CharChar45
Where's your will to be weird?
Name: Keara
Age: 18
Class: Pyromancer/Archer
Gender: Female
Strengths: Keara has not only skills with fire and aim, but with a simple smile and a twist on words. Her power of persuasion is something she uses to her advantage often, as well as her skills with a bow and with pyromancy. She is highly creative with her use of magic and knows how to control the fire, yet still make it powerful. She is also adept with knives and stealth, knowing many tricks to use an opponents weight against them.
Weaknesses: Although her skills are great, her weaknesses are much to bear. She falls easily into the hands of greed when the opportunity arises, and does not do well against lighter opponents. Also, she has a fear of water, for she does not wish for her flames to be dosed, so, during the snowy months of winter, she avoids going outside as much as possible, and avoids any outdoor battles as much as she can.
Appearance: Keara is rather short, only five three, yet lean and slender, with muscular arms and abs. She has long, fiery red hair that flows to her waist in springs of curls and coal black eyes. Her skin is smooth and flawless, not a scar or blemish in sight, and tanned from bathing in the heat so often.
Personality: Very arrogant and cruel, Keara is not a warm-hearted granny welcoming people with homemade chocolate chip cookies. She threatens people sweetly, sugaring her words, and keeps her promises, good or bad. Clever and not dimwitted, she knows how to twist words and give them an opposite meaning, yet also knows when it is wise to keep her mouth shut.
History: Growing up in a family of healer's, she was an outcast with her abilities to manipulate fire. People feared her and her pyromancy, and none know where she gained the ability, due to the fact that her family's base was white and earth magic. When nine years old, her parents and siblings abandoned her to live alone on the streets. It was a year of pain, a year of hunger, and a year of thirst for Keara as she struggled to survive. Her flame was dying, and as was she, until a magician of dark magic saved her from her misery. Using healing magic never heard of by Keara, he tended to her wounds, physical and mental, and taught her the beauty and art of pyromancy. She learned to admire her gift, instead of cringing away from it. She learned to destroy, and to give life. For, without fire, there would be no life.
After five years of practice with this mage, Keara left to take her own path, living near volcanoes and hot springs, savoring her ability like a rare bit of gold. Occasionally, when coming across another's path or a village, she would do small jobs, earning money here and there, using it to purchase fine foods such as warm bread or rare meats. This life continued for a pleasant year, a year of being a nomad, of traveling to and fro, helping some, hurting others. And, during that year of bliss, she met her love.
They married, her sixteen, him eighteen, found a cottage in the woods, and lived happily for a short while. There were smiles and laughter, nights of drinking and kisses. He worked as a blacksmith. She did her normal small jobs throughout a village nearby. Yet, like all things, happiness must come to an end, whether it be a few months or a few millennium. In this case, they had been married for three months, good on money, good on food. There were no troubles, except for the occasional mispayment. But, rumors began, and word spread through the village of a witch. A witch with gifts of the flame, looking to demolish the world.
These rumors were false, but the villagers did not believe so. They eyed young Keara with suspicion in their eyes, whispering words behind closed doors. Then came the attack. It was swift, fast, and bloody. The cottage was up in flames, Keara and her love running, running fast, feet tripping over roots. Cries echoed behind them and then there was a soft thwack, then a cry of pain. Next to her lay her lover, arrow sticking out of his chest, eyes wide with shock. And then his life faded away as he perished, leaving behind her broken heart.
She felt pain and tears, and only pain and tears. Then she felt anger, then hate. Rage flashed in her eyes as she stood, facing the villagers, burning their flimsy arrows and spears, taking slow, steady steps forward, her face hard and cold as a slab of stone. For a moment, all was silent. Then, with a simple incantation of a spell, everything roared up in flames. Orange, yellow, and red flickered off of Keara's cheeks as she turned on her heel and walked away, ignoring the pained cries of the villagers. Everything burned. For as fire can bring life, it can also destroy.
Age: 18
Class: Pyromancer/Archer
Gender: Female
Strengths: Keara has not only skills with fire and aim, but with a simple smile and a twist on words. Her power of persuasion is something she uses to her advantage often, as well as her skills with a bow and with pyromancy. She is highly creative with her use of magic and knows how to control the fire, yet still make it powerful. She is also adept with knives and stealth, knowing many tricks to use an opponents weight against them.
Weaknesses: Although her skills are great, her weaknesses are much to bear. She falls easily into the hands of greed when the opportunity arises, and does not do well against lighter opponents. Also, she has a fear of water, for she does not wish for her flames to be dosed, so, during the snowy months of winter, she avoids going outside as much as possible, and avoids any outdoor battles as much as she can.
Appearance: Keara is rather short, only five three, yet lean and slender, with muscular arms and abs. She has long, fiery red hair that flows to her waist in springs of curls and coal black eyes. Her skin is smooth and flawless, not a scar or blemish in sight, and tanned from bathing in the heat so often.
Personality: Very arrogant and cruel, Keara is not a warm-hearted granny welcoming people with homemade chocolate chip cookies. She threatens people sweetly, sugaring her words, and keeps her promises, good or bad. Clever and not dimwitted, she knows how to twist words and give them an opposite meaning, yet also knows when it is wise to keep her mouth shut.
History: Growing up in a family of healer's, she was an outcast with her abilities to manipulate fire. People feared her and her pyromancy, and none know where she gained the ability, due to the fact that her family's base was white and earth magic. When nine years old, her parents and siblings abandoned her to live alone on the streets. It was a year of pain, a year of hunger, and a year of thirst for Keara as she struggled to survive. Her flame was dying, and as was she, until a magician of dark magic saved her from her misery. Using healing magic never heard of by Keara, he tended to her wounds, physical and mental, and taught her the beauty and art of pyromancy. She learned to admire her gift, instead of cringing away from it. She learned to destroy, and to give life. For, without fire, there would be no life.
After five years of practice with this mage, Keara left to take her own path, living near volcanoes and hot springs, savoring her ability like a rare bit of gold. Occasionally, when coming across another's path or a village, she would do small jobs, earning money here and there, using it to purchase fine foods such as warm bread or rare meats. This life continued for a pleasant year, a year of being a nomad, of traveling to and fro, helping some, hurting others. And, during that year of bliss, she met her love.
They married, her sixteen, him eighteen, found a cottage in the woods, and lived happily for a short while. There were smiles and laughter, nights of drinking and kisses. He worked as a blacksmith. She did her normal small jobs throughout a village nearby. Yet, like all things, happiness must come to an end, whether it be a few months or a few millennium. In this case, they had been married for three months, good on money, good on food. There were no troubles, except for the occasional mispayment. But, rumors began, and word spread through the village of a witch. A witch with gifts of the flame, looking to demolish the world.
These rumors were false, but the villagers did not believe so. They eyed young Keara with suspicion in their eyes, whispering words behind closed doors. Then came the attack. It was swift, fast, and bloody. The cottage was up in flames, Keara and her love running, running fast, feet tripping over roots. Cries echoed behind them and then there was a soft thwack, then a cry of pain. Next to her lay her lover, arrow sticking out of his chest, eyes wide with shock. And then his life faded away as he perished, leaving behind her broken heart.
She felt pain and tears, and only pain and tears. Then she felt anger, then hate. Rage flashed in her eyes as she stood, facing the villagers, burning their flimsy arrows and spears, taking slow, steady steps forward, her face hard and cold as a slab of stone. For a moment, all was silent. Then, with a simple incantation of a spell, everything roared up in flames. Orange, yellow, and red flickered off of Keara's cheeks as she turned on her heel and walked away, ignoring the pained cries of the villagers. Everything burned. For as fire can bring life, it can also destroy.
