Retaliation

xD It's moving now to say in the least/.
 
The BIO is just flowing right now~ My block is totally gone.
 
OMG, okay, if the BIO is really long... just endure, I'm trying to put an emotional backstory behind it, develop some character.
 
Awesome throwing in some criminal trauma to really spice things up... I intend to have her 19 in the RP, but adopted by the Callahan family when she is only fifteen... Can we just say she was on some sort of self-vacation in the Caribbeans? A very extended one that had passed the entire criminal strike?
 
or she can be part of the jamesons since they are supposed to have the most kids? just a suggestion. i mean the bros are already all influenced and stuff as it is


by criminal strike you mean all the breaking news stuff?
 
'Childhood'


 
Wait, misread, yes, what you said.


 
Jamesons work, I'll edit that up in the BIO
 
Yeahhh... lots of hard stuff going on now lol


 
I'm gonna make her 17 at the age of adoption, opened a bit more of her adolescent years for trauma.


 
BTW's, on the last three paragraphs of the BIO
 
I know xD A LOT of interruptions.


 
It's up, but still being worked on, ALSO, I have yet to edit, there may be several grammatical or punctual errors.
 
Just be gentle with it, it's isn't going to be perfect... at least... not yet >.>
 
xD Nahhhh... Also, this BIO... is REALLY short... compared to a certain one I've done... >.>


 
This... is long:


Bio: Christina carried an easy lifestyle to begin everything off simply. Her father was a small village lumberjack, a constant supplier of everything that they had needed, he was the caretaker of the family, and in a way, the caretaker of the small village of only around four dozen people. The small girl had never had an understanding standpoint in life, for the most part, she was a lively sprite who had given her all to make others happy. She would find the good in the best of times and in the worse. Even with news of the spreading war, she made people happy with just a smile. She'd always loved animals, at a young age, the dog of the house had become her best friend, he'd come and cuddle her when she'd hurt herself or was bursting in tears. He would grant her his fluffy coat when times were dark and when she herself doubted seeing light. And as such joy was brought into her life, though it wasn't the dog's actual name, she called him Lam.


She'd been happy for a good deal of her life, spending time in nature and remaining a peaceful, yet frail little human girl. There wasn't much to her story other than hardship. She was only six when it had happened, when the war had caught her family, and threw her entire life into disarray. One peaceful evening, as she lay with the young dog, she felt the rough hands of sinful measures upon her, and in an instant, she was taken out of her house, surrounded in chaos, flames and blood. Lam was barking in the distance, a steel blade raised above her head, she shut her eyes, tears streaming, praying it was all just a bad dream until something sharp struck her hands, not a blade... no. Her father stood in front of her, axe raised in defense as sparks had flown, he struck the attacker down. Blood spraying into the fire and among the young and innocent face that had watched.


With his wife, daughter and dog in tow, the father had led them to the edge of a village where he took one last look at his family, one final ceremony with his wife, and one final moment with his daughter. His last words to all of them were, "I love you... Be safe." And with that, Christina's body was picked up helplessly, watching her father be taken into the flames by his own whim, the sound of steel clashing. Her tears rolled down in parades, falling onto the shoulder of her mother as she clawed desperately to free herself of the grasp, of course, to no avail.


Several years would pass from this event, leaving Christina and her mother Anise living in another village, this one slightly larger with more security, a couple leagues from the capital itself. Anise opened up a farm, and their quiet life had begun.


Of course, during her years of solitude and desolation, she had often questioned her father's actions in leaving them like that, wondering why he didn't do the logical thing and run away with them. In all her wisdom she had obtained from growing though she could never quite figure it out, it blew her mind and puzzled her down to every neuron in her brain, she could not wrap her mind around the way he thought.


Lam had grown several years older, and much unlike Christina, grew far more aged and unappealing with time. Granted, it was only natural that a dog would have a shorter lifespan, and that one day, his own mother-figure would call him ugly, but Christina never did, ever day as she awoke with that figure laying atop her stomach, she would stroke his head and kiss him, and hug him tight to her breast. Knowing his time would end far before her's, perhaps it was this love that had made Christina so very loved among the villagers. She was indeed loved, both through her actions and through her beauty, men had proposed to her from the time she was sixteen, but she would never accept. For she would love the man who would one day capture her heart, and no amount of flowers, proposals or formalities would buy her.


With this attitude set in mind, she had grown rather sentimental in value. She began to treasure every little thing in life, a single rain drop in a rain season would've brought just a much of a smile to her face as a entourage of rain in a drought. She'd been easily pleased, but sought something that would prove an immense challenge to both her and all the skills she believed she would collect in the future.


She'd been a fighter insider her entire life, however, she woke up one morning and had a calling for action, to do something in life that would allow her to live for the goodness of others and actually use some skills to fight back evil forces, so, in a desire to pursue this path, she visited the village blacksmith, who, luckily enough, had a brother who lived in a neighboring village who could teach her how to fight and use her desires for good. He was a returning veteran from the previous war, and either the sheer hatred of the war, or some desire to one day have been as brave as her father quickly flowed through her brain, driving her to say a loving goodbye to her mother and dog. It was hard and after several tears and longing kisses from Lam, she left, in search of a new life, this all happened on the year she had turned eighteen.


She reached the village some weeks later, worn and exhausted from the elements, she sought out this grand teacher who had known so much from the previous war. She'd entered the rural village, with seemed even smaller than the one she had begun the first segment of her life in, and the first dramatic change to her was, it was much colder. Snow hung all over trees and the houses, go figure the name of the complex yet simple cluster of homes was Everwinter. After asking around, she'd found the home of the old warrior. Gently knocking on the old and rotting door, a grey-haired figure appeared, a chocolate brown eye creeping its way to the light of the outside as sharp bags noted a certain insanity of his character. With a hushed yet persistent tone, a 'clever' question was ejected from his mouth, "Who are you!?" And of course Christina introduced herself and the relationship began.


She'd learned of him, a man named Samuel who had lost his wife during the times of war after serving on the front lines against the dark forces. A blades-man, heavily offensive and weak on his defense, so naturally, he wouldn't be very gifted in teaching her about the way of the shield. This never bothered her of course, he was a gentle man once you'd have gotten to know him, pleasant company who's own insanity would bring a tear of laughter to your eye. He'd always been tough on her though, whether it'd been through training or just daily chores. He wanted his wooden bowels completely eradicated of any and all bacteria, he'd complained often about his teeth falling out. So, obediently, she worked for him, doing what she could. Cleaning the bowels until they were spotless.


Within a week of pleasant company, her training had begun, on the first day alone, he'd had her test her flexibility, standing in between two rocks with her legs spread apart, holding a much larger stone in a sling to weigh her down and strain her leg muscles. They'd done this for hours without break, and soon it came time for her crashing point, she'd fallen, her legs had gone completely straight when split apart, and in the heap of exhaustion, she felt another sharp pain, this one on her head. He was whipping her on the cranium with his cane, hurdling insults at her, telling her to toughen up, and toughen up she did. Another week would pass, then a month, all of the same brutal training, splitting in between the rocks so that she remained parallel to the ground. She'd obtained mastery over this, each day, spread out with her cold and aching feet stretched out on those stone walls, driving her to both pain and determination, she'd begun to develop muscle, and as she gained more control over herself, the training only got more rigorous. She'd begun to lift the stone over her head, now adding extra weight down the medial of her body, making it far easier to fall and hurt herself. Considering there was only stone beneath her, falling and landing in an awkward angle with her legs out would torture her body, but she kept climbing back up to the challenge, unwavering in resolve.


Three months of the now constant training exercise had begun to become so much easier, she'd get up in the morning, eat some bread and fruit, perhaps meat if she was lucky, then go for a five mile run. Then she would go to the stone and remain there for a good six hours. After that she'd eat her noon meal, then begin a durability test that had always left her irritated at Samuel. She rolled up her leather breeches and stood in freezing water, holding a massive stone above her head, she'd do this for around two or three hours, leaving her feeling fatigued each time she came out, and sometimes, her feet would not move in the slightest, they would be frozen to the riverbed. After this, she would then begin her hand to hand combat training, where her partner, the baker's boy Garrett, would come and train with her. Samuel had high standards for her, and pitted her up against the best wrestler that Everwinter had to offer. This of course beat her down daily, as she was to practice her agility, how to dodge, know when to sidestep, know when to jump over, know when to go underneath, and know when to strike. Relaying these in her head day and night, she'd spent countless evening's restless as to how to defeat him, she'd suffer many losses in the weeks to come.


One day however, she managed to stand her ground, using her hardheadedness and wits to defeat this opponent she believed was unbeatable. He'd advanced on her too quickly, or perhaps she had seen him move slower because her senses were adapted, but the second her went to her legs with both arms, she placed her right knee forward, colliding into his shoulder, and even as he took her to the ground, she used the muscle she'd gained in her legs to push him off. Rolling on top of him and hooking his limbs together, and in one triumphant heave, moved the near two hundred pound man onto his back, with himself twisted in a ball and his arm caught between her legs. Pressure already being applied to the elbow. She'd beaten him. With the victory now in hand, she stood, cheering the heavens, and of course Samuel only laughed, "You've won one fight in the several months I've had you." He belittled her often, but at this moment, nothing brought her down, she only jeered at him, "Maybe..." A deep breath, "But this is the first victory I have ever had since father was lost to me, and I will celebrate it that he may one day see my face as one who has won many." Samuel smiled, she was ready.


This began the sword training, being a blades-man himself, he taught her how to use two swords, how to co-ordinate her arms that they may never falter when she needed them. The usual training continued, however, now there were more rules to it, things that handicapped her. For instance, now she had two stones when hanging from the rocks, one in each hand, and she'd have to fling them into the air, catching them in the sling opposite of the one cast from. Should she fail more than five times a day, she'd be on the rocks another two hours the next. And so on went her days, some deemed her successful, others would beat her down and show no mercy. This of course was just the tip of the iceberg to the training that laid ahead of her. She's spent even more time getting co-ordination into both of her hands, working her body tirelessly as her core had become quite strong, developing a firm but not too grotesquely visible abdomen. And her muscles on her arms weren't large, but they sure were toned and refined. She stood out among other women. Perhaps at the time it was because of the shortness of her hair which Samuel forced her to cut before the sword training came. Even at that age though, she had developed breasts, rather appealing, but Samuel would not allow her to flaunt her moderately sized chest, instead he would have her keep tight wraps around it day and night, making it clear that, "Those are just extra muscles that will get in your way. You can take off those wraps when I don't feel like you're cut them off and you're more skilled than I am." And at the time, she felt as though the wraps would never come off. Samuel was a hard teacher, and an even more experienced fighter.


So, with her now very short hair, she had begun to actually use swords, having now mastered the co-ordination of her hands, she could perform graceful tricks like no other, the only thing that had given her strife was the fact that they were two and a half foot long blades, and they were deadly. One wrong move and she'd find herself cut and impaled, she'd actually lost quite a bit of color to her skin from the constant failure of flinging them around or having missed, tossing the blade which would land into her leg. She was growing stronger however, more agile by the day. Still no match to the talent the old man had, despite his aching bones or constant complaints about arthritis. A year or so had passed, and every day she spent, she only grew more familiar with the dangerous weapon bearing the name of, sword. She could now wield them efficiently in combat, but needed to practice putting together her agility and strikes. She needed speed. This is where the grueling training really began, the kind that had made her wish she was in the freezing river with a rock over her head.


They moved into the mountains just north of the village where she was given the first warm clothes she'd ever received since arriving there. With this gracious acceptance of the new gift, she began things would turn around and become easier, she lied to herself. Samuel draped her in heavy furs and gave her a leather bag filled with iron slabs. For the next year until she turned twenty, she'd spend her time perfecting her swordsmanship, increasing speed in both arms and legs, and making her last longer in a fight. He worked her for that good year, forcing her to run miles on end, blizzard or not. And what's worse, some days he would put a slab of meat in her bag without her knowing, and set dogs on her, so she wouldn't stop running, she knew he meant well, but some of the exercises pushed her over the edge and some days she would not return, she would remain out in the mountainous hills, hiding out in some cave where she would continue to practice, but without the watchful eye of her master. Returning however, brought a well deserved and inevitable punishment, he would take her outside and whip her in a sword fight with just the flat of his blades until she couldn't feel a single muscle in her body or until he'd heard the cracking of some bone.


She still respected him despite all of this, and in one more year's time, on her twentieth birthday, he had marked her worthy of the swords skills. Removing the heavy furs from around her shoulders and taking her outside. They would fight once more, only this time, it would be different. He took his stance and she took hers, the warrior's glare now in her eyes, she'd been taught to snarl at her opponent, never shown signs of cockiness or weakness. A snarl was something she had developed well, she could warp her pretty face into a menacing beast, making it a terror for any opponent, yet there were those were strong of heart as well and would only resist, but that's when it got exciting. Much like the beastly face of her master glared back at her on that snowy evening. The sun cast its golden glare on the freshly polished snow, Samuel had already drawn his blades, and Christina's hands remained on the leather hilts. Desiring his move so she could surprise him with her speed, she was much faster than he was now, but his skill was greater, he'd be no easy opponent. On the field of battle, you had to lose all consumption of time, fatigue, and instability in your cause. She tightened her hands around the leather until her knuckles turned white from the usual red the cold had seeped in, her boot planted firm in the ground, her now slightly longer hair barely scraping the bottom of her neck as it was tied neatly in a ponytail. The boot had crunched some snow behind her for a push off fortification, a good tactic when fighting in the unpredictable terrain.


The slightest twitch of his foot set her hands in motion, bringing the blades forth as the chinking of metal was more than enough to identify the movement, as though the aging iron was being removed from its sheathe for the millionth time. The two blades Samuel carried however were made of steel, mixed with small aluminum alloy, it was durable and light, something neither of her blades were. He had the striking speed advantage so agility was her only true friend in this now darkening field. His voice trailed softly to her ears, then sharply stung, "Come." And she began to walk forward, but also to the side of him, keeping her distance in a way that would allow her to read his movements without trading her perception for distance. He moved first, striking with his left arm, he extended his sword from his body flawlessly, she rolled around the strike, catching it in between both of her blades as she moved them behind her back, attempting to use tension force from her shoulders to knock them loose, unfortunately, she miscalculated and his right blade came right to her stomach. She reacted instantly, as that could be a fatal blow, letting his sword go, and with no momentum on her side, fell onto her back to dodge the oncoming sword. As it barely passed over her head, she rolled backwards to her feet, Samuel was advancing again, this time however she struck first, going to her left side in a quick dash leading with her left blade she struck twice, each one parried, then her right blade slid its way out, extending her body, leaving her left leg forward and positioned her right foot backwards. He rolled around it and swung with both blades overhand, she was stronger than he was, quickly squaring herself up, bringing her left blade to meet his two, she held him, and then swung the flat of the right at his side. He reacted quickly however, as she expected, bringing his left arm down, blocking the flat of her blade with his own. Samuel reacted as any expert fighter would, he fought dirty, he planted his foot into her hip and kicked her to the ground, though, with her agility in play, she spun back up, kicking snow around her, and then they both charged, a fury of spark raging in between the two, blades connecting at every angle, it almost felt like a dance at this point.


An hour in and they were both growing rather tired, Christina was the one with the higher stamina, and determined not to lose, and in one final assault, she charged. She swung low first, aiming for his legs to try and sweep him, he met her blow and threw her blade far off, sending it behind her, with the firm grip however, she rose and swung with her right arm, he blocked with the same blade, and now, as she struck once more to his right, she'd used the blind-spot on his left side to win the fight. If he was preoccupied with anything above his chest on his right, he'd be weak between the legs. So, she went for it, no of course she didn't kick him, that would have been dishonorable, instead, she slid right in between, his blade missed her, and she rose that instant behind him, the sharp of her sword against his neck. With a smile from the old man, he dropped his blades, and in turn, she felt tears welling in her eyes, never in her life had she felt this joy. He looked at her intently and asked, "You want to be the victor and prove yourself to your father?" She felt the salty liquid now running in barrages down her fair cheeks, "Yes..." Her voice was shaky, "You're gonna make it." He declared, proudly as the dusk was quickly fading to night, the snow was becoming ebony, he wrapped his arms around her, her tears fading into his ragged coat, sliding down from his shoulder, "You're gonna make it."


After her training had completed, she obtained a special set of armor from the Everwinter blacksmith, one forged to fit her body perfectly. Engraved steel and cloth covered her body, a firm breastplate that covered the entire front side of her body, and left her back exposed with leather straps to connect the ends of the armor. The sides were left exposed as well, to provide extra movement and flexibility. She obtained full-arm steel ornate gauntlets that had rivets in them to give her extra movement and loose, finger-less ends. These gauntlets connected to an ornate shoulder guard that covered her left shoulder, and was such a graceful image of a wolf, she had almost thought it a well done ancient armor, well depicted and beautiful. She had a full draped cloth covering the backside of her legs, but revealing in the center which allowed for more movement, and underneath them were full-leg, steel ornate boots that matched the gauntlets. They covered up to the very upper parts of her thigh then dispersed, leaving an inch of skin in between the tips of them and the guard for her groin. The guard for her groin connected with the breastplate, going all the way to her backside, then dispersing into the intricate system of leather straps that connected all the armor on her torso and hip. Along with the armor, she received two blades, made of the best steel there was, tempered with aluminum, and sharpened carefully for near a year. Both of them were broadswords, two weapons she'd grown accustomed to. The blades were gorgeous, sparkling white and stainless, they were engraved in ancient languages that she never understood, the blacksmith told her that it was Elven, a language long forgotten by most humans. One of them had a slightly longer reach than the other, by around half a foot, making it her main choice for offense, her right handed weapon, the one she would strike with most often. She obtained sheathes for them as well, which tied with the leather straps on her bare back and connected around the front of her torso with tight leather, as to keep them from shaking too much when she traveled.


She graciously accepted the gifts given to her, a new sense of importance arisen in her, and within the next four months, she would spend time helping the villagers around, establishing a name for herself as a mysterious warrior from another village. She'd helped take care of thieves, steal food sometimes even, for the homeless child who begged on the road every now and then, and one she'd come to know as Charlie. Charlie had last both of his parents in the same way Christina had lost her father, they tried being heroes. So, as such, she had sympathy for the boy, and always made time to stop by and tell him a good story or a joke, something to make him laugh as she'd smile, looking at his helplessly adorable eyes munching on some bread. Perhaps it was a boy, around the age of ten that reminded her so much of being young, of being innocent, and remembering that there were still loving and good people in this world, no matter how much they'd lost. Charlie gave Christina hope, he'd been a gentle soul to her, when her soul was too tender, aside from her heart and mind being battle-hardened. He connected with her on a deep level that no one else could. He even managed to bring a smile to her face on days she wasn't feeling the best she could be.


A few weeks had passed since her last severe issue with the village, some assassins sent to kill a man, she'd seen them snooping around at night and confronted them, wiping them out with ease, and disposing of the bodies before morning, before anyone could raise alarm or cause panic. She went to visit Samuel sometimes if she wanted to learn of the war he had fought so valiantly in, and he would tell her stories that never seemed to end, only inspiring her to one day make stories of her own. However, it was on a freezing winter's day that the real trouble had begun. She was sitting calmly beneath a willow tree on a nearby hill, resting her eyes for a change, she'd been doing a lot of night activity, and taken a new interest in the usual evening squabbles that took place at the inn. The sound of hoof-beats and loud whooping had awaken her, these were abnormally loud and repetitive, and as she gazed off, nearly a hundred meters from the village, were a band of merciless looking raiders. Everwinter had never had problems with raiders in the past, so this only sparked superstition as to where they had come from. She got to her feet quickly, and strapped her swords to her back, making a steady pace to the village, more concerned for Charlie than anyone else, who had recently developed a disease that left him physically weak and unable to move much, 'if they got their hands on him', her fists pumped faster as she heard the sound of a horn in the distance. Villagers became alerted, and the guards reacted quickly, though few, formed a defensive line on the outsides of the village, the villagers themselves emerged from their houses, armed with utensils that wouldn't prove useful in a fight against skilled raiders. These raiders however did not have only skill, but numbers, they probably tripled the population of the village, and all of them were on horse-back.


When she arrived, the slaughter had already begun, blood stained the dirt road, she saw the dead bodies on the ground, six of them, the guards at the entrance all lay in a heap as well, with some horses and dead raiders atop them. Charlies body was not among the deceased, at least, not yet, she began to head to the place where she knew the boy did his usual begging, sure enough, raiders were already there, she could make it, but only in the nick of time. As one of the merciless men raised his great-axe above the boy's head, and wailing could be heard, the sadistic sound of metal piercing flesh rung through the air, the slightly extended sword Christina was infamous for wielding, pierced through his rib cage. He dropped the weapon, falling from his horse as she jumped, riding the man to the ground, the horse reared, running off in another direction, she was now in front of the blood soaked boy, as her own arm too carried the blood of the one that would dare inflict harm upon a child. She raised both of her blades as jeering and taunting quickly followed all around her, along with aggressive statements, they were not happy about their man dying, but she would not be too happy about Charlie meeting his fate.





The first one charged her, and she sliced him clean open, his blood spraying across her face, staining her golden hair, her left blade already raised to parry the incoming thrust from a lance, she weaved underneath the horse itself, sliding her blade up gracefully into the side of the warrior, felling him immediately, Charlie was crying behind her, she knew a child should never be exposed to blood, but she would not see his spilled. In a more aggressive stance now, she struck down the rest of them, before cautiously approaching the child who gazed up at her in both joy and sorrow, "What's happening?" He sobbed, wrapping his arms around her stomach and crying onto her blood-soaked breast. "I don't know... But I will get you to safety, we'll go and find Samuel he will protect you, then I will take care of the rest of these bastards." And with that, she gave a softened kiss to his forehead and picked him up. She quickly hurried to Samuel's hut, fires erupting from the houses as she ran down the road, and in a little bit of time, she reached the mossy home, knocking rigorously until Samuel answered and took Charlie inside. She and the man parted with few words, he only managed to mutter, "Be safe." Before her golden hair flew behind her and she charged into the face of carnage.


...


It had been several hours since the assault began, and now it was over, a total of twelve dead, all but one of the raiders joined them, the last Christina had allowed to live, but only after brutally gashing his legs open and forcing him to crawl away, forcing him to vow to never return. She'd stopped by the bakery on the way to Samuel's home, she found Garrett, weeping with his father over the corpse of his mother, the sky had grown dull, and the falling rain was now washing the crimson from the roads. But it would never wash this brutality from their hearts. Christina returned to Samuel, agreeing within herself to leave Garrett to his own mourning, as comforting him may only prove ineffective. She returned to a sickened Charlie, coughing and laying in bed, he had raised a temperature that escalated past the point anything modern medicine could have cured. It was Samuel who had distraught her emotions however, "He's dying." And from that moment on, from that day of bloodshed to the day of the first of spring, her birthday, she never left his side, constantly filling his sick body with stories and giving him hope for the future. All the boy wanted was a family and a life beyond begging, how was it you could ask for anything else?


She'd also been catching up with what had been happening with her family as of recent, opening the letters that had been stocked up on her desk for awhile. Her mother had remarried to a man named Ishmael, a good worker and an excellent father, yes, they had already had a child, Christina was a sister now, an older sister to a younger brother who was now a year old. They'd named him Marcus, a fitting name, considering the little tyke had been strong for his age, he had begun crawling before most kids do. Of course, the saddening part of the letter that bid her heart an excuse to cry came next, 'Lam misses you dearly, he lays in your bed every night, and he howls in anxious await for your return, he won't shut it sometimes. We have to take him out and leave him outside on some night 'less he wake the child, we all miss you, and we hope you're fulfilling your dream, I'm proud of you, I love you dearly, and your father is smiling at you. Also, Ishmael would like a chance to get to meet you at some point, please... write back, I know it isn't something you like to do, but please... we're beginning to think you've left us behind in your life. -Mom.' The words stung as they bit into her, she was loved, and needed somewhere else, somewhere besides here, but to no circumstance would she return home, it'd end her adventure of life before it even began. She desperately yearned for the farm, to hold her little brothers hand, to have her dog lay once more, with his head on her stomach, the gentle rising of his head as it corresponded with her contraction and relaxation of her lungs. She missed it all, home.


She was twenty-one now, beautiful by all measure, she had gotten rid of the chest bands that held her breasts tight, and now, they were their natural curve, leaving its distinguish around her torso, but not being abnormally large. She'd remained at five foot, eight inches for the previous two years, she was done growing, that much was clear, but it was around two months after her birthday that she'd had the dream.


Light enveloped her, surrounding her in gentle radiance, a male's voice, spoke clear to her, it was heavenly, something she was by no means familiar with. "The Fallen King lives..." It strode over her heart like wind, clean and swift, then came the next part, "I have chosen my champion, as have the other gods of this realm, and you are mine. You will represent me in the battle against evil, for as it rises, you will be rising as well, to combat it along with the other heroes of the realm you bear common blood with. No, not family blood, ancient blood, crimson blood, silver blood, just blood in general, the essence you were all born from. You will find that when you awake, you will be in pain, I am pouring my power unto you, and you shall not falter with it. You and a select few others are the last hope for civilization and anything that is good in the world, please, fight for me." With the gentle nod of her now radiating figure, she accepted his proposal, recognizing it as truth. "Head to Kingdom Chorus... there you will uncover the next sequence of your fate." And with that, the dream ended, she rose quickly covering her head in searing pain as though her innards were burning as an inferno.


After the pain had surpassed and morning light began to show, she moved herself from her bed, indeed feeling an overwhelming amount of power, she tensed her fist, and found that she could move even faster and strike even stronger than before. Aw-filled power, power that could destroy, and power that could rebuild. Mikhail, the god of bravery and strength, she had recognized him, and she would do as he asked, to every single extent. When Samuel awoke, she told him of the dream she'd had, he only raised his brow in concern, but when she concentrated hard enough, and pulled out her blades, a blinding light shimmered from them as ethereal power enveloped them. He saw and believed. With her final goodbyes, she was just about to head out on her quest. But little Charlie and Samuel managed to catch her before her grand journey. Samuel was crying, telling her how proud he was, and Charlie was crying because the woman who had been a true friend to him, was leaving. With tear filled eyes, Samuel looked at the girl who was about to leave, "I have one final thing to give you." She looked at him, somewhat confused, and he removed the fur coat from his back. He wrapped it around her, going over the swords as the hanging wolf's head in the back would allow the two blades to stick out so she could grab them. "It'll be mighty lonely here without you..." He choked up before continuing, "You're gonna go far... You'll make it." He then proceeded to show his affection by socking her hard in the arm. And she began to laugh, though her throat had formed a lump, and she too began to cry.


So, with the final goodbyes now said, she was on her way to Chorus, a long and fruitful journey. Perhaps when there she would learn more about her fate, more about the power flowing through her veins, and soon she would meet those that shared talents like her, some that would even demolish her own by leagues of strength. The whole thought of he experience was exciting. And now, after a month of tireless walking and hitchhiking on carriages, she arrived. The massive walls of Chorus looming over her.
 
Oh. My. Lord.


That is bloody long. X_X


How do you write so much? xD
 
Nanomachines my dear... Nanomachines, and if you don't understand, watch this: [media]



[/media]
 
It is funny... son. Nanomachines xD


 
Alright fellow writers, the sheet is up!


 
Complete, but not edited.
 
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A vicious dance with death (RP 1x1 based on the song "My R") TW: Self-loathing, Suicune
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Sora No Kami
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