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Darth_Slaverus

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1 May 2012
Name: Aurora Sweetmaple
Title: Jewel of Arcard
Nation of Birth: Etruria
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Height: 5'8 (172 cm)
Weight: None of your business, commoner
Affinity: Light
Handedness: Left
Birthday: January 20
Allegiances: House Sweetmaple/Arcard

Class: Dancer
Level: 10

Weapons:

Arcard's Resolve: C rank Allegro Dance, Rejuvenate, Might

Arcard's Courage: C rank Allegro Dance, Litany, Disarm

Arcard's Sorrow: C rank Allegro Dance, Torment, Ire

Arcard's Burden: C rank Allegro Dance, Dishearten, Scatter

Weapon Levels: Dance C 0/5

Appearance:

(IMG:http://i761.photobucket.com/albums/xx259/Tbjl2006/Aurora_zpsef99e118.png)

Despite her status as an Etrurian noblewoman, Aurora eschews any form of makeup or cosmetics, as she believies that her "natural beauty" is adequately elegant for the courts of nobles. Upon casual examination of her figure, it's not hard to see why. Ivory-skinned, with large breasts and ample curves, Aurora has little need to worry about her attractiveness. Her straight, waist-length hair is the same shade of purple as her infamous granduncle's and is usually kept impeccably neat, while her vibrant pink eyes are noticeably slanted. She tends to adopt a mischevious smile as her regular expression.

Aurora's taste in clothing is rather lavish, to say the least. When it comes to dancing, however, Aurora's preferred garment is shockingly conservative: A beautiful blue dress that falls to her ankles, complete with long sleeves and a lime green hem. She wears a simple pair of silver sandals to complete the outfit; only a single silver cord on each sandal keep her bare feet bound to the footwear.

The combination of Aurora's desire to appear exotic before audiences, her family's wealth, and a personal obsession with valuable gems has led her to adorn herself with a plethora of jewelry. Three gold rings decorate both of her hands, each with a precious stone embedded within. The pattern of these jewels, from left-to-right on both hands, is sapphire, emerald, ruby. Aurora also wears golden ankle bracelets, elaborate silver arm bangles beneath her sleeves, a diamond brooch, and triangular, pearl-studded earrings. Most of Aurora's accesories have not been purchased with her family's wealth, but rather received as gifts from other nobles as rewards for her performances.

Personality:

An overinflated sense of self-importance is Aurora's defining trait; she is supremely confident that her looks and abilities are enough in any situation. As a lady born to a distinguished lineage, she expects nothing less than total reverence from the common people, exhibiting bouts of seething anger and disdain if not afforded the proper respect. Conversely, she tends to be sociable, friendly, and even flirtatious to her fellow nobles. Nonetheless, despite her apparent class bias, she respects people she deems capable, be they peasant or lord.

Although well-educated in the classical sense, Aurora can display an appalling lack of conventional wisdom at times. She's not used to travelling without an armed escort, and as such sees nothing wrong with wearing an obscene amount of jewelry that would make her a tempting target for thieves and brigands, a problem only compounded by her outspoken and adventurous nature. On that note, the material world holds a special place in Aurora's heart, and her love of shiny gems makes her painfully easy to bribe.

For all her vanity and personal flaws, however, Aurora has some good points. She displays a level of dedication uncommon among her peers toward mastering her chosen art of dancing, practicing daily with no exceptions. Furthermore, she lives for the stage and doesn't consider her performances complete unless her audience is captivated by her dances. If they aren't happy, neither is she, and she'll keep dancing for them 'till she either collapses or they cheer for her. She always follows this rule regardless of the crowd's social status, and she is very protective of her fans and admirers in general.

She also holds a great amount of devotion to her family and her ancestor, Lord Arcard, whom she desperately campaigns to redeem the name of. Like the rest of her siblings, she remains oblivious to the real-life Arcard's treacherous and cowardly personality, believing wholly in his innocence and holding him up as the standard to which all Eturians should aspire. Her unbending loyalty can extend to those she considers her friends, should they prove sympathetic to her cause.

While she does not always see eye-to-eye with church doctrine, Aurora is a fervent believer in God and treats the clergy with courtesy.

Biography:

When the tide began to turn against Lord Arcard and the Coup d'Etat forces in Etruria during the Great Movement of Bern, Arcard's younger brother was quick to denounce his sibling and take steps to ensure the preservation of their family. He voluntarily consigned himself to a lower rank in the court of nobility, forfeited their holdings in the Western Isles, and contributed large amounts of men-at-arms and gold to the reformed Etrurian army preparing to march on Bern. In doing so, he and his line were able to escape the purge of disloyal nobles after the war's end.

However, the stigma of being related to a traitor did not dissipate so easily. Many thought that Arcard's House had not been adequately punished for their misdeeds. Arcard's brother was seen as an opportunistic backstabber, and was shunned by several influential families. Disillusioned by this treatment, Arcard's brother began to wage a secretive propaganda campaign with the intention of restoring his brother's name to grace. He forged documents that suggested Arcard had only betrayed Etruria because he had been blackmailed, painting him as a heroically chivalrous knight torn between country and kin. The indiscretions that had historically been committed under Arcard's command were attributed to "corrupt underlings."

As he anonymously released these documents into the public domain, Arcard's brother had his only child, his daughter Anise, marry a nondescript lord by the name of Count Sweetmaple, instructing her to slowly increase her new husband's political power and to have as many progeny as possible for future endeavours. A conspirator fully aware of the true purpose for whitewashing Lord Arcard, Anise willingly complied. Soon, Lord Sweetmaple became known as a man utterly dominated by his wife.

Aurora Sweetmaple was the fifth of eight children born from this union. Due to the rather large size of the family, much of her early childhood years beyond infancy were spent clamouring for attention and praise, forever in the shadow of her more significant siblings. A willful girl, Aurora soon devised a strategy of acting the opposite of her elder sister, the fourth-born Artemis, who seemed forced into the background just as often. Where Artemis was demure, polite, and ladylike, Aurora was loud, demanding, and prone to tantrums. Unfortunately, this tactic backfired as they grew older when Artemis was recognized for being a shining example of womanhood, while Aurora was chided for being a brat.

Still, though her parents weren't always supportive, it would be unfair to say Aurora had a traumatic youth. Her father's wealth afforded her a very pampered lifestyle, and she became quite close to her grandfather, who treated all of the Sweetmaple children with great kindness, telling them of their valourous granduncle, Lord Arcard, whenever he came to visit. As a result, she and each of her siblings became enamoured with Arcard's legacy, fiercely proud of their lineage. This pride proved a valuable source of strength for Aurora whenever she felt upset or unwell, even in her youngest years.

It was in part because of this pride that Aurora was motivated to take up dancing. Her father often hired wandering performers to entertain his children during banquets and other social events while he discussed politics with his wife and guests. These ministrels weaved epic stories with their songs and dancing, and the young Aurora swiftly fell in love with the stage. Enthralled by the art of music, she began toying with the idea of telling Arcard's legend through dancing (after all, the dancers tended to be female, as opposed to the bards), and at the tender age of eight, she finally worked up the courage to ask her parents about it.

When she first expressed interest in becoming a dancer, her parents reacted with shock. Grimly imagining the scandals and loss of reputation that would arise from such an endeavour, their knee-jerk reaction was a firm refusal. Before the girl could burst into tears, however, her grandfather intervened. He alone realized how having an idolized performer in the family could be a tremendously powerful asset. With proper training in the arts, she would be able to seduce other nobles better than any spy, and perhaps win the hearts of the common people as well. Even if worst came to worst and she was a failure, there were still seven other heirs to the House...

With this in mind, Aurora's grandfather persuaded her parents to allow her to pursue dancing, on the condition that she take it seriously. She immediately agreed, and her parents reluctantly withdrew their objections. For the next several years Aurora studied under the tutelage of top-notch instructors from across Etruria. Her training was rarely easy, but she legitimately enjoyed it all the same, never once complaining for fear that her parents would put a premature end to it.

Aurora's persistence paid off as she entered adolescence, maturing into a beautiful young woman. Her stumbling steps transformed into graceful, flowing movements, and she began to learn about the intricacies of ring magic. While her elder brothers jockeyed for glory on the battlefield during Lord Helter's rebellion, she was permitted to dance for wounded and weary troops returning from the front, using her newfound powers to refresh and inspire the loyalist forces. It was about this time that Aurora started to gain a small cult following among various noble knights in the Queen's army. When the conflict ended, Aurora was faced with numerous requests for private performances.

Just as her grandfather had predicted, Aurora soon became a "family emissary" of sorts in the years thereafter, dancing for primarily single noblemen of varying ages in the hopes of making them more receptive to her House and their propaganda, and was met with moderate success. She was careful not to reward any romantic courting on their part, however, knowing her appeal, and thus her value to her family, was lost the moment her marital status was anything other than single. Still, she also recognized that a bit of flirting went a long way, never hesitating to accept the gifts of jewelery her benefactors occasionally presented her with...

Whenever Aurora wasn't on one of these "diplomatic missions," she went on tour around Etruria to bolster her fame among the common people, holding recitals in towns and villages, charging no fee to any who wished to observe. She even once travelled to the Western Isles to view her granduncle's former domain and improve the morale of Etrurian troops expecting attacks from local insurgents. No matter where she went, though, one thing always remained the same: She was accompanied by a squadron of seasoned bodyguards.

Rapidly gaining popularity due to the performances that arose from her impromptu wanderings, Aurora used her reknown to spread the word of Arcard's innocence, faithfully serving her parents for the remainder of her youth.

In the wake of her eighteenth birthday, however, Aurora's parents could no longer exert the same amount of control over her. Now that she was of age, she intended to make full use of her autonomy and strike out across the continent. She yearned for adventure without having an armed escort constantly hovering about her person. Besides, dancing at exotic venues and expanding her fame beyond Etruria's borders would make her an international sensation! She would be a household name; a name synonomous with stardom! Her legend would ring forever throughout the heavens in glory!

All she needed was a chance to slip away from the guards her parents insisted on assigning her...

Notes:

-Aurora is the grandniece of Lord Arcard from FE6. Permission from Satori has been obtained for this relation.

Approved by Shuuda.
12 Apr 2012
Swirling images of Ashera and absolute order faded from Betton's vision as his eyelids fluttered open. His awakening was a welcome departure from the nightmares in which the Goddess ruled over the continent with an iron fist, surpressing all originality and freedom with her tyrannical ways. The ear-splitting headache he promptly suffered, however, was not. The heron pirate clapped a hand to his forehead and wondered what sort of alcohol he'd imbibed to produce this near-migraine.

Sitting up, Betton was greeted by the lush greens of the surrounding forestry. Grimacing, he spat in disgust. Oceans and seas were much more to his taste. Not willing to risk standing up yet, he noted the pain in his arm had died down... It'd been hurting like the flames of Hades before he'd fallen asleep. Speaking of which... Where was Lechelle? She must have done a good job fixing him up.

"Ahoooooy, Sister! You there, lass?" Betton called out firmly. Thanking people was an unusual thing for the heron pirate, but if he handled it right with Lechelle, he'd have her swooning in a heartbeat!

---

Lechelle had found herself a comfortable spot in one of the few trees to have thrived in a place like this, from where she could keep an eye on the town. Her eyesight wasn't as good as her hearing was, though, so she started to consider relocating after all... as soon as Betton would be able to stand, she'd have to-

Ah! Was that him shouting her name? The female Heron allowed herself to drop from the branch she'd sat on and landed safely, before she hurried to see Betton. "I'm here. I wouldn't abandon one of my brothers." Especially not since he might be the only one she had left. She took his arm to inspect the wound. "Are you okay? No pain, or a fever, or anything?" She put her free hand to his forehead as she asked, hoping to feel if he were warmer than normal.

---

Heh... Lechelle was her usual romantically forward self, touching and grabbing him all over. Funny how she copped so many feels while he had yet to get one! Whatever, he'd have his chance soon by hook or by crook. Her palm felt cold, soft, and soothing as she pressed it against his flesh, and Betton enjoyed its presence there. Perhaps he should prolong this diagnosis to further take pleasure in her caresses. Nah, sympathy-garnering though the dying swan routine was, it was too unmanly for his likings. Saving it for a more dramatic moment where he might steal a kiss seemed prudent.

"I just woke up... Can't say I'm right as rain, but I'll live. Arm aches a teensy bit and my head's on fire, but that's the extent of my injuries. Otherwise, I'm ship-shape enough to travel." Betton confessed, as if he were delivering a status report on the condition of his vessel. Then, in an incredibly bold maneuver, he reached with his healthy arm and placed his hand on her cheek. Fair was fair. She touched him, he'd do it back.

"Thanks, Lechelle. I really mean it. Death would have been my fate today had you not intervened so quickly." The heron pirate lied solemnly. Obviously, he wouldn't have, but it'd make her happy. Let's see her blush and get all flustered over the physical contact, he thought to himself. She'd be unable to resist him.

---

No fever, praised be Ashera... his arm seemed better, too. Lechelle was about to let go of him and heave a sigh of relief, when he touched her face and thanked her for saving him. Lechelle flustered -she wasn't used to being touched anymore- and muttered something incomprehendible before she managed: "I... I just did what anyone else would have done. You took a blow for me, and... and I'm happy to see it won't inflict any permanent damage..."

She stepped back a bit, unsure of how to continue. "I... I can't just leave you like this. I insist-" she blushed again at her choice of words, "-on taking care of you for a little while longer... until you're sure it won't bother you anymore..."

---

For a minute, Betton thought he'd scared Lechelle off as she hopped backwards, but her words betrayed her. Oh, she insisted, did she? There was no denying the girl's infatuation with him. His mouth curled into a familiar grin, a toothy smile that practically oozed smugness.

Stretching his unscathed limbs, Betton steadily got to his feet, waiting a few moments to collect his bearings and ensure he wouldn't tumble right back into the dirt. Was this similar to what the landlubbers called seasickness? Urgh... He took solace in the knowledge that he was not suffering for naught. Lechelle's rapidly reddening face was a sure sign he was on the right track.

"Anyone? You're selling yourself short, Sister. Few are selfless like you, Lechelle. I'd wager plenty o' people would've left me high and dry. Lots of scurvy curs inhabit the mainland..." Betton glanced at the pretty female heron. "Actually, I was about to ask if we could travel together awhile longer myself. I, uh... I've never really been gifted with the chance to talk to another Seid heron. The chap who taught me how to use entropic magic was a man of few words, shall we say." Talking in a pirate dialect all the time was boring. Betton felt the need to spice up his vocabulary with some fancy words. Entropic... Ha! That was brilliant. Lechelle clearly was in awe of his sophisticated intelligence beneath his dashingly rough exterior.

---

That was just not right... people had to help each other when and where they could! Lechelle got up with Betton, staring at him in shock. "I'm hardly... it's my fault this all happened..." 'Scurvy curs,' eh? The world outside the forest was a dangerous, cold place... As much as she hated to admit it, Betton was right. There were plenty of people who were willing to help a soul in need, but there were also plenty of people who couldn't be bothered to lift a finger. And then there were people who just wanted all Laguz dead.

When Betton offered to travel together for a while, Lechelle nodded. "Yes, that would be best... I'll try not to get in your way." Oh? He had been taught how to use Seid magic? "But that's... interesting. You had a mentor?" All of Lechelle's Seid was self-taught due to necessity. "Can you walk?" she somewhat idly asked, "I think it's better to leave this place sooner than later."

---

Giving his leg a shake and then taking a couple of steps to ascertain he could maintain balance, Betton gestured for Lechelle to walk with him while they spoke. She'd agreed to be by his side in the days to come... Soon tavern storytellers the world over would regale audiences with the sanguine saga of how Betton Duskette, Pirate King of Tellius, had met his enchanting heron mistress in Daein. With Chaos' blessing, the legend would be embellished to the point where they'd supposedly fought off thousands of soldiers AND Daein's wretched king to escape. The malleability of truth never ceased to amaze.

"Mentor...? Ha! Nah, the man showed up and asked me if I wanted to learn Seid." Betton began good-naturedly, "When I said yes, he handed me a book on it and told me to figure it out myself, informing me that was the way of Chaos. I've been operating under that principle ever since, and things've been dandy. Weird guy, though. Called himself Stranger. His wings were so black he seemed more like a raven than one of us! I saw a little of him over the next century, but I never did find out what he wanted." Betton was about to entertain her with the heroic tale of his jailbreak that one time, yet something else urgent occurred to him.

"On the topic of teaching, I've been meaning to ask you about your Seid, Lechelle. Namely, can you show me how to pull off an invisibility spell like you did back in town? It was a pretty nifty trick!" Unfortunately, Betton's motivation to learn was hardly pure. He desired Lechelle's unique power not to protect either of them, but to spy on Lechelle when she was changing, bathing, or basically any opportunity where he'd get to see more of her body. He prayed to Chaos that she wouldn't be able to detect his aura of anarchy during his lecherous espionage.

---

Good, he could walk. Maybe not quickly, but it would do. She listened to him as he told her how he had learned his magic. She cringed inside as she was reminded of how voluntarily Betton had made the change that she so hated. But apparently, it had been so easy for him. A stranger had handed him a book on it, and he'd taught himself how to convert his songs? It sounded like, although he liked his new magic, he had taken his time to convert. Unlike her who had plunged into it in the dead of the night.

"Black wings..." That wasn't necessarily a bad sign, Lechelle knew. She could never judge a Bird on the color of its wings anyway. "And a very fitting name..." When Betton told her he never did figure out what the Stranger wanted, Lechelle couldn't help but get suspicious. Why knowingly convert a Heron? But she soon forgot it as he asked her to teach him the Seid of Invisibility she had used before.

"Eh... it's just a simple Seid, really... I'm pretty sure anyone could learn it." Invisibility was as simple as bending light before it hit the invisible subject, and muffling sound as she did was simply pulling up a speric sound-cover around them. But maybe Lechelle just thought it was simple because she was so used to using it? "...okay, I'll teach you sometime."

---

Heh (He'd used "Ha" twice already, it was getting stale), score one for the Betton-meister! With the addition of Lechelle's invisibility magic, the world's finest pirate would evolve into the seafaring scourge of the universe. Hell, the existence of an invisibility Seid itself was an apt demonstration of Chaos' tremendous power, the kind Betton wielded at his fingertips. By its very nature, singing was probably the least stealthy thing one could do, yet through the workings of Seid, a heron could render themselves undetectable to the naked eye.

Grinning increasingly wider as he envisioned the unsavoury purposes to which he'd employ Lechelle's lessons, Betton came up with the ideal way to repay her and be breathtakingly romantic at the same time. Reaching for his throat, he snatched his golden amulet, the one with the heron engraving, and yanked it from his neck. Then, without warning, he presented it to her as a gift.

"Here, Sister. Take this. It's an amulet I custom-ordered in Crimea... There's none other like it in the world. I oughta repay you for your troubles, so it's yours. I can always get another one. I know it sounds a bit premature, but since we're going to be together..." He left the meaning of that statement deliberately vague, believing it would suffice for his purposes, "I want you to keep that, so if we get separated and never see each other again, you have something to remember me by."

---

She jumped when Betton snapped something around his neck. Somewhere, she thought they were being attacked again, but it had just been his way of taking off the necklace he'd been wearing. Heaving a relieved sigh -if he took another blow, things might not end well-, she looked surprised when he offered it to her. It was beautiful, but she didn't dare take it from him. If it was custom-made, then it must have had some sort of emotional value to the other Heron.

She ran a finger over the engraving. A Heron... a symbol of the forest? Maybe Betton had lost family in the Massacre, too, and just didn't want to talk about that... "I- I can't take it from you, Betton. It must be important to you..." She shouldn't be wearing too much gold, anyway. It would just be another reason for people to attack her.

Not to mention she didn't have anything to give him in return. Taking his amulet from him without offering something of equal value was nothing but theft, after all. That said... they were going to be together for a while, as he had said. So, changing her mind, Lechelle put her hand around the amulet. "...wait. I'll take it. I'll take it as a promise that I won't leave your side until you're better."

---

Lechelle was being a bit daft over the whole thing, failing to read his cues and just take the damn amulet. It held no significance whatsoever to him; he'd bought it because he'd had gold to burn and wanted to show off. Fortunately, she redeemed herself by abruptly reconsidering, and Betton found her spontaneity cute. Her oath to return it later rang hollow, though. If Betton had his way, she wouldn't leave his side ever.

"Don't worry about it, Lechelle. It has no meaning to me. No fond memories attached to it. Didn't grow up in Serenes, remember? I've got doubloons aplenty. I could easily get another one lickity-split if I wanted. But I think it suits you far better."

Going for the masterstroke, Betton leaned in closer, smirking wryly as his face hovered mere inches below Lechelle's, the height discrepancy thankfully not diminishing his charisma much, and whispered, "A pretty necklace for a pretty girl, aye?"

---

Lechelle was convinced her head assumed the same color as her eyes when Betton spoke those last words. Trying to ignore it, but failing and -if possible- blushing even harder, she bound it around her neck. With the engraved amulet resting on her markings, she touched the other Heron's arm hesitantly. "Thank you, Betton. I just wish I had something else to give you in return."

She thouht she heard voices further down the road and decided they had to speed up. "Come to think of it... I'm almost afraid to ask, but you will have to do the talking from now on. I honestly don't speak enough Modern to converse with those children properly."

---

Lechelle must've had an arm fetish or something, considering the number of times she'd clung to his since their chance meeting in the village... Not that he was complaining. She could rub and stroke his limbs forever if she desired, though it might cause complications whenever he required privacy. She seemed legimately grateful for his present, though, putting the amulet around her neck, the rising heat in her cheeks a rallying sight to behold. He was so close to cracking her... Then she'd be all over him, desperately wanting to "repopulate the heron race" and other such things.

Children? Oh, she meant the beorc. Living amongst beorc had virtually eliminated all knowledge of Heron appellations from his head. What funny terms herons used! Brother and Sister for each other, Children for beorc, which sounded vaguely insulting yet was a valid comparison. Whatever, what mattered was that she hadn't literally been referring to kids. Or had she? Maybe two incestuous herons had actually spawned the entire human race? That, or perhaps he was just being his lunatic self. Either option suited him.

"Now there's an idea!" Betton remarked when Lechelle told him her fluency in the Modern tongue was practically nil. No wonder she spoke Ancient exclusively. "Why don't I help teach you to speak Common while you show me how to turn myself invisible? It's not so hard a language once you've nailed down the basics, Sister." Excercising his pinions in preparation for flight, Betton took Lechelle's hand in his, and gave another rascally smirk.

"Well, can't stand around if the beorc are right behind us... Shall we go, Lechelle?"

---

"Yes, let us..." she was happy to hear his suggestion, and she would be even happier to be able to communicate with Beorc in their own language. If Betton could teach her that, she would be more than happy to teach him Invisibility Seid...

But for now they had to get away. She squeezed his hand, stretching her wings and keeping a close eye on him as they took off to make their escape.
16 Mar 2012
Name: Tara Polfina
Title: The Razor Wings, Leader of the Neo Black Fang
Nation of birth: Bern
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Height: 5'6 (168 cm)
Weight: 134 pounds
Affinity: Wind
Handedness: Right
Birthday: March 13
Allegiances: The Black Fang

Class: Pegasus Knight
Level: 12

Weapons:

White Wolf: C rank Sword, Steel, Armourslayer, Perfect Balance

A very fine quality fencing rapier, White Wolf's long, thin blade is ideal for slipping through the armoured plates of bodyguards and men-at-arms. While its length makes it an unwieldy tool of assassination, there is no weapon in Tara's arsenal that she'd rather have more than White Wolf if detected and forced into a straight fight.

Rabid Hound: C rank Sword, Steel, Shade, Killer

Seemingly designed specifically to suit the needs of a killer, Rabid Hound combines a wicked keenness capable of causing terrifyingly deep wounds with an enchantment that renders the wielder less visible to the naked eye. In addition, Rabid Hound's curved shape grants it remarkable functionality as a cavalry weapon, endearing it to the often pegasus-borne Tara.

Blue Crow: C rank Sword, Iron, Venin

Painted dark blue to match its name, Blue Crow is an envenomed shortsword that Tara has strapped to her defensive buckler, allowing her to use her off-hand for both defense and offense. Blue Crow is usually used in conjuction with either White Wolf or Rabid Hound, as the fast-acting poison that coats the edge is adept at softening up targets for a finishing strike.

Weapon Levels: Swords C 2/5

Appearance:

(IMG:http://i761.photobucket.com/albums/xx259/Tbjl2006/Transparent%20Mugs/TaraTransparent_zps5060ebc6.png)

With rigid posture and strong limbs honed through training, there is little doubt that Tara is someone who knows her way around a blade, yet her other features appear to challenge this notion as much as possible. Her average height not withstanding, Tara's long blonde hair is naturally curly and extends almost as far as her elbows, apparently at odds with the customary rationality expected of a warrior. Bright green eyes that seem too innocent for an experienced killer shine out from above a small nose, and her lips, despite never being aided by lipstick, are a deep red in hue.

In this, Tara is perhaps blessed in that she presents an enigma to those her observe her. Were she to disguise herself in thick, feminine clothing, it is likely that nobody would suspect her of being an assassin. Conversely, people who see her in her combat attire might well underestimate her, assuming she is still a novice swordswoman.

Born of a Bern-Ilian union, it is not surprising that Tara has a strong preference for only the most practical of apparel, eschewing anything she deems the slightest bit fanciful or foppish, unless she needs it for a costume. Her main outfit consists of primarily black clothing befitting of a Black Fang assassin, including a long-sleeved jacket, a headband, trousers, leather gloves, and a pair of boots with hollow, detachable heels that she uses to store lockpicks and other small instruments. In fact, the only element of her wardrobe that isn't ebony in some shade or another is the white cotton shirt she wears underneath her jacket.

Tara's mount, Vagabond, is a sleek, shining white pegasus she received during her years in Ilia. Although his colouration hardly makes him the ideal choice for stealth, his sheer speed makes him perfect for swift exfiltrations and reconnaisance, while his training as a warhorse means he is no slouch in combat, either.

Personality:

Tara almost never smiles. Between the various ordeals she's faced throughout her life, she learned that stoicism was the best coping method. As a result, she tends to come across as cold and apathetic; traits that do not aid her in the acquisition of friends. In reality, Tara is a very kind and generous soul who wants nothing more than to assist the downtrodden and punish the wicked, yet she buries this side of her under a mask of ruthlessness, fearing that to allow emotion to rule over her would interfere with her career as an assassin. She does have one saving grace socially, however: Tara possesses a healthy sense of humour, though it can be rather morbid at times.

Holding herself and her associates to a higher standard, Tara expects only the best from her subordinates. It is not her policy to go easy on anyone, and she continually pushes those around her to do better. Praise from her lips is a rare commodity. While her methods of leadership may seem strict and unrelenting, Tara's intentions are noble. The Black Fang of old fell because it stopped being thorough and began to attack innocents. Tara intends not to repeat that mistake. She is very organized for her age, and makes a point to prepare plans well in advance, researching her targets exhaustively before making a move.

As founder of the Neo Black Fang, Tara has an innate distrust for any form of authority, be it nobles, the church, or even the King of Bern himself. In her eyes, the temptation for these individuals to abuse their power is ever present, and thus she is always on guard around the entitled, lest they commit indiscretions that must be repaid in blood.

Biography:

Miles Polfina was a wandering historian and scholar of Bern who explored the breadth of Elibe in his quest for knowledge. His dream was to create a series of volumes that detailed each and every single event of significance that had affected Bern in some way or another over the course of the continent's history. As his own father had been a soldier, a subject of particular interest to Miles was the Great Movement of Bern, in which nearly all of Elibe had almost fallen under his homeland's thumb. To broaden his understanding of the war, he ventured to the various countries that had either fought against or been occupied by Bern, interviewing veterans of the conflict.

It was during his travels that he met the love of his life in Ilia, the daughter of a mercenary knight who had waged an underground resistance against Zephiel's forces. Eventually winning over the girl's father despite his nationality, Miles married her, and the couple moved to settle down in Bern, where they were blessed with two daughters.

The elder of these daughters, Tara, practically grew up on her father's knee, begging for him to tell her stories. Thankfully, Miles had a knack for storytelling due to his career, and so he regaled her with tales of Bernish lore. Unsurprisingly, many of these accounts involved war or battle. Yet it was not the legends of desperate struggles and clashes between armies that Tara loved to hear. Rather, she enjoyed those of the mysterious Black Fang, the guild of heroes who struck from the shadows to vanquish evil. Enamoured by the aura of romanticism surrounding these vigilantes, Tara more than once earned herself a stern reprimand for roughhousing with her decidedly more feminine sister, pretending that she was one of the virtuous assassins and her sibling was a corrupt noble.

Of course, the tale of the Black Fang inevitably ended with their downfall as they embraced less pure ideals and were subsequently destroyed by those they hunted, a fanciful and embellished conclusion that was not actually far from the truth. Still, the young Tara felt that the good they had done outweighed the bad, and often asked her father to omit the tragic finale, replacing it instead with a version that claimed the Black Fang remained operational even into the modern era. Although Miles was not normally a man willing to fabricate history, he agreed to do it for his beloved child. After all, his work often called him away from the family for occasionally lengthy periods of time, and he felt obligated to spend time with his daughter.

Despite her strange obsession with an organization of killers, Tara otherwise had a fairly idyllic childhood, the kind that adults look back on with fond memories. Her father was kept employed by various nobles and patrons of history, and her family was never found wanting for food. She retained her tomboyish nature throughout her youth, but her parents reasoned that there were far worse things a child could be.

Unfortunately, this happiness was not to last. While conducting research on one of his projects one day, Miles stumbled across information implicating House Belial, a noble family of Bern, in several horrific crimes committed during the Great Movement of Bern. Apparently, the former Lord Belial his source named had taken advantage of the chaos of war to ruthlessly tax his people, selling those that could not meet his outrageous demands to local bandits as slaves. His lofty title had allowed him to evade justice before his death, and Miles thought it would be a worthy addition to the volume he was working on, a book depicting the lives of civillians in Bern during the war. He figured that since the lord was long since dead, there would be no danger.

He was wrong. When Belial's descendant caught wind of Miles' plan, he ordered the historian silenced to prevent his family name from being besmirched. Tara and the rest of her family could only watch as the soldiers burst into their home without warning and dragged Miles off to be executed on falsified charges. Thanks to the spiteful nobleman's wealth, the death sentence was carried out immediately, with no chance for Miles to appeal.

Fearing further persecution, Tara's mother took her daughters and fled to Ilia. Tara was a mere twelve years of age at the time, and she found the journey grueling. To make matters worse, although her mother's family had a sterling combat record in the annals of Ilia's knights, they lived in a remote part of the country and thus their wealth was not enough to provide for Tara's family. Upon arriving in the frozen north, Tara and her sister soon discover that they would have no choice but to enlist in the Ilian Pegasus Knights if they hoped to survive.

Times became hard in the new household. To say Tara found adjusting difficult would be a drastic understatment. Adapting to the harsh winters, learning how to ride a pegasus as well as the art of swordplay, puzzling out the customs of this strange new land... Nothing came easily to Tara, and countless times the girl would come home from the local barracks exhausted and about ready to die. But something kept her going. A blazing hatred that festered within her. Hatred for the men who had taken her father away without a second thought. Hatred for the lord who had sent them to murder her father for wanting to report the truth. Hatred for any who would exploit the gifts of their station. Consumed by a lust for revenge, Tara immersed herself in her training, ever hopeful that she would one day avenge the grave misdeed Lord Belial had perpetrated.

Thanks to her single-minded dedication, Tara steadily grew stronger and faster, mastering the basics of aerial combat as she did so. She became something of a social outcast among her fellow trainees, but that did not concern her in the slightest. All that mattered was vengeance. Seven years passed before she completed her initiation, her lack of prior experience causing her to finish later than the typical Pegasus Knight recruit. Nonetheless, she was then sent out into the world to fulfill the last right of passage required of an Ilian warrior: To join a mercenary band and prove herself worthy of their ranks.

Naturally, Tara embraced her newfound freedom with joy, immediately heading for Bern atop her pegasus, Vagabond. Family or no, she had no intention of ever returning to Ilia.

Recognizing that her current level of ability would not be enough to claim Belial's head, Tara ironically wound up being a sellsword anyway, championing the cause of the common man wherever she went. For two years she waged a personal campaign of justice against the wicked, particularly the ruthless bandits of Southern Bern, until one fateful job. After saving a village from an unsavoury band of marauders, the mayor, a venerable ancient of a woman over one hundred years old, expressed a longing for the days of the Black Fang while thanking Tara.

Upon hearing the name of her childhood heroes once again, Tara was suddenly struck by inspiration. Her skills were wasted as a regular freelancer. Why fight for meaningless gold when she could revive the Black Fang and combat evil in a much more efficient manner? Mind set, she turned her efforts toward this monumental undertaking.

Sure, she was just one woman with no followers, a paltry amount of money, and no home. But those things could be remedied. The original Black Fang started as little but a small group of friends, so why couldn't her new chapter have similarly humble origins? Yet she was determined to succeed where the first Black Fang had failed. Her guild would be precise, never to harm anyone but the guilty. Adopting the title of "The Razor Wings," she began to spread the rumor among the cities of Bern that the Black Fang had returned.

And thus the Neo Black Fang was born...

History:

Fangs of the Two-Faced, +2 Levels, +2 Sword

Notes:

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9 Mar 2012
I'm beginning to think that there should be a page about the St. Elimine church in the Setting Information section, as right now it is mentioned in country descriptions but never described much itself. Nothing too major, but it should clarify a few things. Namely, that the Church worships God, not St. Elimine, as its deity. Without playing FE6, it's almost impossible to know this, as there is basically nothing to suggest that this is the case in FE7, where characters pray to Elimine all the time.



I've already seen a mixup in an RP, and I thought that something like this would clear up any confusion.
20 Feb 2012
A chill wind swept through the morning air, making one Haku von Auromir very grateful for the heavy traveling cloak in his possession as he dismounted his hired carriage.. Father had been right to recommend it... The stories of Daein's infamously harsh climate had clearly not been exaggerated. Still, the excitement of meeting a living legend was enough to spur the young swordsman onward despite the bitter cold.

Pausing briefly to allow his manservant Mannfred and the cadre of bodyguards led by Captain Stein to exit as well, Haku took the time to ascertain that this was indeed the correct address. Being burdened by his father's retainers was a necessary evil, he supposed, as the former Shadowknight's caution was not entirely unfounded. As the last living heir to the von Auromir family, he had an obligation to survive. Haku suspected it was no coincidence that the men his father had assigned to him had names of Daeinish origin, though Stein spoke with a Crimean accent. Indeed it was Haku von Auromir who stood out like a sore thumb in this country, with his white, obviously Crimean-styled uniform. He had found it prudent to move quickly through Daein, so as not to arouse hostility amongst the land's inhabitants.

Once everyone had successfully disembarked, Haku signalled to the coachman and motioned for his retinue to stay put. The business he was about to conduct would be a private one. He was going to meet General Haku Shinmori.

General Haku Shinmori... His namesake and a truly fearsome warrior, if tales were to be believed. His father had always held the General in the highest regard, speaking of his unmatched skill with a blade in hushed tones. According to his father, the General had exhibited unusual shrewdness and wisdom from a very young age; a prodigy of warfare in every sense of the word. Now, just as Everal von Auromir had once studied under him, his son Haku von Auromir sought to train with the ex-Rider to further refine his own technique. Everal's teachings were not of poor quality, but Haku felt the need to surpass his father in all respects, particularly considering what a whimpering wreck the Shadowknight had become. The General was the only one who could make that possible.

The walk to the General's doorstep seemed to take an eternity, but Haku did his best to quell his overwhelming curiosity and soldier on. When he reached the door he hesitated, lowering his cloak and straightening out his coat, trying to look every bit the cultured son of nobility. Then, at last, he raised his hand and rapped against the door.


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Communist
It's a rip from a site. I forgot what the site was, but I still have the folder if you want some of the sprites. Do you enjoy KitN too? :p
22 Apr 2010 - 5:11

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