Post by Polly on Dec 21, 2009 11:07:20 GMT -8
Let the rain fall down and wash away the blood.
Name:
Polly
Gender:
Female
Age:
22
Birthday:
January 16th - 16th Day of the Wolf Moon
Species:
Werecobra
Affinity:
Reptilian
Abilities:
Reflex
Hard Leather
Touch of Paralysis
First Strike
Artifact:
Wears a crow feather in her hair
Contains the ability Crow Dance
Role:
Psychopath
Alignment:
Evil
Dear Little Mouse, I can show you the world...All I need is your trust.
Body
I am tall and willowy. My features are thin and graceful, but wiry and quick. I have golden blonde hair that hangs in loose curls all the way down to my waist. My eyes are black. Absolutely colorless. I have fair skin lightly dusted with freckles. My eyebrows are delicately arched and my fingers are thin and spidery. I have the sinewy body of a dancer. I look weaker than I am, more like a nymph. When I shift, my scales are olive green with pale yellow cross bands. My belly is cream colored and the scales are smooth.
Demeanor
My demeanor depends on my environment and my goals. One of the most dangerous things about me is how sane I can appear. I can smile, I can worry, I can look rational. My demeanor, like the chameleon, is designed to change with my surroundings. I know what to do, what to say, and how to act. Left to my own devices, however, my eyes becomes empty and everything about me seems oddly hollow. Only when I am around water do I look truly serene and at peace with myself. My eyes betray my pain, but I tend to smile and my spirit softens.
Style
Like my demeanor, my style also depends heavily on my environment. The one constant is my hair. I never wear my hair down. It is usually in a ponytail, but occasionally I will wear it coiled on my head or in pigtails. No matter how my hair is worn, I always wear my crow feather. I will wear it with other accessories so as not to draw needless attention to my precious artifact. When I’m stalking prey, my clothing tends to be designed for easy movement. I have clothing made of snakeskin that I like to wear for such occasions.
Other
My appearance is most disturbing when I am not putting on an act for the masses. My black eyes are round and eerie. Anything living in my expression vanishes, leaving only a soulless shell. It is said that those who gaze upon my face in this state gazes upon the face of death. This is why I have earned the name Death’s Daughter. The contrast between my false smiles and my true expression is so vast that the change alone can shock people into compliances. They whisper words of possession and whisper my name, hoping I will hear and come back.
I enter and the room falls silent. Yes! Witness my terrible facade!
Influential
I have always been able to manipulate and get my way. Even those who know me as Death’s Daughter find it hard to resist the poison I can spread with my words. I can make people fall in love or turn them to hate. Really, all it requires is a little knowledge. Not hard at all. Minds are so easy to twist and corrupt. I can destroy as many lives with word poison as I can with real poison. I use my subtle influence to murder and maim. I use it to watch the struggle and witness the pain.
Commanding
My presence is strong and emanates with whatever false emotion I fill it with. I am stubborn and fearless with a commanding presence that is not easily ignored. While other assassins and spies blend in with the crowd, I am not afraid to stand out and make my presence own. I enjoy getting to know my prey before I kill them and make them suffer. It makes their cries that much sweeter to my ears. I can flit around the most noble of houses and make people think I belong while I fill their hearts with cobra poison and scout for my next victim.
Original
This path I walk is mine alone. I will not kill for you. I will not spy for you or tear people apart for you. This cruelty I reap is for me alone. My methods are not your methods. I have learned many fighting styles, but the style I use is my own. I have discovered more in the past eleven years than you possibly could in an eternity of life. I am young, but intelligent. Creative and inventive. I enjoy killing as an art form and may arrange the corpses of many of my victims in beautiful positions.
Other
I am quick-witted and people seem to be drawn to me. I want to express my talents in significant ways. It is important that I have some private time to myself even though the path I chose requires me to be social. Being by the water is soothing to my spirit. I cannot abide the cold, but there is something about water that draws me in and wraps me up. I enjoy luxurious baths with steaming water and I tend to dance in the rain until my lips turn blue. Only water can bring out the softer side of me.
Save me? Darling, there is nothing wrong with me.
Basic History
I was born in Eastwood, right along the coast. That is really all I remember. My parents were respected. Blah, blah, blah. Mostly, I played in the ocean. I caught fish and lizards, snakes and mice. I never hurt anything then, though I daydreamed about it. I could picture myself slowly pulling off the legs of the mice, or systematically chopping off tiny pieces of the snakes. Such daydreams confused me back then and I brushed them away.
There were other times when I would imagine the feeling of fangs sunk inside my own flesh, with poison pumping through my veins. I would imagine the burn and stare at my wrists longingly. It was another daydream I brushed easily aside. The musings of a lonely child.
I remember when the alpha forced me away from my home. She made the law. My parents obeyed. I was eleven at the time. We moved inside the City with its cold, unfeeling walls. My new home was nothing like my forest cottage. It was made of stone and consisted of one room. Other places, identical to ours, were smashed against it.
My entire family was expected to live in that one small room. Seven people and a jackdaw, plus my mother’s hummingbird. My brother went out with Father to get a job while my three sisters and I were expected to sell flowers for coin. What a ridiculous idea, this money!
My father worked for the Network. My mother made weapons. Both of them tried so hard to fit into society. They tried to get my siblings and I to fit in as well. I did not bother. I watched as my mother tried and failed to be accepted. I watched as two of my sisters were sold into prostitution while my third sister wasted away selling flowers in the snow. Myself? I occupied myself engaging in fights and learning to wield Mother’s weapons.
I was the only one unsurprised when a messenger came from the Network. Father was compromised. He and my brother were both discovered and executed. We were forced to flee to another house. It was identical to the first, in the same district and neighborhood. Somehow, I hated it more than the first.
My mother became harsh and unloving, consumed as she was with grief. She stopped doing everything, refused to eat, sleep…Refused life itself. It did not take her long to die. One of my sisters passed away after contracting a disease from her…work. The other still lives, but I do not know where she is.
I ran away. I learned how to use people so that I would not be used. I became stronger, faster, keener. I learned how to survive. I killed people and stole their lives. I took their money and their clothes. I live wherever I wish now and I am never at a loss for money.
Once I was on my feet, my killing became more methodical. It became a game. A fun game. That was when the Network approached me. I had more kills than their head assassin and I’d only been around for four years. I laughed and spat on the floor before them. I would rather die than swear my allegiance to them! I owed nothing to no one. I killed for me.
That was when I began to kill shifters too. None would be spared. Anyone was a potential new victim.
Each new kill was a higher challenge than the last. I began to arrange the bodies in artful positions; a sign that this was my game. I became known as Death’s Daughter. The thing was, nobody knew it was me. To see me as what I was, a cold blooded killer, was to die. Only the Network has any idea. Even then, most of it is pure speculation. They have no proof. I am too careful.
The general population likes me. I wear fine dresses and speak with a noble tongue. My face is too sweet. I seem too innocent. I am soft-spoke in that way that makes people listen. I demand positive attention and I get it. I am well known by now and tend to be invited to the best parties. I find this is a perfect way to find prey. Only once did I kill during a party. I am not so stupid as to leave an obvious path, nor am I stupid to leave path through omission. I change things up to keep people guessing.
I return to the ocean every year for my birthday. It is the only place I feel real peace. I cry for the loss of my childhood and the absence of my siblings. I loved them once. My nest was warm. Now I sleep alone and no fire can replicate the warmth I lost. My old home, my true home, still stands. Barely. The elements have not been kind to it without proper care. I fix it as much as I can and make sure it is stable enough to sleep in. It is the only home I have.
There is not a single person, alive or dead, that knows I do this. My shred of humanity is reserved for the ocean and my childhood. Make no mistake. I have no softness for the living. My creed is simple and secret. My motives are my own. Suffice it to say that I do it for the chase and for the thrill. Assume for now that I have no loyalties.