave. They left horrible scars of disfigured flesh. She still remembers the pain from those nights as a slave. She bottles up her memories and move on with her life. She also has another scar that runs from her neck down to her hip, how she got it she’ll never tell anyone. There is another that she made herself, an x upon a section of her wrist. She made that x as a promise to a friend, she promised her friend she would save her one day, but her friend died right before her eyes.

Outfit: Crimson doesn’t have a specific dress or style, though she prefers black and red, she hates wearing anything else. To her black means wisdom and red means that blood from the past. Whenever she is lounging around at the Inn she wears a sweater or a t-shirt, most of the time a tank top, and either jeans or some windbreakers. Whenever she enters combat it’s a different matter entirely. She considers fighting to be an art so she wears clothes that make her seem to dazzle whenever she choose to show off her fighting skills. Still she has no specific attire.
Bio: Crimson was born 2000 years ago, in the era of Imperial Rome. She had been born into Nobel birth upon an island that was her people. Lycans had taken over an island many centuries ago and claimed it as their own territory, damning any human who dare try to step upon the soil. Even if one was foolish enough to try the scent would carry to the nostrils of the Lycans on the entire island, he would be eaten alive in a matter of minutes. Rome was considered to be the time period of intelligence, democracy, and beautiful fashions. The lycans were none of these things. They lycans preferred violence and fighting to the death for glory, honor, and pride. Competitions would be held often in a stadium, the losers would face death, while the winner would go on to become one of nobility. It wasn’t uncommon to see two lycans fighting over a slice of steak on market day. Crimson really hated their way of life but she was only a princess. Her mother and father believed whole heartedly in the lycan way of life.

Crimson’s mother was the Queen of the Lycans. She struck more fear into their hearts than the king! Her name was Rose, named after a delicate flower, what a disappointment to the flower. Rose was a harsh wench. She was a master at melee weapons and strategy, she pushed Crimson and her siblings to follow in her foot steps. Disappointment meant punishment. She took Crimson out for practice constantly, Crimson just didn’t want to learn but Rose beat that notion out of her head. Crimson’s heart hardened to the world and she became an exact image of Rose, the third b***h of the lycans.

Crimson’s father was named Virgil, he was a powerful warlock but an even more powerful swordsman. He taught his children spells and swordsmanship. He wasn’t as harsh as Rose was but he still punished failure. He hated humans and forced Crimson to hate them also. She eventually was consumed by the hatred and forgot who she really was.

Crimson had three siblings. She had two older ones, Vega and Scarlett, and one younger, Serenia. Vega had inherited their mother’s cold heart. He spent his time kidnapping humans and performing target practice on them. Whenever he was unable to harm humans he spent his time bringing the dead ones back to life and injuring animals. Vega was Rose’s pride and joy. He could summon skulls from the ground and call forth spirits. Scarlett was an arrogant and ignorant fool, though she was incredibly powerful. Scarlett was only able to transform on the night of the full moon but whenever she transformed she was unstoppable. Serenia was a gentle creature and the youngest of the siblings, she had been similar to Crimson, innocent and kind. The Lycans would soon snatch that honorable trait from her.

Shame feel on the Lycan Clan one day. Serenia had run away and taken a human male for a husband. The Lycan Clan erased her memory from the records and said that if she was ever to be seen she was to be killed on sight. Crimson had never expected to see her again, however she did. Crimson was in Rome one day, getting supplies for a travel she planned to take. She picked up the scent of Serenia and followed her home. She was shocked to find Serenia had a child and was pregnant with another. It was absolute disgrace to Lycans everywhere! Hatred and rage boiled in Crimson’s veins. She entered the home and slaughter Serenia, her husband, and the younger child. She killed her husband and the child quickly, not wanting to waste time getting to Serenia, just one quick snap of the neck was all it took. They were so fragile. Crimson took her time with Serenia. She eventually cut open her stomach and allowed her the honor of bleeding to death, purging her soul of the evil inside her. It was the customs of the Lycans. Crimson returned home and told her family the news, she was given many honors, and a feast was held in her name.

Vampires…they were no better than humans to her, she hates them even more if that was possible. They invaded her home and killed all the Lycans, the vampires took the nobles back as slaves. Crimson was assigned to become the slave of a vampire named Kaine. Vega and Scarlett had been cowards and escaped the raid from the vampires. So Crimson, her mother and father, along with some other family members had been kidnapped. Kaine took Crimson’s dagger from her and sliced two deep and painful wounds slowly into her shoulders. Blood dripped from the wounds and she could feel how excited Kaine became from that. Kaine bent down and lapped her blood up. He had commented on how divine she had tasted. He then chained her to the wall of his chambers and ripped her clothes off, being a slave she wasn’t permitted to wear clothes anymore. He raped her whenever he needed pleasure, feed her only a little amount, and only gave her blood when she was at the point of dying. He even invited his friends to join in on the fun sometimes. Then one night…the Vampires decided to hold a tournament. They decided it would be fun to see whose slave was the strongest. They organized the event and threw the lycans into a pit and stabbed them with heated pit forks until they fought. It was here…Crimson was forced to murder both her parents. She couldn’t say she loved them but they had provided for her and gave her all she needed, she killed them with great regret. Kaine had given her a pit fork and forced her to stab them over and over until they eventually were unable to heal themselves and die. It took several hours and their screams echoed through the halls. It was almost unbearable. Shortly after this, the remaining Lycans formed a revolt and forced themselves out of the lair of the Vampires. Crimson had been one of the handfuls to escape alive. It was then she realized she had aged 1000 years and was faced with a new age of time.

Crimson hated how the place was so filthy. She had been living in an apartment packed with so many people the stench was unbearable. People couldn’t or wouldn’t bath since the Black Plague had been going around. Crimson didn’t have to worry about catching something so weak to her immune system. She bathed without care. Humans were dying constantly and at such a quick pace that people couldn’t dig the graves fast enough and eventually resorted to just tossing the bodies into the ditches. It made the smell even worse. Doctors assumed that purging was the answer, that if they bleed enough blood the disease would go away but of course that only made things worse. Crimson had been unable to stand for it, so she took her belongings and moved into a cave outside of town. The smell was still horrid but it wasn’t as bad as being in it. She found she smelled of it and wouldn’t be able to hide if she needed to, what a surprise. She couldn’t say anything important happened in this time period, she was to sum it all up, bored out of her mind.

Crimson absolutely adored Henry Ford. He was such a cleaver little man. He was also the most interesting human she had seen in centuries. It was a shame to see him run out of business and his idea of a head Nazi was ridiculous. He had helped play a hand in stereotyping German citizens, which wasp pretty stupid, but she still enjoyed him none-the-less.

As time progressed science began to take over, over powering idiotic religious notions. Crimson was grateful for that but all the crap science invented gave her headaches and hurt her ears. (And I’m really bored and can’t think of anything to write, so I’m going to half a** even more from this point on.)

Crimson decided to travel across the world. She had invested in the stock market so she was incredibly wealthy. The money hadn’t brought her happiness though. She eventually found a place that was separated from the outside world. She took the land and used her money to build homes and accommodated it with showers and baths, she fashioned it to look just like feudal Japan. She then canceled all her stocks and began to live of the land. She called the place Eternity of Elements, creating various clans for certain land formations on the continent. She chose to lead the Shadow Clan and appointed people she had known from long ago into certain leadership positions if they chose. Crimson found a lover here. His name was Acheron but there was more to this man than meets the eye. He is older than her and time itself really. He had an ancient evil living inside of him and one day it erupted. It destroyed everything she ever cared about and he fled. Crimson was forced to find a new refuge. After many years of searching she found the Koumuru Continent. She found it was much like her own home. She joined the Fire Clan, taking a position as a healer. She was cold and distant, often found drinking vodka. However she meets someone named Sokotsu. They feel in love and bored three children with each other. Artemis was momma’s little girl. She was a spitting image of her also. Soktosu and Crimson divorced each other, she sent the children away, in hopes of finding a better life. A great war erupted throughout the Koumuru Continent, in hope to overthrow the leader and kick some clans into action. The Fire Clan and the Shadow Clan were basically the largest scales in the war. The Shadow Clan won, tearing apart the Inn and destroying the Land. Many were killed in the fight. The provoker of the war was eventually captured and imprisoned. Shortly after he was released and he and the leader of the Fire Clan, along with his family departed to another world to live in peace. Crimson had been named leader of the Fire Clan ever since, she hopes she can live up to the reputation of the former leader. She tries with all her might as well…. Acheron appeared again one day, at the Fire Clan, he was distant at first learning she had bore children and wed to another man. Crimson thought he would never return though. Soon their love began to stir again, but lately…she has no clue where he’s been. The Koumuru continent has basically been deserted, the Fire Clan the only clan that holds any form of life.

Name: Woven Eyes, Howling Sunset, Shrieking Storm.

Nickname: Weyve, Howlen, Skreig

Age: about 60-70 years of age, appears about 17-18 years old

Gender: Male

Species: Metanimus, or "Many Spirits"

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 147 lbs, 112lbs, 3 lbs

Marital Status: Unloved

Appearance: In human form, Weyve is most likely to be found donning his less than stunning grey T shirt which remains open-chested, and wearing a worn and ragged pair of blue jeans. He wears a pair of grey gloves simply for a limited style convenience, and an ancient necklace bounds back and forth upon his neck. His physical appearance resembles that of a go lucky teenager, a sleek and smooth face to top it off. Short, grey hair bundles untamed upon his head, his style simply to run his fingers through it. Despite his charming smile and gorgeous blue eyes, his body is well built and skinny, and claims to be strong enough to break a femur in one hand. To some dismay, a pair of playful wolf ears tops his head, and they twitch satirically as he walks and talks. A large, mysterious scar is imprinted upon his left pectoral, in an ancient and indecipherable text.

Attitude:Weyve: This young, teenage man is as much a loner as any silent beast of the night or winged stalker in the sky. Weyve has but one outlook on life; Things are simpler when done alone, without the help of any one. Outwardly, Weyve can seem a bit gawky and childish, but in truth, his self-confidence is in pure iron shackles. Due to an unfair treatment involving physical and emotional abuse given liberally and frequently by his own father, young Weyve trusts literally no one but himself when it comes to reliance and teamwork. Although somewhat shy and reserved, the lad has been known to step forward in a debate of morals, allowing his logic and heart to speak for him. When confronted and nervous, Weyve launches forth his failsafe, a haughty and arrogant attitude blinded by rage and egotistical values. Although this is very much part of him and a product and perhaps inherited trait of his father and his abusive nature, Weyve’s act arrogance is not his true nature. He lives to understand, to breathe for perhaps only one more day, and to survive this strange and shattered existence.

Unfortunately, due to a racial back round not intermingled with other cultures, Weyve has a slight contempt for others besides his own kind. It is nothing serious, simply merged with his already unstable distrust in others. He seeks desperately within himself for guidance on how to combat such discrimination, but only finds such solitude in his companions, buried deep within his spirit.

Weyve, being born of people of the earth and sky, living in unison with nature and the world, had an undying respect and love for nature. He is part of its beauty, its magnificence, its power, and loves it against all odds. In this sense, he is willing to right all wrong conferred upon all natural living things that deserve such respect. This trait is carried over to the people he interacts with. Although distrusting, Weyve firmly believes in equal treatment of all things, alive or seemingly not. Even if it would cause him harm, Weyve leaps into danger in order to protect another from hatred…just like he had wished someone had done for him so many years ago. It is odd, however, that this shy lad has an uncanny attraction to fire and flames. Where many see fire as powerful and destructive, Weyve recognizes the flames as passionate, glowing, but ever cautious to the elements around it in order to survive.


Howlen: A somber and calm wolf of northern heritage, Howlen is a saint and a pure natured being. Somewhat staid and clearly placid, Howlen is the voice of the reason for Weyve when all seems lost. His calm and prophetic verse is a song of peace to nearly any troubled soul. This nature, however, is very unlike the remainder of his kind in the native Home Wood where he and his companions once abode. Because of this, Howlen’s life was lined and drawn through ridicule, but he endured passionately. He was once Weyve’s father’s companion, along with Rushing Fang, whose sole purpose was to fight and tear through his opponents, much to Weyve’s father’s approval. Howlen may appear chilling and cold to those he sees he cannot trust, a skill he excels at, but his willingness to calmly present his ideals is astounding. However, if angered, Howlen proves to be a worthy adversary whose anger is repulsed by nothing. When his fangs are borne, your chances of returning home unscathed are very much increased if you stay out of his way.

Howlen happens to be a firm believer in equality as well. A deep respect for nature is also buried within his heart, and never discriminates. His age has taught him much, but chooses to share with only who prefer to listen. Because of his connection with nature, he can and will communicate with it, much like Weyve does. Although Howlen is not above requesting aid, he prefers to work things out alone much like Weyve. Howlen respects the northern snows of his home, and they offer their grace to fill his icy aid.

Skreig: This haughty and quick-tempered Gyrfalcon is perhaps the only dynamic character in this traveling caravan. Where the Lad and Wolf make silence their word, Skreig makes his sentiments quite clear verbally and loud at that. His robust and fervent attitude is enough to put off the mild mannered, but Skreig’s arrogance is not in vain. Among the three, Skreig is by far the most technologically advanced and intelligent. Nothing escapes his watchful, black eyes, and his condescending nature is never settled. This bird of prey, however, is not without a heart and remains loyal to the traditions and respects of his people, loving nature as much as Howlen and Weyve. Skreig’s methods are simply more accusatory, and of course, nothing is ever his own fault.

Element:
Weyve: There should be no misconception in that Weyve is an elemental-less being. His power comes solely from nature and her embracing arms. Weyve has the natural ability to request assistance from Nature, and because of his loving and warm connection, such requests are rarely denied. Perhaps the most frequent inquiry Weyve makes of his Mother Earth is to create and control fire. Weyve adores the flames of this planet, and because of his respect for them, he can conjure them anywhere from comfortingly warm or lethally fierce.

Howlen: Because of this somber Wolf’s upbringing and heritage, Howlen houses within his body and spirit the natural connection between himself and the cold. His species among the Home Wood are apt at commanding the wintery elements, and excel in summoning frigid conditions. Howlen prefers not to be forced to utilize such potential, but under some circumstances, the ice of winter is his to control. When in a dire situation, Howlen is actually able to completely meld with natural cold, mastering the ice and snow by becoming ice itself. This form, however, leaves Howlen and the party fairly open to heat and searing attacks.

Skreig: Skreig, and nearly all of his winged family, are humbly attuned to the wind elements. Able to raise brief storms and soar with the roaring winds, Skreig generates gusts to confuse and buffet foes. Just as Howlen can, Skreig is also able to unite with the winds and gales of the earth, becoming a frighteningly quick wind menace. Slicing the very air as he moves, Skreig as a gust can command even minor tornadoes and hurricanes, but by simply stopping the sailing Gyrfalcon, one has removed his elemental advantage.


Weapons: Although a livid martial fighter, Weyve has practically mastered the two weapons he limits himself to carry. The first and preferable weapon of the lad is was traditionally his mother’s; a great and powerful compound bow named Patience. It was the parting gift of his mother’s to him before Weyve was sent to war, and had been used many a time by herself in both combat and hunting. The greatbow is sturdy and rigid, but allows for a flexible drawback without creating much noise. This weapon is preferable to Weyve because he was never much of a confrontational fighter, preferring to remain hidden until the point of quick, successive lethality was reached on the target’s part. This stealthy and piercing bow perfectly accommodates Weyve’s fighting style and natural hunting and battle tactics. His second weapon is less agreeable, and in more than one way. An immaculate, lavish long blade crafted by skilled hands rests impatiently upon the Lad’s burdened back, wishing moreover to rust rather than be in Weyve’s hands. The blade, duly named Unity, was originally in the possession of Weyve’s despised father. Although the weapon is perfectly formed and balanced excellently, it seems that his father’s spite ran deep enough to seep into the blade, and refuses to perform to its potential for Weyve. Or maybe, perhaps, it was how Weyve attained the blade from his father that made the weapon his bane. At any rate, Weyve uses the blade in close range combat when completely necessary, but avoids its usage otherwise, despite his exceptional skill in swordsmanship.
{X}{X}

Abilities: For such a young appearing male, Weyve is quite lean and powerful. Training for decades has increased his skills substantially, surpassing unimaginable running speeds and boasting of a mighty and unbelievable strength. Although Weyve houses such power, he still prefers to utilize his sneaky and guileful tactics, pursuing a foe as their silent shadow. When in flight, Weyve appears like nothing but a grey blur, nearly impossible to catch or halt. His dexterity and huntsmanship is nearly unmatched, able to pin an animal without lethal force, and if he wishes, set it free almost unscathed. His aim is true and straight, but lacks the swordsman ship or confrontational confidence to fight close range effectively. Weyve is uncannily skilled in exploiting physical weakness in a target or opponent, and with his mother’s bow, can permanently disable a creature. Because of the grey wolf ears atop his head, Weyve possesses exceptional hearing, reaching a radius of nearly a mile, which comes in handy when hunting or searching for streams or people. His ears also make it severely difficult to approach him undetected. Howlen and Skreig possess talents and skills not unlike their species would normally, but sharpened senses and peculiar strength is added to these talents.

Powers: Weyve alone houses no special powers other than his strong bond with nature and his companions. His control over the elements is based solely on compromise between nature and himself, and they work in unison and love. Weyve requests nothing of the Earth that he does not expect in some way to repay.

Metanimus are infamous for their one alike and very peculiar talent. These people are raised and taught in the Home Wood of the principle of unity. The model and eventual goal of all Metanimus is to attain this perfect unity with nature and the world. This unifying goal is the power of all Metanimus, the metamuscen. In an unexplained manner of events and trials, Metanimus are tempered spiritually until able to completely connect with nature in a physical manifestation. After proof of this unity is given, they are presented with the ultimate test…the metamuscen of another creature. In its most basic description, the Metamuscen is sharing the spirit, heart, and soul of another creature with your own. When this spiritual connection is established, then one can freely connect with the comrades generated through metamuscen. Although the word “transform” is incorrect, it is the only word that best describes the process of connection one shares with a comrade after the ritual is complete. The downside to the metamuscen, however, is that only one of the connected comrades is permitted to be a physical manifestation at one time, and the others must wait in a spiritual realm located within the conscious of the “living” one. The companions are completely connected in every way; flesh, spirit, heart, thoughts, and soul. When the “switch” occurs, the flesh of one becomes spiritual energy for the time being, and the spiritual energy of the passive member then becomes flesh. The process is taxing, but the result is astounding and highly effective. Weyve has mastered this power at a young age, like most of his people, and is spiritually linked through metamuscen with Howlen and Skreig.

There is, however, many unexplained processes of the metamuscen. How is one able to spiritually link with another creature? Why is it that only one of these creatures can be present at any one given time? Although there happens to be little scientific explanation, there are several strange occurrences that have broken the original laws of the metamuscen, all of which have only been seen in Weyve. The result is unifying two spirits at one moment, and the theory was discovered by accident. Weyve had attempted to call forth Skreig in order to hunt another bird of prey, but somehow, had not spiritually been transmuted into a formless, fleshless state. The result was a combination; Skreig and Weyve had melded their flesh into one, pure flesh. The process seems to work with Weyve and Howlen as well, but the trio has yet to discover how to willingly initiate the process, duly named by the group the “Magnamuscen.”

Apperance:Weyve Skreig Howlen Howlen/Weyve United (Fur is white and Grey) Skreig/Weyve United

Eyes:Weyve: His eyes are a deep and serene blue, and shine like a bay of jewels. They appear to contain the very innocence of life within them, but those who become familiar with this odd boy doubt this. Often, he spends lonely nights consulting with his companions, on such a simple thing as to why his eyes are like blazing sapphires.

Howlen: Against the pale sheen of his sleek fur, Howlen's grey and misty eyes are barely visible. They emanate with the pain of days lost long ago, and his extensive age can be easily defined within them. Eclipsed in a shroud of Grief, his slate colored eyes cloud his true feelings from all who see him, even those he shares his flesh with.


Skreig: Unlike his opposing counterparts, Skreig is not confused or embarrassed by his crystal clear eyes. They may be black and cold, but a world or purity and knowledge sinks within them, and one could fall into the deep spell of them.

Hair: Weyve: Weyve inherits his classic grey hair from his Mother's side of the family. He does little with it, and so it simply falls about his face and remains a little longer in the back. A beautiful sheen of silver glances off his loose hair in the sunlight, a tempting and charming feature.

Howlen: A very cool and calm palette of color reflects on this Passive Wolf's coat. The grey wolf's trademark coloration of grays and whites that streak the body are clearly defined in this solemn creature’s appearance. He is definitely an aged companion, as his coat is rather ruffled near his neck and haunches.

Skreig: The proud falcon takes honor in his customary feather pattern. Like many falcons of his descent, his feathers are of a rare and beautiful pure white, with black speckles like that of a leopard. A pair of simple, black stripes runs horizontally on Skreig’s tail.

Bodybuild/details: Weyve: At first glance, the Lad actually appears too weak and scrawny to be the livid fighter he is. This is no less than an illusion, as his somewhat tan skin is toned and tight upon his body. His arms are very thin, but boast of muscles perhaps unseen. His body and chest are actually well defined, an earned six-pack and rigid pectoral structure. His legs and arms are actually fairly long and lanky, aiding in swift and deft movement and action. His hands are tempered and are coarse like stone, due to constant hard work and a mighty grip while hunting and fighting. His feet are just as calloused and bruised, and are rough like bark against the elements. Atop his grey and untamed mop of hair are the infamous wolf ears. Grey and furry, the trait is one shared by his father. His face is soft and gentle, and reflects that of kindness and innocence, which is not far from the truth of the nature of this Lad.

Weyve is sadly covered in brutal scars, left by the mistreatment from his father. Because Weyve’s father deemed him unworthy, he tested his strength constantly, but in actuality, simply wanted to let his son know he loathed him entirely. His scars are eternal, left by beatings of a giant and heartless man, and remind Weyve that love is something his father, and perhaps anyone, cannot give…at least not to him. They pulse constantly, even these long years after receiving them, but this is probably because his father would choose to continue to strike the same places over and over again. The great gashes mostly cover his back, but a few are located across the stomach and neck, hoping to cause enough to torture to pummel the boy into submission. Weyve keeps them hidden, as anyone would, covering regions where they swath with caution.

There is one detail of Weyve’s anatomy that bothers him the most. A red, putrid scar, surprisingly made before Weyve was in constant torture from his father, is etched sickly over his left pectoral. The scar seems to form a symbol or letter of some sort, but it is indecipherable to himself. His partners have mentioned it several times before, but will not recount the horrifying story of its origin with him…perhaps because even they may not know. Every now and then, it burns white hot, and Weyve is forced to lie down or rest in order to recuperate from its painful effects. Alone at night, when his spiritual partners are either distracted with their bickering or resting themselves, Weyve contemplates the red text’s meaning…

Howlen: Despite the Wolf’s aged and banal heart and body, Howlen’s strength remains surprisingly vigorous. Beneath the thick, white forest of fur, A toned and lean body breathes and moves with the passion of the hunt. The Wolf is lanky and powerful, with calloused paws and rigid claws. His own speed is much like Weyve’s, a white blur bursting through the forest. Howlen’s jowls remain impressively sharp and fierce, and still tear and shred flesh with the same youthful finesse.

Skreig: Like many birds of prey, Skreig is built for speed and accuracy. His streamline body reduces air resistance, and his arrow like talons are muscled for a bird his size and sharp like razors. Skreig’s sharp beak is a deadly weapon in and of itself, but when it comes down to fighting, Skreig will try to avoid combat, knowing quite well that he has no reason to prove himself.

Outfit: In all honesty, there isn't much to the garb Weyve prefers to wear. A plain and tattered grey T shirt dons his chest. It wraps rather loosely, and so a good portion of his masculine body from his waist up is visible to onlookers. He gathers some rather unwanted attention from the occasional onlooker, often female. A pair of weathered blue jeans, patched and torn in many places, wraps loosely about his waist and move on past his thin legs and feet. Upon his weathered and burned feet are a pair of Japanese-style wooden sandals, which are much more difficult to walk correctly on than formally perceived. A mysterious necklace is laced about his lanky shoulders, a cross like charm resting on the string upon his chest. Though remarked as otherwise by many, his ears are real; a trait of his clan inherited by his father, believed to be a result of interspecies, that symbolizes, in the Metanimus culture, the purest of unities. This, however, is unconfirmed.

Culturally, Weyve’s garb was a bit more pleasing. When among his family and friends in the Home Wood, Weyve donned the traditional tanned leather hide of skinned beasts, and sewn and decorated. Their formal garb is much like that of the North American Natives, a simple yet beautiful design of beads and dyes that depict animals or natural phenomena on separate piece leather slacks and top. Weyve has not worn said garb ever since he left his clan decades ago.


It is in his Magnamuscen spiritual link forms that Weyve’s outfit is changed drastically. In Weyve/Howlen spirit, his once tattered and smudged clothes simply dissipate, and in their stead a magnificent and ominous black longcoat garbs his white fur and muscled body. It runs like a shadowed waterfall to the ground and trails effortlessly behind its master. In Weyve/Skreig Spirit, a beautiful, stark white overcoat lines his shoulders and a midnight blue tank shirt and slacks combination garbs the remainder of his body.

Bio:

Perhaps the best way to begin a legend as great as an aged tree is to start at the seedling. Ancient times were perhaps the most mysterious, as many things were documented that cannot be explained. One such was the development of interlinking of humans and animals. The spiritual connection seemed to have been established in tribal colonies somewhere around 4000 B.C. Although it was never recorded on specifically how these proceedings and connections took place, the main belief is that spiritual links are present even today in some societies. One has only to look hard enough...

Weyve was born a rather unlucky child. True, he was born into the noble family under the recently affirmed Chief of the clan, Torrent of Sand, or Torrin, and his spouse, Eagle Wing, or Eawin. It is also true that Weyve was born under prefect conditions; during a full moon and at spring’s opening, a sign of prosperity and good health. It seemed that Weyve was destined for greatness based on his family and natural birth conditions…but this was not so. Everything appeared normal when the Lad was born; his mother was in perfect health, born without deformities or abrasions, he came from Eawin’s womb without much trouble, and Weyve even had nearly a full head of grey hair. His parents and the shamans were thoroughly pleased…that is, until they spied the bright red scar upon his chest. In truth, none of them knew it’s meaning, but this only made the shamans panic more than they would have if they had known. Prophesying doom, they ran from the birthing tent in sheer terror. It was the clan’s Chief, Torrin, and his oppressive call that subsided the shrieks of the shamans. He made them promise that the scar was never to be discussed, nor speculate its meaning or origin. Torrin was a mighty leader, and convinced the shamans, and anyone who had overheard of the strange scar, that there was no need for concern. Torrin, all the while, appeared rather suspicious, but no one questioned his authority…

So Weyve was to grow up a healthy, normal child. But this, however, was also a fantasy of his parents and the shamans. Word had spread of the “doom scar,” and a poor or demonic reputation was impossible to be rid of in a clan community. He received only the respect one earns by being of nobility, but other than that, everyone avoided him and his presence like a curse. Even the children, who knew little to nothing of the scar, followed their parents in this shunning nature. Like many children of this culture, Weyve began his hunting, combat, and unity training almost immediately. The Lad proved to be skilled beyond imagination in the art of communication with nature; so much, in fact, that poisonous plants could become edible in his mouth and flames refused to burn his hands or feet. His combat training, however, was somewhat questionable. This was the only area Torrin was concerned with in his son, and Weyve’s failure not only concerned his father, but made him furious. They trained endlessly every day, the battles becoming more and more intense. Finally, Weyve was able to defend himself, but he lacked the strength and focus to do much more. His mother, the lead huntress, was very impressed by Weyve’s ability to hunt and sneak about guilefully, but without the support and love of his father, Weyve was destined for the doom foretold by his birth scar.

It came time, when Weyve was about 20 seasons of age (tribes like these calculate age by how many winters a child survives, and after about 20, the count is lost or unimportant. This fact is vital because many children had the life expectancy of only about 15 to 20 seasons in a tribe such as this), for the ritual where youth must prove their training successful. The children at this time, despite being about 20 years of age, appeared only about 9 or 10, and were presented with three trials; one to prove each of the three keys of the clan: Soul, heart, and spirit. The spirit trial consisted of being able to hold, and eventually swallow, a burning ember without suffering and burns. This task was easily completed by Weyve, who had had such a talent at an early age. The trial of the heart was one not so simple, involving striking an Animal of the Home Wood with a projectile weapon who was targeted as an aggressor. The one Animal was intermingled with several others who were in mock panic in order to confuse those being tried. Weyve passed the test, trusting in the wood to guide him to the Animal who was to be targeted. The final test was the greatest and of the most importance to Torrin; the test of Soul. The trial involved the children to turn on one another, and battle in a tourney-style combat ring. The trial was to be held at night, under torchlight and stars. It was fierce, as many of the children targeted Weyve first, quite knowledgeable of this weakness in combat. Utilizing his spiritual connections with nature, and a quick and resourceful tactic of hiding and striking, Weyve held his own, and eventually, against all odds, defeated his final opponent. He had passed the test.

The night still loomed over him as he lay upon his back near a fire he had made. It was just after he had completed his trial, and tomorrow morning he was to be presented his first two metamuscens. He sighed and buzzed with excitement, counting the stars like blessings. But just as he became calm and pleased with his triumph, did a shadowed figure with a hefty blade silently sneak up upon the boy. Without warning, he slashed his sword across the Lad’s stomach, and forced him to his feet. Weyve, confused and wounded, braced himself and defended from another strike with whatever he had. It was to no avail, the huge figure overpowered him and bound his legs and hands, then proceeded to whip and beat his back without mercy. Weyve cried for help, but none came. After the blood had become so choked in his wounds and mouth that Weyve could no longer breathe or move, the figure moved into the firelight and presented himself. It was Torrin, Weyve’s own dreadfully powerful father. Wordlessly, he slipped back into the night, leaving Weyve bound and bleeding under the moon’s tearful gaze.

The next morning, Weyve was presented with his metamuscens. From his mother, he received her faithful hunting Gyrfalcon, Shrieking Storm, or Skreig. From his father, whom Weyve looked upon with bruised and battered eyes, he received Howling Sunset, or Howlen. The excitement had left Weyve…it seemed his celebration was unimportant to him any longer. He had not proven his worth to his father, even in success. Every night from then on, Weyve and his father met in combat after dark, where Torrin would surprise the boy with his blade or drag him loathingly out of bed. Every night, the skirmish ended the same, with Weyve bound by his feet and wrists, and then beaten profusely. Weyve dared not tell a soul, for even if they might have known, no one would be able to stand between him and his father. It was his father’s right to train his son in any fashion deemed necessary, and besides, no one could fight and defeat Torrin. This went on for decades…until the war started.

A dark army of vampires had invaded many outside encampments of the clan, and loomed over the entire wood. Torrin, the Chief, was responsible for the clan’s safety, and sped out for war against the night menaces. Even though outnumbered, the clan army fought as a vigorous force. Although Torrin never mentioned it to Weyve, he made it very clear to Eawin that their son was not to leave the clan boundaries, nor join the fight.

Eawin had no intention of seeing her restless son wither away while he desired to prove himself again. Upon Weyve’s approach, Eawin hushed him. She knew he wanted to join in the war, and she agreed that he should go immediately. His loving mother presented her son with two items. One was her trusted and sturdy greatbow, Patience. The bow had been hers all her life, but she was not sad to see it fall into her great son’s hands. She kissed him goodbye, and presented him with her second gift, the necklace. It is shaped like a wooden cross, and symbolizes their souls entwined. He wished him well, and sent him on his way. Neither were with dry eyes, as this was to be the last time they saw each other.

Weyve sped through the forest to the frontlines, swiftly executing any vampiric or dark force on his way. His arrows were never misplaced, and he carried no quiver because the boughs and branches presented themselves as straight shafts to be fired when he requested. He nearly flew through the wood, a grey blur unseen by even the greatest of the vampirical warlords.

It was then he came across a scene that shook his body to the core. There lay his father, an arrow having pierced his stomach, and was beneath a vampire scout with his blade drawn. Weyve fired a fearsome arrow, which struck the scout with such force, that it pierced entirely through his skull. Bathed in his own tears, Weyve ran to his dying father’s side.

“Father…Father please, I can help.” Weyve begged his father to allow him to come close and aid him, but Torrin snarled and forced him to stay back.

“You unworthy whelp…stay back…don’t you dare touch me…”

Weyve became furious, and shouted at his ungrateful father. “You proud b*****d…why do you hate your own son so?” His sobs became hot and spread down upon his father, who now he knelt over.

“Y-you…are no son…of mine…”

Later, after the vampiric War was over, the obvious victors the dark lords, two scouts were out searching for bodies. They found, to their surprise, the body of a Metanimus, obviously and Chieftain, soaked in his own blood from two wounds…one from an arrow that lay removed from his stomach, and another that was from a bladed weapon, most likely his own. However, as the scouts searched, they found no sign of his weapon, and simply took the body to their camp for feeding.

Weyve had run. He had run so hard that his tears could not follow. He never saw the Home Wood again and even discarded his traditional clothing in exchange for contemporary clothes, the ones he wears to this day. He spent a decade of running and doubting before finally his companions were able to convince him to try and find where his family had gone.

Weyve is now in constant search of where the clan has disappeared to. He doubts they are alive, but he wishes only to pay his respects, and maybe, just maybe, earn forgiveness for his incompetence…

Name: kurayami neko (dark cat)

Age: 13 [human years] 30 [demon years]

Clan: Fire

Job: assasin

Race: Human/jaguar Demon

Picture or Discription: kurayami neko has 2 long black tails. she wears black tripp pants that have chains criss-crossing across the front of the pants ( assilant mode is all tight black clothes ) she wears a red long sleeved top, under it a black fish net top. her red shirt has rips in them where fish net can be seen. she has a red cat's collar that has a small bell attached. under her collar she wears a small thin thread black necklace that has a small dragon. her hair is long, and black, parted to one side. on each side of her face is two red stripes along the jaw bone, one stripe going vertical about one inch from the bottom of her eyes. and on her forehead is a single waning blue crescent moon. her eyes have a black outline and grey in the middle, no pupil. and finally, her ears are two cat ears, black on the inside, candy apple red on the inside.

Power: can turn into a jaguar. can combust other enemies with a snap of a finger or telekenetically. can spit streams of fire with a simple hand sign. other hidden abilities

Weapons: claws, fangs, fire, when angered a sword will appear up her sleeve

Others: there are no relatives of kurayami neko. they all died in a great war, she was the only survivor on both sides. she sometimes stops to think about her long lost loved ones. including her one love, kohaku neko. she misses him dearly. his memory is enough to push her to the point of invincibility


PetName: neko, kitty, koneko

Gaia Name: Moirafay13

RPC Name: Raenix Leira

Nickname: Rae, Sunshine (Don't ask), Lei-Lei (pronounced LAY-LAY), Nixy

Age: Believed to be about 600...though because of a curse she was only awake for the first half of that.

Gender: Female

Species: 1/2 Tigress, 1/4 Demon, 1/4 Faery,

Job: Mage/ Healer

Height: Aprox. 5'9"

Weight: 145

Martial Status: Single...I think...

Appearance: For the most part looks human....except for the White and black striped skin, light fur, cat ears, tail, wings, and horns whenever she gets upset( The tail, ears and wings are out all the time but the fur, stripes and horns aren't. Just to clarify). She can whenever she like turn fully tiger, but hasnt made any progress on transitioning to full faiy or demon... Hasnt been sure if she wants to either. Very vivid Blue eye... Yes, Eye. The other one is constantly changing colors depending on her mood and what it is she's focusing on at the moment. It tends to settle on purple when she's...for lack of a better term...Normal. She has Long Black wavy locks that she usually keeps braided and wrapped around her head like a crown. When asked, her reason is, "It doesn’t get in the way. I know I could cut it, but then I'd look weird." She does have claws and teeth like that of her tigress heritage; however she is able to retract them at will. Her wardrobe ranges every day from long flowing riding skirts that have pockets everywhere, to pants and long sleeve shirts. It really just depends on what’s clean at the moment. She does, however, tend to always wear a silver moon, star and fairy medallion, black and white (onyx and pearl) bracelets on each arm, and a silver chain link headpiece that has a yin-yang type symbol dangling over the middle of her forehead in between her eyebrows. These are the symbols of her training.

Attitude: Very carefree, high spirited and laid back. She'll help anyone that asks for it (even if she knows she shouldn't). Very well balanced as far as good or evil... kinda neutral. Loves joking around and playing, having fun but is a very diligent worker and focused at whatever tasks are handed her. Does have a slight problem with shiny objects....

Powers: Is gifted as both a healer and a mage. Trained by her Nana (Great-grandmother) she is well practiced in harnessing both the white and dark energies. Nowhere near a master however. She does have a light problem doing anything if someone has managed to either depress or anger her. She is also fairly skilled at being a seer, and can read and translate almost anyone's aura and dreams. She also has the weird ability to make plants grow, lightening strike (nothing to major, just kinda appear in the sky), and communicate with animals by singing… but not like Disney type singing. It’d have to be like… Lacuna Coil or Lennon…sometimes even Otep. It has also been known to affect people’s emotions. and it's only if she's drunk or buzzed.

Weapons: For the most part she tries to stay clear of most weapons themselves. She has been taught to use her personal energy and that of the universe to be able to manifest any attack she may wish to perform. However, as a back-up plan (she can be kinda emotional if pushed too far, and her energy kinda goes out of wack when this happens) She does carry a staff that has blades on either ends. She generally keeps this on her as a walking stick and back up weapon.... Her feet have a lot of scars from them.

Bio:
From birth to six, Raenix lead a fairly simple life. No worries, just playing and learning to socialize with other children. This drastically changed one day when some strangers came to her tiny village and wiped out everyone that she had ever loved. Being a naturally curious girl, she had followed a butterfly out of the village and up a tree. From her vantage point, she saw everything. Some nights she is still awaken by the screams of her mother... When the strangers had left and the fires had finally died down, she wandered back into the village to see if anyone was still alive... She found no one. Clutching her dead mother's body to herself, she was unaware of a presence walking up behind. “Child, you’ll get no where in your life if you let the pain of lost ones hold you back rather than fuel your passion to move forward.” Startled, she looked up to see an older, female version of her father standing before her. Sniffling, she wipes her nose on her sleeve. ”Who are you?” she demands angrily. With a sly smile and an outstretched hand, the elderly woman helps Raenix to her feet. “Why child, didn’t your parents ever tell you? I’m your great-grandmother. Just call me your Nana.”
From that day on for the next 250 years of her life, she was cut off from everyone except her and her Nana. She trained everyday to harness the White and Black magic. Learning to heal, and learning to destroy, and even learning to flat out create. She can transmute some things, but so far she’s only tried small things, like turning a flower into a feather and then into like a key and then back to a flower. She has certain rules that her Nana instilled in her that she follows to the hilt. Sometimes she can be heard quoting her Nana. After her Grandmother taught her the basics of everything that she was supposed to learn, she set out on her own to practice in real life, in real situations. She gained a reputation for being compassionate when healing and ruthless when she was set on fighting. She also gained a reputation for never being able to turn down anyone that came to her for help, or for use of her services… She used to do it for free but she’s decided to charge a reasonable price for it now. Unless she actually aligns herself with someone, or a clan. After fifty years of traveling she came upon a village that reminded her of her own childhood… She stayed here for a few weeks and just as she was about to leave, it was almost like her past hunted her down to try again. Mysterious men dressed in a grayish black armor, which looked strangely like the ones that destroyed her village, came one day and tried to destroy the village. With Raenix being there, she helped them fight, and they were victorious. However, someone’s magic clashed with someone else’s and managed to rebound and hit Rae. She blacked out….and woke up a few weeks ago. She discovered by asking around that it has been three hundred years since that battle in the village. Now she wanders again, searching for a place to help out, seek her revenge, and recover from three hundred years of sleep…. She thinks that she may try to learn to physically fight….

Name: Vixen

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Height: 5’7’’

Weight: 145

Marital Status: Single, but with a love interest.

Attitude: Vixen is laid back most of the time. She was a geisha in her village, so she is very flirtatious. She wasn’t before she entered the profession but it’s something she’s carried with her even after she quit. She doesn’t flirt with people for money or for pleasure, simply for fun. She considers it an art in a way. Geisha’s just weren’t considered whores, they were considered to be honorable, a woman who carried burdens, and even in some places they were considered to be wilders of destiny. They could see the future or look at a man and see the hardships of his past, if she chooses she could relieve him of those hardships. Vixen is used to be treated better than an average woman but she isn’t particularly snotty or stuck up. She understands she is just a ninja now and prefers it that way most of the time. Vixen doesn’t get annoyed easily but she does have her pet peeves and whenever you cross them, she doesn’t get annoyed, she gets overly pissed. Some of her pet peeves are insulting her appearance, questioning her out-fits, and repeating the same things over and over in conversations with her. She hates being bored although she is mostly bored. She is constantly searching for something to do but hardly finds anything, so she resorts to reading a lot. She won’t hesitate to kill a man or a woman should they piss her off. She is unpredictable and it’s uncertain what will set her off.

Elements: Vixen prefers fire and shadow to other elements. Though
if she tried hard enough she could work water, earth, wind, and light. Her religion is a branch of Paganism, so she is granted elemental abilities should she ask for them. Vixen doesn’t like to abuse her religion, so she doesn’t ask for much.

Weapons Vixen uses candles for her weapon. All her candles mean different things. Her candles are different colors and have different symbols. It’s impossible for an opponent to memorize the symbols because of the large number she has in her bag. Certain candles invoke various emotions into her enemies, some bring back unwanted memories, and others summon monsters from a forbidden world.

Vixen also carries a sword around with her, it’s an extremely large sword and most women don’t carry them. It’s a claymore than can house the souls of the dead should she feel the need to keep them or use their chakra. Her sword is where she stores chakra before battle so she hardly ever runs out. If she does she can convert the dead souls into chakra. The Claymore has a ruby gem embedded into its handle, if you look close enough you can see the faces of the souls. The souls aren’t suffering though, they are happy. There’s a false world inside her sword, a world she created, it gives the souls who grant them her power the illusion that they are in paradise or Summer Land, and in some religions Heaven.

Occupation: Vixen was originally a geisha in the Moon Village. Giving pleasure to men for the right price, giving fortune readings, and walking the streets taking the burdens from men who deserved a break in life. After meeting a man named Jarl, she fell in love with him. She decided to stop being a geisha and pursue a profession as a ninja. She chooses to perform jutsus that revolve around choice, manipulation an opponent, and summoning. She has become known as Destiny. Vixen is now a member of Akatsuki, she was once engaged into a fight with one of the members, Saori. The battle raged on for days…until she finally collapsed from exhaustion. Saori was sent to test her abilities and because he was a puppet he didn’t need to rest. Pien had ordered Saori to bring Vixen back so she could become a member.

Abilities/Powers: Vixen’s abilities and powers revolve around candles and genjutsu. She needs to have a large and steady source of Chakra in order to fight. If she runs out of Chakra she doesn’t have much to protect herself with except her sword which isn’t made for fighting. With her candles she can invoke certain emotions, summon monsters or pets for company, she can force people to remember things they have long forgotten. Her goal in battle is to simply drive her opponent insane. Vixen can also call upon souls to fight for her, similar to the puppet style technique.


One skill is called, Coin Toss. The skills involves a coin, as the name implies. Black warp holes open up underneath the victim and chains constrict them. Vixen reaches into their chest and pulls out a coin made from their chakra, so they know she isn’t cheating. Heads, the chains heat up to unberable temperatures and horribly burn the victim. Tails, the chains recoil and attack her. Either develering a fatal wound to her, crushing a limb, etc…

The most feared technique she has is called the Hand of Destiny. If you ever see this performed your death is close at hand. Vixen summons five candles that draw a pentagram around her, her body in the center of the star. The candles drop wax on the floor as they form the shape and trail smoke in the air. Whenever she brings her fingers together and says the word, “Unmei,” or destiny, a large clock hand falls from the sky and falls through her body. It lands below her feet, hovering inches above the ground. Words appear on each of the five points of the star, chakra, karma, heart, soul, and annihilate.

Each word represents a certain way the opponent’s going to die. Chakra, is probably one of the most humane. You simply have all your chakra drained from your body until you have none left and you die. Heart is whenever your heart is tore from your body and you slowly die. Soul is whenever Vixen draws her sword and your soul is drained from your body and placed into the gem in her sword, your chakra is now hers to use as she pleases. Annihilate is probably the most horrible one out of them all. A monster is summoned from the depths of hell and forces a flesh devouring creature into the human’s body, the creature eats away the insides slowly and painfully. Karma is the only skill in which you might live. If the hand lands upon Karma the Grim Reaper appears and tears away the soul from both Vixen and her opponent's body and then shreds the bodies to pieces with his scythe. So Vixen takes great care to use this skill as it has a major draw back.

Bio:

Vixen was born with another name, Sachiko. Her parents were criminals on the run from the law. She lived with her grandmother and grandfather. Vixen had never understood why she couldn’t live with her parents until she was about 8 years old. Vixen’s grandmother did her best to raise her but passed away whenever she was only 12 years old. Her death upset Vixen greatly. Her grandfather was the only person left to raise her and he was incredibly old, within hundreds of years. He wasn’t the most able bodied or able minded person to do it, so Vixen ended up having to take care of him. She went to school and became a genine but never thought to pursue it further than that. Since there was no income coming into the home, she had to find a job that would pay good money. She had no education other than what she had been taught in home school with her grandmother. Vixen entered into the geisha business whenever she was 15 years old. She was able to keep the house and even afford a round the clock nurse for her grandfather. It didn’t matter that she was sacrificing her body, so long as her grandfather was safe.

One day the village held a meeting, apparently two criminals that had been avoiding the law had been caught. Vixen had no idea it was…until she got closer to the executions spot. As she moved in closer she began to notice a woman and a man. The woman had thick red hair, much like her own, and milky colored skin as pale as snow. The man had eyes as dark as sapphire, exactly like the ones she saw whenever she looked in the mirror every morning. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. Her parents had been on the run for years and hadn’t been caught, why would they slip up and get caught now? Tears filled her eyes and reality came crashing down in a harsh and bitter storm. She watched in silence…quiet sobs escaping her lips. They were going to be hanged for the crimes they committed against the village. As the nooses were placed on their necks her mother’s eyes caught her gaze. Somehow her mother knew who she was and she smiled at her daughter. She listened to the curses and the accusations of how horrid and despicable they were from all the onlookers. No, you’re wrong a voice in her head screamed. Then the floor fell out from underneath them, the rope tightened, blood trailed out from their lips and they slowly died…both with a smile on their face.

Vixen made her way back to work, she couldn’t stay to watch them take the bodies down. She needed something to take her mind off of her parents. They had never been there for her, why was she upset. She hadn’t even seen their faces up until now. Why did it bother her so much? She went into her room and waited for a customer. Tears filled her eyes again and she sobbed…it upset her because now she would never get to know them. The door opened and a customer with a kind face entered the room. Vixen brushed her sleeve against her eyes, “Sorry. I’m sorry.” The man walked over to her, removing his cap. “It’s alright. We all must cry.” The gentle tone of his voice wasn’t that of some horny man out to have a good time. “You are still beautiful.” He bent down to face her and placed a kiss upon her lips. It was then…that the two fell in love.

Vixen had left the geisha business to live a normal life with Jarl. They owned a small, modest house. Her grandfather lived with them here, he was going to pass away soon, and Vixen knew it was coming. She had decided to pursue a job as a ninja and she was now a junine. The test had been easy enough for her, the taunts from the boys was much more difficult than that. She was now 18 years old and was content with her life. She was hoping to have children soon. She returned home one night, Jarl had been away on business and wasn’t going to be back for a couple of days. Vixen would be alone with her grandfather, she would dismiss the nurse from her job for tonight and spend some time talking with him. Vixen stepped foot into the home and she instantly knew something was wrong. She walked into the living room and saw the dead body of the nurse. Oh no grandfather, that was all she could think of. She rushed to his room in time to see a man jerking his sword from her grandfather’s chest. “Who the hell are you?” The man was dressed in a black robe, red clouds with a white outline were present in various places on it. “Well my dear,” his voice sent chills through her spine, “You are awfully rude. You should respect those stronger than you.” Vixen discovered that she hated having her strength question, “You are no strong man, you are just some coward that sunk into my house and killed my grandfather and his caretaker.” The man’s eyes gleamed in the darkness as she felt them fall upon her. “Would you care to find out just how wrong you are?” Vixen jumped back dug into her bag and pulled out various colored candles, they lit in her fingers, and she tossed them forward. A blade protruded out from underneath his cloak and he slapped the candles back towards her. Vixen made the candles halt in front of her, wax falling onto her face. She then pulled more candles out and they lit, she threw them forward, fire erupted from the wick. The bed in which her grandfather’s body lay caught fire and incinerated. The man chuckled, “That’s a cute trick.” And with that a battle ragged for three days. Vixen collapsed from exhaustion.

Whenever she awoke she found herself unable to move and a foul taste in her mouth. She had been poisoned. The man was sitting in front of her, watching her. “I see you’re awake. I have a proposition if you’re willing to listen.” Vixen managed to spit on his cloak in response. The man sighed, ripping the clothes of the nurse and whipping it off. “I see you most likely won’t accept this offer but you will listen to me. You see, I am part of an organization called the Akatsuki and my master is interested in your participation in this organization.” Vixen thought this over…she had always desired power and control but there had to be a catch. “What if I refuse?” The man laughed, “My dear, you can’t refuse. You will be joining, one way or another. If you say no…I will kill your husband and any friend he and you have.” Vixen’s heart sank, “Fine…I’ll join. What do I have to do.” The man’s smile was evil and held a secret. “You must prove you are loyal to us…so in order to join you must kill Jarl.” Vixen’s heart didn’t just sink now, it died and withered away. “If you do not kill him, I will kill him and everyone dear to him. Either you do this act of mercy or I’ll turn this act into a slaughter.” Vixen agreed.

She waited her husbands return, hoping something happened to him on the way home to delay him further. Jarl walked into the door. She had been warned not to cry, so she wasn’t. She wouldn’t until he was dead. Vixen put on a fake smile and walked to the door, wrapping her arms around him to hug him. “Welcome home, honey.” Jarl was surprised she was awake at this time of night, he thought it was really sweet. “Thank you my love, how is your grandfather? How did you fare while I was gone?” She only smiled, “Kiss me.” Jarl was a bit taken back but who could refuse a request from such a beautiful woman. “Of course.” He bent his head down and kissed her, there was as much passion in this kiss as the one on the first day they met. She tasted him and he tasted her, the warmth, the love…she took the blade from behind her back and shoved it through his chest, making sure it hit his heart, she then tasted his blood. He fell backwards, she made sure she removed the knife before she let him fall. Now the tears came, blood pooled from her mouth and stained her shirt. She collapsed next to him and sobbed, “I’m sorry.” The life was fading from Jarl, his eyes going dim, the beating of his heart stalling. “It’s alright. We all must cry.” The tone of his voice was so gentle, so forgiving. “You’re beautiful…” The life left his body and he drifted off into another world. Vixen removed his headband, cleaned the blood away with her sleeve, and then tied it around her arm.

The man came up behind her, enjoying the suffering she was going through. “Well done. You are now a member of Akatsuki. My name is Sasori. It’s time you went and met our master.”

Vixen was given the robe, the black robe with the red clouds. She was given a hat with white straw hanging down from it. Hidden in the straw was a bell that made a quite melodic sound whenever she walked…so all knew she was coming. She was also given a ring, the ring was white with a carving inside it. Within the stone was the symbol for…destiny.

Appearance: X
X

Name: Pazia

Nickname: Z

Age: Appears early twenties

Gender: Female

Species: Tiger Demon

Height: 5'5

Weight: 135

Marital Status: Single

Personality: Pazia is very open with her emotions, even though there are somethings that she feels others don't need to know. She does like to be honest with people and will rarely hide something from them, knowing that when people hide feeling it just comes to hurt them and the other person worse. Having been in that situation were others didn't tell her their true reasons for being nice to her. She was and still is very smart for her age and was raised in a very well off family. When she found out that some of her 'friends' were only being nice because of her family, Pazia felt betrayed and started to act cold to the girls. Though after she came to live away from her home town Pazia once agian started to trust people, even if she doesn't let on just how smart she is.

Weapons: Elbow blades- she rarely fights though she did learn how to defend her self.

Occupation: Healer

Powers: Pazia has a quite mind and can remember something by only seeing it once. She can also heal most wounds, though she can not save a person if one of their organs have been damaged, with out the right medicine and tools. She also can not heal a disease that has no cure and she can not create the cure on a whim.

Appearance: Pazia

Eyes: Pazia's eyes are a blue, most of the time they are an icy blue. However there are times where they will appear a midnight blue. The only time this happens is when she is upset in any way.

Hair: Her hair is a white that when the light hit it the color looks light blonde. It does have a few strands that are black, but being as there are not that many, the strands do not stand out. She gets the mix of black from a trait in her family and that is being able to change her form to that of a tiger. Her tiger form is different from any one in her family, being that she is a white tiger.

Outfit: Pazia wears cloths that resemble a belly dancers. She quite enjoys the freedom the tops allow. The tops are normally any color that will go with her hair or eye color. They also keep her chest covered and does not show any thing unnecessary. Her skirts match the top she is wearing and have a slit that go to just mid-thigh. This is more comfortable to her, because she is always moving around.

Bio: Pazia grew up in a decent size town and lived there for all of her childhood and the first few years of her adulthood. When she was little her parents would spend time with her in the morning and the night, but in between those hours she was studing. Her parents knew her ability and immediately started her in school. Skipping two grades and acing all of her class got her alot of friend. Most of them were in her class and a few were Pazia's own age. When she got to her junior high years, she felt like nothing could stop her, people thought she was cool and liked her. Her life at home was peaceful as any house hold could be. Her parents fought about the way they lived or what they believed was right. When these fights happened Pazia would just leave what she was doing and head to her room. It was the only place for her to escape the yelling and anger tones.
By the time she completed her junior high years, she went on to high school. In high school it seemed like her life was going to slip away, but that didn't stop her. She would always be her happy self, knowing that it was just liffe and all she could do was go foward. Though after one incident she began to lose her trust of others. Some of the friends in her class had invited her out with them. Pazia went with them and they had been at a dinner then planned to go to a party. She left the table, but on her way back she over heard her friends talking about her. Stopping and listening the truth of their feeling came to her ears. It cut her deep knowing the truth and after a while of pretending she didn't know Pazia gave up and told them the truth. After she told them the truth she left them and acted as though she had been in just a big fight that couldn't be resolved.
When she turned eighteen she moved from her home having gradutaded from high school and taken collage courses in medicine and got her degree's. She went from town to town until she came to the Fire clan and no lives there as a healer.

Name: sirhc ethos

Nicknames Gained: n/a

Age: looks 19

Gender: male

Species: Cat demon / human
Height: 5'11
Weight: 225

Job: Assassin

Appearance: Sirhc

Weapons: Sihc is not a fan of real weapon s he owns gloves which allow him to manipulate energy in to forms of objects from blades to guns

eyes: Sirhc has gray eyes that look almost as a deep fog in the early morning

Hair: his hair is black covering his left eye partly he always has his hair down

Outfit: Sirhc wears red and black it represents his inner demon ,he also wears a red scarf to show what he has done as an assassin the lives he took

Powers: Sirhc has another ability to shift in an out of shadows as he wants